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Archive name: momsaid.txt (Mf, ped, 1st)
Authors name: White Rabbit
Story title : My Mother Said I Never Should

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-= This work is copyrighted to the author © 2000. =-
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
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commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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My Mother Said I Never Should (Mf, ped, 1st)
by The White Rabbit (white_rabbit27@hotmail.com)

In a nineteenth century village, a twelve-year-old girl 
is saved by a handsome gypsy from being raped and 
murdered.  A mutual attraction grows between them, 
leading to a day of unbridled passion and sexual 
awakening.
 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a work of fiction.  I have 
never had sex with a minor, and never intend to.  It 
can be fun to fantasies about loving sex with a child; 
but the reality is abuse and exploitation, which 
destroys lives.  Children are, without exception, 
beautiful and precious, and we must love and protect 
them.

***

 Lucy was more frightened than she'd ever been in her 
twelve years, as she crashed through the undergrowth, 
the long skirt catching and tearing on branches and 
bracken, petticoats tripping and tangling her legs, 
foliage whipping back into her face.  But she daren't 
pause, or even take any notice of the pain, for fear of 
the man crashing through the forest after her.

 She'd never liked Mr. Dawson, who was always telling 
people that they'd be going to Hell; but he was the 
vicar, so of course she trusted him.  When he'd come 
upon her, therefore, picking flowers in a clearing, 
she'd stood up and bobbed a little, respectful curtsey.  
"Good morning, Mr. Dawson," she said.

 He stared at her in silence for a moment, and those 
somber eyes seemed to bore into her.  "I've seen you," 
he said abruptly, and Lucy almost physically jumped.  
He stretched out and pointed at her.  "Like all the 
sluts.  Making devil's eyes at every man, tempting us 
all... tempting them all to fall into sin.  You are the 
Whore of Babylon, and you must be punished."

 Lucy couldn't believe her ears.  She knew that she 
wasn't as good a girl as she ought to be: her 
grandmother often spanked her, and occasionally her 
grandfather would even take his belt to her.  But 
this...  Why would her eyes tempt anyone to sin?  She 
didn't understand.  She knew that "whore" was a word in 
the Bible, and it wasn't good; but she didn't know what 
a "slut" was.  

 "Please, Mr. Dawson," she said, trying hard not to 
whine, "I try my best to be good, honestly.  If you'll 
tell me what I should do..."

 "There is no remedy for your evil," the vicar 
thundered at her.  "You must be punished.  The god-
fearing men of the parish must be protected from your 
wickedness.  I must be the instrument of God's 
vengeance on you, as I was on that harlot Mary Carter."

 Something went cold inside Lucy.  Mary, a girl a year 
older than herself, had been found buried in the forest 
last autumn.  The gypsies had killed her, of course: 
that had been obvious straight away, although they had 
never been caught.  Lucy knew that Mary's throat had 
been cut.  She also knew that something else had been 
done to her, which no one would tell her about, but 
which seemed to outrage the grown-ups even more than 
the killing.  

 Lucy didn't quite understand what was going on; but it 
seemed as though Mr. Dawson was saying that he'd killed 
Mary.  But how could that be?  Vicars simply didn't do 
that kind of thing.

 "Come here, slut," he hissed at her; and, from inside 
his frock-coat, he drew a kitchen-knife.  "I followed 
you here, and I know you won't be missed for a while.  
Come here, and do as I say, and I'll make it quick."
 
 She didn't understand how, but that touched something 
within Lucy.  Backing away, she screamed loudly; then 
she turned and fled.

 Lucy was fitter and more agile than the vicar; but she 
was in a panic, too, whereas he was following with a 
grim, determined patience, knowing that he catch her 
eventually.  Sure enough, Lucy finally caught her foot 
in a hole and went sprawling, knocking the wind out of 
herself.  By the time she'd turned onto her back, ready 
to push herself up to her feet again, her pursuer was 
standing over her, knife pointed at her throat.  Lucy 
froze in terror.

 "Please," she managed, in a little voice, "don't hurt 
me."

 He snarled.  "Don't believe that you can deceive me, 
Satan.  Take your clothes off."

 She stopped pleading, startled into curiosity.  "Why 
do you want me to do that?" she asked.

 His lips curled.  "The whore pretends innocence," he 
said, addressing no one in particular.  "This lesson 
must be very thorough."  Reaching down, he put the 
knife-tip lightly against the child's throat.  "Strip," 
he said, "like the lascivious harlot you are, or I'll 
kill you now."

 Lucy was crying, and her mind was numb; but the threat 
cut through everything else, and her body obeyed 
without any thoughts being involved.  Clumsily, 
fumbling out of fear, she unlaced the bodice and 
slipped it off; then she eased the mass of skirts and 
petticoats down over her hips (still slim, but slightly 
more flared than they'd been at this time last year).  
Ignoring the discarded clothes, she huddled back; arms 
folded across the slight swellings that had recently 
began to grow around her nipples, feeling more naked in 
her underwear than she had ever felt before.

