The appetite was huge in me. I came into the hall looking both ways. For prey. Mother! But her room proved empty. So did Gunilla's. As I stood at the window panting, I saw Annie cross the back lawn to her apartment over the garage. Annie, then! I remembered what Gunilla had said about how she became helpless if you talked obscenely. I remembered the scene with Father.
I ran down the stairs and across to the garage. The shut door at the bottom of her stairs sobered me. After all, this wasn't a girl like Gunilla or Louise. This was a woman. I suddenly realized I was still a kid to her. Besides, I'd never even spoken to her. You can't just go up to a grown woman and say you want to get fucked. Especially if you're only fourteen.
Bu I had to have it! And I suddenly very much wanted it to be Annie. Every morning at breakfast she was so proper, so prim. Yet the peasant soul of her obviously wanted to be plowed. The peasant in her required being used. As Father has used her. Not asking, telling her. And her loving it. She was born to serve men. To serve me! To serve this lion raging in me.
I considered the bell. If I rang, she'd stick her head out the window and ask what I wanted. What could I say? That I'd come to get laid? Impossible. I tried the door. It was open. I went up the steps and opened the door at the top. I was in her living room. The servant-quarter quality of it drove something in me wild. Here it was my right to forage. Not by asking permission, but because of some privilege my blood knew.
The room was completely bourgeois. The middle-class furniture, the sentimental landscapes on the wall, the pair of cheap plaster Chinese dancers, the tinted photographs of her parents.
Annie was facing away from me, lifting the maid's cap from her head. I was struck by how she wasn't the usual peasant. Not big-boned and ruddy. Her arms were slender and her ass was small and trim. No, the provincial quality here was not of the barnyard, but of the village. She was like a merchant's wife whose respectable black clothes somehow always manage to make you conscious of her body. And the flesh had the whiteness of nudity. Not the aristocratic, healthy whiteness of Mother, but the vaguely erotic white of flesh that never saw the sun. Flesh that showed itself clandestinely in locked rooms at night. It made me think of schoolgirl whores and shopgirl mistresses. I must force that pretense of propriety to confess its hidden lust.
She turned and saw me. It startled her. She gasped.
“Where did you… what are you doing here?” There was an edge to her voice.
“I thought I'd visit you, Annie.”
She frowned: “What do you want, Master Lars?” There was a hint of anger. My confidence vanished. I was scared. But there was still the immense desire to violate her in that prissy, bourgeois room. And something in me was challenged by her tone. Something wanted to say: “Shut up slut, and do what your betters tell you!”
“What do you want?” she repeated impatiently.
I remembered what Gunilla had said.
“Cunt.”
“What?”
“Cunt's what I want, Annie.”
“Why you filthy little boy. I'm going to tell your mother what you said and she'll wash your mouth out with soap. And your father will whip you within an inch of your life.” She was really mad. And I was terrified. What a mess. Gunilla was wrong. Or had she played a trick on me? Oh my God!
But I had to go on. Something in me refused to Jet her be so proper and indignant.
“Yes, Annie, I got to thinking about you. I decided you must have a really juicy pussy, so I thought I'd just come over and play with it.”
She was furious! Her face was red with anger. “I should slap your face,” she said. “You filthy-mouthed brat. A nasty child like you thinking you can talk to a respectable woman that way. It's vile.” There was nothing left in me now but terror for what I had gotten into. I wanted to run. “And do you intend,” she continued, “to speak of my breasts also? Or maybe you call them tits like other vulgar gutter types?” With a flicker of hope I saw her hands come up slowly to cup her breasts as she spoke-and squeeze them a little! Maybe there was a way out, by pushing forward!
“Oh, yes, Annie. I always call them tits when I think of you. At breakfast I always think about licking Annie's tits, never her breasts.” She sucked in her breath and her eyes widened.
“Why… why what do you think you're saying? Master Lars, you must not talk to me like that. Please.” Her tone was hanging almost invisibly. “Remember you're only a child. A little boy shouldn't speak to a woman about her… about her…”
“Pussy. Is that the word you're searching for, Annie? But you know it's different with a master and a servant. You know that it's right for a master to speak of his servant's pussy if he wants to-whatever his age. You know that in your soul, don't you Annie? Your soul is a servant's soul, and it does what its master commands.”
Annie stood there bewildered, staring at me. I went over and sat in a chair-remembering Father. She kept turning to face me like a sunflower. It was marvelous to see her standing in that proper, Protestant room, dressed in her modest black Servant's dress, holding her breasts and staring at me helplessly.
