
                    MY MOTHER SAID I NEVER SHOULD
                         by The White Rabbit

                                *****

Copyright 2000 by The White Rabbit.  All rights reserved.  
This story may not be reproduced in any form without explicit
permission from the author.  The author reserves exclusive rights to
post this story on usenet.  Permission is granted for you to make and
keep one (1) electronic copy for your personal use as long as this
notice is retained, unchanged, as a part of this document.  No other
archiving, commercial or otherwise, is permitted.  

Published with permission from the author by TYGER.  

Author's Note:  This is a work of fiction.  I have never had sex with
a minor, and never intend to.  It can be fun to fantasise about
loving sex with a child; but the reality is abuse and exploitation,
which destroys lives.  Children are, without exception, beautiful and
precious, and we must love and protect them.

                                *****

Lucy was more frightened than she'd ever been in her twelve years, as
she crashed through the undergrowth, the long skirt catching and
tearing on branches and bracken, petticoats tripping and tangling her
legs, foliage whipping back into her face.  But she daren't pause, or
even take any notice of the pain, for fear of the man crashing
through the forest after her.

She'd never liked Mr Dawson, who was always telling people that
they'd be going to Hell; but he was the vicar, so of course she
trusted him.  When he'd come upon her, therefore, picking flowers in
a clearing, she'd stood up and bobbed a little, respectful curtsey.
"Good morning, Mr Dawson," she said.

He stared at her in silence for a moment, and those sombre eyes
seemed to bore into her.  "I've seen you," he said abruptly, and Lucy
almost physically jumped.  He stretched out and pointed at her.
"Like all the sluts.  Making devil's eyes at every man, tempting us
all... tempting them all to fall into sin.  You are the Whore of
Babylon, and you must be punished."

Lucy couldn't believe her ears.  She knew that she wasn't as good a
girl as she ought to be: her grandmother often spanked her, and
occasionally her grandfather would even take his belt to her.  But
this... Why would her eyes tempt anyone to sin?  She didn't
understand.  She knew that "whore" was a word in the Bible, and it
wasn't good; but she didn't know what a "slut" was.

"Please, Mr Dawson," she said, trying hard not to whine, "I try my
best to be good, honestly.  If you'll tell me what I should do..."

"There is no remedy for your evil," the vicar thundered at her.  "You
must be punished.  The god fearing men of the parish must be
protected from your wickedness.  I must be the instrument of God's
vengeance on you, as I was on that harlot Mary Carter."

Something went cold inside Lucy.  Mary, a girl a year older than
herself, had been found buried in the forest last autumn.  The
gypsies had killed her, of course: that had been obvious straight
away, although they had never been caught.  Lucy knew that Mary's
throat had been cut.  She also knew that something else had been done
to her, which no one would tell her about, but which seemed to
outrage the grownups even more than the killing.

Lucy didn't quite understand what was going on; but it seemed as
though Mr Dawson was saying that he'd killed Mary.  But how could
that be?  Vicars simply didn't do that kind of thing.

"Come here, slut," he hissed at her; and, from inside his frock-coat,
he drew a kitchen-knife.  "I followed you here, and I know you won't
be missed for a while.  Come here, and do as I say, and I'll make it
quick."

She didn't understand how, but that touched something within Lucy.
Backing away, she screamed loudly; then she turned and fled.

Lucy was fitter and more agile than the vicar; but she was in a
panic, too, whereas he was following with a grim, determined
patience, knowing that he'd catch her eventually.  Sure enough, Lucy
finally caught her foot in a hole and went sprawling, knocking the
wind out of herself.  By the time she'd turned onto her back, ready
to push herself up to her feet again, her pursuer was standing over
her, knife pointed at her throat.  Lucy froze in terror.

"Please," she managed, in a little voice, "don't hurt me."

He snarled.  "Don't believe that you can deceive me, Satan.  Take
your clothes off."

She stopped pleading, startled into curiosity.  "Why do you want me
to do that?"  she asked.

His lips curled.  "The whore pretends innocence," he said, addressing
no one in particular.  "This lesson must be very thorough."  Reaching
down, he put the knife-tip lightly against the child's throat.
"Strip," he said, "like the lascivious harlot you are, or I'll kill
you now."

Lucy was crying, and her mind was numb; but the threat cut through
everything else, and her body obeyed without any thoughts being
involved.  Clumsily, fumbling out of fear, she unlaced the bodice and
slipped it off; then she eased the mass of skirts and petticoats down
over her hips (still slim, but slightly more flared than they'd been
at this time last year).  Ignoring the discarded clothes, she huddled
back, arms folded across the slight swellings that had recently begun
to grow around her nipples, feeling more naked in her underwear than
she had ever felt before.