 Mr. Dawson stood looking down at Lucy, a contemptuous 
snarl across his face.  "I said, take them off," he 
told her.  "I mean all of them."  And the knife went to 
her throat again.

 He didn't need to speak the threat, this time: the 
child hurried to obey, even more terrified of the knife 
than she was to be naked in front of a man.  She 
ignored everything except his eyes and the knife; so it 
wasn't until the vicar's hand went to the crotch-
fastening on his trousers that she realized a strange 
thing: the material was pushed right out, as though a 
hand were inside, holding it as far as possible from 
his body.

 For a moment, Lucy didn't quite understand what 
happened next.  She had a hazy knowledge of the thing 
men and boys had inside their trousers; and she seen 
it, of course, on the farm animals.  But never on a 
human being; and she'd never imagined it would look 
quite like that.  So straight and hard, sticking out 
from his body.  So red, with a great purple knob at its 
head.  And so big.

 Keeping the knife close enough that she dared not 
disobey, Mr. Dawson sank to his knees.  For an instant, 
she thought he was going to pray; then he snarled, 
"Open your legs, whore.  Don't pretend you don't 
understand.  Your kind are born understanding lechery.  
You touch yourself, don't you?  Touch and rub between 
your legs, like the filthy animal you are.  Oh, I can 
imagine it.  I've seen you, time and again, in my 
mind's eye, taking your disgusting pleasures.  I've 
seen all the visions that the devil's sent me of you, 
trying to tempt me into sin."

 Lucy's mind was dazed.  She understood very little of 
what the vicar was saying.  Touch herself where?  Did 
he mean her dirty place between her thighs?  But she'd 
never touched herself there in her life.  Except to 
wash, of course.  Surely he wasn't saying that washing 
was a sin?

 But he seemed barely aware that he was actually 
speaking to her.  Bending forward, he lowered himself 
until he was lying on top of Lucy, who tried hard not 
to gag.  He was sweating, and there was spittle around 
his mouth; and there seemed to be a strange, unpleasant 
smell about him.  She didn't mind the pungent smells of 
the farm, not even the pigs; but this smell had a sour 
nastiness.

 Lucy gave a little yelp of surprise, as the tip of his 
man-thing touched her dirty place.  "Shut up, you 
cunt," he growled; and she froze in terror.  She never 
heard the word he used; but his tone was enough to tell 
her that it was something nasty.  He pushed a little, 
so that the tip pushed between the two folds of flesh 
she had to wash between.  She tried to keep quiet; but 
it hurt too much, and she gave a squeal.

 The back of his hand smashed into her cheek.  "Shut 
the fuck up, you slut," he hissed, "and take your 
fucking like the scum you are.  You think that hurts?  
Try this."

 Grabbing hold of Lucy by the hips, he drove his thing 
further between the folds.  She felt a searing, tearing 
agony, pain, as she had never felt before.  Expecting 
to pass out any moment, she heard herself screaming 
shrilly; and she continued to scream, as he pumped the 
rod in and out of the tiny hole it had slipped into.  
Each time he thrust it back in, it seemed to tear the 
little opening apart, scraping her tight, dry flesh 
like rough stone.

 Then the air seemed to explode above her, echoes 
detonating round and round; and the full weight of his 
body slammed down onto hers, knocking the wind out of 
the child.  For a moment, she didn't understand what 
was happening.  Even when liquid began dripping onto 
her, and she saw that blood was pouring out of the 
ruins of his head, she was too dazed to work it out, 
until a booted foot pushed the vicar's body rolling off 
hers, and she found herself looking up into a dark, 
handsome face, framed by long black hair.  The shotgun 
he carried still smoked a little.

 There was a surging in her head, and Lucy was engulfed 
by nothingness.

*****
 She was lying on a bed, when she woke, in a small 
room.  She could see various items of furniture; but 
there seemed something wrong, something different, 
about the room.  Not dangerous, just strange.

 Lucy was aware of still being naked, under the covers.  
It felt strange: she was used to wearing a heavy night-
dress to sleep, although she knew that she wasn't in 
her own bed, and she didn't even think it was night-
time.  She remembered what had happened; but she wasn't 
too sure whether she'd been brought here naked 
(wherever here was) or whether someone had stripped her 
again before putting her to bed.  She looked around the 
room, but couldn't immediately see her clothes.

 Then the door opened, and the man she'd seen earlier 
entered.  He glanced over and saw that she awake; but 
he took a few moments to do something she couldn't see 
clearly before turning to come to her bedside.  "How 
are you feeling?" he asked.

