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The Journals of Chastity

by J.T. Benjamin © 2010

 

erotic fictionEntry #4/33

Dear Diary:

Sigh. It’s official. I’m now a married woman. As of four-twenty this afternoon, I became Mrs. Augustus Borgia de Veneto, 16th Duke of San Marino (I think) and Count something-or-other, I honestly don’t know. The whole ceremony was a blur. I vaguely remember Daddy’s smile as he gave me away, (what a miserable wedding tradition!), Mama’s sobs, the priest waving something with something foul-smelling inside making lots of smoke, and saying lots of things in Italian. Or Latin. I’m not sure which. Oh, yes. I remember hearing the priest say, “You may now kiss the bride,” and seeing Augustus’s evil leer and how his mustache smelled of garlic and his breath tasted of whiskey.

Oh, how miserable am I, Dear Diary! I, sweet, innocent Chastity, struck down by holy matrimony at the tender age of nineteen! To think I must spend the rest of my days bound by God and the Church and oaths and promises and ball and chain to one such as Augustus! He looks so vile! And he’s so old, too! Why, he must be somewhere around forty! And if he’s that age and I’m only nineteen, then he’s…he’s…very much older than I!

What makes my looming misery so much more tragic is the fact that, as you know, Dear Diary, I’ve only so recently begun my sexual awakening! From the moment of my deflowering I’ve barely scratched the surface of the tasty varieties of carnal experience; of techniques, partners, positions, quantities, and now, now I’m condemned to having sex with only one man, who probably prefers a single type of sex, and my chances to experiment are gone forever!

Still, what’s done is done and I have to say that it hasn’t been for naught. During the father-daughter dance, Daddy happily informed me that Augustus’s check had cleared; the dowry has been paid, and Daddy can begin the long and difficult process of paying his debts and restoring his fortunes. The thought of my impending life sentence of holy misery is made easier by the memory of Daddy’s smile at the knowledge that the appropriate sums of money were at that very moment being deposited into various Swiss bank accounts.

I must say, however, that Augustus’s family knows how to throw quite a party. The wedding reception was held in the grand ballroom at his family estate, a very nice place if you like mansions. I feel sorry for the poor people who have to keep it clean, though. It’s enormous! Still, it’s my home now so I must make myself comfortable.

But where was I? Oh, yes. I was talking about the reception. There was a sumptuous feast, the finest champagne, a string quartet, and a dizzying array of extravagant gifts with which I felt I could console myself in my sadness.

There was one moment, during the soup course, when I found myself staring not to my left, at my new husband, but to my right, at Caroline, my Maid of Honor. I let my mind drift away to last night, my last night as a free, single woman, when Caroline and I threw caution to the wind and we fully enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s company. I remembered how her tongue felt on my pussy, driving me to orgasm after orgasm, about how I, only too happily, reciprocated, and then how she graciously invited her fiancé Richard into bed with us, as well. Caroline and I put Richard through his paces, like a stallion let free in a stud farm. First he had to bring Caroline to orgasm, (since she is, after all, betrothed to him, I felt it only fair to give her first crack at his glorious cock), fucking her doggie-style while she ate my pussy, and then I got my chance. I sat on Richard’s penis, riding him as hard and as fast as I could, while Caroline sat on his face and kissed me and fondled my breasts. We came together, Caroline and I, dear friends bonded by rapture, and then we gleefully sucked Richard off together until he ejaculated all over both our faces and breasts, and we kissed and licked each other clean. Then, the three of us collapsed in bed together. Oh, I was in heaven last night, Dear Diary!

The memory must’ve put a smile on my face, because I met Caroline’s gaze for a moment, and she smiled back at me. It was a small, but knowing smile, the sort that indicates a fond memory.

Alas, as much as my recollection of last night brought me closer to heaven, my Dear Husband (how I’ve grown to hate that word already) dragged me back down to Earth. Augustus pinched my nipple—hard! While I do appreciate some pain with my pleasure under normal circumstances, this was not at all a pinch of an arousing nature. It hurt! Worse still, the pain had been administered with no expectation of any future enjoyment on my part. Oh, no!

Augustus’s pincers-like fingers grabbed and squeezed and darted away like a viper might recoil after having bitten its victim. I squealed, (not too loudly, I hope) and glared with shock and horror at my husband. “What was that for,” I said, as loudly as I dared.

