"Stepdaughter in bondage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER TWO

As I went through the living room, and in spite of everything, I couldn't help looking at the couch and remembering what had happened to me on it. I shook my head. "Get your mind out of the sewer, Butler!" I commanded myself, and I walked on, toward my bedroom. Outside I could hear the garage doors opening. Soon enough – too damned soon – Tony would be in the house with me. God, I thought, if anyone had to die, why couldn't it have been him.

Two days ago. Seemed like a million years, but it wasn't. It was Tuesday evening. Mom was working afternoons, as usual, and Tony had managed to switch back to his usual day-shift job. Which meant that once again I had to share the house with him each and every evening. I used to pray for a layoff at the Westinghouse plant so Mom would be home too. Lately it had been getting worse – a lot worse. I was conscious of his eyes on me, almost all the time. I wasn't a budding young innocent any longer. I wasn't a virgin any more. I knew what I had between my legs and what men would like to do with it. And somehow it seemed obscene to know that my stepfather was interested in that same thing. Obscene, and disgust.

I was getting ready or bed that night. My door was shut but somehow I could sense that he was on the other side of it, looking through the crack. Maybe I could hear his breathing. Maybe it was just a sixth sense operating inside my head. But I knew that as I slipped off my blouse and stood there bare to the waist, I was suddenly aware of being watched.

My breath froze up in my throat. All I could do was stand there. It was like having a spotlight suddenly shined upon you. One moment you're lazing in the darkness and the next, ZAM!! Every eye is staring right at you. I turned as quickly as I could and stood there trembling, afraid to reach back for my nightie, afraid that I'd display myself to him again, the way I'd displayed myself all unknowing a few moments ago.

He frightened me very much. I think it was in his eyes – the way he would stare at me, times when my mother was doing something else. He'd look at me and I could read what was in his eyes, and it wasn't a pretty fairy tale. Why? I used to ask myself. Why me? And so I forced myself to look at Mom candidly. I wished I hadn't. She was no longer a girl. Her waist was thickening and sometime since the last time I'd looked at her, she'd grown old. She was almost forty now, and it was showing. Her face had taken on wrinkles, her skin was spotted here and there. Gray glimmered in her dark hair. If she didn't wear any makeup, her age seemed to double, and if she wore too much makeup, then she looked twice as old as she did without any paint and powder.

Today, I thought, today! I'd gone to school with no bra under my blouse, boobs jiggling around. I did it because it felt nice to be free and unrestrained and because this was the nicest, warmest October day I could remember and I was princess of the world, heir apparent to the throne.

But when I came home, Tony's eyes had dropped at once to the points of my nipples, outlined under the shirt's cling, and I'd gotten red-faced and left the room, and now he was doing more than looking at the outline of my breasts under supple clothing. He was standing on the other side of my bedroom door and he was looking at me and somehow I knew that lust was building his heart and his loins. Lust for me, the daughter of his wife. The fresh, ripe daughter of his graying, aging wife.

The doorknob rattled and my heart jumped into my throat. I spun around, clutching my nightie, as the door opened and Tony slouched against the frame.

He was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed off his broad chest and well-developed biceps, as well as the tattoos on his upper arms. A cigarette dangled from his lips and he held a can of beer in one hand. I held the nightie up, shielding the tits he'd already spied on through the door crack, and my face was scarlet.

"Get out of here," I said weakly. "You have no business in my room."

He tilted his head to one side, then removed the cigarette from his mouth. He dropped it into the beer can. I heard a quick sizzle and he grinned. He put the beer can onto the top of my dresser, just inside the door, and he took three steps toward me. I shrank back, looking up at him. He's six-two, almost a foot taller than I am, and I could smell the beer on his breath. It reminded me of that other time, when I was younger, when he'd spied on me through the window and then tried to feel me up in the kitchen. Two years, and he'd not laid a hand on me in the meantime. But his eyes, oh, God, his eyes! They'd made up for the inactivity of his hands! And now, as I looked into his eyes, I could read a whole novel written on them, a novel set in the future, a novel that starred me and my stepfather and was so dirty, so filthy.

