He was shocked to see my stockings. "You're wearing thigh-highs?" he asked.

"Yes, always," I replied.

"You filthy pig!" he roared.

I was embarrassed by his comment, so out of place, but I was even more struck by his transformation from a polite, well-bred young man to a coarse, vulgar beast. His eyes were flaming, ravenous, his hands rummaged around beneath my blouse, inside my panties.

"Do you want me to keep them on?" I asked to comply with his wishes.

"Definitely, leave them, you're dirtier like this."

My cheeks flushed again, but now I felt my fireplace start to blaze, and reality gradually receded. Passion was getting the upper hand.

I got down from the bed, and my feet touched the smooth, incredibly cold floor. I waited for him to take me and do what he wanted.

"Suck my dick, slut," he whispered.

I ignored my shame, immediately banished it, and did what he asked me to do. I felt his member turn hard and swollen. He grabbed me by the armpits and lifted me to the bed.

He positioned me on top of him like a defenseless doll and aimed his long lance toward my sex, still so little opened, so little wet.

"I want to make you feel pain. Come on, scream, let me hear how I'm hurting you."

There was in fact pain, I felt the walls burning, and the dilation occurred against my will.

I screamed as the dark room spun around me. My embarrassment had vanished and in its place was only the desire to make him mine.

If I scream, I thought, he'll be happy, he asked me to do it. I'll do anything he tells me.

I screamed and felt pain, no trace of pleasure passed through me. He, however, exploded, his voice was transformed, and his words turned obscene and vulgar.

He hurled them at me, and they pierced me with a violence that exceeded even his penetration.