Mr Dawson stood looking down at Lucy, a contemptuous snarl across his
face.

"I said, take them off," he told her.  "I mean all of them."  And the
knife went to her throat again.

He didn't need to speak the threat, this time: the child hurried to
obey, even more terrified of the knife than she was to be naked in
front of a man.

She ignored everything except his eyes and the knife; so it wasn't
until the vicar's hand went to the crotch-fastening on his trousers
that she realised a strange thing: the material was pushed right out,
as though a hand were inside, holding it as far as possible from his
body.

For a moment, Lucy didn't quite understand what happened next.  She
had a hazy knowledge of the thing men and boys had inside their
trousers; and she'd seen it, of course, on the farm animals.  But
never on a human being; and she'd never imagined it would look quite
like that.  So straight and hard, sticking out from his body.  So
red, with a great purple knob at its head.  And so big.

Keeping the knife close enough that she dared not disobey, Mr Dawson
sank to his knees.  For an instant, she thought he was going to pray;
then he snarled, "Open your legs, whore.  Don't pretend you don't
understand.  Your kind are born understanding lechery.  You touch
yourself, don't you?  Touch and rub between your legs, like the
filthy animal you are.  Oh, I can imagine it.  I've seen you, time
and again, in my mind's eye, taking your disgusting pleasures.  I've
seen all the visions that the devil's sent me of you, trying to tempt
me into sin."

Lucy's mind was dazed.  She understood very little of what the vicar
was saying.  Touch herself where?  Did he mean her dirty place
between her thighs?  But she'd never touched herself there in her
life.  Except to wash, of course.  Surely he wasn't saying that
washing was a sin?

But he seemed barely aware that he was actually speaking to her.
Bending forward, he lowered himself until he was lying on top of
Lucy, who tried hard not to gag.  He was sweating, and there was
spittle around his mouth; and there seemed to be a strange,
unpleasant smell about him.  She didn't mind the pungent smells of
the farm, not even the pigs; but this smell had a sour nastiness.

Lucy gave a little yelp of surprise, as the tip of his man-thing
touched her dirty place.  "Shut up, you cunt," he growled; and she
froze in terror.  She never heard the word he used; but his tone was
enough to tell her that it was something nasty.  He pushed a little,
so that the tip pushed between the two folds of flesh she had to wash
between.  She tried to keep quiet; but it hurt too much, and she gave
a squeal.

The back of his hand smashed into her cheek.  "Shut the fuck up, you
slut," he hissed, "and take your fucking like the scum you are.  You
think that hurts?  Try this."

Grabbing hold of Lucy by the hips, he drove his thing further between
the folds.  She felt a searing, tearing agony, pain as she had never
felt before.  Expecting to pass out any moment, she heard herself
screaming shrilly; and she continued to scream, as he pumped the rod
in and out of the tiny hole it had slipped into.  Each time he thrust
it back in, it seemed to tear the little opening apart, scraping her
tight, dry flesh like rough stone.

Then the air seemed to explode above her, echoes detonating round and
round; and the full weight of his body slammed down onto hers,
knocking the wind out of the child.  For a moment, she didn't
understand what was happening.  Even when liquid began dripping onto
her, and she saw that blood was pouring out of the ruins of his head,
she was too dazed to work it out, until a booted foot pushed the
vicar's body rolling off hers, and she found herself looking up into
a dark, handsome face, framed by long black hair.  The shotgun he
carried still smoked a little.

There was a surging in her head, and Lucy was engulfed by nothingness.

                                *****

She was lying on a bed, when she woke, in a small room.  She could
see various items of furniture; but there seemed something wrong,
something different, about the room.  Not dangerous, just strange.

Lucy was aware of still being naked, under the covers.  It felt
strange: she was used to wearing a heavy night-dress to sleep,
although she knew that she wasn't in her own bed, and she didn't even
think it was night-time.  She remembered what had happened; but she
wasn't too sure whether she'd been brought here naked (wherever here
was) or whether someone had stripped her again before putting her to
bed.  She looked around the room, but couldn't immediately see her
clothes.

Then the door opened, and the man she'd seen earlier entered.  He
glanced over and saw that she was awake; but he took a few moments to
do something she couldn't see clearly before turning to come to her
bedside.  "How are you feeling?"  he asked.