Tony grabbed the nightie I was holding and he tore it out of my fingers. I screamed and threw my hands up to shield my breasts. I didn't know why I had such an urge for modesty. It should have occurred to me that he'd already seen my tits, more than once. But I didn't have any choice about those other times, and I did have a choice now. I covered my breasts and stepped back. The wall blocked me. If I moved back another inch, I'd fall right through the window which Tony had peeked at me.

He looked at me, then before I could move to stop him, he took each of my hands in one of his and spread them wide, very wide. I moaned in protest and started to turn into jelly, but it didn't prevent him from getting an eyeful of my breasts.

They're large breasts, 36-Cs, big, round, high-set, with tip-tilted nipples of a very delicate pink color. I had the remnants of my summer tan, but I'd only tanned with a bikini on, so there was a white patch at the end of each tit. The blue veins showed up very clearly in the untanned flesh, and my titties jiggled as he stretched my arms almost to the breaking point. I looked down, and something was starting to bulge in his pants. I'd seen it before, but the last time I noticed it, I had been a virgin. I wasn't a virgin now, and I knew with sickening clarity what that bulge was, what he intended to do with it.

I began to struggle, saying, "No, let go of me! Damn you, let go!"

"You're too pretty to let go," he said. His eyes were focused low, down my front, one eye apparently glued to each pink nipple. The tension, the strain was causing my nipples to pucker and thrust outward. I could feel a throbbing anxiety at the end of each breast and I didn't have to look down to know that my tits were stiffening in fear. Tony fiddled a second, and without my realizing it, he had both my wrists in the strong, steely grip of one of his fists. He held my hands up, high over my head, and with his free hand he started to paw my body. His fingers dragged with unbearable slowness across my books, lingering to tickle and pinch at my fat swollen nipples, fitting like a tight glove round each heaving mound of flesh in turn. I twisted and squirmed and tried to kick him.

"Goddamn you, let go!"

He only laughed. And his hand tightened on my wrists, tightened till it felt as if the bones were on the verge of snapping in two. I gasped and stood up on tiptoes, and Tony gave me a jerk. "Please," I said.

"I've waited too long for this," he said with a leer. "When you were just a little flower girl at your mother's wedding I took one look at you and said to myself, She's gonna grow up to be a pretty one. And when you got a little older, I told myself, By God, she already is a pretty one! Your titties are bigger than the last time I saw them, Becky." He smiled as he called me "Becky", because he knew how much I hated it, and as he smiled he gave a vicious pinch to my right breast. It made me squeal like a stuck pig.

"Has anybody got into you yet?" he asked, leaning close. So close I could count the number of beers he'd drunk this evening. "Have any of them high school boys drove a cock up your tight little hole? Mmmm, I'll bet it is tight. Tight and juicy. Is that right, Becky? Are you tight and juicy between the legs? Does your little pussy ooze juice when it gets squeezed on? Let me squeeze on it a little, and I'll tell you. But I bet you already know, don't you, Becky?"

His hand was crawling down my belly, toward the snap of my jeans. He unfastened me, started to pull my pants down. I squirmed and fought, I kicked and cursed him, called him a Goddamned motherfucking son of a bitch, but he only laughed.

"I'll tell Ma," I said. "I'll tell her what you did to me."

"She won't believe you," Tony whispered into my ear. His tongue shot out, into my ear, hot on the heels of his whisper. I shivered at the wet sloppy touch of him and I started to slouch. My thigh brushed against the well-filled crotch of his pants, and I started to buck upright again, just about the same time he gave a vicious yank on the hands he had trapped in one big meaty fist, almost wrenching them from their sockets.

He had his hand in my pants by then, feeling me through my undies. I squirmed and twisted, but it seemed that all I did was manage to clamp my thighs together on his fist, trapping it against my pussy.

