Chapter 7

SEX HAS MANY FACES

Like environments, some relationships are made to order for the sexually-compelled teen-aged girl. Numbered among the most fruitful such relationships are those which bring together teacher and student, foster-daughter and foster-father, and step-father and his step-daughter.

There are many more relationships that offer the sex-inclined teen-aged girl an abundant supply of subjects. Some are more lucrative than others. Some offer greater intimacies and proximity for seduction. And a few, such as the step-father and step-daughter relationship offer both the principals a full field for the expression of their subconscious drives that can - and often does - bring them together in a blaze of promiscuity.

The following cases illustrate some of the above-mentioned relationships that professionals claim are especially provocative for both the girl and the male subject of her love efforts.

CASE HISTORY

"My mother was a bitch. She had to be first in everything and because I was her daughter, I had to be first, too. She was a hard-driving, never-let-up, sadist."

This was the way Ann T. described her mother and the circumstances that led to the fourteen-year-old girl's seduction of her high school English teacher.

Mrs. T was socially ambitious. She encouraged her daughter, an only child, to be the same way, to seek only the best, the most influential, the richest and smartest as friends. Largely, Ann did follow this pattern. She could almost not help but follow it considering the indoctrination she had been committed to since her earliest years.

Ann was a top scholar in school. This pleased Mrs. T. She never tired of reciting her daughter's accomplishments, her brilliance at studies, her popularity, good looks, and the acceptance she received from the very best families in the town.

All of this was true, too. Ann liked the best. But when her marks began to slip in an advanced English course, she began to worry. She studied hard, harder than usual, but still she could feel herself slipping further and further behind in her work. And suddenly she became so distraught over her failing work.

Noticing the stress under which Ann now seemed to work, her teacher asked her to meet with him after school hours when they could discuss the change in her pattern of accomplishment. Ann was nervous about the interview. This was unlike her. Pretty, outgoing, very friendly to everyone, she had never been nervous about any encounter. But she was about the one with her English teacher.

The teacher, a tall, well-built man in his thirties, greeted her pleasantly when she appeared at his office door. He ushered her in, indicated a chair for her to take, then, after she was seated he sat opposite her and looked into her eyes.

"What's been troubling you," he asked immediately.

"I don't know," she replied.

"Your work has slipped," he said seriously. "I'm really puzzled. Somehow, I never expected this. You always seem to be well up on everything. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she repeated.

"Perhaps you're dating too much," he offered. "That'll do it, you know. Late hours and studies don't mix."

"I only go out on weekends."

"Oh." He caressed his jaw and let his eyes sweep over her body.

Ann remained silent, but she observed how odd it was that she had never before noticed how handsome her teacher was, how large and brown his eyes were and how strong his hands appeared to be. She stared at his hands. They fascinated her. They looked so capable, so very, very masculine.

"Ann," the teacher said, shaking her from her concentration upon his hands.

"Yes?"

"Is there anything wrong in your personal life? You could tell me, you know. Sometimes it's good to talk to an outsider. You gain more objectivity to problems that way. So -if something's bothering you - if there's anything, boys, sex -"

"Sex?" Ann suddenly interrupted. "Did you say sex?"

"Please don't classify me with the old-time teachers who ignored sex as a matter of interest - and sometimes deep, serious concern - for their students. I'm not like that, you know."

"No, sir," she said.

Again he let his eyes roam over all of her young body. Suddenly, her heart was ready to leap from her chest. She felt goose pimples at every part of her body. She wanted to scream and shout and cry and whimper and even cuddle onto the lap of the teacher, hide her face into his manly chest and cry even harder. And just as suddenly - much as if she had been ignited by some magic of understanding- she knew that she had fallen in love with this older man. Ann heard the teacher's advice for study methods, listened to his soft, cultured voice, and went through the remainder of the interview in a kind of daze.

That night Ann masturbated. She dreamed an image of the teacher and dream-placed it at the end of her bed as she spun her clitoral reflexes to a jarring climax.

The next day, she slipped a little further behind the others of her class. She could not keep her eyes away from the dark, handsome features of the teacher. She could not hear the words he spoke; all she could do was listen with living attentiveness to the soft tones he made, the gentle, loving tone that nearly tore her apart.

Soon, all of Ann's work began to suffer because of her infatuation with the teacher. After considering it for some time, she decided there was only one cure for this new condition that had engulfed her. She would entice the teacher into a sexual encounter, make him make love to her. Then, she decided, everything would be all right again. Her English class, her other studies - everything. When Ann, who was still a virgin, made her decision, she actually ached in anticipation for a sexual experience with the man she seemed to love.