"All right," she said, unable to get her voice above a whisper.  She
gazed up at him.  Even to a twelve-year-old, he looked young and
incredibly handsome: a dark complexion, long black hair and sparkling
eyes, with a strong, lithe physique.  Although she knew she should be
afraid of him, Lucy couldn't help feeling a sinful glow of pleasure
at having the undivided attention of such a splendid young man.

"Who are you?"  she asked after a moment.  "And where am I?"

"Joseph Lee at your service," he said, with a slight trace of a bow.
"You're quite safe, in my vardo."

Lucy looked around curiously, with a slight trace of fear.  "You're a
gypsy?"  she asked.

"I am," he acknowledged.  "Are you scared?"

She shook her head.  "I... I don't think so.  Should I be?"

He laughed.  "No, girlie, you've nothing to fear from me.  We don't
really eat little girls for dinner, you know."  He winked.  "Least,
not if we can catch rabbits instead.  And I've got three stewing
outside."

Lucy giggled, in spite of the tension.  "What happened, Mr Lee?"  she
asked.

"Just Joseph," he said.  "Don't have much use for a surname.  Any
case, half the Romany people are called Lee.  And who are you,
girlie?"

"My name is Lucy Kershaw," she said.  "I live at Brooks Farm, with my
grandparents."

He gave her a searching look.  "Your grandparents?  No mum or dad?"

"My mother died when I was born," said Lucy.  It always hurt a bit to
talk about it, but she felt easy with Joseph.  "My father had an
accident when I was five, and died.  I've lived with my grandparents
since then."

Joseph nodded, but didn't comment.  "The answer to your question," he
said, "is that I heard you screaming, and I found that monster with
you.  We know all about him."  He grimaced.  "We should do: we get
the blame for his crimes."

"You mean Mary?"  Lucy asked.

He shrugged.  "I don't know any of the poor girls' names; but he's
raped and murdered quite a few, over the years, from this district.
We all know about him."

She stared at him.  You know?  But... why haven't you told anyone?"

He gave a short, bitter laugh.  "Yes?  Who's going to believe a group
of gypsies?  They think we're responsible.  No, the best thing we
could think of was to keep looking, and solve the problem ourselves.
And I've done that, now.  Permanently."

"Is he dead?"  she asked, surprised to find that she felt little
emotion except curiosity.

Joseph laughed again.  "If he's not dead, with half his brains over
the ground, then it's a miracle," he said.  "Did you know him?"

Lucy nodded.  "Mr Dawson," she said.  "Our vicar."

He snorted.  "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"  he asked,
apparently addressing the air.  "Preaches about Hell, because he does
the devil's work himself."  He smiled at her.  "Never mind, I've
buried him.  Are you feeling well enough to get up?"

She looked around, confused.  "Well... yes, but I've got nothing on.
Where are my clothes?"

She missed the quick, amused smile, almost instantly stifled.  "They
had blood on them, sweetheart," he said gently.  "I washed them out,
and they're drying in the sun.  It shouldn't take long, in this
weather."

"But..."  Lucy hesitated, bewildered.  "What can I wear, till then?"

This time, Joseph was less successful at hiding his amusement.  "It's
a warm day," he said, "and there's no one but me to see you."  Her
face was stricken with shock, and he laughed.  "Don't worry about it,
girlie.  After all, I carried you back here naked.  Remember, your
body was made by God, not by the devil.  And..."  He gave a slow,
contented smile.  "From what I saw, you're a piece of handiwork to be
proud of."

Lucy felt her cheeks turning very red and very hot; but what Joseph
said seemed to make sense.  Or maybe she just wanted it to make
sense.  Very slowly, holding her breath, she slid the cover down her
body.  She kept her eyes turned away from Joseph; but she was aware
that he was watching her closely.  There was a slight intake of
breath when the cover slipped below her nipples, and she felt
absurdly flattered, considering that she only had the slightest hint
of breasts to show.  When she pushed it further down, and felt the
cooler, slightly musty air of the waggon on her bald crotch, he
muttered, "Beautiful," and it seemed to Lucy that every dream she had
ever had came true.  She knew it was wrong that he was looking at
her, and she knew that it was sinful for her to take pleasure in
this; but she didn't care.  Maybe it was the ordeal she had just been
through, maybe the shock of discovering the vicar's true nature, but
she was revelling in the delicious sensation of being thoroughly
naughty.  She'd decided that she liked it.

Joseph continued to gaze at her for a few moments more, after she'd
got to her feet, only a little unsteadily.  Then, with a slight
laugh, he turned away.  "You're a sight for sore eyes, and no
mistake, girlie.  But never mind.  Hungry, are you?"

