The Butler Did It

Women didn't shave their pubic hair then, nor even keep it trim because there was never an occasion when her bare hips would be seen in public, and good girls only had sexual relations under covers and with the lights off. So when his exploring fingers worked through my thick patch of matted, wiry curls, wedging into my tight, warm orifice, I felt him emit a healthy sigh of accomplishment just as the first powerful spasm washed over me and I shrieked with delight. He seemed to gain confidence, and lowered his mouth to my cunt lips.

My body shook, enthralled in it's very first moment of semi-romantic physical foreplay and I just laid back and reveled in the stimulation of my genital region by fingers other than my own. Then I felt his tongue perform the sensual dance on my labia that reminded me of those private lessons with my girlfriends. He wasn't quite as good, and he didn't last nearly as long, but for me it was magical. The pointed tip of his tongue jabbed at my tender opening and the flat ridges slathered a sloppy, warm massage up and down my slit. Someone apparently had taught him something. He worked his tongue in and out like a slippery piston, fast and hard. And then he painted the outer lips with his juicy saliva and my hungry, semi-virginal quim was in ecstasy. As the seismic fluttering racked my inexperienced torso; my legs stiffened and my toes curled, my white-knuckled grip tugged at the sheets, and the wailing and guttural grunting that split the humid air like a knife, surprised us both. My insides let loose, nearly drowning him. His wild-eyed expression popped-up from between my legs and I ashamedly smiled at him and then quickly turned my head. ********

When I began to recover my senses and my teary eyes cleared, I could discern my husband's toothy grin lighting up his round, red face. His body was visibly shaking and dripping sheets of sweat. And his boyish happiness came in anticipation of what he hoped would be next. As our respirations returned to normal he sheepishly asked if I were satisfied, and if I was ready for more. My brow arched slightly and I was a bit confused. No one had ever asked my consent or bothered to see if I enjoyed it. I was still a little rattled and my dry throat could only muster halting croaks. I simply nodded my reply and allowed my sticky, slickened legs to be spread slightly as he clambered between my thighs. From this minute, my life turned for the worst.

Richard was breathing haltingly, he sounded like an old steam locomotive. The sweat poured from his round, hairy body. He lifted both of my legs and wrapped them around his flabby waist as he shimmied on his knees, closer to my tightly-stretched snatch. Then he reached for my hand and brought it to his damp, coarse-haired pelvic area. That's when things deteriorated. In the darkened room, still shielded by a sheet, I thought he placed one of his wet, wrinkly fingers in my jittery palm. I assumed that he wanted me to somehow congratulate him for the way he manipulated my orgasm. I squeezed the eely thing and let it drop, he instantly put it back, so I held on to it.

My previous "lovers" had always prefaced their intercourse with searching, stretching attempts at foreplay involving a couple of fingers, to atleast loosen my delicate walls or to stimulate the slippery fluids that would ease their entrance and make matters simple, if not exactly enjoyable. And though I had never as yet actually seen a stiffened, impetuous erection as it was plowing it's rough arc in and out of my constricted vagina, I knew from certain hands-on experience that they were considerably larger than the thin, squat appendage wiggling between my finger tips.

The crazy thing was that he had just fingered me to an intense orgasm, and yet he wanted me to rub his slinky little digit again. It was good for me, so I wanted to return the favor. My thumb and finger timidly stroked his bony "finger." I warily imagined that it would be covered in gloop, I was surprised. He appeared content, almost aroused, so I continued. I felt his right hand pawing at my breast while his tongue hungrily licked and circled my firm nipple. His left hand raked through my tangled mop of chestnut locks as he buried his face against my neck. His whiskers grated on my cheek as he grunted and mumbled some obscene phrases and lewd commands. All the while, his hips pounded against my pelvis and he instructed me to open my vaginal lips with my own hands and guide his approaching member into my wet, snug hole.

It was at this point that I made my startling, indecent discovery. I had never been asked, or told, to aid so wantonly in my own subjugation, and I wondered why I should be so charged, with his own hand already down there. It was then that I did the simple math, and noticed that both of his hands were in plain sight, above my waist! The shocking realization and confusing conclusion was that the skinny, wriggling object that I wrangled between the thumb and first finger of my moistened hand was my husband's three-inch long, noodle-like cock.

I sat up quickly in bed and dislodged him from my torso as I struggled with the sheets. I honestly had no intention of causing Richard any embarrassment; and I was willing to go ahead with my wifely duties, as it was the celebration of our marriage, and he had made me feel so good, but I just needed to see what it was that was so intent on entering me. I turned on the light.