Before another week passed, Ann became impatient. She flirted audaciously every opportunity she was near the teacher. She let him know in the unmistakable signs of the young that she longed for him. She could not understand why he did not suddenly - even in the middle of a class, if need be - sweep her off her feet, lift her, and carry her to his apartment where he would undress her, caress her body, then love away her virginity. But he did not. And Ann was sure that she would die if she had to wait even another day longer.

Ann, without exaggeration, experienced true, physical symptoms of sexual longing and desire. She ached at her thighs. Her breast-ends were more sensitive than usual. The round flesh of her breasts hurt. She had a constant pain' in the pit of her stomach. And between her thighs, she burned, burned hot as if she had been set ablaze from within. Ann had to find something to cool that fire. She meant to.

Following classes on Thursday afternoon, Ann lingered in the library. She knew that was the designated day for English Department meetings. She knew her teacher would be in attendance at the meeting. And she meant to see him as soon as he was free. She wanted to see him alone. And she decided that her only chance for an intimate meeting was the office that he sometimes used for hours after the day's regular work was finished.

The library was empty, cleared even of the librarian, when Ann left it. The corridors were empty too. The sound of her shoes echoed oddly as she moved upon the tiled squares. She felt mysterious, anxious, and very warm, She felt nervous too. But it was not a nervousness that came from even an instant's doubt that the teacher would immediately welcome her into his anxious arms. The nerves came only from doubts about herself, that she might, because of inexperience, fail to please sexually the very sophisticated man.

Ann paused just outside the teacher's office door. She breathed deeply. She debated for a moment, then undid still another button of her blouse. She flattened the collar down to its new, deep line, making sure that it revealed the inner curves of her young breasts. Then she patted at her skirt, assuring herself that it held no wrinkles, that it was smooth against her buttocks. She looked down at her legs. She hoped the pumps did not detract from her natural lines, did not make her look pudgy or fat. And she hoped that if they did, the bareness of her legs would make up for the lines that had been obscured by the absence of high heels.

A noise issued from inside the office. Her breath caught in her throat. She held it a long time, then let it out. And then she gently curled her fingers around the door knob. She waited. And then the door pushed open, sending her reeling backwards, a look of shock and embarrassment upon her face as the teacher appeared, hat on head, coat hanging loosely from the crook of his arm.

"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed very unromantically.

"I - I -"

His expression softened. "Did you want to see me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come on in and make yourself comfortable."

He held the door wide open, closed it behind her, removed his hat and tossed it with his coat to a straight chair that fronted his desk.

Ann walked to the far corner of the room and turned around. She made no move to take either of the comfortable chairs that were placed there. She just stood there, breathing hard, and looking at her teacher.

He smiled and moved closer to her. Then he said, "Well, what can I do for you?"

A lump rose in her throat. Tears bubbled at the corners of her eyes. Her lips parted slightly. Her breasts rose high and held that position when she could not make her breath exhale.

"Ann," the teacher said, his tone one of deep concern. "What in the world is the matter?"

Dry, desperate sobs erupted from the congestion of her chest. Now she cried, broken and sharp and choked, the sounds of her frustrated love.

The teacher reached out his hands and placed them on her shoulders. It was the only movement that was needed to send Ann crushing against his chest.

His arms went around her shoulders and he pressed her to his chest, at the same time patting one hand gently to her back.

"Don't you see," she sobbed. "Don't you see how much I love you - how much I want you - don't you see how you have to love me right now - right here in your office."

The teacher's body stiffened in surprise, in shock, and perhaps also in reaction to the young girl's words and her warm body burrowing to his.

He continued to hold her close, but his voice sounded very far away, when he said, "Now, look. I know that you're under some sort of emotional strain. So, I'm going to forget what you said, what your reason is for being in my office. I'm going to forget it and -"

"Forget it!" she shouted, pushing back and looking into his face. "You're going to forget me!"

"I didn't say that."

"You did, you did, you did," she repeated in the short, sharp accusing manner of a hurt and angry child.

The teacher's arms moved to offer her comfort. She refused them. She stared, hardly breathing, looking into his face.

"You're a very beautiful young girl. Very beautiful. And very young. I've been aware that - well, that you've had interest in me for sometime now. It's truly - truly rather flattering, but then I'm not like most teachers. I'm a little more human, a little more easily flattered, a little -"

"Aren't you going to make love to me?" Ann asked.

