I felt him position his thighs inside mine, forcing them wider apart. The blunt hungry head of his hot cock left my wet cunt and pressed instead against my tight uninitiated arse. My breath caught in my throat. It was what I'd asked for, but it was really happening and that was amazingly scary. "Degrade me," I'd told him online, "just use me. But you have to make me come."He tried to press into me, slowly, painfully. I gave a short cry and felt myself jerk away from him. One of his hands gripped my hips, the other held his cock stiff so it could enter me. My arse was so tight. I'd never done full deep anal before. That was why I found it such a degrading thing. He pressed really hard, the head of his cock slipping back and forth as my arse refused him."Fucking slut...." I heard him breathe. I heard him spit into his hand, and then he pressed his cock forcefully against my tight arse until the head burst through my sphincter. It punched a gasp of pain and equal pleasure. I can’t remember how we knew where to find Shadrach that afternoon. Perhaps Mother had told us. But he was working up in the stone shelter on the edge of the wood. The stone shelter was where the new born lambs spent their first few days if they had the misfortune to be born during a cold spell. On that particular afternoon, Shadrach, wearing his distinctive army greatcoat, still showing evidence of where his corporal’s stripes had once been, was repairing hurdles with freshly coppiced lengths of hazel. ‘What mischief you two up to then?’ he asked. ‘No mischief,’ I said. ‘Honest. Mother has made some soul cakes for you. She said that you would … umm … app … appri … appricate them?’ (Appreciate? Appricate? It’s not easy when you are only seven.) Shadrach threw back his head and sniffed the air. ‘Oh, yes. I can smell the spices. Very nice. Very nice indeed. You tell your mother thank you most kindly.’ ‘And she said that we had to sing you a song.’ ‘Oh, yes?’ he said. ‘A song? And what.
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