Lucy thought for a moment, and realised that she was hungry.  She
wasn't sure how long she'd slept, but she'd probably missed her
lunch.  She nodded.

"Good, because the stew should be just about ready."  He looked her
up and down slowly, only half pretending it was for practical
reasons.  "We'd better eat in here, just in case anyone comes by.
You stay here, and I'll bring it in."

While Joseph was outside, Lucy wandered around the waggon, curiously
examining the interior.  She'd only occasionally seen gypsy caravans
before, and never been inside one.  It looked very cosy: more so than
the farmhouse where she lived.  She could imagine staying here...

Lucy pulled herself up short, wondering what she was thinking; but,
fortunately, just then the door opened again, and two big dogs
exploded into the small room, followed by Joseph, carrying two
dishes.  Lucy froze, as the dogs stopped right in front of her,
taking a defensive stance.

Joseph spoke to them in a strange language, which she assumed must be
Romany; but they didn't relax.  He shrugged.  "Sorry about Brownie
and Ranger," he said.  "I told them you're a friend; but they're
suspicious of strangers."  He put down the plates.  "I need to show
them that we're friends.  Don't worry about what I do: it has to be
exaggerated, for their sake."

Stepping past the dogs, he put an arm around Lucy and gave her a big,
long kiss on the lips.  She stiffened, for a moment, trying not to
react in any way that would put doubt into the dogs' minds; but,
after a moment, she began enjoying the feeling and returned the kiss.

At last, he broke away.  "I think they've got the message now," he
said; and she nodded gravely.  As he turned away, he gave the dogs a
little wink and muttered a phrase, which could well have been "Good
boys" in Romany.

The animals' demeanour had totally changed, and both were competing
to play with Lucy, nuzzle her, coax her into stroking them.  She'd
always loved dogs, though was realistic about the fact that many were
trained to attack, so she enjoyed the attention.  But it was only a
few minutes before Joseph said gently, "Stew's getting cold, girlie."

He sent the dogs outside, while they ate, and they talked lightly,
each telling the other a little about their lives.  But, when they
were finished, both sitting together on the bed, Lucy fell gradually
silent.  "What's the matter?"  Joseph asked eventually.

"Joseph," she said hesitantly.  "You know about... oh, things.  You
know, about life and... things.  Don't you?"

"Probably."  He was unsure exactly what she meant, but was willing to
go along wherever this was leading.  "What do you mean?"

"Well... It's something Mr Dawson said.  He told me what happened was
my fault.  He said I made devil's eyes at men, and tempted them into
sin.  He called me a... a slut and a whore.  What did he mean?  Was
it really my fault?"

"Of course it's not your fault," Joseph snarled, his eyes narrowed,
is pleasant face twisted suddenly into a scowl.  Lucy drew away from
him, scared, and he immediately controlled himself.  "I'm sorry,
Lucy," he said, much more gently.  "It's him I'm angry with, not you.
It's just that men like that disgust me.  They try to blame their
own twisted lusts on the very people they prey on.  They see the
filth in themselves, and try to blame it on the world around them."

"But... but why me?"  she asked plaintively.

He hesitated a moment, trying to ensure that he said the right thing.
"Men like that," he said at last, "when they see someone as
beautiful as you, they have some compulsion... some inner devil, if
you like, that makes them want to hurt and destroy her, use her for
their own twisted pleasures.  Whereas any real man would want, more
than anything, to give her true joy and love, and take pleasure in
her pleasure.  Not to take by force what should be given freely."

Lucy was silent for a moment.  "What he was doing to me," she said,
without looking directly at Joseph, "was like what the bulls do to
the cows, that I'm not supposed to look at.  And I've seen dogs do
it, too.  Are you saying that people actually enjoy doing that?"

"Certainly.  Believe me, girlie, it feels very, very different when
someone's doing it in a spirit of love and giving.  One day, you'll
experience that.  Then you'll understand."

She shook her head.  "I can't imagine ever enjoying it," she said
firmly.  "It's horrible."

He hesitated a moment.  "What's your favourite food?"  he asked
suddenly.  "You know: not for satisfying you when you're hungry, but
for pure pleasure."

Lucy thought for a moment.  There was no question as to the answer;
but she felt slightly reluctant to admit such a secret, which was
probably sinful.  But she felt easy with Joseph: he didn't seem to
mind pleasure.  "Honeycomb," she said.  "If I can ever get hold of a
piece of honeycomb, I take it to one of my secret hiding-places, and
eat it there all on my own, enjoying every mouthful."