"Make -" He stopped, startled.

"Love to me," she finished.

Stunned silence filled the room. Then the teacher said, "Come along now. You're upset. I'm going to drive you home." Then he turned, picked up his hat and coat and turned and waited for Ann to join him at the door. She left the room. He shut the door behind them. They walked to the parking lot at the back of the school buildings.

Silence continued between them while the teacher unlocked the car door, then opened it and waited until Ann had settled into the seat. There was a noticeable difference in the teacher's expression when he started the car. He appeared to be in deep thought.

As soon as he pulled the car out of the parking lot and into the street, the street lights blinked on. It was as if they were offering a greeting to the teacher and his pretty, young student. Ann smiled. It was neither directed at the teacher nor at the lights. It was as if she had been caressed by a sweet dream, one that made her glad.

"Which way is your house?" the teacher asked.

"Any way," she replied, not looking at him but increasing the spread of her smile.

"Come now, be good and tell me how to take you home."

"I won't," she said.

"Why won't you tell me how to take you home?"

"Because I love you and because I don't want to go home. I want to go with you," she said.

The teacher did not speak. And he did not again ask Ann to give him the directions to her home. Instead, he drove around the neighborhood streets by the school, driving slowly, acting as if he were trying to make an important decision that would not come.

Ann made only one change of position during the ride through the residential streets. She moved close to the teacher, so close that her pose, with her feet tucked beneath her buttocks as she half-faced him, brought the touch of her breasts against his forearm. He made no move to reject her. Her thigh rested close to his, too. And soon there were both her arms around his bicep as she hugged him close and cuddled her head into the spot of hollow between shoulder and neck. And even with this new, provoking touch upon him, the teacher did not reject her.

After a half-hour, the teacher increased the speed of his driving. It was as if he had made a decision. He shot away from the school area and the residential streets and headed for the broad highway that circled the lake.

Ann alerted, looked around, smiled, then asked, "Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

The teacher drove fast. He did not stop until he came to a park that was near the lake and off the road. He headed the car down the road that led into the park. The car bumped. Ann's body came into more violent contact with his. Finally, when he reached an area that was sheltered by trees and empty of other cars, he turned off the ignition and shut off the lights.

Ann raised her head just as he turned to her. For a long time there were only the darkened outlines of their profiles turned toward each other.

When the teacher finally spoke, his voice shook. But his words told Ann that she was about to have her way, that her efforts at seduction, as misplaced and neurotically oriented as they were, had been successful.

"I hope that you are not only a beautiful girl but that you are also a discreet one," he said.

For answer, Ann wound her arms around his neck and opened her lips as the teacher's mouth crushed down upon it, heated, trembling a bit, hungrily nibbling, probing, pushing for a further parting that would allow him the honey-sweetness of her inner mouth, of her tongue, all of her that might be available to quiet the lusting thirst that had overcome him.

The tight clamp of their mouths ceased only when there was more excitement for each to offer to the other. Ann pulled back, opened her blouse completely, reached inside the garment and behind her to unclasp the hook of her bra. Then she pulled it free and dropped it to the car floor. Her breasts loomed forward, heavy, nipple-pointed, pink and sweet and warm.

The teacher's hands cupped both her breasts. His palms were moist. They smeared and mixed with the moisture of her breasts, combining the elements of each of them into a single substance that told of their mutual heat, their lust, their long wait and imminence of that waiting's end.

As if he were bowing homage, the teacher uttered a little cry then lowered his mouth to her breasts. He mouthed each of them in turn, then paid delicate attention to each nipple, pulling upon it, rolling it between his lips, nibbling at it and fighting it to a retreat within the security of the large, white mould.

Ann began to sob as he kissed and tongued at her breasts. She pressed herself toward him and brought her head back in a deep arch, causing her neck cords to strain and bloat. And still she sobbed, even from this strained position. But soon, her sobbing changed to the sounds of hysteria. It was then that the teacher raised and held her close again.

"Now, please, now," Ann begged. "No more waiting. Love me. Love me! Fuck me."

The teacher reacted by forcing her flat upon the car seat. Her body jammed in a cramped position. As the teacher moved to bare himself and move to her, Ann detained him.

"Oh, wait," she said. "I can't - not like that -I can't. I want to be able to move -to love you. And I want to be naked - completely naked."

"Someone might see," he said.

