Heart of a slave

A Burning Desire

Dimitri never slept that evening. He just remained sitting in the dark corner of the room, looking at her sleeping, tossing and turning in the burning light of the lamp ... such beautiful brown skin, he thought. He had the pleasure of being around many beautiful women but, this one, he couldn't figure out. Maybe it was because he never lay with a coloured woman. 

He sipped on dry gin and thought of many reasons why he should not touch her. She is scared. She was nearly raped and had been through a lot. So, why am I thinking about making love to her? Yet again, he thought disdainfully, what is the point? I am not the first to touch her; certainly not the first to want her; I had seen how Alton was looking at her; he too wanted her; he was probably taking her to his bed every night, he angrily justified. So why must I be a saint? After all, Alton is already her lover, he thought.

He undressed carefully and walked towards the door, bolted it and decided to appease his need; he is just a man, an angry one now because she was sleeping with Alton. She had nearly been raped and here he is comforting her but he too wanted her so much. He lifted the chemise and touched her bare buttocks. Her scent of lavender overwhelmed him and he lost his senses completely. He grabbed her thighs and dragged her slowly towards him on the bed.

Siwhetta stirred. She thought her attacker was back. She wanted to scream but instead she turned over and hit the individual hard in the chest. She opened her eyes to see Dimitri over her. She lifted her hand to slap him, but he held her hand and kept it down. She kneed him in the abdomen, trying to escape his hold. Dimitri grunted, blurted out an expletive but held on to her, unwilling to let her go. He dragged her even closer to him. Siwhetta remembered the skills her father had taught her in self-defence and started to fight him but Dimitri was stronger and held her firmly as he breathed softly at her neck. He thought hastily where he should claim her: on the bed, or on the rug? She continued to fight him but her efforts only enticed him further. He moaned; she was driving him crazy. He dragged her off the bed and pinned her on the rug on her hands and knees, spreading her thighs with one knee. He bent over her on the floor and thrust himself deep inside of her. Siwhetta cried out agonizingly and fought desperately to get out from under him. He stopped for a moment in shock. Beads of perspiration clouded his forehead. He groaned. "Stop moving!" he rasped as he tried to maintain his self-control. Siwhetta stopped moving because she was only intensifying her pain.

Dimitri could not believe what he just did. Siwhetta continued to cry, but Dimitri was unable to resist the temptation that overrode every chord in his being. She was hot and tight, and he gave in to his desire for fulfilment and ignored her cries of anguish, moving continuously within the sweet folds of her thick thighs until he felt as if he was going insane. He made love to her like a mad man, wild and rough, pushing hard between the soft folds of her thighs while she cried out in agony. Dimitri cried out too, but in ecstasy because he had never experienced such sweetness. He squeezed her buttocks, and kissed her back as he came to a shuddering climax releasing his semen deep inside her. He whispered endearing words to her.

It wasn't long afterwards that he came to the full realisation of what he had done to her. Siwhetta was weeping. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs that made Dimitri feel remorseful. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her from the rug to the bed. She was still crying and he kept on holding her until she stopped crying. He felt like a monster; he should have realised that she was a virgin, but still, that was not how he would have made love to an experienced woman. However, he had been furious because he had thought that Alton had touched her before. He looked at her face in the lamp glow and noticed that her eyes were closed. She was asleep. Tears stained her face near her eyes, her nose ... he kissed them away and whispered soothing words in her ear.

Siwhetta heard the whispers but lay quietly while he made promises to her: promises to make it up to her; promises that she was now his and that she was going to be under his protection; promises that she now belonged to him.

Siwhetta never knew sex could be so painful; this was not the type of union that her mother had said so many beautiful things about during their conversations about the marriage bed. This was not how she had imagined her first experience would be. She felt as if her heart had fallen to her feet; she hated it.

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