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I was 15, and beautiful (I remembered, soaking in my hot bath). And as far as I was concerned, the only thing more beautiful than I was was my father's business partner, who was just barely beating me at a game of chess. I was very, very good. And he was very, very beautiful.
Charles Cross was sitting across the chess board from me, and I was smiling as I was finally beating him. And I was hoping he noticed I was growing up. Two moves to checkmate. Then one move. And then - HE politely announced "checkmate" to me, and followed up with "I'm afraid you're mine again." The words made me girlishly thrilled.
"I wouldn't really mind being yours," I said. Perhaps I was a bit awkward, but it seemed to me that surely I was irresistible. He stood, and I remained seated as he walked over. He touched me gently, running his hand from the silk flower in my hair, down the dark curl to where it touched my cheek. He smiled at me, a sort of smile I had never seen on him, although I had seen him smile many smiles.
"Wouldn't you though, pet?" he asked, "Because I certainly have planned on making you mine."
My heart was beating at ten times its normal speed, I was certain, as he caressed that chestnut curl, and his fingers barely touched my face. "Ah, sweet Sophie. I can't wait any longer to make you mine." My lips parted in anticipation, and he kissed me, gently sucking and biting my bottom lip, then drifting to my earlobe and biting there, harder. His whisper came to me "Are you mine now?" When I only nodded, he stopped, and pulled back. His grip on my hair became harder. "No, pet, you must say the words, not just nod."
"I am yours." Then he smiled, as he said "Good", and I cried out in surprise as he pushed the set off of the table, grabbed my hair in earnest, and threw me face down over the table. One knight had managed to stay on the table, and its hard ivory lance dug into my cheek. "Tell me you are mine again," he said, and I did. One hand held me down by the neck, as he pulled my dress up to my waist with the other. "Lovely stockings, pet. I like lovely stockings. I am going to hurt you now, and later I will let you thank me. Is that what you want? No no, no nodding. Remember to say the words."
"That is what I want," and it certainly was, although I didn't know what I wanted except that my cunt was throbbing (had I thought it was a cunt then? I couldn't remember, but I couldn't think of it as anything else now, where I touched it under the hot water of my bath) and I wanted him to never stop looking at me. With my garters unhooked and knickers at my ankles, he was grabbing each side of my ass, hard, and kicking my legs further apart as my stockings sagged, showing more of my legs. "Be very very still, pet. I'm going to stop touching you, and if you move, I won't come back." I was so very still. I whined when his hands left my neck and ass. I heard him rummaging for a bit, my muscles twitching with the impatience of wanting to look for him, the confusion of what was going on. I knew I should stop. This was madness. No one would believe me, but I should run. I should - I cried out as something hard hit my ass. I started to spring up, moving my arms, but then his strong hand was on my neck again, and he was whispering softly. "Sophie my dear, I will stop right now if you tell me to, and I will never kiss you again. But if you're to be mine, I will make you mine, and you will love being mine." I started to cry, trying to push away, push up from the table and turn over and run, but he held me down, now with both hands and now pressed against my spread legs. I could feel his hard cock pressing into me. "No no pet, you have to answer me. If you are mine, I'll hurt you as long as you want, and then I'll fuck you, and you'll be a dirty little whore who can never be a good wife, won't you? No nodding or shaking your head, love. Stop struggling." And I stopped, and I tried to control my sobbing, and then I relaxed, and said "I'm yours."
"Oh good," he said, moving the hand on my neck to grasp my hair painfully, and the other to his fly. "But I changed my mind. I'll hurt you while I fuck you, because the smell of that little cunt won't let me wait any longer."
