The Belvedere.

'Mother! Mother?' 'Too late, my love!'

Before she knew what he was doing, he had leaned in, put his arms around her and kissed her upon her breasts. She stiffened and let out a small cry of surprise, subconsciously appealing to her mother.

Mother! Mother!

’There is no point appealing to me, my dear. You got here by yourself and will have to live with the consequences. I warned you.’

He must have heard her gasp as well as feel her straighten up as he did that with her legs pressing at his side, but he continued to do it. Then he kissed her under each breast as he gently lifted each one. His warm hands fell to either side of her, onto her thighs, and she said nothing. She was too surprised to say anything.

After that, he looked up into her face. He had an intense look in his eyes asking something. There was a question; a pleading there, but he said nothing. He leaned in and kissed her under her ear and then into her neck. There was nothing she could do to stop him, but she did not object. It felt interesting. Her lips would be next. It seemed to be a natural progression for him. She would not object if he did that, either.

Should I fight hm away, Mama?

’Things have gone too far for that, my love. They went too far the moment he began to undress you and you did not stop him. Better to relax. You wanted to see your life changed and I would say that it is about to change. You have gone beyond being able to refuse him. Better prepare yourself. The next step is likely to be eye-opening, as well as likely to open another, tender and virginal part of your body in a more painful and certain way.’

No. He returned to her breasts, kissing them again but with more passion this time and taking her n****e between his lips to torment it with his tongue, and then kissed her upon her naval, and then down, as he focused upon her down there once more. Speech had deserted her with what he was doing. The ability to resist and fight him away was not there. She was frozen by the shock of it. But it was more than that. She wanted to see what more he would do, and how he would do it.

He moved even closer to her. This must be a dream, or a nightmare, but it did not feel like a nightmare. She felt his upper arms move under the back of her legs, almost pushing her back as he lifted her feet off the floor. He was slow and deliberate about it. He moved even closer and she could feel the faint stubble on his cheeks, rasping gently between her thighs as he pushed closer into her.

She could feel what he was doing, and where he was doing it, but did not understand why he was doing it.

He took her by surprise again, even though he was doing everything with slow deliberation. She had to use her hands to stop herself falling backward. She had no choice but to allow her legs to be moved as he needed and leaned back on her hands as he moved closer into her. He was doing something else now with her down there; something even more shocking.

She watched, and then felt mounting confusion as he began to nuzzle into her and began to kiss her upon and within her labia, even moving her inner labia apart by his actions.

He more than kissed. He was doing so much more; nuzzling, kissing, sucking. Even licking along her. She could not imagine that any man would want to kiss her there or do any of what he was doing to her with his lips and his tongue, yet he was. His hands were upon her breasts at the same time, gently kneading them as she supported herself, leaning back even more, her legs resting upon his shoulders, saying nothing to complain.

This could not be happening to her, but it was, and it was not at all hurtful but was pleasurable. What rebellious thoughts! What admissions!

But not a proper kiss, and surely not there!

It was a kiss. Yes. But nothing like the others. She gasped, and felt herself pulled closer into him, forcing her to raise her legs higher with him between them. She was not sure what he was doing, or why he was doing it. He must be able to feel her go tense at first in her surprise, but then begin to relax.

She did not understand how she could relax so well with what he was daring to do to her. And no doubt he would follow that with even worse.

She answered her own question about why he was doing this to her: because this was her punishment for being a rebellious daughter. It was what she deserved. But there was more to it than that.

’I can do nothing for you, my dear. You may as well lie back and let it go where it will for you. You cannot fight him now. We shall both pray that he is a gentleman after, though I fear he has already demonstrated that he is not—few of them are at this stage—so you can expect even worse, shortly. They all lose themselves when they encounter what you are offering him so blatantly and openly, and without objection or resistance of any kind.’

Harriet could feel his nose, and then his lips pushing into her. This was the price she would be made to pay for being the kind of daughter she had been.

He stayed there for some minutes, doing nothing other than to mouth at her in some way, if that was what he was doing. She could feel his tongue, touching, exploring along her, and doing strange things in a sensitive place, making her gasp again and flinch under the gentle onslaught. She let out a low cry, as something else happened, feeling his tongue starting into her, startling her.

Not there, surely not there?

She could do nothing about it but did not want to change anything. Her life as she had known it, had already ended the moment he had undressed her. If this was what fate had decreed for her she should not fight it.

Her father would argue that this was her reward for ignoring him, if he ever learned of it. There would be no recovery from this, and she had gone beyond the ability to fight this man off, had she been so inclined. And now this.

She had no choice but to sit back and accept what he was doing, feeling breathless at what he was doing in the hair, and what she was feeling. This was not what she had envisaged when she had heard of some poor woman being violently seduced. This was not violent, it was gentle and pleasant.

She lay still and said nothing to him by way of objection at what he was doing to her. She should be screaming and pulling his hair to haul him off her, and then kicking him or biting and scratching, as she had been told she must do.

She began to do that. She took one hand from holding herself from falling back and rather than doing what she knew she should do, to push him away, she placed it upon the back of his wet head.

Instead of pushing him away from her and letting him know that he was going much too far and that what he was doing was wrong, she was holding him there, pulling him into her and helping him as though giving him unspoken permission to continue.

Her breath had been taken away at the shock of what he was daring to do. He was being gentle in everything he did. She realized that her hand was holding his head where it was, against her, even pulling him into her there, but she did not remove it. Everything he was doing felt exciting to her, and her holding him there seemed to enhance that feeling. She did not want it to stop. She responded and began to push into him as she groaned and rotated her hips to augment the feeling of it for her and to open herself up to him.

An inner part of her knew that this was wrong, and that she would live to regret this.

She woke up to what he was doing, and her lack of protest, and tried to put her legs down and to close them but couldn’t. Not with him where he was, and with her legs resting upon his shoulders. Nor did she want to.

Oh, sir. You must not. Please.

But the words did not come out. She had no right to object. She had considered an even worse ending for herself, before hunger and the weather had changed her mind.

She would not fight him away. It was an easy decision to make. She was already compromised the moment he had undressed her, so she would not fight it.

She was behaving like a w***e, like one of those women that wandered the docks; a woman of easy virtue, prepared to sell her body to one, or any number of men in succession, but she had asked for it. He stayed there for some minutes, breathing hard into her, licking, kissing, and continuing again, once he had caught his breath, pulling her ever closer into him. She was sobbing now, but it was not from shock or fear, but because of a pleasurable feeling that suffused her entire body, dominating her thoughts and feelings. So this was what a man, this man, could do for her.

This was how the devil would present himself to a young woman as he swept her off her feet, and before he revealed his true self to her. The preacher in church had told her that, and what temptations awaited every young woman not protective of virtue and of herself.

There were also those other, more graphic teachings behind the scenes, warning girls of what awaited them if they became careless of their reputations and pointing to the examples of other young women who had strayed, fallen, and had paid the price. They had been damaged beyond repair; left with child and unmarried. They littered the margins of society. But there were others who had been rescued by that supposedly damaging change. If this was to be her fate, it did not seem so bad. They had misled her and everyone else.

Her mind did not dwell upon that. She tried to think about other things than what was happening to her, making her breathless. She did not understand what had turned her footsteps around and brought her back here to face this. Perhaps life had decided that she would be given another chance to mess it up. But you do not tempt the devil with the present of your soul, and then expect to avoid him after that. The depths of the deepest inferno would get her once the devil had finished what he was now doing to her. She did not understand why there was no torment, and no pain that she had been taught would always be there when a woman consorted with and tempted the devil.

The pain would come later.