He smiled, studying her face.  "Yes," he said softly, "I can imagine
that.  Well: try to imagine this.  Suppose someone chased you, so you
were terrified, then pushed you to the ground, forced your mouth open
and stuffed honeycomb down your throat, till you were choking.  Would
that be a pleasant experience?"  She shook her head, her eyes wide
with amazement and fixed on his.  "Of course not.  Yet that doesn't
make enjoying it properly any less wonderful.  And it's the same with
making love."

She thought about that for some time.  Neither of them spoke; but,
after a while, she reached out and took his hand, engulfing hers in
it.  Finally, just when he was making up his mind to speak, she said
abruptly, "Why did you say I was beautiful?"

He stared at her, surprised.  "Because you are," he said.

She frowned slightly.  "But my grandparents just tell me I'm a
clumsy, ugly child.  And some of the older girls make fun of me.  No
one's ever called me beautiful before."

"Then," he said softly, "your village is populated by blind people.
You're one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen."

He saw her eyes widen in amazement, and smiled to himself as he
examined her once more, just for the sake of it.  Her auburn hair,
thick and unbound, sweeping down over her shoulders, framing a sweet,
oval face dominated by big eyes the blue of cornflowers, red lips
with a slight natural pout and a strong, determined little chin.  He
gazed down her small upper body, traces of puppy-fat giving way to
slight swellings around her nipples and the suggestion of a figure at
the waist and hips.  Down to the hairless little pussy, a little
reddened from the recent abuse, but clean now (he'd washed off the
blood when he'd cleaned her, as she slept).  The cute, eloquent arse
he knew to be there, although she was sitting on it.  The legs with
their child's thighs, and the perfectly-formed little feet.  Every
part of her was perfect.

Lucy was aware of him looking her over; but she was busy trying to
make up her mind to say what she had to.  "Joseph," she began at last.

"Yes, sweetheart," he said, his eyes still wandering over her.

"What you said about the honeycomb.  If that had really happened to
me... you know, being forced to eat it... I know what I'd do.  I'd
get a piece of honeycomb, take it to one of my places, and enjoy it
more than I'd ever enjoyed it before.  To make sure it wasn't spoilt."

There was a very long, very charged silence, as Joseph wondered
whether she could really be saying what he thought she was.  "So," he
said slowly, "what you mean is..."

She met his eyes; and Joseph almost recoiled from the blend of
terror, desire and determination in them.  "Yes," she said simply.
"I want it to be you, Joseph.  Show me how to enjoy it.  Please?"

He gazed at her for a moment longer; then he smiled at her.  "How
could I refuse you anything, girlie?"  he said softly.  "Right," he
said, more briskly, "if we're to be lovers, come here like a good
little girl and give me a kiss."  And, without waiting, he scooped
her up, one arm around her waist, the other hand under her arse, and
deposited her on his lap, facing him.  For an instant, as he took
hold of her, Lucy froze in terror; but it passed in moments, and she
threw her arms around Joseph's neck, stretching her mouth up for the
first truly passionate kiss she had ever enjoyed.

At first, she tried to pucker her lips up, thinking that was the
proper way to kiss; but Joseph overpowered her mouth with gentle
insistence, forcing it open, insinuating his tongue between her lips,
up against her teeth, pushing them relentlessly apart.  Lucy felt
that her entire mouth was becoming liquid, flowing into him, as he
engulfed her; but it was so delicious, she wanted to be engulfed,
lost for ever.

Then, abruptly, it was over.  Lucy gazed up into her lover's eyes,
only inches from hers, too stunned to take the initiative.  Joseph
gazed back, seeing the little girl who had suddenly become a wild
animal: eyes wide and shining with astonished lust; wet lips parted
sensually, begging to be assaulted again; her cheeks and her forehead
flushed and her whole body hot and sweaty.  Glancing down, he could
see the nipples on her nearly-flat chest standing out a little more
than a few moments ago; and, where her crotch rested on his lap,
rubbing on his already-stiffening cock, he felt a hint of dampness
soaking into his trousers.

"Girlie," he murmured, "you are the hottest little thing I've ever
kissed.  Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

She blushed more deeply, and looked confused.  "But... I've never
done anything like that before.  I never knew kissing could be so...
so..."  She gave up trying to find the words to describe it.  "Lets
do it again."

"Hang on a moment."  Joseph felt that this was escaping from his
control.  "You've got a start on me.  Give me a moment to get naked,
too."