"I don't care," she replied.

With considerable turning, stooping and yanking, Ann removed all of her clothing. When she was naked she turned toward the teacher. His hands touched at every part of her. A gasp of delight issued from his throat at every new contact.

He seemed upset and nervous and out of control.

They kissed again, feeling for the first time the thrill of bareness as Ann pulled the teacher's shirt and jacket apart to make a bare place for her breasts to touch. And then she moved atop him, hurrying now, full urgency for sexual union upon her, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying, to his lap, to straddle that lap, to a hand that reached and found and adjusted pointedly, to hips that rose high and screeched downward like sirens blaring, rockets blazing to the sky, as her cunt sought.

"Uhhh," moaned the teacher as she pressed down, engaging his cock.

"Ooohhhhhhhhh," screamed Ann as she knew the thrill of piercing, of heaviness, of the full satisfaction of her young womanhood.

But soon, after they fought themselves to each other's body, after they settled the issue of rhythm and quickly learned the little delicate movements that pleased so much, it was Ann who was the aggressor, she who dominated the man and the act, she who paced the up-and-down movement of her cunt, all the time sensing the speed at which the teacher's emotions raced. And it was she who reached for one of his hands and placed it on her left breast while she crushed the right breast into his mouth, all the time moving, moving, moving, rapidly approaching the gate that would open and claim them in a final convulsion of love.

"Oh, OH! Oh, I'm - I'M -" She shrieked to the darkness that surrounded them. "I'm coming!"

"Yes, yes, yes," cried the teacher. "It's all right. I am too. I am too. I AM. Now!"

Ann sobbed again when it was over. She cried into the teacher's shoulder. She cried like a child, hurt, orphaned, and left alone. She cried and cried.

The teacher comforted her. And then, at last, he drove her home, following the directions she provided now between her great, shoulder-shaking sighs.

Ann continued to arrange sexual encounters with her teacher throughout the semester. He became her total preoccupation. When the term ended, she had lost fifteen pounds. The brightness of her expression had faded. She had become careless about her habits, her appearance, about everything except her constant pursuit of the mature man she loved.

In the middle of June, the high school recessed for Summer vacation.

Late in the evening of the day that school recessed, after meeting her teacher-lover at his apartment where they had made violent love several times, Ann was found by the police to be walking the crowded, downtown streets of the town, naked, her mind a blank, unaware of her name, the identity of her parents or home. Her mind had snapped completely.

To her mother's dismay, embarrassment, and horror, Ann was finally sent to an expensive private hospital for the emotionally disturbed. She remained at the hospital for two years before she was released for a probationary period of adjustment in her own home.

The preceding case, created from psychiatric reports, reveals some sad and startling facts.

"It is an unfortunate thing that a girl like Ann, a girl who was approaching a nervous breakdown, should have provoked the sexual attentions of this particular man," said her psychiatrist.

"Obviously, the man had a low threshold for young girls. There is considerable evidence, too, that the teacher encouraged the affair once it started. But such a man - a teacher entrusted with the responsibility of our young - should have read the signs of Ann's illness. He should have known that she was about to suffer a breakdown. The signs were too apparent for him not to know that she was approaching an emotional collapse. But he chose to ignore the signs and use them to his advantage - his sexual advantage - and so a young girl lost two years of her life, years that cannot be regained, years of adjustment that are not yet completed for her."

Another psychiatrist familiar with the case has given this opinion:

"If there is a villain in this case, it is Ann's mother," said the doctor. "It is she who indoctrinated her daughter into the need of being 'right', of being 'first', of excelling at everything that she did. Without this pressure that was exerted since Ann's childhood, who can tell; it is possible that this pretty girl might never have suffered the symptoms of a breakdown brought on by her seductive role."

And a psychiatric case worker who took the preliminary information of Ann's case when she entered the hospital, attributes much of what happened to "chance" or fate."

"It's just possible that if Ann had attempted to seduce a different type of teacher, one who would rebuke her, even turn her over his knee and apply the paddle as he would with a much younger child, she might not have become ill, or the advance of her mental illness might have been checked in time to prevent the long hospitalization she had to endure."

CASE HISTORY

Donna was born of hate and expressed it most of her life. Even as a baby, one who was illegitimate, merely tolerated and never truly loved, she would show the temper tantrums that one associates with a child who is bound to grow up mean. Donna grew up mean.