“But you're only a baby of fourteen,” she pleaded. “You mustn't expect…”
“Oh, but I do, Annie. I expect you to show me your big luscious tits and your hairy cunt and everything. I expect to suck your fat nipples and stick my fingers in your wet cunt- into your ass! You've never had a little boy's cock in your mouth, Annie; and you want, it. I expect to fuck you until I'm satisfied. I expect to use you in whatever way pleases me.”
“O, Master Lars,” she moaned, “please! You mustn't…” She was pleading now. There was no question of my power.
“But I must, Annie. And I will! Now I think we'll begin by you turning around slowly so I can see what I'm getting.”
“Please…”
“Turn, Annie!”
She turned, begging me to stop. She turned until she was facing me again, still holding her breasts. Her eyes were wide and vacant now. Her hands went to the neck of her dress and began unbuttoning.
“I have to show myself to you, don't I, Master Lars?”
“Why, Annie, you're suggesting things for me to require. You want me to force you to take off your clothes, don't you?”
“I have to take off my clothes, don't I? You're forcing me to show you my tits, aren't you? I must show you my pussy right out here in the light because you demand it…” She was talking to herself. Her face was dazed. She let her dress slide to the floor. She was wearing a lacy white slip. “You want me to pull my slip down because it's more obscene that way, don't you?” She pulled down the straps and slid her arms out so the slip fell to her waist. I was startled to see that her brassiere was made so that her nipples stuck out red and bare through two holes.
“Why, Annie, what a whore's brassiere you're wearing.”
“Yes. Your father requires it.”
“Father?”
“Yes, he uses me now. Almost every day he uses me, and he says he likes to know when I'm serving dinner that I'm dressed like a whore on the other side of that dress.”
She was pulling at the nipples, teasing them. She pulled the slip down over her hips-with some difficulty. Her pants weren't like the tight ones I'd seen, but were a little like shorts, all lacy and expensive-looking.
“You wouldn't let me stop now, would you? I've got to show you everything I suppose?” She was like someone walking in their sleep.
“Yes, Annie, and do everything.”
“Everything!” She carefully reached inside the brassiere and lifted her breasts out so that they spilled over. They were different. They were very soft despite their firmness, and they looked like they were blanched by electric lights. They were totally sexual. The red nipples Were even more startling against their pallor. As she leaned forward to lower her pants, the breasts swung out huge. She stood up for me to look at her cunt. It was a forest of curling black hair. She'd dyed it! A great mane of it against her pale flesh. And white garter belt.
“You want me to keep the stockings on, don't you, so I'll look even more a whore?” She was stroking the hair on her cunt lovingly. “Probably you want to watch me play with myself like your father does, don't you?” She sat on the couch opposite me, lifting her legs until her heels were on the edge. She opened her legs wide and began working her fingers inside the hair. She was stroking her body with the other hand, milking at her breasts and rolling the nipples between her thumb and finger. The right hand had two fingers into her hole and was stroking in and out. I could see the glistening. Then three fingers. This stretched her so that I could see the beautiful red flesh shining amid the fur. She had excited herself to the point where her mouth was open and her talk a jumble. I noticed my new camera lying on the table beside me.
“Is this my camera, Annie?”
“Yes, your mother had me take it into town to get it loaded with film for you.”
“And there is film in it now?”
“Yes.” She wasn't really paying attention. Her eyes were half closed, and the fingers were fucking her faster and faster.
“Well, then, I think we might just take some pictures of you.” I picked up the camera.
“What?” She was startled, though the fingers continued softly to caress her. “Take pictures of me? Like this? None of them ever took pictures!”
“None of whom, Annie?”
“Well… just them.”
“Well, Annie,” I said in a firm voice. “Well, my other masters.”
“Then others have used you?”
“…Oh, yes. They always use me. The last master used to bring his friends home to have parties-and I was the entertainment. They used to take turns. His wife walked in one day unexpected when they were all at me at once.”
“And you like that?”
“Yes! Yes! I even liked getting caught. Having that lady seeing them doing those things to me. I'm really a whore, and I deserved it when they punished me.”
“Punished you?”
“Yes, for being so bad. I'd crawl to one of them and kneel there sucking his cock and the others would whip me as I sucked for being so bad.”
“But you also liked it. Not just because you were bad?”