Lucy subsided obediently, watching closely, in case she should miss a
thing, while Joseph pulled his shirt and waistcoat unceremoniously
over his head, revealing a muscular torso, the chest covered in a
thick thatch of black hair.  Her eyes widened.  "You're hairy," she
commented, her tone interested more than frightened.  "You're not a
wolf, are you?"

He winked at her.  "Not so's you'd notice," he said.

Lifting Lucy up, he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed again,
while he stood to pull his trousers down.  The child's little tongue
was running excitedly over her lips, constantly moistening them, her
eyes fixed on Joseph's crotch; and she gasped, as the long, thick
shaft suddenly revealed itself, springing from confinement to stand
pointing slightly above the horizontal.

"But... but it's enormous," she exclaimed.  "It must be twice as big
as Mr Dawson's, and that hurt enough.  You can't put that thing in
me."

"It's all right, girlie," said Joseph gently, kneeling in front of
her.  "I didn't really see how big his was, but I don't think there
could be that much difference.  It's completely up to you what we do.
Or don't do.  But think on this.  There were two reasons why he hurt
you so much.  One was that he broke your cherry: and once that's
happened, it never happens again.

And the other was that he took you when you didn't want him, without
getting your little pussy ready.  If you still want it, I'll make
sure you're turned on and wet, and my cock'll slide in like a dream.
Promise.  And you can say, if you want to stop."

Lucy stared at him, feeling torn.  Part of her was beginning to wish
she hadn't asked him to do this; but the feelings that had been
creeping through her body since she'd met him, and flooding through
since he'd kissed her, wouldn't let her think straight.  Her head
felt light and deliciously floaty; her whole body felt more alive
than she'd ever known it; and the dirty place between her legs, that
he'd called her pussy (she liked that, it made her giggle inside) was
wet and on fire at the same time.  She wasn't sure what it was she
wanted done to it; but she knew she didn't want it left alone.  She
realised that her own hand had wandered between her legs, and was
rubbing the place.  She hadn't even noticed doing that.  She was
about to force herself (reluctantly) to stop being so filthy, when
she realised that Joseph was watching what she was doing, smiling;
and she realised that she didn't want to stop.  Not, at least, unless
he was going to take over.  Yes, Lucy decided, she'd definitely like
that.

"All right," she said, trying rather unsuccessfully to sound casual,
"I'll try it.  Are you going to..."  She stopped with a gasp as
Joseph, very gently but very firmly, moved her hand aside and started
rubbing her pussy himself.  "Oooh, that's nice," she moaned,
immediately abandoning her pretence of insouciance.  "Don't stop,
please, keep rubbing... Ooooooohhhhh."  And Lucy collapsed into a
formless mass of lust, as his finger found a tiny button, at the top
of the slit, and began playing with it.  "What on earth's that?"  she
gasped, as he paused for a moment.

Joseph looked down at her gazing up at him through eyes made distant
by the haze of sexual need.  "That, little girl," he said, "is your
clitty.  Make sure you get to know her: she can give you more
pleasure than anything else."

Lucy giggled.  "My clitty," she repeated.  It sounded deliciously
rude.  "Play with my clitty again, Joseph, I love it."

She tried to push his hand back into place; but he resisted, and she
almost cried from frustration.  "Hush, girlie," he whispered.
"There's more than one way of playing with her."  And, kneeling, he
lowered his face to her crotch and kissed the little button, his
tongue licking out and flicking lightly across it.

For a while, Lucy could neither speak nor think rationally; but then
she managed to gasp out, "Joseph... you shouldn't... isn't that
dirty?"

He laughed, taking his mouth away for a moment.  "Not at all.  You've
the sweetest-tasting pussy-juices I've ever known."  He winked at
her.  "Better than honeycomb."  And he returned to his tonguing of
her clitty, occasionally moving it back to probe between the folds
and into the little hole.  The same little hole that, hundreds of
years ago, Mr Dawson had violated.  But now it was sending her crazy
with waves of pleasure, opening to her lover's tongue, juices pouring
out until she didn't know whether her crotch was soaked with Joseph's
saliva or her own pussy-juices.

Her whole body was hot and flushed; and a delicious, indescribable
feeling started growing low down in her belly.  She could feel the
walls of her soaking pussy quivering, trying to clutch at something
that wasn't there; then a slow explosion detonated through her body,
blowing a hole in her head, so that she was aware of nothing for what
may have been a second or a year.  When she could next think, her
upper body had collapsed over Joseph, pinning him to her crotch.
Very gently, he lifted her up, and sat beside her on the bed; then
she let herself be lifted onto his lap and cocooned in his embrace.
She remained there, utterly protected, utterly his, while the
aftershocks of the earthquake died away.

