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A METAMORPHOSIS OF PRIDE or THE RISE AND FALL OF CATHERINE
MARTA’S METAMORPHOSIS (Translated from Croatian)
This is just an online “lesbian” confession I’ve meant to post in a certain site intended for the very purpose of unburdening myself. I have to write this down, I have to tell someone else what has happened to me; I need to reveal this and get it out of my chest, for I have lived tormented by this long enough. Before I begin, thanks very much to Helena R for her help in translating this to the English language.
Where do I begin? Undoubtedly, it all began with that despicable experience I had about ten years ago, shortly after I arrived from Croatia. Happily married to Jaroslav, my childhood sweetheart, I was raped one day by another woman, who was the spoilt daughter of Mr and Mrs Walsh, back when I was a housekeeper in that household. That horrible experience had an everlasting effect in me, and that is what this confession is about.
I still remember her as the most rotten and unforgiving person I have met, and I will never be able to bring her to justice, yet I still long for her in a way. Her name was Catherine; I cannot forget her: she was a slender, oriental-looking, very beautiful girl, with dark hair, dark skin and green eyes. At eighteen her body was completely developed and she seemed a few years older than she actually was. She was very spoilt and very cruel, and how she hated me!
I know she hated me for being happily married in a time when her own parents were going through a divorce. From the moment she met me she treated me like a slave and made me work extra just to spite me. Every time she looked at me with those intense light-green eyes I could see her hate and her contempt for me and how she wanted to make me suffer.
The day she raped me she accused me of stealing from her and said she would have me fired for it and also sent to prison. I feared for my life and my husband’s, for we barely made enough to make ends meet and were planning to have children at some point in the near future too. Lady Catherine had just turned eighteen and had earned too many benefits as a result. Her parents had even assigned a solicitor for her legal affairs, so I knew I couldn’t beat her if I tried to fight back legally, as I couldn’t even afford a good barrister in my favour.
She then told me that she would only forgive my theft if I knelt before her and apologised to her for stealing her money. I was very outraged and offended, because I knew I hadn’t stolen anything; that was an unnecessary injustice. She was lying about the money, that was true but I still didn’t argue with her out of my undeniable fear for her. Despite her age she was very vicious and quite capable of evil-doing, and I knew that should she even kill me she would even then have the power to cover up her crime, so I was very afraid.
I apologised for taking her money and begged for her to let me leave, but she insisted that I kneel before her and apologise on my knees. She then sat at the edge of her bed and made me kneel in front of her there and, once I had knelt before her she lifted her skirt. I was confused by this, but soon she explained; she said that I would have to apologise to her verbally and then I would have to lick her pussy through her knickers, “nice and slow” for as long as she wanted me to.
I knew she hated me for being a happily married woman, so it doesn’t surprise me that that was the punishment she thought out for me. I’m sure she was not a lesbian either, she just knew the pride of my life was being happily married and so she wanted to humiliate me according to this, in order to cause better psychological damage in me. I’m sure that if I would have been a lesbian she would have probably made me kiss a man instead. The punishment was custom-made.
At any rate, I had no choice, so I obeyed her. A part of me died as I knelt and apologised to her. Then I began to tremble as my mouth began to approach the white garment between her legs. I won’t forget that degrading first kiss I gave her panties and the way I ran my tongue on them at her behest. It was so degrading that I could feel her taking my womanhood from me with every time my mouth touched her crotch. As I began to lick her undergarment, my chest was oppressed with the most ghastly humiliation, and I felt a knot in my throat that almost made me want to cry.
I managed to control my feelings though, and my sensation of disgust too by trying not to think of what I was doing. Once I had gotten accustomed, I licked her as well as I could to please her and thus avoid upsetting her. Her undergarment was reasonably clean, but she had probably worn it all day and the taste and the smell of her femininity constantly made me nauseous, and this made the task rather difficult.
