Chapter 60: Waif

The well-dressed man was fifty or so, very rich and well thought of in his circle. He had on occasion been a source of useful information and he was, several people told me, a sodomite and pervert of the worst kind. That sort of behavior, I was sure, would help him get along with the leaders of the British military.

He had invited me to his home, showed me into his paneled library, given me a glass of port, and sat me in a comfortable chair. "I have something else to show you," he said with a broad smile, "a project of which I am quite proud." He rang a tiny bell.

A door I could not tell existed opened in the wall, and a small girl in a long white gown walked into the room, eyes down and hands clasped in front of her belly, long, mousy hair flowing loosely behind her. The man gestured, palm down, and she knelt and bowed until her forehead touched the floor; then she sat back on her heels, hand still clasped, waiting motionless. She was barefoot, and she had the face of an angel.

The stocky man sipped his port and flicked a thumb at the child-woman whose maturing body was clearly defined beneath the soft material that clung to her. She untied a bow at her neck, peeled her dress from her slim shoulders, pulled it down past her jutting tits and let it fall to her waist and hips. Her breasts were round and full, her nipples pink and pointed upward, and both appeared to be bruised. A shadowed crease ran down the center of her white body and disappeared at her deep navel. She appeared to be barely breathing and had a placid look on her lovely face.

My host crooked his finger and pointed at me. The girl crawled on hands and knees toward me, leaving her long dress behind. She pushed my legs apart, smiled up at me and unbuttoned my foreflap. As she gently withdrew my turgid member, the bewigged man in his leather chair poured himself some more wine and said, "You're going to enjoy this."

The young woman between my legs tongued my thick prod into her warm mouth and sucked it hard, her cheeks bellowing in and out as she breathed noisily through her nose. She gently raked my swelling length with her teeth and ducked her head back and forth so that my hard shaft slid in and out of her soft, clinging lips. It was very stimulating and somehow my growing mast went in surprisingly deeply.

I had not been served that way very many times but this effort moved quickly to the top of the list. I was soon tremblingly erect and, at another small gesture, she withdrew her face from my rigid cock, which sprang up and pointed toward the ceiling, climbed up onto my knees, scooted forward, tilted up her hips and took my pole's reddened head into her tiny, folded cunny.

She was, I noted, nearly hairless in her groin, and I wondered if that area had been shaved or if she was very young despite her globular boobies which were so firm they barely jiggled. She wiggled her hips, put her hands up near my shoulders, rose on her knees, bit her lips and managed to take me entirely into her without pause. She was very tight but also very lubricated. Her smooth face remained placid.

Her style of rogering was steady acceleration until climax, and she brought me to a jolting and gushing conclusion in a very few minutes because she was so tight and so active and then sat back on my thighs looking pleased with herself. She glanced at the man sitting beside me. He seemed to be a bit red in the face.

"May I?" I asked the florid man, who quickly took his hand away from his bulging groin but not before I saw that he had been stroking himself.

"Of course," he said, drawing deeply on his long clay pipe and sitting up straighter.

I grasped her round, smooth buttocks and pulled her to me, back onto my raging pike. She made a very small noise in her throat and then looked at me with fright. I rammed my still-hard spear up into her clinging passage and gave her several minutes of quick-march swiving that shook her whole body as if her limbs with not tightly attached. Very quickly, too quickly for my pleasure, I came again, driving hard and deep, and she shuddered and mewled as I filled her to overflowing and then pumped out my spew.

She seemed to melt down between my legs when I released her and then licked me clean and put my long, limp tool away and buttoned my codpiece and patted it gently. Then she backed up on her knees, and at another gesture, accepted a small ball of something from the man, retrieved her gown, stood gracefully, holding it between her perfect breasts and backed out of the room, bowing deeply as she did so.

I sat back, emptied and sated, amazed I suppose.

"I've owned her just about two years," the man said, blowing a stream of blue smoke toward the plastered ceiling. "It took a great deal of training, a lot of patience and time. Punishment and reward, that's how it's done."

"Hard to believe," I said. "What do you mean, own her?"

"Bought her indenture," he said. "She was twelve and pregnant so she came cheap. The captain had kept her in his cabin for two months or so after her mother died a week out of London, jail fever. She had come from prison, both of them I suppose. He let his men have her now and then as a reward, so he told me."

"She's only fourteen?" I asked, unbelieving.

"Yes, nearly fifteen I think," he said with a nod. "I have her for about six more years. Think what she can learn to do. I've just begun the swiving routines recently, and she already knows twenty positions, almost twenty. A very limber youngster."