When she was eleven, Donna was removed from her mother's custody and placed in an orphanage where the state hoped she would grow to a life of adjustment in a society that had no place for truancy, petty thefts, and promiscuity that had brought her to nearly every form of sex and its aberrations by the time she reached her first teen year.

Donna hated the orphanage. She hated the authorities who ran the place. She hated her fellow orphans. She hated her mother who never visited her on the Sunday afternoons that were set aside for that purpose. Donna hated the memory of her unknown father whose sexuality had brought her to a life she hated. She hated everyone and everything. And, it is not too much of a supposition to guess that she also hated herself.

When Donna reached the age of fourteen, it was decided by those entrusted with the decision, to place the girl in the care of paid foster-parents on a trial basis. There were many applicants awaiting an opportunity to take a child and raise her within the influence of their home. Orphanage administrators welcomed these applications.

The placement of a child in a foster home served two worthwhile social services: It relieved the overcrowded orphanage of the care, feeding, and supervision of a child, and it gave the foster-daughter an opportunity to live under a more "normal" environment, one that might contribute to her eventual emergence as a responsible member of society.

Donna was selected for a foster-home. She accepted the decision without emotion; with neither gratitude, nor dissatisfaction.

Donna met her foster-parents with hate in her eyes, silence, and a reluctant attitude.

The new foster-parents, Gidget and Dan S. were an attractive couple, childless, and in their middle thirties. Both were handsome.

Donna was welcomed into their home. They provided her with a room of her own, a wardrobe, trinkets and jewelry, and they told her that she was a child in their home, not a slave, that they had a cleaning woman, that absolutely no work was expected from her. Donna was not the least bit impressed. She didn't like Gidget and Dan a bit more than she did anybody else in the world. But she did cooperate, attended school, kept the trouble she usually caused to a minimum, and tried to adjust to the enjoyment of her new life.

After a month of residence in the new home, Donna became curious about the couple. She noted that they seemed more like brother and sister than husband and wife. At night Donna would listen for sounds of love-making from the adjoining room. She never heard any. She was surprised. Her hearing was acute and she had trained it to a high point of perception, a necessary quality for a girl who lived in an orphanage with several hundred other girls. But no sounds came from the couple's bedroom.

Before many more weeks passed, Donna became impatient for some kind of excitement. At the orphanage, there was always excitement; fights, love-affairs of the lesbian variety, jealousy, stealing, getting away with capers without being caught. Donna missed it all.

Donna decided to create some excitement of her own. She chose her foster-father as the subject for her adventure in seduction.

Waiting until a period during the day when Gidget was absent from the house, the same period that found Dan present, Donna decided to see how far she could get in an attempt at seducing her foster-father. She looked over the setting, saw that he was alone in his study, that the front and back doors were secured from within, and that the early night shadows of winter had already begun to fall. Donna headed for the shower.

Inside the shower cubicle, Donna grinned impishly as she soaped her body, rubbed the large, soft sponge in a circle at her breasts, lowered it, made a smaller circle of it at her thighs, then dug between them to massage more vigorously as her eyes narrowed as a result of the sensations she was bringing to her body. When her breathing had reached a point that threatened to split her chest as her body erupted, Donna stopped the action.

Enough of that, she cautioned herself. Bigger game awaited - the real thing - a real Daddy-O in the image of her foster-father was close at hand, directly in the middle of the sights she had adjusted upon him.

Donna swung the adjusting handle of the shower to its off position, then stepped from the tiled square. She snatched a large Turkish towel from the top of the medicine cabinet. She dried herself meagerly, then wrapped it around her body in a sarong fashion. She did not bind it together at the back. She left the ends open, but held by her hand which was twisted behind her. Then, from within the medicine cabinet she found a safety pin. She did not use it. Instead, she opened the bathroom door, held the pin in one hand while her other hand held the towel together at the back, and stepped into the corridor that led to her foster-father's study.

"You in there?" she called as she approached the study door.

"Right in here," Dan responded from behind the closed door.

Donna hesitated only an instant, then she pushed open the study door.

Dan sat more upright in his chair as he viewed his foster-daughter's greatly revealed body. Donna knew that her appearance was bound to have an effect upon him. It couldn't miss, for the towel outlined the fullness of her figure, a fullness that caused confusion for people when they tried to determine where childhood ended and maturity began. Donna had always been rather pleased with her breasts. But this moment as she stood revealed to her foster-father in nothing but a TURKISH towel, she was very proud of them. They felt heavy, and she knew that a good third of them were puffed and exposed above the upper line of the towel. She knew it because she had been careful to adjust the towel in a manner that would assure this effect. And Donna delighted with her legs at this moment that marked the beginning stage of her seduction. The bottom line of the towel cut across the very topmost portion of her thighs, cut them on an angle that made the towel seem only casually conscious of what it concealed - barely concealed.