"What was that?"  she murmured at last.

"That," he told her, his fingers caressing her hair, "is called
coming, or having an orgasm.  It's what everyone seeks for, when they
make love."

"Can we do it again?"  she begged.  "Please?"

He laughed softly.  "As many times as you like.  But that's not all
there is to it.  One of the biggest differences between making love
and what you had done to you is that it's shared.  Both of us should
want to give the other pleasure."

"Oh."  Lucy blushed, realising that she hadn't thought of this.  "Can
men have... um, come, too?"

"Certainly.  It's a bit different, though, but just as good.  Men
like having their cocks played with, just as I was playing with your
pussy."

Lucy giggled, the absurdity suddenly striking her.  "We've got a real
farmyard, haven't we?  Where's the dogs and the cows and the sheep?"

Joseph laughed out loud.  "Oh, girlie, you're the eighth wonder of
the world, you are.  Do you want to get to know my cock?  He'd
certainly like to get to know you, and your pussy, too."

She nodded, feeling both excited and nervous at the prospect; and,
taking her hand in his, he placed it gently against his tool.  The
stiff, straining shaft looked enormous, against Lucy's little hand.
"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured.  "Wrap your hand around it...
yes, like that.  Now, rub it up and down.  You see, the skin's loose
over the shaft.  Try to peal it back a bit... Oh, yes, that feels
wonderful."

Lucy played with Joseph's cock, growing more adventurous as she got
used to it, beginning to enjoy herself.  But she'd hardly got started
before he suggested, "Why don't you kiss him?"

She stared up, startled.  "Kiss?  But... that's horrible and dirty."

He shrugged.  "It wasn't dirty when I licked your clitty, was it?"

"Umm... No, I suppose not.  But... isn't that where you wee from?"

"Well, yes.  But it's clean; and I promise I won't piss while you're
near it."

She giggled again: somehow, the naughty word he'd used reassured her.
Very hesitantly, almost as if she thought it would bite, Lucy
slipped off the bed to kneel between his legs, bent her head and gave
the side of the shaft a quick kiss.  She looked up, expectantly.

"That was lovely, girlie; but you won't get to know him like that.
Kiss him at the end, and make it a really big, wet kiss, like you
gave me."

Taking a deep breath, Lucy bent again and did as he asked.  The head,
now partly exposed from its skin, tasted slightly bitter, but not
unpleasant; and Lucy pressed her mouth harder, letting the tip slip
between lips pushed a little apart.  Joseph was caressing her hair,
murmuring between gasps how wonderful and beautiful and clever she
was.

She wanted to carry on; but, after a while, he pulled his cock away
from her mouth.  With a little, wordless mewl of protest, she tried
to go after it, to get it back between her lips; but he lifted her by
the armpits, bringing her face up level with his, and gave her a
deep, wet kiss.  "If you still want to go all the way," he told her
softly, "now's the time, before I shoot my load."

She wasn't sure what he meant by that; but she guessed that going all
the way was when he put his cock in her pussy.  Fear rose in her
throat, at the idea; but it couldn't compete with the tingling all
over her body, or the deliciously hot and wet itch in her pussy.  "Do
it," she gasped.  "Do it now.  Go... go all the way with me."

"It's called fucking," he whispered.  She'd never heard the word, but
her pussy spasmed as he said it.  "Say, Fuck me, sweetheart."

"Yes, fuck me, Joseph," she begged, feeling herself losing control.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.  Fuck me now."

In a single movement, he swung her over and deposited her firmly on
the bed, lying on her back, and pushed her legs wide open.  Kneeling
between them, he bent over her; and, for just a moment, Lucy felt
really scared.  He was flushed and sweating, his stiff cock
twitching, saliva running from the corners of his mouth.  But then
she looked into his dark, shining eyes and knew, without the shadow
of a doubt, that she was in love with him.  "I'm yours," she said,
almost too quietly for him to hear.  "Do whatever you want to with
me."  Then, abruptly, she was yelling at him.  "What are you waiting
for?  Fuck my pussy with your great big cock."

