She felt it in
the absence of William from the camp, and even in the stubborn,
unspeaking presence of the man-child. He would never leave her, of that
she was now certain. And he would be near, very near when tomorrow, at
last, her plans would be ripe.
She no longer felt any hatred towards him. As their eyes met briefly
she even felt the old, half admitted love that had once been the most
important reality of her world. She didn't hate him. But she knew
what she had to do. It didn't have to mean destroying him, which she
was equally certain would never happen. How could steel be destroyed?
It couldn't, she thought, only disciplined to be a better servant.
And in her live imagination she felt the strong, shy touch of his hands
across her back, her ribs and then her breasts, accentuated by kissing
and tender words, the mouth sliding down across her neck, her chest,
licking her nipples and then squeezing and sucking in earnest, the
movements of his torso becoming less gentle as his penis grew rigid
against her thigh. Then he was inside her, with or without her help,
and began the innumerable thrusts that made of her body a single, roused
vehicle of warmth and pleasure. She gently, and not so gently massaging
his back, his buttocks. Till in the last fiery moments of passion he
crushed her to him, crying out in a voice made terrible by jealous rage.
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