Catlin Roberts was 28 and her daughter was born out of wedlock when Cat was only 19. Both were redheads and had the quixotic mercurial temperament legends associate with that primal type.

Cat was less than five feet tall and petite. A mountain of thick hair cascaded to her waist. She had small breasts, very small, like single serving spoons of vanilla ice cream, and they were capped by small nipples on quarter-sized aureolae. Her skin was alabaster except when she insisted on tanning and then she took on the aspect of a boiled lobster, the sole positive effect of which was to enhance her emerald eyes.

This woman's breasts were one of her most awesomely perfect features. They were so pale and soft that her veins showed clearly, and he would sometimes trace them during prolonged foreplay. Sometimes in a dreamy fugue state he thought the veins of the left one spelled out a subcutaneous "A" and "G", tangled together. "A Girl," he thought of it. He wondered if "A Boy" lay below thee other one. Just the thought of "A Boy" made him hard.

Her belly and navel, narrow waist and delicate calves and feet were all "10s". Where Cat showed flaws was in her butt and thighs.

"I have thunderthighs," she'd pout, and he'd kissed her. He loved it when she criticized herself. It made him hard. She had so little self-esteem because she thought her breasts were too tiny. Sometimes she pouted just to make him mad then he'd grip her by the throat and smoosh up her cheeks and make her mouth dimple like Betty Boop and kiss her hard and run his tongue inside her mouth and violate her teeth and when he was beside himself with sexual rage he would rape her, rape her, rape her time and time again and she would cry out begging him for more and harder more brutal sex.

She'd stand at the mirror looking at her butt. "It's fat!" she'd whine. When Catlin whined, a lot of times he spanked her. She whined all the time. He spanked her a lot. When her ass was really red she'd keep whining until his hand hurt. Then he'd whip her with a belt until she yelped and screamed and knelt down and pulled open her ass and pleaded with him. She had to plead to get her butt fucked. He wanted her to have no will. Her will evanesced by day. She only wanted to please him.

Catlin belonged to a Spa and worked out every day, doing excercises for the butt and thighs, absolutely to no avail. She subsisted on carrots and small cups of yogurt and tofu. Sometimes when he made love to her he could hear her stomach gurgling from hunger. He'd tell to eat less and tell her she was fat. Her cunt smelled when he told her that and he knew it was because he was making her cum, just by talking to her. Sometimes, just to prove his power, he'd let her eat one hard pea a day. Still, her butt didn't slim. So he had to whip her some more.

He never told her how sterling her behind was. He let her stew in her self-doubts, liking the way it made her more dependent on him, submissive to his slightest wish. When he chose to fuck her up the ass, for instance, she'd sometimes whimper "Oh, John, why do you always want to do that??" and in the same breath get herself into position to receive him.

This oversized butt on such a petite girl maddened him. His erections were fierce and nigh incessant. He was perfectly capable of possessing the tiny woman seven or eight times a night. He'd squeeze and chew the silken orbs, spread them and blow on her clean pink anal ring, lick the divine crevice between the cheeks......(cont)