"No, let go, let go, let goooo!" But he didn't let go. He worked his fist against me, worked it hard and rough, and I felt moisture beginning to coat the inside of my panties. Had he broken something? Was I starting to bleed?

In another moment or two it hit me. My pussy was lubricating, the way it liked to do when I toyed with its furry sweetness. Not this way, I thought. Not for him! Noooo!

He worked his fist from between my legs and started toward my bed. I went with him. My hands trapped in his, the way they were, I couldn't do much else besides go with him. He threw me down upon the bed, releasing my hands, and he put both sets of fingers on the waistband of my jeans. Just as he started to yank them down, I reached up with one foot and kicked him solidly in the nuts.

He straightened up fast! His face went red, then white, then purple and he doubled up in a knot, both hands clutching his offended privates. I heard him shout in a high squeaky voice and it sounded so good I couldn't help laughing out loud. "Get out of here, Goddamn you!" I shouted, tossing toy shoe at him as he staggered toward the door. "And if you ever try it again, you'll get it twice as bad!"

I don't know what excuse he made to Mom when they sacked in for the night, but I know I didn't hear the bedsprings rattling as he plowed her in their room across the hall. Not that night, and not the next, either.

The next night. My heart did a turnover when I thought of it. The last night my mother was alive. God, only twenty-four hours ago she had been alive and laughing, and… and this afternoon, on her way to the regular shift at the plant, she'd gotten plowed off the road by a tractor-trailer. What they'd been able to scrape off the highway was lying in a closed coffin at the mortuary, too messy to be shown to anyone. I had only my memories. I'd never have anything but those memories. Thank God they were good ones! She'd never known what a prick she had married, never known that he considered her nothing more than a cow with a desirable calf – me. I threw myself onto the bed and began to cry. I'd been crying almost all afternoon, ever since they'd called me out of history class to give me the news. I didn't think I'd ever stop crying. I don't believe I wanted to stop crying.

There was a pounding at my door. I sat up, startled, and I flipped on the light beside the bed.

"What is it?" I said, sobbing.

"Open up," Tony called, still pounding and rapping.

"Oh, for the love of Christ!" I wept. "Go away and let me alone!"

He'd been drinking, I already knew. I had smelled whiskey on his breath at the funeral home. How much I couldn't tell. He drank a lot, so much that it was a wonder he kept his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped body. He should have had a three-gallon paunch spilling over his belt, but somehow he didn't.

"Open up!" he said sharply, and this time it sounded as if he were kicking the door as well as pummeling it with his fists. "We have some unfinished business, you little cunt!"

I didn't have time to tell him anything else. He must have leaned his shoulders against the door and leaned them hard, because the door tore loose where I'd locked it and he came staggering into my room. There was a fresh, strong whiskey-reek about him, and I knew without asking that he'd poured himself a fresh jolt or two after parking the car. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking at me, blinking his was trying to adjust them to the dark. Suddenly he found the light switch and the room was flooded with light. I pulled the coven up to my chin and drew back, against the headboard of the bed.

Tony snickered. "What are you hidin' for? I've seen damn near everything you've got. And I'm goin' to see it again. Like, right now!" He grabbed the foot of my coven and yanked viciously, ripping them from my clutching fingers. I screeched and doubled up on the bed, legs pulled all the way up to my chin. All I had on was a short nightie and matching panties. Not until now had I ever realized how thin they were, how they revealed the pink and gold of my body to prying eyes. Prying eyes like my stepfather's.

He made a flying leap, bounded over the foot of the bed, plopped down onto the mattress beside me. One of his arms and one of his legs flopped down across me, pinning me on my back. Tony looked into my face, breathing out enough fumes to get an elephant stoned, and he grabbed my chin, squeezing till my lips puckered out. "Wanna kiss?" he asked. "I need a little kiss. Who's gonna give it to me? You?" And with that he planted his mouth on mine, firmly, savagely, kissing me till I was breathless and aching.

I was pinned like a butterfly onto cardboard, and I struggled the way a butterfly struggles, for all the good it did. Tony's mouth was on mine, and my head was trapped, and his hands roved up and down me, exploring everything I had.