As if she'd pressed a switch in him, Joseph instantly dropped heavily
on top of her.  Lucy was winded for a moment; but he almost instantly
took the full force of his weight off her, although she could still
feel his body pressing down on hers.  He wriggled slightly, reaching
down with one hand to adjust his great, engorged cock until its head
nudged against her soaking pussy slit.  Here he paused for just an
instant: long enough to raise his head slightly to look into her
eyes.  "I love you, girlie," he whispered.  Then he pushed the tip of
his cock just inside her hole.

Lucy's breath gasped out in a rush, at the impact of the great object
invading her.  Joseph paused for a few seconds, for her to get used
to it, then pushed a little further in; then paused again and pushed
again.  Lucy's face was bright red, and there were tears in her eyes,
and he stopped, stricken.  "Do you want me to stop?"  he asked; but
she shook her head vigorously.  He pushed again; and, this time, it
slid on the wet pussy-walls until the tip of his cock was touching
her vulva.  Glancing down, he saw that over half was inside her.

Lucy had never in her life imagined a feeling like this.  Her pussy
felt so stretched that it had to break.  It was almost like agony;
but she wanted it to go on for ever.  She was vaguely aware that she
was crying, but she couldn't tell why, because she felt so happy.

Then Joseph began pushing in and out.  Lucy squealed, at first; then
she wrapped her arms and legs around him, so that she was clinging
rather than lying beneath him, and began jerking her hips, meeting
his thrusts, grunting and crying out to the rhythm.  "That's my
girlie," he murmured.

Lucy could feel the delicious sensation building again, that Joseph
had called an orgasm; but just before it all exploded, his cock
started throbbing, and warm liquid spurted out, hitting the entrance
to her womb.  That set her off into an explosion, screaming; and this
time she passed out in the middle of it, blown into oblivion of raw
ecstasy.

When she came to, she was on her side, her arms and legs still around
him, wrapped tightly in his arms, his cock (slightly shrunken) still
inside her, caressing her hair, murmuring how much he loved her.  She
just lay in his embrace, feeling their combined sweat slowly drying
on her, her mind a beautiful golden haze, except for the one warm,
sweet thought she was aware of, that she was safe and loved.

At last, Joseph sighed and gently tipped her head back far enough to
meet her eyes.  "It's getting towards evening," he said.  "Will they
have missed you yet?  Will there be search-parties out?"

She smiled rather bitterly.  "They'll have missed me, when I didn't
come back for lunch.  But there won't be anyone to send out
searching, till the day's work's finished.  Joseph, I don't need to
go yet, do I?"

"You'd better," he said; but she could tell he was reluctant, and
that made his words hurt less.

"I'll come back tomorrow, if they'll let me," she assured him eagerly.

He gave a humourless laugh.  "I won't be here tomorrow, girlie.  I
need to be far away, before they find that the gypsies have killed
their vicar."

"But..."  She stared at him.  "You only shot him to save me.  He was
going to kill me, as well as... the other thing."

"You and I know that."  He shrugged.  "Who's going to believe us,
though?"

"They'll believe me.  I'll swear on the Bible..."

"They won't believe you.  Oh, they won't say you're lying, just that
the shock of it confused you.  They'll feel sorry for you, and
they'll hang me."

Lucy began to cry.  "I'll never see you again," she sobbed.  "I can't
bear that."

He gazed at her sombrely.  "Nor can I," he said, "and I'm that far
from saying, I'll stay, and let them hang me.  But... I'd die gladly
to save you; but no one, not even you, is worth being hanged for,
when there's nothing to show.  We'll still be apart, if I'm dead."

Lucy sniffed back her tears.  "No, you mustn't," she said decisively.
"I don't want you to die."  She looked up at him abruptly, as an
idea struck her.  "Take me with you," she said.  "I'll travel with
you, and we'll be together all the time.  Please?"

Joseph stared at her.  "But... What about your home?"

She shrugged.  "I'll be glad to get away from it.  My grandparents
won't miss me: they're always telling me how I'm such a nuisance, and
they only took me on out of duty.  I'd rather be with you.  Please?"

He hesitated a moment; then, drawing her face up to his, he kissed
her deeply.  "We'll need to get going right away," he said.  "You'd
better stay inside, till we're clear of the district."

Later, still lying languorously in the bed, Lucy felt the rhythm of
wheels turning and waggon swaying forming a song in her head.  The
old song the village girls often skipped to.

     My mother said I never should
     Play with the gypsies in the wood.
     If I did, she would say,
     "Naughty girl to disobey."

Lucy was naughty, deliciously naughty, and she didn't care.  There
was one gypsy, walking outside by the horse's head, she fully
intended to play with, in ways she'd never dreamt of before today.
It had only just started.

                            --- THE END ---

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