“Yes! I love it! My father used to spank me when I was little. I could feel him getting excited as he hit me. I could feel it rising hard against me as I lay in his lap. The minute he pulled down my pants and got a look he'd get hard. And after his eyes would be all bright and shiny. I loved it! I loved my father so much. I used to sneak to their door when they were making love and listen. After a while she'd begin calling his name and sobbing, 'Come! Come! Come' and he'd start shouting and say he was in heaven. All the time when I would go to church I'd think they said: 'Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come.' I thought hallowed meant to holler his name like Mother when she got wild. And that 'Thy Kingdom' was a form of address like 'Your Grace,' or 'Your Worship.' I thought they were praying for my father to come. It made church a sexual place for me. And all my life I have gone to confession and told obscene accounts of my sins to the younger priests. Some of them become my fans. I can hear them masturbating in their side of the confessional. Sometimes they get brave enough to make my penance coming to see them after the church closes. Sometimes they fuck me on the altar. One used to wet the holy wafers in my cunt and eat them. Often we pray aloud while they fuck me.”
I was taking pictures as fast as I could wind the camera. I noticed her eyes were fixed on a large crucifix over the radio. I handed it to her. She carefully slid it into her cunt and began working it in and out. I got down on my knees with the camera to get a better view.
“But I'm afraid to be photographed; Master Lars. What if someone saw them? Why do you want pictures now that you know you can have me when you want?”
“Because it's different, Annie. Because it makes it possible to experience you more in a different way. Now I'm so excited that all you do seems natural; but some evening when Louise is playing the piano, I'll take out these pictures and know how completely wild you are. I will be able to see the beauty of you in a different way. I can fix it. Isolate it. It's like being able to open my wallet and have the thunder of you there!”
“I suppose I don't have any choice?”
“None.”
“I love that. Here. Photograph me.” She took out the crucifix, licked the wet Christ clean and put it aside. Then she opened her cunt with her fingers so I could see everything. Then she took one pose after another.
She was getting more and more excited as I continued photographing. Finally she was so wild she crawled to me and began begging to be fucked. Over and over. Finally she timidly reached up, opened my fly and let my rigid cock out. A long shudder went over her.
“Please let me suck it,” she said. “I've never had a little boy's cock. It looks so clean and smooth. And look how it's dripping. It smells so sweet. Please, Master Lars.”
I looked down, relishing everything. I looked down marveling at this grown woman kneeling before me with her eyes shining, begging to suck me. I wrapped my fingers in her hair and drew her face forward. She delicately licked the liquid. Then she took just the tip of it in her lips. Sucking. I drove it deep into her mouth, to her throat. This excited her almost to hysteria and she began sucking wildly as I fucked in and out. I watched her breasts bob around. Me, a boy of fourteen with this grown woman my slave to command. To anything! Suddenly she tore herself away.
“Beat me now,” she begged. She crawled to the table and got some pussy willows. She threw herself across a hassock so her white smooth ass was in the air and begged me to whip her. I took the bundle of pussy willows and stood hesitating. “Please,” she moaned. “It will make me your complete absolute slave. You can use me like your father, or like Gunilla does. You can ring for me in the middle of the night if you want service. Or you can have me bring your breakfast in bed and I'll have marmelade on my nipples. Or you can lend me to your little school friends. You can tell them if they come home with you, they can use your slave. You can show them the pictures. I'll be yours forever. But please beat me.”
I brought the willows down on her tentatively. She shivered with pleasure.
“Harder!”
I noticed the gray buds kept it from doing damage. I hit her harder. And again. And again. She loved it. She lifted her hips until I was whipping directly on her cunt. She rolled over so I could whip her breasts. She was in ecstasy.
“Now, now, fuck me,” she pleaded. “Oh, fuck me, Master Lars!”
I knelt over her. At that moment I heard my mother's voice calling: “Lars? Lars, where are you?”
I saw Annie's stomach heaving in and out. Her whole body was in a spasm.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, please, oh please.”
And Mother's voice was calling, “Lars! Lars!”
I got Annie's picture of her father and made her look at it. “Yes, yes, fuck me while he watches what a whore I am. O, Master, please let me have it.”
I took her nipples and squeezed hard. She bucked, her eyes rolled. I squeezed again. She reared, loving it. She kept begging. And Mother kept calling, I had to go. I looked down at Annie's arched, sweating, begging body. She was holding her cunt open for me. I drove in as violently as I could. Her body went into convulsions. Her cunt squeezed and trembled. She gave a scream of pure rapture, arched in the air shuddering and shuddering.
“Lars, where are you?”
I pulled out. She collapsed sobbing with joy. Hugging the picture to her wet breasts. I fixed my pants and hurried down the steps. I could hear Annie saying over and over: “Master Lars' whore. Forever, I'm Master Lars' whore.”