I cringed, my flesh actually crawled and prickled with an intolerable repugnancy and distressed shame at this indecent manipulation of my naked flesh. I wanted to cry out to him, to beg him out of decency and mercy… I knew how useless, how dangerous it would be. So, my arms about his neck, eyes closed, my panting mouth yielded to him helplessly. My legs open, I quivered and waited in an atrocious suspense for him to do it-what he meant to do to me, praying it would not be too painful and not take too long. But Mr. Raleigh, as an artist, had a vivid imagination, alas for me, and he began to tell me how lovely my body was and what a pleasure it would give him, till I died of shame and my face was red to my hair roots. He told me he could feel the lips of my “pussy” swelling up and growing “juicy,” which meant I was instinctively being prepared by Nature to accept my poking and that I would even find pleasure the first time as he taught me. He made me call him Master and then tell him I was his to whip or poke whenever he desired, and he kissed my tears, tasting them and telling me I had fascinating appeal for him now because I was crying and in pain from the good strapping he had given my naughty, bare behind. He kept probing with his finger, inside the lips now, deeper and deeper till I suddenly cried out and stiffened; a twinge of pain had shot through me there. He laughed and said, “That's good, that proves you've been a good girl, and it's well for you, you have, too, Lucille. Now, are you all ready for your first poke from my cock? Tell me the way I want you to, using the words I just taught you.”

And, trembling, my face streaked with bitter tears, I had to stammer, “Yes… Master… my… my pussy… is… all ready… for… for your c-cock to… to poke it. Please do it to me now, Master, I want you to…” though all my flesh shrank to belie what I was saying in my shame and fear.