Mr. Negulesco

Mr. NegulescoWell, I was going to write about Mr. Negulesco and yesterday I spent some time with him so, how perfect is that? I will tell you about my evening with him and a pretty lady with a beautiful name.

I thought it was rather oddly quiet in the Mansion and so, instead of being sensible and just staying out of trouble I decided to walk around outside. I saw a small crowd and heard lots of noises coming from the same direction. Mostly men but the clear sound of a woman not enjoying herself. I knew there was nothing I could do to help her so I would have walked back into the house but Mr. Negulesco saw me and called me over to them. As soon as I heard and saw him I felt that peculiar mix of emotions that I have not yet quite been able to figure out. It’s so weird. I was almost really happy to hear him call to me; almost delighted that he wanted me to come over to him. But at the same time I felt sick; I felt scared and wanted so badly to run in the opposite direction. I don’t understand that man and I don’t understand how he makes me feel the way I feel when he’s around.

Anyway, I went over to him, obviously (because running in the other direction definitely wasn’t an option anyway!) and joined him in a small, caged-in area the name of which I won’t tell you but it’s only ever used for this purpose. I tried not to stare at the poor girl who was tied up and held to the low podium. She was completely naked and soaked in, well, you know… I arrived at the end of her ordeal so I’m sure you can imagine what she was covered in. Mr. Negulesco told me to clean her up and I hoped – oh, I so hoped – that he wanted me to go and get clean water, soap and a towel for the poor girl. I would have very happily cleaned her like that. But, when I suggested I do this he shot over to me so quickly and with such a look in his eyes that I almost fainted with fear. How can he do that? Why am I so terrified of him? Sure, he can hurt me; he can beat me or … you know … use me in ways that hurt and scare me. But it’s more than that. There’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on.

For some reason I need Mr. Negulesco to be proud of me; to like me; to be happy with me. For some reason it makes me so glad, so warm, so happy when he is happy with something I have done for him. Maybe it’s not so complicated. Maybe it’s actually really simple. Could it just be a survival thing? When he is pleased with me he is good to me. He can be gentle, he can be kind, he can be generous. (He didn’t call the police, for example, when he caught me trespassing; he actually generously offered me a job.)

But it’s more than just that or I wouldn’t be so upset when he is disappointed. I wouldn’t care that he doesn’t want to see me; I would feel lucky! Sure, when he is angry I am terrified of what he could do. But I’m also cut up so badly that I have disappointed him and that I haven’t been or done what he wanted. Why is that? Why do I care what he thinks of me? I hate him! He’s mean and awful to me! But… he isn’t. And I don’t.

Anyway, of course Mr. Negulesco wanted me to clean this poor girl in ways that didn’t involve water or a cloth. I may be naive and lacking in experience of these things but I’ve been here at the Retreat long enough to know about some things, unfortunately.

At first I was scared as I had no idea what to do. Mr. Negulesco has taught me how to do some things for the men but I hadn’t yet had any experience doing anything with a woman. Well, I have now! And, it was, well… odd. Not as bad as I would have thought it would be. The smells, and tastes, and sensations were very different from what I had known before. But I didn’t have much time to think about it. Suddenly I felt something inside me and I knew at least that it was Mr. Negulesco’s hand but I couldn’t think clearly and he kept moving his fingers and I was trying not to think, not to feel, but… Luckily, after a short while I was told to stop and the poor girl (whose name was Swan, by the way. What a beautiful name!) was told to go back into the house and go to sleep for the night.

That left me alone with Mr. Negulesco. I felt all those giddy sensations again. Being alone with him is a very strong feeling. It’s intense because I have no idea what he will do and whether I will absolutely love it or hate it. He has a way of looking at me, of speaking to me, that makes me feel so light and heady I could float up and away yet so weak and feeble that I would collapse to the ground in a solid heap.

I was very scared and worried that I had angered him and I told him so. He explained that he wasn’t angry; more disappointed in me. Oh! You see what I mean? I should have been relieved that he wasn’t angry but, instead, I felt that mix of panic and fear and desperation to somehow do whatever I could to make it up to him. To make him be pleased with me. And he said I could! I was happy, but I couldn’t be completely happy until I knew what it was that he wanted. Sometimes he has some ideas about what he wants me to do that are … well … you know … I really don’t like doing them.

He touched me again. He then told me to touch myself which is okay because although I’ll never really get used to doing so in front of someone else at least I know it won’t hurt so I don’t mind too much. I was really exhausted from the activities and the emotions and now feeling almost safe with my own hand I actually started to feel good. I must have closed my eyes because I didn’t realize what Mr. Negulesco was planning to do next (although probably having my eyes open wouldn’t have made any difference anyway; I never know what he’s going to do next). Suddenly I heard myself scream out and I knew I had had my eyes closed because now they were very wide open and I was in pain. I could feel his huge hands holding firmly onto my hips and his … you know … him … he was inside me but, not where he would usually go. He had put himself inside my bottom and I didn’t like it at all. It wasn’t the first time (the first time had been a bad enough experience) but it was such a surprise and it hurt so very much. I remember trying desperately to pull forward and away from him but I was stuck between his body and the podium and anyway he was holding onto me too firmly. (He is very strong which can be comforting, somehow, when I have been good and he is pleased with me and he hugs me it feels so amazing; so safe.) But right now it felt neither amazing nor safe; it felt awful and I wanted to get away even though I knew trying to do so would be dangerous. But, maybe he didn’t notice because my efforts were so pathetically useless or he just chose to ignore my silliness because he kept moving until he was done. Of course he did. Why would he stop just because I wasn’t enjoying it? I hate that! I hate that he doesn’t care about how I feel or if he is hurting me or making me cry. But then, sometimes he does really seem to care and I wonder if I have misjudged or misunderstood him. I don’t know! I never know with him!

So I tried to scrunch my eyes up against the pain and go back to touching myself which I knew would please him because it was what he had told me to do and he hadn’t said I should stop. I almost managed to relax enough to start to feel a little okay and for it not to hurt so much. I tried to concentrate on my own fingers, my own body, but how could I ignore him and what he was doing to me? I could feel him everywhere. Then I felt good. I didn’t have an orgasm but, when he thrust into me as he came I felt a glow of warmth and happiness.  I’m not sure what it was but I did feel really good. I don’t even remember what happened then, what Mr. Negulesco did afterwards, or how I got back to my sleeping area.

I woke this morning feeling really sore. I wish I could remember more about the end of the evening. I have to try and remember. Otherwise, how will I know if he was pleased with me or not?

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