While I had only seen one "angry" before, I had never even thought about a man's penis being so small. It surprised me and unfortunately the odd sight of a miniature cock made me nervously giggle hysterically. Here was a grown man, 200 pounds and enveloped in sweaty, matted grey-black fur. And peeking from a shaggy lair between his thick thighs, was three inches of swiftly-deflating pink flesh that I was not expecting to see. Like finding that garden gnomes are real.

Something about the absurdity of this situation caused me to convulse in laughter. I was wholey inexperienced. He didn't prepare me at all. He was struggling and in his own stubborn way, silently asking for my help. I had learned that sex was shameful, and something done quick and in darkness. And the only thing that I could ever take from the filthy act was that a large, brutal, hard-on would poke at me once or twice and then slam into me, lodging in my cunt and then filling my insides with a syrupy, milky fluid. Then I would be free to leave.

I realized in a second my awful error, and when I saw the shattered look on Richard's jowly face, his mood quickly darkened. I chokingly halted my alarming, involuntary titters, but the unfortunate and humiliating anguish had been delivered. And now he was sending it back on me. In a startling maneuver remarkable for his spryness and strength, he flipped me on my belly with one hand while he swatted the lamp from the bedstand. The room instantly blackened as I heard the glass break. Then my tear-streaked face was forced into the plush pillows with his strong hand pressing down on the back of my neck. I feared that he meant to suffocate me. My sobbing increased. It only got worse.

He pried my legs apart and held them in a vice-like grip while I struggled. He wedged his torso between my thighs and was muttering some angry, nasty names barely under his breath. His strong hands violently yanked my hips over my knees and slapped my ass hard, a few times. His hand swiped along the wet path from my butt to my cunt for what I knew now, would be the entrance of his thin cock into my wet opening, from behind. It got worse.

My head- disheveled hair and tear- stained cheeks- was pressed against the mattress. I could only watch out of the corner of my eye, though I didn't want to see what came next. My squirming ass was propped-up and turning black and blue from his rough spankings. He was spreading the viscous fluids still spilling from my poor pussy all around my sore ass, and I felt his probing finger circling my tight, brown hole. I let out a defeated whimper.

What he intended, I soon discovered, was something I had never imagined, nor even knew existed. In sheer terror, I was thrashing and scrambling as best that I could as I understood it was forcible sodomy that he had in mind. My muffled screams and pleadings only tended to heighten his resolve and he began to shout filthy, demeaning phrases at me while he spitefully slapped at my wriggling ass and tugged at my knotted raven mane. My torso was shivering from fright and a cold, damp tremor seized control of me. Richard's heavy, hairy body was soaked and his labored breathing took an ugly turn. His grunts were punctuated with vile, lewd epithets as he treated me so rough. "How's this, you little bitch?" He hissed at me as his meaty hand cracked-down on my raw butt. "You dare to laugh at me, you slutty tramp!" His vehemence intensified.

I was truly growing scared as I felt the pressure build. I knew that I hurt him with my indelicate laughter, but I don't know what brought-on this rage. My wailing sobs only spurred him on, "I found you, you little whore, raised you into my world... and this is how you act, how I'm repaid? I'll fuck'n show you!" I was battling and clawing at the sheets, looking and hoping for a way out. And then he did something that I would never have believed of anyone, let alone my charming, refined husband. At the end of another graceless tirade referring to my looks and breeding, telling me of my impending fate, I heard him make an obnoxious noise. From deep in his throat, came a heavy, hocking, gagging grunt and my husband spit on my tender backside.

I heard and felt a cold, gloppy squirt of saliva land on my blistered bottom and the fight immediately drained out of me. A second glob of his insulting expectoration followed with a harsh splat. I froze. I laid still, thoroughly defeated and my mind a blur at why he would be defiling me in this disgusting manner. I was much too naïve and unthinking to distinguish the true nature of this new lubrication, as his rough controlling finger delved into my constricted back passage.

For the second time in my life, but the first with a grown man, I felt the slow, steady intrusion of my anal cavity by a determined digit. But this was not the tender, unsure approach of a school girl. His jabbing, lubed finger was boring a path into my rectum and a harsh pumping began. The entire degrading sequence of this Barbaric conquest took me by surprise. And I couldn't understand the satisfaction he received from this, when he could just have fucked me. He seemed thrilled and exhilarated by my surrender and his hand twisted and pulled my straggly black mane with a fervor, while smacking a steady beat on my rump. As if a fog was lifting in my brain, I did the simple math once more. One hand in my hair, one hand slapping my ass, uhoh...

To my shock and disgust, the terrible truth about what was truly being forced on my supple, young body, (literally, right behind my back,) set in. His cock was in my ass! His fat right hand held my cheek pressed to the sheets, now soggy with my tears and slobber. His pie-plate sized left hand clamped down on my back, holding me steady despite my last ounce of renewed defiance. I tried to reason with him, or plead for forgiveness or even to remind him that I was his new young bride, all to no avail. I even reluctantly offered to kiss and suck his cock. But by then, his hackles were up and my cause was lost.