 "All right," she said, unable to get her voice above a 
whisper.  She gazed up at him.  Even to a twelve-year-
old, he looked young and incredibly handsome: a dark 
complexion, long black hair and sparkling eyes, with a 
strong, lithe physique.  Although she knew she should 
be afraid of him, Lucy couldn't help feeling a sinful 
glow of pleasure at having the undivided attention of 
such a splendid young man.

 "Who are you?" she asked after a moment.  "And where 
am I?"

 "Joseph Lee at your service," he said, with a slight 
trace of a bow.  "You're quite safe, in my vardo."

 Lucy looked around curiously, with a slight trace of 
fear.  "You're a gypsy?" she asked.

 "I am," he acknowledged.  "Are you scared?"  

 She shook her head.  "I... I don't think so.  Should I 
be?"

 He laughed.  "No, girlie, you've nothing to fear from 
me.  We don't really eat little girls for dinner, you 
know."  He winked.  "Least, not if we can catch rabbits 
instead.  And I've got three stewing outside."

 Lucy giggled, in spite of the tension.  "What 
happened, Mr. Lee?" she asked.

 "Just Joseph," he said.  "Don't have much use for a 
surname.  Any case, half the Romany people are called 
Lee.  And who are you, girlie?"

 "My name is Lucy Kershaw," she said.  "I live at 
Brooks Farm, with my grandparents."

 He gave her a searching look.  "Your grandparents?  No 
mum or dad?"

 "My mother died when I was born," said Lucy.  It 
always hurt a bit to talk about it, but she felt easy 
with Joseph.  "My father had an accident when I was 
five, and died.  I've lived with my grandparents since 
then."

 Joseph nodded, but didn't comment.  "The answer to 
your question," he said, "is that I heard you 
screaming, and I found that monster with you.  We know 
all about him."  He grimaced.  "We should do: we get 
the blame for his crimes."

 "You mean Mary?" Lucy asked.

 He shrugged.  "I don't know any of the poor girls' 
names; but he's raped and murdered quite a few, over 
the years, from this district.  We all know about him."

 She stared at him.  You know?  But... why haven't you 
told anyone?" 

 He gave a short, bitter laugh.  "Yes?  Who's going to 
believe a group of gypsies?  They think we're 
responsible.  No, the best thing we could think of was 
to keep looking, and solve the problem ourselves.  And 
I've done that, now.  Permanently."

 "Is he dead?" she asked, surprised to find that she 
felt little emotion except curiosity.

 Joseph laughed again.  "If he's not dead, with half 
his brains over the ground, then it's a miracle," he 
said.  "Did you know him?"

 Lucy nodded.  "Mr. Dawson," she said.  "Our vicar."

 He snorted.  "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" he 
asked, apparently addressing the air.  "Preaches about 
Hell, because he does the devil's work himself." He 
smiled at her.  "Never mind, I've buried him.  Are you 
feeling well enough to get up?"

 She looked around, confused.  "Well... yes, but I've 
got nothing on.  Where are my clothes?"

 She missed the quick, amused smile, almost instantly 
stifled.  "They had blood on them, sweetheart," he said 
gently.  "I washed them out, and they're drying in the 
sun.  It shouldn't take long, in this weather."

 "But..." Lucy hesitated, bewildered.  "What can I 
wear, till then?"

 This time, Joseph was less successful at hiding his 
amusement.  "It's a warm day," he said, "and there's 
no-one but me to see you."  Her face was stricken with 
shock, and he laughed.  "Don't worry about it, girlie.  
After all, I carried you back here naked.  Remember, 
your body was made by God, not by the devil.  And..."  
He gave a slow, contented smile.  "From what I saw, 
you're a piece of handiwork to be proud of."

 Lucy felt her cheeks turning very red and very hot; 
but what Joseph said seemed to make sense.  Or maybe 
she just wanted it to make sense.  Very slowly, holding 
her breath, she slid the cover down her body.  She kept 
her eyes turned away from Joseph; but she was aware 
that he was watching her closely.  There was a slight 
intake of breath when the cover slipped below her 
nipples, and she felt absurdly flattered, considering 
that she only had the slightest hint of breasts to 
show. When she pushed it further down, and felt the 
cooler, slightly musty air of the wagon on her bald 
crotch, he muttered, "Beautiful," and it seemed to Lucy 
that every dream she had ever had came true.  She knew 
it was wrong that he was looking at her, and she knew 
that it was sinful for her to take pleasure in this; 
but she didn't care.  Maybe it was the ordeal she had 
just been through, maybe the shock of discovering the 
vicar's true nature, but she was reveling in the 
delicious sensation of being thoroughly naughty.  She'd 
decided that she liked it.

 Joseph continued to gaze at her for a few moments 
more, after she'd got to her feet, only a little 
unsteadily.  Then, with a slight laugh, he turned away.  
"You're a sight for sore eyes, and no mistake, girlie.  
But never mind.  Hungry, are you?"