As it was in her nature to be cruel, Lady Catherine also did her best to humiliate me until my self-esteem was completely broken. As I obediently licked on her crotch, casino şirketleri she would say things to me to humiliate me more. “How does the Croatian girl enjoy my English cunt?”-she would say. She made me answer to this and tell her that I loved it, and then she smiled at me and made me suck more intensely through the fabric. She said I would have to lick her knickers until my tongue ripped through their fabric. Afterwards, she grabbed me by the hair and said “That’s the way I like it, slave; show your mistress that you adore her!”
It was horrible. She finally even made me “confess” to her that I preferred licking her panties to going home to my husband at night. It was a long, excruciating, and traumatising experience which made me cry myself to sleep that night and made me quit the household the next day.
For the next two weeks I stayed mostly indoors and barely spoke. My husband started working two jobs to pay all the bills and I stopped seeing him at all frequently, for he only arrived from work when I was already asleep and he left before I woke. He thought I was exhausted so he encouraged me to rest as much as possible. I spent my days staring into space, drinking tea and trying to forget Catherine’s seductive, cruel stare, and her evil green eyes. I even began to put more sugar in the tea than I usually did in order to forget the salty taste of her moist underwear in my mouth.
I still suffered from some kind of shock. I couldn’t believe that I had been raped by another woman. However, I still thought it preferable to being raped by any man. Despite her breaching my boundaries, Catherine had also been considerate enough to not take things too far. It was a relief that she at least hadn’t taken her panties off to make me suck on her vagina directly; that would have been much more deeply traumatising.
I still remembered that when licking her through her panties I had felt the dense thicket of her pubic hair behind the cloth. I didn’t even want to imagine what it would have been like to put my mouth directly on that without the fabric in between.
During those first weeks of unemployment I had nightmares every night about other women. At the weekend, things improved when my husband took me to the main street of our neighbourhood to look inside the shops and distract myself from my “extenuation”, but even then I had no peace. Whenever I was in a shop that offered female underwear for sale I blushed at the sight of white knickers, and whenever a young, pretty, Indian-looking girl walked past us on the pavement my heart would also blush in its own way and be overcome with indescribable shame.
After a few weeks however, the horrible experience began to fade and its effects were almost completely gone. Soon I had regained my self-esteem and my life began to improve. I felt like a woman again too; my husband and I made love often and I felt happy again. I began to buy the groceries every three days and to get out more often too. Soon, all thoughts of Lady Catherine were gone and she was irrelevant. All confusion was gone as well. I had started to normalise my life, and what I really needed now was a friend, a straight female friend whom I could share things with, something I didn’t yet have.
Finally I met a great woman I could befriend, Nica was her name, and the hopes of starting a friendship with her began to grow that day I met her; that day when she knocked on our door to ask if she could borrow some salt. She was our neighbour, a beautiful woman from southern Italy, and she spoke very kindly and with a friendly, almost captivating tone. We chatted a while as I got her salt ready and she told me about her husband’s trade, her wish to have children and so forth. I didn’t speak English very well back then, but I told her I shared that wish with her and hoped to have children soon too.
She smiled at me as I gave her a plastic cup full of salt, but it slipped off her hand and fell on the floor. She blushed with embarrassment and apologised to me as we both crouched down on the floor to sweep the salt up with our hands.
All had been going well until that moment. My womanhood suddenly felt weak and strange, long-hidden force took over me as I accidentally looked up her miniskirt. Why in the world had she chosen to wear a miniskirt that day? As she put one of her soles flat on the floor, she lifted her knee and struggled for balance, so I could clearly see the whiteness between her legs at the end of the tunnel of her miniskirt. A powerful, all too familiar sensation took hold of me and remained until she left.
That night I struggled with strange desires involving Nica, and I had trouble falling asleep trying to think of something else besides the sight of her knickers. I felt ashamed with myself; I was lusting after another woman’s crotch and it was unsettling. No matter how much I strove against it, my imagination got the best of me. I pictured Nica’s panties just the way I had seen them, and then I imagined myself approaching casino firmaları them, separating her legs and kissing them.
Had her panties been white or beige? The uncertainty drove me mad. In vain, I tried to fight my desires and think about something else. In my mind I cursed Catherine again and again as my thirst for the taste of Nica’s crotch became more unbearable. Catherine was to blame; I would never be a true woman again because of her.