“Listen to me now, you bitch,” he said. The words came from deep within his throat, and their tone reminded me of the growl that one of his mastiffs, Cerberus, I think, gave me when I first met him and he tried to bite off a good chunk of my calf muscle. “I know what you were thinking about just now. I know you were fucking that slut Caroline and her boyfriend last night, and I’m telling you your slutty, whorish philandering ways are over! From this point on, if you spread your legs for anyone else I can very easily invoke certain clauses of our marital contract and demand repayment in full of the dowry I so generously gave your father. You might be able to go back to fucking whomever you want, but your dear, precious daddy will be rotting in a debtor’s prison somewhere. Keep that in mind, you cunt!”

At hearing Augustus’s words, I could feel the blood draining from my face. Caroline could also apparently hear my husband’s message, because her smile vanished, she became fascinated with her soup spoon and she failed to make eye contact for the rest of the evening.

I said, “Why, Augustus, I’m shocked at such an insinuation about my virtue,” with as much indignation as I could muster.

He said, “Virtue, shmirtue, slattern! You’ve made a vow to be true to me, and I expect you to keep it! That pretty little pussy of yours which you’ve so frequently shared with others is mine now, and only mine! Understand?”

“I understand, Augustus.”

“Your pussy belongs to only me! You promise that before God and man! Say it!”

“I promise before God and man that my pussy belongs to only you, Augustus!”

Apparently satisfied, Augustus returned to his meal.

I confess, I let Augustus’s warning affect my mood for quite a while, Dear Diary. Rather than at least pretend to enjoy what was supposed to be a joyous event, I sulked and pouted for at least two hours. If Augustus noticed my foul mood, he appeared unconcerned. Augustus was all business, talking mostly with highly connected wedding guests, invariably about money or the government or finances or power, or the various combinations thereof. We shared a single moment together when we cut the wedding cake and had several long, boring toasts, and then Augustus announced to me he was adjourning to his study with several “guests” to, I’m sure, further discuss money, government, finances and power.

He abandoned me, Diary! My husband abandoned me to my own devices on my wedding day! Not that I was especially enamored of his company, but still! I almost wanted to cry. Almost.

Then, I saw him. He was sitting at the far end of the main table. I remembered that he’d arrived from abroad just half an hour before the wedding, so we’d never had the chance to formally meet. Frankly, I’d been so busy with wedding preparations I hadn’t the chance to pay attention to anything but my own misery. Now, I had plenty of time to make his acquaintance. He was clearly younger than the rest of Augustus’s side of the wedding party, not to mention the collection of power brokers with whom Augustus had adjourned to the study. I guessed he was close to my own age. Not a fleck of gray in his black hair, not a single wrinkle on his firm, well-defined face, not a single bulge or bit of paunch on his slim, athletic-looking body. Sigh. When he stared at me and smiled, I could immediately feel my pussy getting so wet that if I were wearing panties, they’d be soaked in moments.

Diary, I must confess that if not for Augustus’s stern warning about my pussy, I’d have been more than happy to take that delicious-looking young man to the nearest private place and have my way with him, wedding day or no.

He got up from his seat and walked toward me, never breaking eye contact. His blue eyes twinkled and he flashed beautiful teeth and thin lips that I’d have loved to gnaw on before slipping my tongue into that perfect mouth of his.

He said, “We’ve never been properly introduced, have we? My name’s Gennaido. My friends call me Gene. I’m Augustus’s nephew, the son of his brother, Julius. My congratulations to you, the lovely bride. We’re family, now.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it, like a perfect gentleman.

I said, “A pleasure to meet you, Gene. I suppose that technically, you should call me, ‘Aunt Chastity,’ but that sounds strange.”

He laughed, a warm, comfortable, lyrical laugh. “I agree. That sounds very strange. Would you care to dance, Auntie?”

It took less than a moment for me to weigh the options. My husband had abandoned me, leaving me with nothing to do but brood and wish the day to end. Yes, I was thinking the dirtiest, most wicked thoughts about my brand-new nephew, but no harm would come of a single dance, would it? Of course not. I said, “I’d be delighted to dance, but only if you promise to never call me ‘Auntie’ or ‘Aunt Chastity’ again.”

“It’s a deal,” he said with another lyrical laugh.