 Lucy thought for a moment, and realized that she was 
hungry.  She wasn't sure how long she'd slept, but 
she'd probably missed her lunch.  She nodded.

 "Good, because the stew should be just about ready."  
He looked her up and down slowly; only half pretending 
it was for practical reasons.  "We'd better eat in 
here, just in case anyone comes by.  You stay here, and 
I'll bring it in."

 While Joseph was outside, Lucy wandered around the 
wagon, curiously examining the interior.  She'd only 
occasionally seen gypsy caravans before, and never been 
inside one.  It looked very cozy: more so than the 
farmhouse where she lived.  She could imagine staying 
here...

 Lucy pulled herself up short, wondering what she was 
thinking; but, fortunately, just then the door opened 
again, and two big dogs exploded into the small room, 
followed by Joseph, carrying two dishes.  Lucy froze, 
as the dogs stopped right in front of her, taking a 
defensive stance.

 Joseph spoke to them in a strange language, which she 
assumed must be Romany; but they didn't relax.  He 
shrugged.  "Sorry about Brownie and Ranger," he said.  
"I told them you're a friend; but they're suspicious of 
strangers."  He put down the plates.  "I need to show 
them that we're friends.  Don't worry about what I do: 
it has to be exaggerated, for their sake."

 Stepping past the dogs, he put an arm around Lucy and 
gave her a big, long kiss on the lips.  She stiffened, 
for a moment, trying not to react in any way that would 
put doubt into the dogs' minds; but, after a moment, 
she began enjoying the feeling and returned the kiss.

 At last, he broke away.  "I think they've got the 
message now," he said; and she nodded gravely.  As he 
turned away, he gave the dogs a little wink and 
muttered a phrase, which could well have been "Good 
boys" in Romany.

 The animals' demeanor had totally changed, and both 
were competing to play with Lucy, nuzzle her, coax her 
into stroking them.  She'd always loved dogs, though 
was realistic about the fact that many were trained to 
attack, so she enjoyed the attention.  But it was only 
a few minutes before Joseph said gently, "Stew's 
getting cold, girlie."

 He sent the dogs outside, while they ate, and they 
talked lightly, each telling the other a little about 
their lives.  But, when they were finished, both 
sitting together on the bed, Lucy fell gradually 
silent.  "What's the matter?" Joseph asked eventually.

 "Joseph," she said hesitantly.  "You know about... oh, 
things.  You know, about life and... things.  Don't 
you?"

 "Probably."  He was unsure exactly what she meant, but 
was willing to go along wherever this was leading.  
"What do you mean?"

 "Well...  It's something Mr. Dawson said.  He told me 
what happened was my fault.  He said I made devil's 
eyes at men, and tempted them into sin.  He called me 
a... a slut and a whore.  What did he mean?  Was it 
really my fault?"

 "Of course it's not your fault," Joseph snarled, his 
eyes narrowed, is pleasant face twisted suddenly into a 
scowl.  Lucy drew away from him, scared, and he 
immediately controlled himself.  "I'm sorry, Lucy," he 
said, much more gently.  "It's him I'm angry with, not 
you.  It's just that men like that disgust me.  They 
try to blame their own twisted lusts on the very people 
they prey on.  They see the filth in themselves, and 
try to blame it on the world around them."

 "But... but why me?" she asked plaintively.

 He hesitated a moment, trying to ensure that he said 
the right thing.  "Men like that," he said at last, 
"when they see someone as beautiful as you, they have 
some compulsion... some inner devil, if you like, that 
makes them want to hurt and destroy her, use her for 
their own twisted pleasures.  Whereas any real man 
would want, more than anything, to give her true joy 
and love, and take pleasure in her pleasure.  Not to 
take by force what should be given freely."

 Lucy was silent for a moment.  "What he was doing to 
me," she said, without looking directly at Joseph, "was 
like what the bulls do to the cows, that I'm not 
supposed to look at.  And I've seen dogs do it, too.  
Are you saying that people actually enjoy doing that?"

 "Certainly.  Believe me, girlie, it feels very, very 
different when someone's doing it in a spirit of love 
and giving.  One day, you'll experience that.  Then 
you'll understand."
 She shook her head.  "I can't imagine ever enjoying 
it," she said firmly.  "It's horrible."

 He hesitated a moment.  "What's your favorite food?" 
he asked suddenly.  "You know: not for satisfying you 
when you're hungry, but for pure pleasure."

 Lucy thought for a moment.  There was no question as 
to the answer; but she felt slightly reluctant to admit 
such a secret, which was probably sinful.  But she felt 
easy with Joseph: he didn't seem to mind pleasure.  
"Honeycomb," she said.  "If I can ever get hold of a 
piece of honeycomb, I take it to one of my secret 
hiding-places, and eat it there all on my own, enjoying 
every mouthful."