I sat on the side of my bed and hid my face in my hands. I was conceiving dangerous thoughts, thoughts I had never fed voluntarily. I thought about how gladly I would have kissed Nica between her legs if she had asked me to, how I would have laid her on the floor and spread her legs, and how I would have buried my face in the delicious aroma of her sex, enjoying its smell steaming up through the undergarment. I thought about how delicious it would have been to hear her moan as I moistened her panties with my tongue and mouth.
I wondered how she would have tasted; whether salty or neutral or sweet; I knew I would have sucked her crotch until it tasted only of damp cloth and fresh vaginal Juices, but I realised I would have also loved to suck on her naked vagina. Experiencing that was on the top of my to-do list now. All she would have needed to do was to ask, and I would have obeyed and done her will. I would have been at her complete mercy: What a scary thought indeed!
I remember I woke up the next morning completely recovered. I felt like myself again and decided to get out to distract myself. At midday I went to the Turkish shop to buy rice and tea for supper. As it was very sunny outside I put a scarf around my head to protect myself from the unforgiving rays of the sun. I was also wearing a grey “long-and-languid” maxi skirt and a red blouse. I passed Nica’s next-door flat with a bit of anxiety but soon I was outside and free from the memory of her visit.
The Turkish grocery shop I went to was small and somewhat crowded at that point. I went past the female underwear section and was relieved to see only black satin and lace pairs as I approached the food section. The shop was so crowded that, when I reached for the last little box of tea, a female hand reached for it at the same time as I did and we both touched it. Beside me stood a young middle-eastern-looking woman with a headscarf. We looked at each other and laughed like two little girls until she finally told me I could keep the tea. I insisted out of politeness that she be the one to keep it instead, but she refused with a friendly and humble smile on her face and said in jest that I could only keep it if we could drink a kettle together sometime.
She was indeed a charming, beautiful young woman about my same age and was wearing a long middle-eastern-type dark-blue robe and a colourful headscarf on her head. I assumed she was Turkish, but I didn’t know for sure, as her English was without foreign accent. The ivory whiteness of her skin contrasted beautifully with the crimson redness of her lipstick and the abundant black makeup on her eye-catching eyelashes and eyebrows. Her eyes were dark brown and very expressive and lively.
Because of the way I was dressed, namely my maxi-skirt and my own headscarf, she must have thought I was also from the middle-east and started to make conversation with me. I told her about myself, and that I was from Croatia and so on, and she said she had thought I was Lebanese. She told me that her name was Alev and she was indeed Turkish, though I didn’t understand the name of her native city because there was an ambulance ululating loudly through the street as she told me. I put the tea in my basket and we both went to the tills to pay.
Afterwards, she asked if I wanted to come by her house and have some tea the next day. I agreed, but she told me that I should wear the same type of clothing to visit her, something middle-eastern-looking, so as to not alarm her neighbours with the visit of a western woman. I agreed and was glad to have made a friend.
Devilish nightmares of unknown origin took possession of me that night again despite of the beautiful day I’d had, and Nica’s image came to me once more. This time I dreamt that Nica was kissing me in the Turkish shop. It was indeed quite strange for me to be dreaming this, especially because Nica’s image had already begun to fade in my memory. I had also never thought of kissing another woman before this dream.
As I kissed her enjoyably, I raised her skirt and fingered her crotch through the panties. Full of desire I then crouched down and started kissing her panty-clad crotch with the utmost pleasure. A familiar female voice in the dream told me I wasn’t a lesbian because I was not in love. As I continued to lick Nica with passion the voice told me I was just giving Nica what she deserved for being so beautiful. Whose voice was it? Could it have been Alev’s? I wasn’t sure.
I stopped to stare at Nica’s ideal, dream-worthy sex, and realised güvenilir casino the panties she was wearing were of black satin, like the pairs I had seen that day in the shop. As I licked her underwear again I realised it smelled rather good, something like mint or chamomile. A delicious lesbian dream this was, but it soon turned into a nightmare with dark corridors and an evil shadow that constantly pursued me.
