The Belvedere.

Another Surprise!

He stood up from her, and lay her down along the bench, with at least one blanket under her. He had laid her on her side, facing the fire with nothing shielding her from it. She no longer protested or tried to cover herself. He lay down behind her and held her again. He was warm against her back. He had also folded something under her head.

She felt him lift her upper leg and place himself between her legs so that his p***s, now grown again, extended along her vulva and in close contact with it, before letting her leg down again to trap him there tightly. His p***s, still big, had to go somewhere, and that seemed as good a place as any rather than to be sticking into her back, or side.

She watched him each time he got up to make up the fire, and then checked their clothing; rearranging it, and then came back to her to sit back into her at her middle, with his arm going over her. That part of him, his p***s, his c**k (she could use that different, and more personal term now, having touched and held it), did not frighten her so much. It was also smaller.

It was too late to be protective of herself now that he had seen and dried most of her, and after what they had done. He sat like that for some time, with neither of them saying anything, as they both held the blanket and savored the warmth. He touched her back. It was still cold, or so he said. She had understood that.

He lay down again behind her on the narrow marble seat, holding her close to him with his arm under her head. He reached down with that same arm over her shoulder to hold her breast as she lay upon his arm. Without him holding her, she could have rolled off. His other arm was over her, at her waist and touching her thigh, so that she had warmth on both sides; from him and from the fire. His hand, and then his forearm touched her in that hair between her legs as he moved to pull her back into him.

She was no longer afraid. Whatever would happen to her, would happen. It still seemed like a dream. She was the one who, this time, lifted her leg and brought his erect member into that space along her vulva once more, and despite what could happen with it again. It could no longer matter to her. One, or a hundred times, it would all be the same. The first time had done the damage.

After they had been there for some time; an hour or more, he got up from her and saw to the fire again. She watched him as before, and could see other things about him now that she was not so intimidated by that part of his. He had the build of one of those Greek gods in statue form—that she had often admired—except for that other thing, and was well muscled and in proportion, except (again) for his more obvious phallus (yes, that sounded more polite), though his testicles were not so different, tight up against his body.

When he returned, he sat her up as he spoke to her, and then moved to sit behind her with his legs outside of hers, pulling her back to lean into him as he cupped her breasts. He held her close, with them both facing the fire. His arms were around her and under her breasts, with his head tucked into her neck, looking over her shoulder. He moved his hands again to hold both of her breasts. He held them for a long time. She did not mind now. He kissed her on the neck several times. It felt comforting, rather than threatening.

Her legs were together until he encouraged her to separate them, to get full benefit from the fire, putting his hands between her legs, moving them apart for her as he caressed her there, moving his fingers along her vulva, and gently spreading the hair apart to do that, with his fingers gently caressing along her as he kissed her on her neck. He was warm on one side, the fire on the other. She relaxed and leaned back into him. She had heard how a man was always attentive in this way and to that place on a woman once he was given the slightest encouragement. And she had encouraged him earlier by not objecting. He kissed her on the neck again and spoke to her. She was in a dream and could recall nothing of what he asked or said as he talked to her all of the time.

She felt his hands lift her at the side of her legs. He lifted her so easily and sat her higher upon his body with her legs falling on either side of his, as he leaned further back to give her something warm and soft beneath, and behind her, to rest upon.

Now she had warmth under her legs rather than that colder marble. Her legs were apart, resting on either side of his. Something else had changed between them as he had done that. She could feel that. He was touching her again, between her legs. She looked down and noticed that his p***s—it had grown again—was now sticking up between her legs, still nestled along her vulva, as though she, and not him was sprouting that item. It was also tucked firmly into her there between her labia. He had opened her legs and parted the inner lips of her vulva to place it there again. It had been there several times now.

It seemed to belong there. What a strange thought.

There was nothing uncomfortable about it. She could feel it, hard and warm, and it seemed to be lying quite snugly where it was, once she made a small change to herself and moved a few annoying hairs out of the way. There was no discomfort, as she had heard often accompanied that item being between a woman’s legs the first time. Everything that she had feared; that every woman feared happening to her, seemed to be happening to her now, and there was nothing she could do about it, and he was not rough with her.

As she watched, sensing what was about to happen again. She heard his breathing change and felt it first, then saw it. He became harder and more insistent again, more agitated, and then she could feel him pushing behind her as he pulled her down onto him, and then the pulsing again as he gasped and moaned, and then went stiff beneath her as he let out a low cry, followed by another, and another, each time he stiffened and pushed. She saw more of that fluid pour from him again into her hair and her legs, and begin to run down into her hair between her legs, and down her vulva where he was. It never seemed to stop.

She smiled.

How could she smile? How often might that happen?

That had been twice now, and there had been no discomfort for her either time. Her fate was now surely in his hands. It was not too upsetting a thought. He had been intimate with her in some disturbing ways several times now, but he had not been unkind, and had not hurt her.

Everything after that seemed to be a dream. She was happy to be warm and did not care about anything other than that. He kissed her on the neck, not once, or even twice, but several times as he spoke in a kind and gentle voice to her, but she could not be sure what he said. He even moved a few strands of her hair back out of her face, but always came back to hold her breasts.

He asked if she were warm enough. She responded with a nod, or a gentle noise of assent, not sure what he had said, or asked. He still touched her and held her close to him, but that could not change while their clothes were still drying.

Then, she heard him offering her a drink of wine. She realized that she was both hungry and thirsty. She drank all that he gave her. It was too late now to refuse that kindness. She felt its warmth spreading through her body. Then he brought out some food: cheese, bread, and even some few cold cuts of meat, which he shared with her. She ate, not realizing how hungry she was. Their nakedness together no longer concerned her. It seemed so natural.

What else he did to her she was not sure. She was in a dream and could not remember what he did, or asked, or what she replied.

When she next took account of their positioning and surroundings he was checking once more on their clothing. She watched him; curious about him now rather than afraid. She could observe him at her leisure as he did that. She watched him for as long as she could, that item still protruding so obviously from his body as he rearranged things around the fire and made it up, often looking over to her, smiling, coming back to join her from time to time. She could hear the wind rattling the shutters and could even hear drops of water hissing as they fell onto the fire from the chimney. The weather was getting worse.

She must have slept.

She heard him speak to her and then felt him raise her to a sitting position as he took the blankets from her. Was he about to play with her again? She would not mind if he did. Then, she felt that she was being dressed in warm and dry clothes. Where the time had gone she could not be sure. It seemed to be late in the afternoon.

He was kneeling in front of her between her legs and he was dressing her in her petticoat.

She tried to recall everything that had happened to her but seemed to have large gaps in her recollections. She was at ease enough now to be able to think of other things; her sister Fanny’s words about men and marriage readily came to mind, but Fanny had been less than honest.