The string quartet struck up a lovely waltz and for several moments, I was simply in heaven. Gene was a fabulous dancer, so strong and graceful it felt like my feet never touched the floor. Being swept up in his strong, powerful arms, my cares simply vanished. This was the sort of man with whom I could forge a genuine companionship and, judging by the way the sizable bulge in his trousers pressed up against my body, I could tell that he had the sort of physical equipment that a girl like me would love to enjoy on a regular basis.

Our waltz ended, so Gene and I walked, hand in hand, off the dance floor. I found my thoughts drifting to dirty, dirty places where I knew I shouldn’t dwell, so my mind raced to find things about which I could talk with Gene while avoiding those dirty, dirty places. I said, “This is a beautiful manor, I must admit. I must confess I haven’t been here long enough to gain a full appreciation of the place.”

Gene said, “It’s my family’s ancestral home. Would you like a tour?”

“Yes, that’d be lovely,” I said. Great, Chastity. Let this handsome young man take you away from everyone else and show you every quiet nook and cranny of this enormous building How many places are there to hide? How many places are available for quiet assignations? For the secret opportunity to give in to temptation? Good plan!

Things weren’t so bad, at first. Gene talked like something of a tour guide, pointing out this 16th century tapestry and how those columns were carved from Indian marble and how that depiction of Gene’s great-great-grandfather’s second cousin, the Earl of something-or-other was a classic example of neo-Renaissance Romanticism as exemplified by Rafael. Maybe. I’m not sure exactly what Gene was saying. I was having too much fun listening to him talk and watching his stony jaw move and wondering if he kept his pubic hairs neatly trimmed, or if he preferred the bushy look.

However, I must make it clear that at all times I remembered Augustus’s threat and the promise he made me swear. We found eventually found ourselves in the east wing, as far away from the banquet hall as we could be and remain in the building. Our footsteps echoed throughout the empty hallway as we walked, reminding us that we were ever so alone. The last room on our tour was a bedroom, a large, stately room spacious enough for a lively game of tennis, I thought. There was an enormous four-poster bed along one wall, with a fireplace large enough for someone to stand in along the opposite wall. The room struck me as a sanctuary, a well-appointed cave in which one might decide to be a hermit. I craved this room as my own.

Gene pointed to a huge portrait of a woman mounted on the wall to the left of the bed. She was young and stunningly beautiful, wearing a ravishing-looking off-the-shoulder dress. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in long, black locks, and there was a mischievous smile on her face. Gene said, “This was the favorite room of my great-great-great-grandmother Appolonia. That’s her portrait on the wall. She was the great matriarch of my family two hundred years ago.”

Upon gazing at the beautiful woman in the painting and being in her room, I suddenly felt a connection that I hadn’t felt before. I felt bonded to the room, to the mansion, and now to the family. Appolonia was stunning, she was commanding, she was sexy, and the young man standing next to me was of her blood. I felt a little faint and I began to walk forward, to the enormous bed. I must’ve tripped or staggered as I walked, because I suddenly felt Gene’s firm grip on my arm.

“Are you all right,” he asked as he guided me to the bed.

That was it. The touch of his strong hands on my skin, coupled with the euphoria and light-headedness I was feeling, made me lose all sense of reason and restraint. I grabbed Gene by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and practically threw him onto the bed, onto his back. For three or four seconds, he just looked stunned, giving me enough time to pounce. I had his trousers undone and pulled down in a flash, enabling me to gaze at Gene’s beautiful cock. It was long and thick and, I was delighted to see, already erect. Evidently Gene had been considering the same dirty sort of thoughts that had been on my mind ever since our dance.

For several minutes, I savored simply running my tongue up and down his shaft. This not only allowed me the great pleasure of assessing his penis and arousing him, but I also wanted to give him every opportunity to bolt before things went too far. Happily for me, Gene didn’t move. He simply moaned. Then, once I started sucking him, his moans grew louder and I knew he was there to stay.

I take great pride in my ability to control my gag reflex, to enable me to take all of a man’s cock into my mouth, all the way down my throat, until my lips are pressed against his testicles. I must say, however, it was quite a challenge downing Gene’s huge thing. I was nevertheless determined to do so, and the more of Gene’s cock I got down my throat, the more excited we both became. I don’t think he’d ever had a woman suck him so deeply, and when I finally managed to get all of him inside, I could feel his extremities begin to shake. I feared he’d have an orgasm right there. That would never do! I had other plans in mind! Slowly, I withdrew Gene’s prick from my mouth, and he began to gasp, as if he’d also felt he’d gotten to close to cumming before we were both ready.

