Letters to Margaret

July 10

Dear Margaret,

I imagine as you read this letter you are sitting at your desk, eyeglasses firmly in place, dark red hair bunched in a neat ponytail, soft curls licking at your waist. Right now you are probably dressed in your usual outfit, a plain skirt, white blouse, and stockings complimented by plain black dress shoes, your countenance looking as demure as ever. Sitting in your corner office located high in an ivory tower above the rest of humanity I realize that the contents of the rest of this letter will come as a shock to you. Although you have wisely built a protective fortress around you, let me remind you my dear Margaret, you will never outrun me. I will always be here, watching and waiting in the shadows. Your psyche holds the skeletons you keep tucked so neatly in your closet, but I still have possession of the key. How far do you think you can run, before you begin to feel the pull of the chain around your wrist?

Are you a little confused after reading that first paragraph? Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe a little proof will satisfy your curiosity? How does your beautiful porcelain rump feel today my love? Is it still red and smarting from the spanking you received last night as you steadied yourself on your hands and knees on top of the bench in front of your vanity? The purple panties you wore were a nice touch. Are they as soft as they look? Oh I wish I could have been the one to pull them down.

Proof of last nights punishment is now fresh on your mind. Do you remember the sting? Are you starting to get wet again? Now that you know you cannot keep your secrets from me how do you feel? Whisper your thoughts. Or are you afraid to? Is your assistant there in your office as you read?

So who am I Margaret and what do I know about you? Maybe in time we will get to the answer. However, first I want to tell you about past memories.

It was a hot summer day in August and your family decided to take a short drive out into the country to visit your aunt and uncle. Arriving at your destination, everyone decided to go to the lake. Fear of your pale skin getting burnt by the sun kept you inside, which made you happy. After all, you had brought along a new Nancy Drew mystery you couldn't wait to read. An hour passed and soon you were bored with the book. Wandering out onto the back porch which wrapped around the old farm house, off in the distant you saw your uncles hay barn. It was then that you remembered Chickaree the old bay mare, the first horse you rode, tiny legs pinned to muscular sides, sweating as sure footed hooves galloped across an open field. Walking to the barn, you found that Chickaree was no where to be found. Instead, you watched with curiosity as two of your uncle's dogs humped in the corner of the barn.

If memory serves me correctly after watching this scene, you felt a slight twinge in your virgin pussy and wanted some relief. Given your shy nature, I never thought you were the type of girl who likes things on the kinky side but you really opened my eyes that day. There you were your naked pale skin bathed in streaks of sunlight through cracks in the barn, your long red hair cascading down your back and shoulders as you straddled the horn of your uncles best saddle rubbing your beautiful young cunt, satisfying the fire within as the dark red bush between your thick thighs soaked up your fragrant juices before collecting in a puddle on the fine leather.

I chuckled at the surprised look on your face when your cousin Derrick opened the barn door. He walked in on you as you were lifting one of your ample breasts to your lips, your tongue flicking at an erect pink nipple sending electric waves cursing through your body to your aching clit. As I recall, the look on Derricks face said it all. A look of surprise coupled with the lust a teenage boy feels when he spies a naked woman either on the pages of a dirty magazine or in the flesh.

Do you remember your penance for being a naughty girl that day? As he stood over you and unzipped his pants pulling them down, rubbing his cock on your flushed cheeks I remember him telling you it would be a secret that only you two would share. I smile to myself as I recall that exchange. After all, how were you both to know that I was there watching? I remember how you passively hung your head as he rubbed his hardness in your hair. How your fingers caressed the leather of the saddle as he slipped his maleness in between your red locks. Did it feel good when he rubbed it along the back of your neck, before reaching down to brush your hair away leaving a small glistening trail on one of your flushed cheeks?

Were you excited or frightened when he cupped your chin and pressed the swollen mushroom shaped head against your lips? My guess was that you were excited. After all, you didn't turn away. In fact, I was reminded of the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden as your lips parted, your red tongue hungrily sought nourishment, wanting to lick, bite and drink from the root of life.

Margaret would it be best if I were to end this letter now or should I remind you of what else I saw that day? Are the memories beginning to return? Do you remember what it felt like when your cousin plucked the ripe cherry from your craving womb? Oh, my dear Margaret, I could stop now but that would be too cruel. I think it would be nice if we continued.

As Derrick's gyrating hips took your mouth; a moan escaped your saliva-coated lips. Do you remember the delicious taste? As he pinched and rolled one of your aching nipples between his fingertips, do you remember reaching down, parting the lips of your dripping sex, fingering your aching rosebud?

I remember how you moaned; lifting your hips, the ache too much to bear as Derrick slowly drank from your virginal cup. Do you remember shaking when he mounted you from behind, splitting you in two as he sank slowly into your deep murky depths, the fire quickly replaced with slow smooth strokes? With one hand grasping the saddle horn, head down, you came, shuddering, his seed coating pink petals between your spread legs.

As I write these words, I wonder, was it hard after that day to control your desire when you saw him again in the company of other family members. Especially when he would reach out, caressing your plump buttocks when no one was looking. Oh how you must have ached for relief when on occasion he would catch you walking around the house on these occasions, trapping you in the hall rubbing your pussy through your jeans, as laughter erupted from an adjoining room.

Margaret I must end this letter now as I know you must be very busy. Soon we shall correspond again.

Sincerely,

Anonymous