Farewell My Innocent by Lizbeth Dusseau
After whirlwind courtship, the sweetly innocent southern belle, Stacia Beaureguard, marries her Yankee 'wolf', Preston Wilkes-a roguish and demanding lover who revels in sexual perversion. Swept away to her husband's New England home, he quickly introduces his unsuspecting wife to his shocking sexual demands. At the same time, his shrewish Aunt Lettie points a pious finger at the shocked Stacia, accusing her of being a slut. Stacia's is further dazed, when pushed into a brief moment of infidelity at her wedding reception, she earns a humiliating birching before a small gathering of Preston's friends.
When the wartime 1940's takes Preston away for Army duty, he leaves Stacia in the hands of his slutty sister, Lucy, who takes Stacia to a hedonistic house party and teaches her the pleasures of Fem/fem sexuality, dildos and anal penetration. After a lengthy furlough where Preston's sexual desires for Stacia become clearer, he gives his wife to his friend, Harrison, a partner in his deviant sexual schemes. Harrison takes the bewildered young bride deeper into sexual excess, initiating her into a society of submissive wives who serve their husbands-and their husbands' friends-on demand. Their sexual whims are carried out in cellars, on crude punishment devices, at fancy auction balls, in public and in private. Stacia surrenders without understanding why, as this world of sexual mystery and contradictions makes her its next victim in a shocking twist of fate.
“Raise your arms above your head,” he told me in a breathless, but insistent tone. My fingers were itchy, wanting, yet afraid of touching him—a man—anywhere private, or even anywhere at all. But now, he prevented me that choice, the privilege of getting beyond my apprehensions and living out the pictures that nightly played like motion pictures in my head.
He bared my breasts, kissing them with such fervency that he left hickeys on the undersides. He suckled hard, so I was shrieking in my muted voice, almost orgasmic without his laying a hand on my privates down below. Moving back to my lips, he nibbled his way to my navel and spent some time lapping that tiny fissure. My nether regions replied involuntarily, seducing him lower, rising and falling, undulating, begging. Compelled by forces I’d never felt before, I reached down to push his head lower, knowing nothing about oral sex, knowing only that I wanted his tongue deep between my thighs.
“No, Tacy,” he pushed my offending hand back, scolding, “if you don’t behave, I’ll have to tie them up.”
Ooo, my entire body jiggled nervously, happily, hearing him speak with such resolve. I gladly obeyed even though the urgent need in me was mushrooming like summer thunderclouds, and my lover, Preston Wilkes, was deliberately denying my body its climactic end.
“Please,” I begged him, as he hovered over my torso and teased my seeking pubis below with brutally soft caresses.
“Beg more, luscious one,” he snickered as he played me, and dove back in to kiss each nipple and draw it out until it popped from between his teeth.
I breathed in feeling sensation roll through me to the ends of my fingers. I grabbed for a railing above my head as my body began to thrash from side to side. Preston held me down, and finally submerged himself between my open thighs. My underwear torn away, his face went for the mound, parting the silky brown hair and opening the lips to my pulsating organ of pleasure. The tickle of his tongue made my spasms begin. My back arched as I held on to the rail feeling bound there, jerking, flailing my belly on air, Preston working the little crevice into such a state of frenzy that I hardly felt him rise up above me, expose his erection and plunge it with force into the virgin territory. I drowned my shriek of surprise with another rapid explosion, and then got fucked hard by a cock that hit my cervix and broadened my insides for what lay ahead—days, weeks, months into my future.
Did I love him? I vowed I had to since we’d just had sex, real sex, no fantasy. I would love him forever.
He lay next to me exhausted, panting and sweaty, as was I.
“You make a man work for it, Tacy Beaureguard,” he sighed big.
“How’s that?” I wondered.
He shook his head, but was unwilling to tell me more.
“Seems you make me work for it, and I can’t even touch you,” I complained.
“There are reasons for that,” he answered. “Desire feeds on anticipation and frustration. Your body already wants more,” he teasingly noted, as he ran a warm smooth hand along my naked belly and watched me shiver. I blushed, embarrassed again by forces I could not control. “I think I’ll bind you next time.”
“Oh, you think there will be a next time?” I was quietly piqued.
“Little lady, there will be many more times. Forever doesn’t begin to describe what we’ll have together.”
“Ooo, Preston Wilkes, I’d say you’re making rash statements, and that could get you in trouble.”
“Aren’t I supposed to honor your virtue by marrying you?”
Of course, he was. But I wasn’t certain if that’s what I wanted. I liked the thought of being in love and having sex whenever it suited me. But this romance was developing all too quickly. And what didn’t please me at all… he’d be running off to war in a few weeks, and I didn’t like being the girl left behind.
© Copyright Michael Berkowitz, www.michaelberkowitz.com