Donna grinned, then entered the room, undulating her body, like a native girl.

"Yes?" Dan questioned, pushing to the edge of the chair, readying himself for rising.

"Do you think that you could spare a minute for your little girl?" she said, spinning the words audaciously, smirking, and thickening them with the undertones of something mysterious.

"Of course," Dan replied. "But you're hardly dressed for conversation."

She stopped directly in front of him, then said, "It isn't conversation I'm looking for."

"Oh, really?"

"Really." She held the safety pin out to Dan, then added, "Pin me, pin me."

He chuckled and pushed up from the edge of the chair. He took the pin from her hand, glancing over all of her body as he did so. His eyes seemed to moisten, as if for some reason that was known to him alone.

Donna smiled and narrowed her eyes as her foster-father stood before her.

"Where? Where do you want me to pin you?" he asked.

"Oh, any place will do," she laughed.

Dan laughed, too, then said, "Come on. Where?"

"At the back," she instructed.

Donna turned a bit, being careful to do it in such a manner as to allow her to lean back and gently bump into Dan. When her body collided with his, she felt his hands move to her shoulders and hold her close.

"Careful," he said.

"I always am."

"Are you really?"

"Uh huh."

"What are you careful about?"

"Everything."

"Give me an example," he said, his voice low.

"Well, first thing," she said, leaning back, pressing her weight heavier against his hold, "I'm always careful about not talking about things I shouldn't talk about."

"Ummmm, that's interesting. That's a pretty good quality. What else are you careful about?"

"I'm careful about seeing that the night lock's on all the doors when they should be."

"That's cautious," he said.

"And I'm not a snitch - I never have been, not even at the orphanage."

"Admirable."

Donna paused a moment. During it, Dan's hands slipped from her shoulders and found their way around her waist. At her navel, he laced them together, holding her against him, supporting the leaning pressure of her body in a way that caused Donna to feel the sudden, sharp thrust of his penis striking at her buttocks. And within another moment she felt his cheek softly making contact with hers, gently rubbing, caressing, moving.

"Tell me more about your good points," Dan said, moving his hands up and placing them across her breasts.

"Well, I -" Donna paused. Her voice sounded different. The harsh tease and cynicism of the tough girl was gone. The tone sounded like that of a little girl, frightened and mustering bravery for the adventures that were ahead.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"I don't have anything else to say."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Donna put her hands on top of his, rested them there lightly for a moment, then pressured them close. He pinched hard at her breasts, then twisted her around to face him. Now there were new sensations for Donna; the head-on kiss of their mouths, the clash of their tongues, and the rising, strengthening pressure of Dan's manhood knocking at her thighs. And between them there was only the towel held loosely by the pressure of their bodies.

Dan lessened the pressure of his body against hers. The towel fell to the floor. He gasped at the total nudity of Donna and forced it into a new, hard contact.

She strained mightily against the man. She felt every part of him - especially the sex part - stabbing at her body. She liked the feeling. From some distant place of her past where hate had been born, Donna had now found outlet for that hate through the desirability of her body.

They broke their embrace and moved to the couch. Donna fell upon the leather cushions and watched as her foster-father quickly undressed. She lay there quietly, waiting for him.

Working feverishly, he lunged at her, caught his hands beneath her knees and raised them. Then, he jerked her high, moved close, and drove himself into the fourteen-year-old girl.

Donna crumbled lower upon the cushions as her foster-father committed her to the first lunge from his body. She could feel the rub of her buttocks against the leather cushions as Dan jerked her upward, released her, jerked her high again, lowered her, then brought her together with himself in a series of machine-gun rapid movements before he again slowed, lingered close, then parted again for that slight instant before once more digging himself deeply to Donna's quivering body.

Her feelings were mixed when her foster-father reached his climax. Although she had felt a slight rumble of excitement within herself as their bodies churned together at the end, she had only reached that phase of approach that promised, but did not fulfill, all that was expected. It didn't matter to her. It was enough for her that she held the sight of her weakened and emotionally battered foster-father withdrawing from her body and collapsing upon her. This was enough, for it was hate, not love, which had bred the sex act.