At Mr. Karlsson of course

Sigvard got harder when he remembered the knock on the door that night when Sara first visited him. She had been wearing a thin nightgown, her pale skin glistening in the moonlight as her bare feet slowly moved toward his bed. Without a word, she crawled up among his blankets and sheets and nestled in between his arms. Her nipples were hard through the thin fabric.

"I'm scared, Mr Karlsson," she said with her face close to his. She shifted so she sat with her pale legs on either side of his hips.

"How do you mean?" Sigvard asked rudely.

"The devil has a grip on me. Every day and every night it burns."

"Burning where?"

With glossy eyes she took his hand in hers and brought it up between her legs, towards the soft cleft. Her juices spread on his fingertips when he felt how wet she was, how open she was already to him. He tried to muster the willpower to ward her off. His wife was gone over the summer and his marriage was a happy one, but her horny eyes enchanted him.

"Every day I have to walk away, away from all watching eyes, so that I do not go crazy," Sara continued.

"And what do you do then, when you are alone?"

"I touch myself, hard and fast, until my sex is tender and face is glistening from sweat. But it is not enough. Sometimes I rub myself against things, pretending it be a man under me. But it is not enough either. I have tried everything - even hitting with the hairbrush where it burns the most. But the pain only makes it... warmer."

Sigvard's cock pulsed in his underwear. He now knew that he would never be able to push her away, not when she made her will so clear. And that made him angry, not at her but at himself. That he, with all he had accomplished in life, so easily lost the battle against a girl not even half as old as he. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers drilled into her buttocks through the thin fabric.

"It's called being horny," Sigvard said. "Everyone is sometimes, but some are born with more of it than others. It can very well be a curse."

"How do I get rid of it?" she gasped as his hand fondled her buttocks.

"You can not. You can only give in. You are a slut, made to please others." He may have been angry with himself, but he directed his anger at the girl.

"I am not!" said Sara, but her moan betrayed her as his hands reached under her nightgown and parted her buttocks.

"You are. Cursed to be a horny slut for the rest of your life, to suffer in shame. But I can help you if you want."

"How?"

"You can not get rid of it, so you have to give in. I can satisfy you and it will give you rest. I can train you to deal with it and learn to steer your horniness in the right direction, but in that case you have to do as I say, always. Is that understood? "

Sara, this eighteen-year-old girl who had only lived on his farm for a couple of weeks, nodded. "I will do as you say. I will be your slut."