 He smiled, studying her face.  "Yes," he said softly, 
"I can imagine that.  Well: try to imagine this.  
Suppose someone chased you, so you were terrified, then 
pushed you to the ground, forced your mouth open and 
stuffed honeycomb down your throat, till you were 
choking.  Would that be a pleasant experience?"  She 
shook her head, her eyes wide with amazement and fixed 
on his.  "Of course not.  Yet that doesn't make 
enjoying properly any less wonderful.  And it's the 
same with making love."

 She thought about that for some time.  Neither of them 
spoke; but, after a while, she reached out and took his 
hand, engulfing hers in it.  Finally, just when he was 
making up his mind to speak, she said abruptly, "Why 
did you say I was beautiful?"

 He stared at her, surprised.  "Because you are," he 
said.

 She frowned slightly.  "But my grandparents just tell 
me I'm a clumsy, ugly child.  And some of the older 
girls make fun of me.  No-one's ever called me 
beautiful before."

 "Then," he said softly, "your village is populated by 
blind people.  You're one of the most beautiful girls 
I've ever seen."
 He saw her eyes widen in amazement, and smiled to 
himself as he examined her once more, just for the sake 
of it.  Her auburn hair, thick and unbound, sweeping 
down over her shoulders, framing a sweet, oval face 
dominated by big eyes the blue of cornflowers, red lips 
with a slight natural pout and a strong, determined 
little chin.  He gazed down her small upper body, 
traces of puppy-fat giving way to slight swellings 
around her nipples and the suggestion of a figure at 
the waist and hips.  Down to the hairless little pussy, 
a little reddened from the recent abuse, but clean now 
(he'd washed off the blood when he'd cleaned her, as 
she slept).  The cute, eloquent arse he knew to be 
there, although she was sitting on it, the legs with 
their child's thighs, and the perfectly formed little 
feet.  Every part of her was perfect.

 Lucy was aware of him looking her over; but she was 
busy trying to make up her mind to say what she had to.  
"Joseph," she began at last.

 "Yes, sweetheart," he said, his eyes still wandering 
over her.

 "What you said about the honeycomb.  If that had 
really happened to me... you know, being forced to eat 
it...  I know what I'd do.  I'd get a piece of 
honeycomb, take it to one of my places, and enjoy it 
more than I'd ever enjoyed it before.  To make sure it 
wasn't spoilt."

 There was a very long, very charged silence, as Joseph 
wondered whether she could really be saying what he 
thought she was.  "So," he said slowly, "what you mean 
is..."

 She met his eyes; and Joseph almost recoiled from the 
blend of terror, desire and determination in them.  
"Yes," she said simply.  "I want it to be you, Joseph.  
Show me how to enjoy it.  Please?"

 He gazed at her for a moment longer; then he smiled at 
her.  "How could I refuse you anything, girlie?" he 
said softly.  "Right," he said, more briskly, "if we're 
to be lovers, come here like a good little girl and 
give me a kiss."  And, without waiting, he scooped her 
up, one arm around her waist, the other hand under her 
arse, and deposited her on his lap, facing him.  For an 
instant, as he took hold of her, Lucy froze in terror; 
but it passed in moments, and she threw her arms around 
Joseph's neck, stretching her mouth up for the first 
truly passionate kiss she had ever enjoyed.

 At first, she tried to pucker her lips up, thinking 
that was the proper way to kiss; but Joseph overpowered 
her mouth with gentle insistence, forcing it open, 
insinuating his tongue between her lips, up against her 
teeth, pushing them relentlessly apart.  Lucy felt that 
her entire mouth was becoming liquid, flowing into him, 
as he engulfed her; but it was so delicious, she wanted 
to be engulfed, lost forever.

 Then, abruptly, it was over.  Lucy gazed up into her 
lover's eyes, only inches from hers, too stunned to 
take the initiative.  Joseph gazed back, seeing the 
little girl who had suddenly become a wild animal: eyes 
wide and shining with astonished lust; wet lips parted 
sensually, begging to be assaulted again; her cheeks 
and her forehead flushed and her whole body hot and 
sweaty.  Glancing down, he could see the nipples on her 
nearly flat chest standing out a little more than a few 
moments ago; and, where her crotch rested on his lap, 
rubbing on his already-stiffening cock, he felt a hint 
of dampness soaking into his trousers.

 "Girlie," he murmured, "You are the hottest little 
thing I've ever kissed.  Where did you learn to kiss 
like that?"

 She blushed more deeply, and looked confused.  "But... 
I've never done anything like that before.  I never 
knew kissing could be so... so..." She gave up trying 
to find the words to describe it.  "Lets do it again."

 "Hang on a moment."  Joseph felt that this was 
escaping from his control.  "You've got a start on me.  
Give me a moment to get naked, too."