We didn’t say anything. We kissed, savage, tearing biting kisses for a few moments, and then I stood up. With great ceremony and agonizing slowness, I hiked up my wedding dress. Gene stared as I did so, first at my calves, then my thighs, and then at my curvy, full, firm buttocks. The sight of Gene staring at me with such lust was making me so excited my legs felt shaky.

With my dress hiked up around my waist, I got onto the bed on all fours, showing Gene my ass. He got the hint right away, moving behind me. He squeezed my ass cheeks for a few moments, and I could hear his breathing becoming labored again. I reached between my legs and took his cock in my hand. It was still wet from being in my mouth, and it felt even larger than it had a moment ago.

Slowly, I guided Gene’s cock inside me. The head was so big he actually had to push it in with his thumb and once it did so, I shrieked. The more he pushed his way into me, the more my shrieks grew louder and I had to bite my lip to avoid being heard all the way back in the banquet hall on the other side of the manor. Oh, he was so big! Once his enormous shaft was pressed all the way into me, once I could feel his balls pressed against my buttocks, I had to take a moment to catch my breath before I summoned the courage to say, “Fuck me, Gene!”

He obliged, slowly withdrawing at first, and then thrusting forward a little more quickly, then withdrawing more quickly, then thrusting again more quickly still. Every thrust was more powerful than the previous, and with each one I could feel my excitement rising with more quickness and more intensity. My body started to tremble and my head started to spin and then I convulsed, and my whole body was consumed by a massive, powerful orgasm. I could hear my own voice making a deep, guttural groaning noise, but it sounded like it was coming from across the room. More clearly, in my ear, I could hear Gene’s grunting noises, over and over, synchronized with his thrusts and then, with a powerful cry and a forceful push that lifted my knees off the bed, he came, and I could feel my flesh reacting as his cock pulsed and shot his seed inside me and it all felt so bad, so good and so bad, the fucking, the fucking in this beautiful bed, in this beautiful room, fucking this young man, my nephew, my nephew who was older than I, on my wedding day, in my wedding dress! So bad but so good, and the knowledge that I’d never get the chance to be so bad again, and the realization that at least I was ending my badness on a high note and I suddenly came again, with that final thrust of Gene’s hips, a short but very sweet and intense final orgasm…my final one ever? Oh, Diary I hope not, but if it was, it was glorious.

We collapsed, Gene and I, me on my belly on the bed, him on top of me. The comforter on which we lay smelled faintly of lilacs, but to my surprise, no dust. I determined that I would make this bedroom mine, if only so I could savor the present moment.

Gene quickly pulled up his pants, not making eye contact while he did so. He reminded me a little of a pup who’s soiled the carpet and knows he’s behaved badly. I found his shame-faced expression amusing, and I told him so.

Gene mumbled something about getting back to the party. We left what was soon to be my bedroom and returned to the grand ballroom. We didn’t clasp hands. Gene still refrained from eye contact as much as possible, but his embarrassment didn’t bother me. As we re-entered the ballroom, Caroline saw me and she said, “For the first time, you look the way a blushing bride ought to look on her wedding day.” I had to laugh at that.

Only two minutes after Gene and I returned to the party, Augustus re-entered the room with his comrades. He made an announcement that in a few moments, he and I would be taking our leave of our guests so we could properly begin our honeymoon. There was a smattering of applause from the crowd. I couldn’t see Gene among them.

I confess, Dear Diary, that I was actually looking forward to spending the night with Augustus; as usual with me, a vigorous fucking whets my appetite for more, even from one such as my new husband.

We left the banquet hall and walked together up a beautiful, sprawling staircase toward the main suite of bedrooms. As we did so, Augustus whispered to me, “I expect you to remember and keep your promise, Chastity! ‘Til death do us part!”

I said, “Fear not, my dear Augustus. I’m a woman of my word. My pretty little pussy is all yours.” As I said that, I reflected that I’d have to take a bath before I was ready to consummate our marriage. Gene’s ejaculate was oozing out my attractive, aching little anus and starting to trickle down my leg.

_______
© 2010 J.T. Benjamin. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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