Starved Beast. Part 9

"Think of it, Christine," I said, my fingers wandering across the top of her dress towards her womanly hills, feeling her warmth and her chill.

I found the spot where I'd touched before: that sweet bulge of her nipple, and I paused, imagining that I could see it and hold it.

"Think how twenty years might damage a man's thinking and shape his mistreatment of others. Think how this man might react to the temptation of a refined woman. Think how a man might be driven to act against what he most cherishes and values. If he acted wrongly, wouldn't he be justified in his wrong course? Would you blame him?"

I caressed the swell of her teat, demanding that it harden. Round and round went my finger, daring it to protest, ordering her body to respond, and of course, in the end it did. She moaned in frustration as her nipple stiffened.

She didn't know what to do as I knew that she wouldn't. She couldn't stop me, for she was broken and beyond the point of resistance.