 Lucy subsided obediently, watching closely, in case 
she should miss a thing, while Joseph pulled his shirt 
and waistcoat unceremoniously over his head, revealing 
a muscular torso, the chest covered in a thick thatch 
of black hair.  Her eyes widened.  "You're hairy," she 
commented, her tone interested more than frightened.  
"You're not a wolf, are you?"

 He winked at her.  "Not so's you'd notice," he said.

 Lifting Lucy up, he dumped her unceremoniously on the 
bed again, while he stood to pull his trousers down.  
The child's little tongue was running excitedly over 
her lips, constantly moistening them, her eyes fixed on 
Joseph's crotch; and she gasped, as the long, thick 
shaft suddenly revealed itself, springing from 
confinement to stand pointing slightly above the 
horizontal.

 "But... but it's enormous," she exclaimed.  "It must 
be twice as big as Mr. Dawson's, and that hurt enough.  
You can't put that thing in me."

 "It's all right, girlie," said Joseph gently, kneeling 
in front of her.  "I didn't really see how big his was, 
but I don't think there could be that much difference.  
It's completely up to you what we do.  Or don't do.  
But think on this.  There were two reasons why he hurt 
you so much.  One was that he broke your cherry: and 
once that's happened, it never happens again.  And the 
other was that he took you when you didn't want him, 
without getting your little pussy ready.  If you still 
want it, I'll make sure you're turned on and wet, and 
my cock'll slide in like a dream.  Promise.  And you 
can say, if you want to stop."

 Lucy stared at him, feeling torn.  Part of her was 
beginning to wish she hadn't asked him to do this; but 
the feelings that had been creeping through her body 
since she'd met him, and flooding through since he'd 
kissed her, wouldn't let her think straight.  Her head 
felt light and deliciously floaty; her whole body felt 
more alive than she'd ever known it; and the dirty 
place between her legs, that he'd called her pussy (she 
liked that, it made her giggle inside) was wet and on 
fire at the same time.  She wasn't sure what it was she 
wanted done to it; but she knew she didn't want it left 
alone.  She realized that her own hand had wandered 
between her legs, and was rubbing the place.  She 
hadn't even noticed doing that.  She was about to force 
herself (reluctantly) to stop being so filthy, when she 
realized that Joseph was watching what she was doing, 
smiling; and she realized that she didn't want to stop. 
Not, at least, unless he was going to take over.  Yes, 
Lucy decided, she'd definitely like that.

 "All right," she said, trying rather unsuccessfully to 
sound casual, "I'll try it.  Are you going to..."  She 
stopped with a gasp as Joseph, very gently but very 
firmly, moved her hand aside and started rubbing her 
pussy himself.  "Oooh, that's nice," she moaned, 
immediately abandoning her pretence of insouciance.  
"Don't stop, please, keep rubbing...  Ooooooohhhhh."  
And Lucy collapsed into a formless mass of lust, as his 
finger found a tiny button, at the top of the slit, and 
began playing with it.  "What on earth's that?" she 
gasped, as he paused for a moment.

 Joseph looked down at her gazing up at him through 
eyes made distant by the haze of sexual need.  "That, 
little girl," he said, "is your clitty.  Make sure you 
get to know her: she can give you more pleasure than 
anything else."

 Lucy giggled.  "My clitty," she repeated.  It sounded 
deliciously rude.  "Play with my clitty again, Joseph, 
I love it."

 She tried to push his hand back into place; but he 
resisted, and she almost cried from frustration.  
"Hush, girlie," he whispered.  "There's more than one 
way of playing with her."  And, kneeling, he lowered 
his face to her crotch and kissed the little button, 
his tongue licking out and flicking lightly across it.

 For a while, Lucy could neither speak nor think 
rationally; but then she managed to gasp out, 
"Joseph... you shouldn't...  isn't that dirty?"

 He laughed, taking his mouth away for a moment.  "Not 
at all.  You've the sweetest-tasting pussy-juices I've 
ever known."  He winked at her.  "Better than 
honeycomb."  And he returned to his tonguing of her 
clitty, occasionally moving it back to probe between 
the folds and into the little hole.  The same little 
hole that, hundreds of years ago, Mr. Dawson had 
violated.  But now it was sending her crazy with waves 
of pleasure, opening to her lover's tongue, juices 
pouring out until she didn't know whether her crotch 
was soaked with Joseph's saliva or her own pussy-
juices.
 Her whole body was hot and flushed; and a delicious, 
indescribable feeling started growing low down in her 
belly.  She could feel the walls of her soaking pussy 
quivering, trying to clutch at something that wasn't 
there; then a slow explosion detonated through her 
body, blowing a hole in her head, so that she was aware 
of nothing for what may have been a second or a year.  
When she could next thing, her upper body had collapsed 
over Joseph, pinning him to her crotch.  Very gently, 
he lifted her up, and sat beside her on the bed; then 
she let herself be lifted onto his lap and cocooned in 
his embrace.  She remained there, utterly protected, 
utterly his, while the aftershocks of the earthquake 
died away.

