Part One
History should not be ignored.
Young Dick awoke from his fever to see Miss Swanson applying make-up in her mirror. As per usual it was garish, harsh – it seemed men liked her this way. They also liked the whore in her negligee – she seemed to always be dressed in it, as she was now. It showed off her cleavage and Dick felt a strange stirring.
She had taken such good care of him when he had been sick. Feeding him soup the way he imagined his mother would have – in this very whorehouse where she came from. He had always wondered what the kindness of a mother would be like – his step-mother Abigail had been so cruel to him. But now he had tasted a glimmer of that kindness and caring from Aimee. She had asked him to call her Aimee.
But now she came over to him in bed and her manner was not kind, but predatory. He drew up the covers to his chest, not knowing what to expect. Her eyes were devilish, mischievous when she pulled up the sheets that were covering his lap, exposing his involuntary erection. She taunted him, telling him that he liked it, even though he didn't know what to do with it. Now he had a good idea of what she wanted – after all he lived in a whorehouse and had been known to spy on Uncle Mac and Abigail in the past. Yet despite his arousal he was not ready for this – did not want this.
"Stop it," he said and pushed the sheets back down.
She crawled into bed with him anyway, still taunting him.
"You like my bosom," she cooed. "Do you want to know what all the fuss is about?"
"No," Dick drew the sheet even further up his chest and refused to make eye contact with her. He was frightened.
"It's okay. I'll do everything."
She nuzzled his ear as her hand reached down under the sheets to grab his cock. He shivered involuntarily – she laughed at him.
"Relax."
"No."
"I'll make you relax . . . when I'm done with you you'll be relaxed, believe me."
She cackled loudly into his ear and pushed herself up to look at his face. He turned away, still refusing to make eye contact with this woman he felt he no longer knew – and never had. He had been wrong to trust her kindness.
She slid down under the sheets and he felt her take him into her mouth. He jumped away in fright and fell off the bed.
"Now you come here you naughty little boy," she crawled down after him, her breasts threatening to come out of the top of her negligee. She was giggling.
She pushed him against the wall, pulled down his pants all of the way and devoured him – he could feel her teeth against his tender, engorged flesh. He started to cry – he was afraid that in her fury she would bite his dick off.
Aimee stopped.
"Now, now that's okay, Dick. We don't have to do that if you don't want to," she stroked his face gently and kissed the tears on his cheek.
He looked down and turned away – he could not bear to make eye contact with Aimee.
"We'll try something else," she said and once again cooed into his ear, "I know what you want, what you need."
She mounted him and it was like sandpaper against his dick. He wondered if she had teeth inside of her as well, but was relieved that he didn't feel any. As she moved up and down over him he adjusted to the sensation but it was not comfortable. This was just one more thing he would have to endure.
He stared silently at the wall. His tears had dried. They belonged to someone else.
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To his utter shame, he had made a mess. She threw a dirty rag at him from the wash basin on her vanity.
"You're filthy," she said nonchalantly. "Clean yourself up."
She left the room.