The Belvedere.

Why does this not feel Wrong?

What was happening to her was not as unpleasant as she had expected it would be. There was no excruciating pain, his hands were neither ice cold, nor blistering hot upon her body, but were gentle, as he caressed her.

She did not feel as terrified of eternal damnation as she should be. His kiss did not burn. But he had only just begun with her. It was pleasurable while surprising her that she accepted what was happening without complaint or resistance, or even guilt, and continued to respond as she did. Surely the devil would not want anything to be so pleasurable for her.

Unless he was tormenting her, as those other gods had tormented Tantalus, though in a much less damaging way.

She gave in to the moment—she could not fight him off, so what else could she do? She relaxed even more, moved her legs, raising them, as that was what seemed to be comfortable for her and for him, held his head closer into her, and felt him become even more excited for her as she melted into an oblivion of pulsating colors and sensations, as her body throbbed with warmth and pleasure.

She wondered if she should laugh in defiance at what was happening, and openly challenge the devil to do his worst to her. If this was what hell was, and what the devil sought to do, then bring on more of it!

This was no punishment. She should have objected to what he was doing to her, but she said nothing. It was too late to object now. The fiery pit would embrace her as she deserved, and all the sooner if she did not resist.

She knew what he wanted to do with her, and soon would. He wanted to be into her in a different way, though she was not sure how that could be achieved with his rumored, immense, iron-tipped p***s. He would liberate himself soon, and push into her, somehow. She would welcome this man, this tool of the devil into her body. The excruciating pain of degradation would be short-lived, and then she could die and be free of this life.

He must find it pleasurable to continue what he was doing. He must, or he would not be doing it. He seemed to. She was enjoying it too, if she was being honest. But surely this was not how the devil would do it.

She let her mind wander. Distraction would help move it all forward. She was breathing in a labored way herself, and even crying out, if that was her voice she could hear. It was. That was surprising.

This must be the forbidden love that she had heard about. Animal lust. But there was no guilt or pain, only intense, prickling pleasure under that onslaught. Undoubtedly, the guilt and pain would come later.

This was all so confusing to her, and not what she had heard. What was a woman to believe? Everything she had heard about morality and how someone should behave in such a circumstance, was flooding into her mind. Her thoughts were in two places. This one, where social ruin faced her at what was happening, and this other one, where she gave in to this forbidden pleasure that so overwhelmed her.

She focused upon what he was doing to her there, beginning to take over her complete being, as warm waves washed over her body in a never-ending cascade. It was wonderful. She hoped he would not stop and that it would not change. It was not hurtful. Not yet. Not until it went further, and he tried to do much more to her. He would not be stopped then. But that there could be such pleasure for her in such a simple act as this, was difficult to believe. She was sobbing over what he was doing. She could even hear herself. He must be able to hear her too.

She should have kept walking, and not turned back. Maybe she had not turned back, and this was but a dream. They would find her naked body here, or on the fell in the morning. It was already out there somewhere, and this was merely the transition to that other place.

No one would mourn her. Not her father, nor her sister. Her death would be a temporary inconvenience to them, if that. She had no friends to mourn her.

But what was he doing now to her with his tongue?

That, felt even more strange, and so pleasurable, but then he stopped.

He must have heard the noises she was making, and thought he was hurting her or that she was crying. She should not have distracted him. He hesitated in what he was doing to her, and tried to lift his head from her, but she was holding him there.

No. No. Keep going, keep doing that. I am not crying, I am not sure what I am doing, but I am not crying. Do not stop?

She didn’t want him to stop. Not at just that moment.

He backed away from her and looked up at her. She could not close her legs with his body where it was but did not want to. He was staring at her breasts again now, more intensely than before, seeing them moving as she breathed deeply, still sobbing, and almost out of breath.

Then he moved into her there again and kissed them too. More than kissed. He teased at them with his lips, sensing that the areola was almost as firm as her n****e; making it so by his attention to it. Her breasts had never responded in that way before to being touched, though she had been the only one to touch them. She writhed and groaned as he did that.

He seemed hungry, yet he was gentle with them and her, as he had been before. This was almost as exciting as the other for her, as well as for him. His mouth opened around one, and he leaned in and took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. She cried out. His arms were pulling her closer to him all of the time. She could feel his tongue again. He was gentle about that too, and he was suckling and kissing, as he had been earlier in that other place.

This must be what a baby would feel like, suckling at her. How pleasurable it was. He did the same with the other as her free arm went about him to hold him there. Her legs were even wider apart, now that all of his body was between them. She lifted them off the floor again. It was easier that way.

She wanted to say something, wanting to ask how she could help him, but she could not, nor could she respond in any way. There was nothing she could do about it with him pushing her back. She was not resisting him, but was pushing back at him, and letting him do this to her. This must be the beginning of the end of her life, as she had known it. Or the end of one life. It did not feel unpleasant or as painful as she had heard a man’s attention between her legs in this way would be.