 "What was that?" she murmured at last.

 "That," he told her, his fingers caressing her hair, 
"is called coming, or having an orgasm.  It's what 
everyone seeks for, when they make love."

 "Can we do it again?" she begged.  "Please?"

 He laughed softly.  "As many times as you like.  But 
that's not all there is to it.  One of the biggest 
differences between making love and what you had done 
to you is that it's shared.  Both of us should want to 
give the other pleasure."

 "Oh."  Lucy blushed, realizing that she hadn't thought 
of this.  "Can men have... um, come, too?"

 "Certainly.  It's a bit different, though, but just as 
good.  Men like having their cocks played with, just as 
I was playing with your pussy."

 Lucy giggled, the absurdity suddenly striking her.  
"We've got a real farmyard, haven't we?  Where are the 
dogs and the cows and the sheep?"

 Joseph laughed out loud.  "Oh, girlie, you're the 
eighth wonder of the world, you are.  Do you want to 
get to know my cock?  He'd certainly like to get to 
know you, and your pussy, too."
 She nodded, feeling both excited and nervous at the 
prospect; and, taking her hand in his, he placed it 
gently against his tool.  The stiff, straining shaft 
looked enormous, against Lucy's little hand.  "That's 
it, sweetheart," he murmured.  "Wrap your hand around 
it... yes, like that.  Now, rub it up and down.  You 
see, the skin's loose over the shaft.  Try to peal it 
back a bit... Oh, yes, that feels wonderful."

 Lucy played with Joseph's cock, growing more 
adventurous as she got used to it, beginning to enjoy 
herself.  But she'd hardly got started before he 
suggested, "Why don't you kiss him?"

 She stared up, startled.  "Kiss?  But... that's 
horrible and dirty."

 He shrugged.  "It wasn't dirty when I licked you 
clitty, was it?"

 "Umm...  No, I suppose not.  But... isn't that where 
you wee from?"

 "Well, yes.  But it's clean; and I promise I won't 
piss while you're near it."

 She giggled again: somehow, the naughty word he'd used 
reassured her.  Very hesitantly, almost as if she 
thought it would bite, Lucy slipped off the bed to 
kneel between his legs, bent her head and gave the side 
of the shaft a quick kiss.  She looked up, expectantly.

 "That was lovely, girlie; but you won't get to know 
him like that.  Kiss him at the end, and make it a 
really big, wet kiss, like you gave me."

 Taking a deep breath, Lucy bent again and did as he 
asked.  The head, now partly exposed from its skin, 
tasted slightly bitter, but not unpleasant; and Lucy 
pressed her mouth harder, letting the tip slip between 
lips pushed a little apart.  Joseph was caressing her 
hair, murmuring between gasps how wonderful and 
beautiful and clever she was.

 She wanted to carry on; but, after a while, he pulled 
his cock away from her mouth.  With a little, wordless 
mewl of protest, she tried to go after it, to get it 
back between her lips; but he lifted her by the 
armpits, bringing her face up level with his, and gave 
her a deep, wet kiss.  "If you still want to go all the 
way," he told her softly, "now's the time, before I 
shoot my load."

 She wasn't sure what he meant by that; but she guessed 
that going all the way was when he put his cock in her 
pussy.  Fear rose in her throat, at the idea; but it 
couldn't compete with the tingling all over her body, 
or the deliciously hot and wet itch in her pussy.  "Do 
it," she gasped.  "Do it now.  Go... go all the way 
with me."   

 "It's called fucking," he whispered.  She'd never 
heard the word, but her pussy spasmed as he said it.  
"Say, Fuck me, sweetheart."

 "Yes, fuck me, Joseph," she begged, feeling herself 
losing control.  "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.  Fuck me 
now."

 In a single movement, he swung her over and deposited 
her firmly on the bed; lying on her back, and pushed 
her legs wide open.  Kneeling between them, he bent 
over her; and, for just a moment, Lucy felt really 
scared.  He was flushed and sweating, his stiff cock 
twitching, saliva running from the corners of his 
mouth.  But then she looked into his dark, shining eyes 
and knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that she was 
in love with him.  "I'm yours," she said, almost too 
quietly for him to hear.  "Do whatever you want to with 
me."  Then, abruptly, she was yelling at him.  "What 
are waiting for?  Fuck my pussy with your great big 
cock."

  As if she'd pressed a switch in him, Joseph instantly 
dropped heavily on top of her.  Lucy was winded for a 
moment; but he almost instantly took the full force of 
his weight off her, although she could still feel his 
body pressing down on hers.  He wriggled slightly, 
reaching down with one hand to adjust his great, 
engorged cock until its head nudged against her soaking 
pussy slit.  Here he paused for just an instant: long 
enough to raise his head slightly to look into her 
eyes.  "I love you, girlie," he whispered.  Then he 
pushed the tip of his cock just inside her hole.