I moaned and cried as he yanked my hair back, and as he pushed his cock between my legs. It wouldn't go in, of course, though I started to feel my wetness dripping down my leg. His other hand alternatively slapped my face, slapped my ass, probed my virgin hole, and helped work his cock into fucking me. I was crying hard, and I couldn't tell anymore whether I was struggling to be fucked, or struggling to get away, or merely struggling from the pain. The pleasure overwhelmed me as his thick head finally entered me. I've heard others say it was painful, but maybe I was already in too much pain to notice. He said something, then took his other hand away, and let go of my hair as he used both hands to push my waist into the table and leverage himself. After what seemed an eternity of shallow working, which I thought must be the height of pleasure any woman could feel, he leaned forward and pushed his cock all the way into me. Then I felt pain, and pleasure, and I wriggled and came on his cock. (I had come before. I had discovered long before the pleasure of wrapping my legs tightly around each other, and then later that it was better to use my hands, but it was nothing next to coming as he fucked me.) I didn't want him to stop, but he leaned forward again, and told me in my ear. "Now you no longer have a little piece of chattel there between your legs. You have a fuckhole, and it is MY fuckhole." And he used his fuckhole roughly, and he hurt me as he did it. He used my hair to pull me on and off of him, and he leaned all of his weight into my waist as he thrust. He gave me orders, telling me to stand on my toes so that he could spank my ass as he used me, telling me to bring my legs up. I whimpered as he withdrew to spread my legs wider and slap each of my inner thighs until he told me they were a lovely pink, lovely enough to be fuckable, and he entered me again and continued using his fuckhole. I might have come again - it was hard to tell from the pleasure mixed with pain. He ordered me on many things to say - that I was his, that I liked being his fuckhole, that this tight cunt belonged to him. And he used his fuckhole roughly, until he came.
I was sobbing as he sagged, and although I was wetter than I had ever been, and stretched as I had never been, I felt his cum shooting into me. He held there for a time - I am not sure how long - and asked me if I liked being his. "I love being yours," I answered, and felt a swelling perfection of emotion as he said, "Ah, you are going to be *such* a good girl, my pet."
I felt his juices along with mine run down my leg as his half-soft cock came out of me. "Now, let me teach you something else, darling," he said. I nodded eagerly. "Get down on your knees, and come here. You will clean my cock with your mouth. Yes dear, lick it clean. All of it. Now take the whole thing in your mouth. There's a good pet, use your tongue still. That mouth will also be my fuckhole, you know, but I'll not claim it now." His cum tasted odd, mine delicious. I couldn't really tell them apart at the time. "Such a good doll you are, and all mine. Tell me you're mine again, love. I can't have you forget after this."
"I am yours," I said, to his nodding approval as he lifted me to my feet. I was shaking all over. He leaned me over the table again and pushed up my skirts.
"Point your toes Sophie, so I can pull up your stocking. And you seem to have lost a shoe." He arranged all of my undergarments. I could still feel his cum running down my leg, running out of my cunt, his mark on me. "Quiet there, lass. I'll fix you up right now. You are mine, and I will care for you." He pulled me towards the settee, and held me around the waist as I sobbed, then as I started to rat at my hair, his large hands held my wrists firmly and put them back into my lap. "Keep your hands there, dear. Here, hold your flower." He handed the forgotten silk adornment to me. A comb came from his jacket pocket, and he rather deftly removed the ratting that had come of his ill treatment of my hair. At one point his grip tightened again, only for a moment. I gasped and kicked my feet, and he laughed - half cruel, half affectionate, that laugh I came to crave so often - and let go the tension as he brought his teeth to my flushed white neck. He bit just enough to make me squeal, then pulled back. "Ah, dear, I shall bite you until you beg for more and beg me to stop all at once, but it mustn't be today. You must get home, mustn't you?" His hands in my hair, his cum marking my thighs, I made sure to speak, "Yes I must, if you'll have it."
"Well, pet, I'm afraid I can't restore those curls. But no one shall remember them, shall they, anyway?" He took the flower again from my hands and pinned it into the series of uncurled loops that was my new coiffure, surprisingly deft from my view into a mirror across the room. "Now I'm sure you can walk again. Now pick those chess pieces up that you've made such a mess of, and best get home before someone starts to worry." His voice was cold, his eyes mocking. I replaced the pieces, aware of his eyes on me. His cold manner continued as he walked me toward the door, but his eyes softened as he said, "Tell me what I want to hear."
"I am yours," I said, and he smiled, and his kiss was gentle but hungry as he tilted my chin up to meet his lips.
The rain started pouring as I walked home - no one would have ever noticed my lack of stray curls any longer. Mary hustled me up the stairs and into a hot bath. I sunk in in my underthings, hoping then that she wouldn't notice the scents of sex on them when they went to the laundry. I felt somehow that I was losing something as I washed his mark, his cum, off of my legs and privates. Then I touched myself again, remembering his touches, his cock, and his pain.
Just as I was doing now - I cried gently, remembering, feeling, wanting - as my climax washed away what the hot water could not.
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