I woke up violently to this and went to get a glass of water, terrified from my dream, and it took me a while to realise that it hadn’t been real. It was eleven and my husband still wasn’t home. I would have loved to lie in his arms the rest of the night to fend off the nightmares, but I went back to bed alone, as per usual.
I was looking at myself in the mirror, the sun’s summer rays flooded half of the bedroom and made it very bright. I stood naked before my own image, admiring and examining every one of my features. I felt relieved as I noticed my breasts were still young and firm. Then I turned around and looked at the reflection of my backside. For all I criticised my own body, I still had that round, very well-formed ass I made heads turn with. It was so perfectly round that sometimes I even joked around and told my husband that he had married me for my ass and nothing more. He joked along but never denied this either.
I looked into my own light-brown, honey-coloured eyes and was reminded that I was pretty, though not spectacularly beautiful either, at least not to my own eyes. I really did look like a woman from the Middle East, especially now since my eyebrows had grown in during the past few weeks and somehow given my face a more Mediterranean touch. I had always had fine features, but I always criticised my nose for being too “Roman”, even though it was small and straight.
My eyebrows, combined with my shoulder-long dark hair and my Mediterranean nose made me look like one of those Egyptian women from old frescoes.
I looked at my naked body’s reflection again, and noticed my breasts, my flat abdomen and my pubic area, and I thought it was a beautiful sight. I have never been the sort of woman to shave her pubic hair; I’ve always thought it to be a pornographic fashion, something distasteful, worthy of prostitutes. Besides, it hurts so much, so why bother? Anyway, as I stood in front of the mirror I shaved my legs and armpits and I left the black triangle of my pubic hair untouched. I also left my eyebrows alone, so as to look more Oriental that afternoon when visiting Alev.
A few hours later, I was on my way to Alev’s, wearing my grey maxi-skirt, a black blouse and a headscarf wrapped any old way around my head. I had spent a long time applying eyeliner and making my eyebrows darker and more “Turkish”; I admittedly looked very good. What was my intent? Was I merely seeking to maintain a low profile in Alev’s neighbourhood or was I hoping to impress her? I questioned my sexuality once more and wondered what my intentions were.
All throughout the bus-ride I pondered, but I finally came to the conclusion that I had absolutely no homosexual intent towards Alev. Only Nica had such an effect on me. Besides, there was something about Alev’s beauty which discouraged any naughty thoughts about her. Perhaps it was her nun-like Oriental attire which kept all sort of impure desires at bay, or her staunch heterosexual communication-style. All I actually needed from her was true friendship, anyway. Only a straight woman’s friendship could give me back my sanity and make me find reality again. I felt utterly lonely and I badly needed to replace my lust towards other women with normal friendship.
Alev let me in with a charming smile and a warm handshake. Her home was a small flat in an old, brick building. Only foreign languages were heard in her working-class neighbourhood and no English. The inside of her home was full of tapestry and Oriental furniture, most of it rattan. Alev wore an elegant, long, dark-green Turkish “dress” (I don’t know the exact name for it) and a beautiful multi-coloured headscarf that made her look like an Arabian princess.
I stood behind her in her kitchen as she conversed with me whilst brewing our tea in a samovar. We chatted delightfully about simple things and enjoyed the moment. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation come over me and disturb the peace. In a strange lethargy I started to relentlessly stare at her figure and I noticed her robes were not as loose as I would have expected. I licked my lips as I realised how her robes were actually rather tight around her waist and hips.
I couldn’t help stare at her buttocks, only comparable to my own in their roundness and perfection. Behind the fabric of her long, elegant robes that covered her bum I was seduced by her pantie-line, and I started to wonder what her knickers looked like. My lips trembled with fear as I realised my mouth was starting to water and I was starting to lust after her. Why was this happening? Well, she was quite a beautiful woman. But I was also a woman! This couldn’t be right. I suddenly felt angry at myself. If she caught me looking at her she would be confused and stop pursuing our friendship after today and I would be lonely and friendless again.
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