She looked like a small hill. Her shoulders and head rested on the bed. her hips rose a foot off the bed and her legs trailed down off the sides of the bed. Her secret garden towered open and exposed for anyone to see.
Le Diable pushed his face into her widened womanhood. Fear and excitement brought out lubrication inside her tunnel. She felt his tongue and lips find parts of her that her husband tended to and no one else. She wondered about responding to his touch and decided that any enjoyment from her would turn him off and that he would kill her immediately. She needed to give him the idea that he was arousing her, but that she found it repugnant. She said, "Oh. Don't do that. It feels odd. It isn't natural. Stop it. Stop it now."
She jerked her hand out of his grip and pushed his head. She was gratified to hear him laugh. She thought, "Good. Now for a slight reward." She allowed herself to respond just a little. She made her hips hunch up into his face. She told him. "No. Don't do that. It's doing something nasty to me. I don't want it. It feels strange."
He laughed again. She looked at his face. It was covered with her fluid. She wanted to get him up closer to her face. She moaned, "I hate what you're doing to me. This isn't happening. Not to me. I'm a good woman." She pushed his head again. "Don't come up here. I know you want to kiss me with your wet face. I won't let you."
He climbed on the bed and moved up her body. He paused at her breasts, taking one in his mouth and biting it hard. She screamed as loud as she could and looked at him with only partly manufactured terror. He grinned and kissed her. He rubbed his face all over her mouth. He wanted her to taste her own juices. She grimaced and sputtered. He laughed again.
She didn't have to dread the next part for very long. She knew it was coming and needed it to happen for her plan to work. She looked down her body at his erect cock aimed directly at the entrance to her hips. She screamed, “No! Please! Not that. Spare me from rape.” She covered her face with her hands and rocked her shoulders back and forth.
She spread her fingers until she could see if her gambit worked. It should make him ram his cock into her which would slid her up the bed toward her tool, now sitting on the floor by the head of the bed. She thought, “Why has this imbecile had so much success? He’s as easy to lead as a two year old.”
She held up her hands in mock pleading. “Wait, Wait. Let me make a request.” She sputtered a little and looked confused.
He gloried in her apparent submission. He said, “Of course, make your requests.”
“Two requests. First, don’t turn me over. That’s how prostitutes do this and I’m not a prostitute. Second, don’t spend deep inside me. That’s for my husband only. I'll take you in my mouth or let you rub your erection between my breasts. You can shoot your semen in my face of on my breasts. I like that." She paused. She had to sell the next part. She made her voice break and put a bit of a sob in it. "Just don't. Whatever else you do, just don't take me from behind. I hate that. I feel like a prostitute. I'll do anything you want as long as I'm facing you on my back. Will you do that?"
He responded with all of the independence of a trained dog. He flipped her over on her belly. She beat her hands on the sheet and wailed, "No. You can't do that. I won't let you. Please, not like this.”
Helene dreaded having this monster inside her body. She gathered herself and tensed. She knew he’d lunge at her. She’d made him angry and stoked his arrogance. He wouldn’t try the soft approach. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the bed.
Nothing happened. She lost her patience and screeched a high piercing scream. He wanted him to cut the sound off quickly and made his move.
She felt the important vibrations in the bed early. Le Diable shifted back a bit in preparation for the lunge that would take Helene. She lifted herself in the air. His back and butt hit her before his cock could penetrate. She used the force of his lunge to propel herself across the bed.
She thought, “I bet the imbecile tries the same thing again”. He did. His ego told him that the woman beneath him was frightened so much of him that she was incapable of independent thought. Once more, he lunged and she threw herself forward.
It was enough. She made a desperate lunge and got her arm over the side of the bed. She pulled hard until she could reach her clothes and her only weapon. Her fingers just barely lifted it up into her hand before he pulled her back.
She told herself, “Now” and twisted around so she could reach him. In her right hand, she held a hatpin. Not an ordinary sewing pin, but the six-inch long, sharper than a rattlesnake's tooth implement of death her grandmother used to keep her bonnet from blowing away. Veronique had found it at the play. One of the actresses must have dropped it. She’d put it in her pocket, carefully keeping the point away from her fingers. Now, it rested in her right hand, the half inch wide base hard against the heel of her hand and the tip held between her fingertips.