Chapter 15: Ginny

I have thought about this, about her, for some time, trying to decide if I could even describe her, if I should try. I had never seen a woman take her clothes off so carefully or artfully as Ginny did in the upstairs room with the huge bed, piled high with soft, thin mattresses. I just sat and watched in admiration and surprise, mouth drooped open, as she peeled out of her worn garments and let me see her lovely, long body bit by glorious bit, turning now and then and letting the dim light play over her soft skin.

She was as slender as a boy with long, womanly hips and milk-heavy breasts. The small skein of dark red hair between her thighs glowed against her pale, lightly-freckled skin and her auburn curls hung halfway down her strong, curving back with its deep spinal groove. She tossed her head and one long tress slid over her shoulder and slowly unfurled to cover a dark-pink, upright nipple. She smiled in self-congratulation at that obviously-practiced gesture.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked standing before me, her deep navel and soft belly right in my face, her shift in her hand. She smelled both clean and musky. Each of the tiny hairs on her smooth body looked like a small copper wire. "Ain't you interested?" I licked my chops and held her leg.

"I was just thinking," I said as I stood and kissed her nipples and then her neck, shoulder, eyes and lips. "I ain't been with a real, honest-to-goodness whore since I was about fourteen or fifteen, back in Frederick Town. A fat old lady did men for two shillings and school boys for one, in the afternoon. Took about two minutes and scared me off women for another year at least."

She laughed, making her breasts bounce, and I peeled off my shirt and turned to put it on the chair. I heard her gasp. When I looked, her eyes were huge and wet, her fingers at her pink, trembling mouth.

"My God," she said, touching my chest and the remains of the mark at my throat. "My God, that's awful, terrible."

"Did you look at Susan's stripes?" I asked her, stroking her narrow waist and rounded hip, both as soft as eiderdown, bending to kiss her cheek.

"No, just on one of her tits. She wouldn't show me."

"They used a thicker whip on me," I explained as I stood back and eagerly yanked off my britches and drawers. My trembling cock was very happy to be free.

"Ugh," she said, looking at my backside and then at my battered groin. My member hung, distended, half riled and still grossly discolored and misshapen. "Don't you hurt?" She carefully touched my hard stomach with a finger tip, the point of her tongue showing between her lips, eyebrows knit with worry and her dark-lashed eyes filled with pity and concern. A tear ran down her cheek.

"Sure," I said, wrapping her lean, young body in my arms and kissing her cool forehead, stroking her smooth back. I grabbed a handful of her thick curls, pulled her head back and captured her mouth. She wriggled and caressed me while we kissed and let our tongues get acquainted. Her fingers stopped to explore each long bruise, and my hands enfolded her round buttocks, lifting her. My pole rose steadily if unsurely into her curly muff.