 Lucy's breath gasped out in a rush, at the impact of 
the great object invading her.  Joseph paused for a few 
seconds, for her to get used to it, then pushed a 
little further in; then paused again and pushed again.  
Lucy's face was bright red, and there were tears in her 
eyes, and he stopped, stricken.  "Do you want me to 
stop?" he asked; but she shook her head vigorously.  He 
pushed again; and, this time, it slid on the wet pussy-
walls until the tip of his cock was touching her vulva.  
Glancing down, he saw that over half was inside her.

 Lucy had never in her life imagined a feeling like 
this.  Her pussy felt so stretched that it had to 
break.  It was almost like agony; but she wanted it to 
go on forever.  She was vaguely aware that she was 
crying, but she couldn't tell why, because she felt so 
happy.

 Then Joseph began pushing in and out.  Lucy squealed, 
at first; then she wrapped her arms and legs around 
him, so that she was clinging rather than lying beneath 
him, and began jerking her hips, meeting his thrusts, 
grunting and crying out to the rhythm.  "That's my 
girlie," he murmured.

 Lucy could feel the delicious sensation building 
again, that Joseph had called an orgasm; but just 
before it all exploded, his cock started throbbing, and 
warm liquid spurted out, hitting the entrance to her 
womb.  That set her off into an explosion, screaming; 
and this time she passed out in the middle of it, blown 
into oblivion of raw ecstasy.

 When she came to, she was on her side, her arms and 
legs still around him, wrapped tightly in his arms, his 
cock (slightly shrunken) still inside her, caressing 
her hair, murmuring how much he loved her.  She just 
lay in his embrace, feeling their combined sweat slowly 
drying on her, her mind a beautiful golden haze, except 
for the one warm, sweet thought she was aware of, that 
she was safe and loved.

 At last, Joseph sighed and gently tipped her head back 
far enough to meet her eyes.  "It's getting towards 
evening," he said.  "Will they have missed you yet?  
Will there be search-parties out?"

 She smiled rather bitterly.  "They'll have missed me, 
when I didn't come back for lunch.  But there won't be 
anyone to send out searching, till the day's work's 
finished.  Joseph, I don't need to go yet, do I?"

 "You'd better," he said; but she could tell he was 
reluctant, and that made his words hurt less.

 "I'll come back tomorrow, if they'll let me," she 
assured him eagerly.

 He gave a humorless laugh.  "I won't be here tomorrow, 
girlie.  I need to be far away, before they find that 
the gypsies have killed their vicar."

 "But..." She stared at him.  "You only shot him to 
save me.  He was going to kill me, as well as... the 
other thing." 

 "You and I know that."  He shrugged.  "Who's going to 
believe us, though?"

 "They'll believe me.  I'll swear on the Bible..."

 "They won't believe you.  Oh, they won't say you're 
lying, just that the shock of it confused you.  They'll 
feel sorry for you, and they'll hang me."

 Lucy began to cry.  "I'll never see you again," she 
sobbed.  "I can't bear that."

 He gazed at her somberly.  "Nor can I," he said, "and 
I'm that far from saying, I'll stay, and let them hang 
me.  But...  I'd die gladly to save you; but no-one, 
not even you, is worth being hanged for, when there's 
nothing to show.  We'll still be apart, if I'm dead."

 Lucy sniffed back her tears.  "No, you mustn't," she 
said decisively.  "I don't want you to die."  She 
looked up at him abruptly, as an idea struck her.  
"Take me with you," she said.  "I'll travel with you, 
and we'll be together all the time.  Please?"

 Joseph stared at her.  "But...  What about your home?"
 She shrugged.  "I'll be glad to get away from it.  My 
grandparents won't miss me: they're always telling me 
how I'm such a nuisance, and they only took me on out 
of duty.  I'd rather be with you.  Please?"

 He hesitated a moment; then, drawing her face up to 
his, he kissed her deeply.  "We'll need to get going 
right away," he said.  "You'd better stay inside, till 
we're clear of the district."

 Later, still lying languorously in the bed, Lucy felt 
the rhythm of wheels turning and wagon swaying forming 
a song in her head.  The old song the village girls 
often skipped to.

  My mother said I never should
  Play with the gypsies in the wood.
  If I did, she would say,
  "Naughty girl to disobey."

Lucy was naughty, deliciously naughty, and she didn't 
care.  There was one gypsy, walking outside by the 
horse's head; she fully intended to play with, in ways 
she'd never dreamt of before today.  It had only just 
started...

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The archive does not condone child abuse, we also do
not censor authors. Anyone acting out such scenarios
in real life can look forward to many unproductive
years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in
their local penitentiary.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 12