He continued to taunt me with his vile epithets. And whatever semblance of love that crawled into bed with us, was now replaced by vengeful, lusty deviance. "Take it, you fuck'n slut. You're just like all of the other whores. You lie to me. I'll teach you. I'm going to slam my cock in your dirty little ass. How's that feel? You love it, don't you, you little cunt?" The contempt of feeling in his bitter sniping combined with the fury in which he drove his needle-cock into me, took my fight away.

I was bewildered at what initiated this rage. But thinking back on things, the curtain of mysteries is revealed. I wouldn't be surprised if that monkey-suited monster had been spying on us from some hidden corridor inside the old paneled walls like some lecherous voyeur. My careless giggling had cut Richard deeply, what I didn't know was that Sir Harry had slowly poisoned his mind against me by spreading rumors from the minute he got wind of our engagement. He implied to Richard that I was a gold-digging tart, a "Black Widow," an upstart, and worse of all to a Southern gentleman of good breeding, that I was a Yankee carpet-bagger.

I resigned to lay limp and quiet, and pray that like every other time, it would end quickly and I wouldn't be hurt too bad. Richard continued to thrust into me but his crude comments eventually died down. It's true that his cock wasn't very robust, but with 200 angry pounds behind it, I knew it was in there. His respirations were louder and more hoarse and his violent energy ebbed. My thoughts were my own. I reasoned that atleast if I had to be anally assaulted, his tiny, thin cock actually did me no more damage than a few of my classmates' fingers had, back in the shower room. It was his powerful pumping and uncouth language that kept reminding me that something indecent and lewd was being perpetrated on my virginal rear end.

To keep my sanity during this repugnant ordeal, I needed to block-out any image of the hairy, angry man getting his jollies by sodomizing me. I was able to concentrate on the unusual sensation of a fleshy, warm, "right-sized" appendage wedging open my bum-hole and delivering a not quite unpleasant stimulation to my entire pubic region. I had to remind myself again not to laugh or even smirk at this odd discovery. He didn't last long, (I guess this five minute-thing is really a good idea.) As the concussive jolts to my system calmed, I grew accustomed to the erotic arousal, and allowed my mind to disengage from his intent and only react to the snug, moist piston-action. I noticed that my vagina was convulsing and boiling-up the makings of a tremendous orgasm.

With the last of Richard's straining exertions, I felt a trickle of warm, wet liquid in my lower colon that ignited a flood of hot thick cream from my sodden snatch. A spasm started deep in my gut and built -up steam, it soon erupted from my loins triggering a house-rocking climax to this debauchery. My husband coughed-up an eerie groan and his sweaty, gnarled body rolled off of me and drooped on our marital bed, (how sweet!) I promptly forgot about him and slipped my timid fingers under my hips and eased them on to the swollen nub of my damp clit, tickling the pouty button until the crest of my eruption crashed over me. Two slippery fingers teased and pinched the plump protrusion and my hips grinded against the rumpled sheets. My bruised and exhausted butt-cheeks picked-up the slack, and without my husband's obscene impetus, drove repeatedly into the dank mattress as if fucking a phantom. I silently exalted in the aftermath of a fantastic climax.

After a few minutes of twitching and the numbness of my crushed anatomy feeling the warm blood flow again, my tired sore body regained strength. I felt a bit guilty for experiencing such a thunderous orgasm. Especially because my pleasure was not on my husband's mind. Hey, fuck him! But for now I saw that I was a sloppy, sticky, sweaty mess. And not hearing anymore from Richard, and not restrained any longer by his heavy arms, I trundled-off to a warm soothing shower and contemplated our short-term sleeping arrangements.

When I waddled out from the bathroom, my intention was to "demand" that Richard sleep in another room. But in repeated attempts to roust him, the frightening notion came to me that he'd had a massive heart attack and was stone dead.

I couldn't budge him, I couldn't move him and my limited experience with law told me I shouldn't alter anything. In my confusion, I could only scream for help. As if listening at the door or something, Sir Harry appeared, fully attired and calmly assessed the situation. "Well, well," he slyly sneered. "Atleast the old guy died in the saddle."

I was completely flummoxed and in my innocence (or stupidity,) I replied, "No, we weren't riding horses, he was... er, I mean..." I need not have tried. His evil smile told me everything while he relayed the story to the ambulance service.

We sat in the kitchen, I downed coffee and aspirins as the body was removed from the estate for the last time. Loveable Harry seemed to be looking right through me. Finally, as the last stranger drove off, I heard Harry say, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."

The end.

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