The worst of it was, I couldn't even knee him in the jewels, the way I'd done the other day. No, that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was the fact that my mother had been killed by a truck this afternoon and her body was only just starting to cool and the son of a bitch was trying to mount me on my own private bed, as if everything were normal and fine. That was the worst of it.

I heard and felt my nightie being torn, felt my tits popping loose, felt his hands pawing them. I slapped at his fingers and it didn't help. He caught his fingers in the rear he'd already made, ripped it a little harder, and the rest of my nightie was pulled away.

He thrust his hand into the rip and grabbed everything he could grab hold of. My nipples were swollen from terror and his fingers were like steel pliers on them. I squirmed and fought and I tried to slap him and claw him, but I couldn't seem to get hold. Finally he stopped kissing me, lifted his head, and looked down at me. All flushed and excited he was, too, breathing whiskey into my face with every wheezy pant of air that left his mouth. My head began to reel.

"Goddamn you," I said, "don't you have any respect far my mother? She's lying dead right now – you may as well have killed her yourself!"

He cuffed me across the cheeks, a stem, warning cuff. "Shut the fuck up," he said sternly. "Your old lady bought it from a fucking truck, and I didn't have anything to do with it. So what if she's dead? People die every day. What counts, you little pussy is the fact that I've got one of the all time champion hard-ons. It's the first one I've been able to get since you kicked me in the balls the other night. Gimme your hand. Stop fighting, cunt! Feel that? Seven inches of hard meat, and it needs someplace to get its head wet tonight. I don't figure your old lady is gonna be much good from now on, so I guess you're elected. C'mon! Feel it! It's long and it's rock-hard and it needs to be shaved up something tight and wet and sweet. You got anything like that, pussy? Hmmmmm? How about right – here!" He thrust his hand into my crotch.

I screamed and bent almost double, but he kept driving at me with his fingers, driving, pushing, punching – until he'd shoved a finger into me, a finger wrapped in the filmy rayon of sleepwear panties. I guess it was like being fucked with a rubber on. You could feel the hardness but, not the raw flesh itself, stabbing in, stabbing.

He groaned as he jerked his finger out of me. I groaned too, and the only hand I had free shot down to my crotch, covering myself now, when it was too late to do a Goddamned bit of good. It hurt down there, really hurt. He'd been rough and vicious puncturing me, and he hadn't cared, if he were. "Goddamn you," I sobbed, tears flooding from my eyes. I was still weeping for Mom, but I was also weeping for me.

Tony looked down at me, grinning. He had uneven teeth, slightly yellow from cigarettes. "So what's the problem?" he asked. "Your old lady is dead, but you're still around. I need a woman tonight and I don't feel like going out to hunt one up. Anyway, twat – you'd have given it to me sooner or later. When I want something I don't give up till I fucking get it. And I want you. So…"

He knocked my hand away from my cunt and started to grab me there again. I reacted instinctively, the way a cat does when it's attacked. My hand came up, fingers bent into a claw, and I scratched forcefully at his face. I felt the flesh yield and tear under my nails, and I saw four evenly spaced trails of blood appear on his flesh, down one of his stubbly, olive-tinted cheeks.

I intended to scratch him again, but I didn't get the chance. Tony grabbed my wrist and he bent it backward till I thought it was going to break off. "You pussy!" he snapped, making pussy sound like the filthiest word imaginable. Blood oozed from the scratches I'd made. Please, God, I thought, let him wear that scratch mark till the day he fucking dies!

Tony rolled over me, still holding my wrist. His feet landed on the floor beside the bed, and he pulled me over to the edge, my wrist bent back at such an angle I was only waiting to hear the snap of bones. Moaning and protesting I lay there, in terrible pain, and I watched him reach down, pulling the plug of my nightstand lamp from its wail socket. He turned around, holding the lamp, and I was afraid he might hit me with it.

He almost did. When he smashed the lamp it was on the corner of the headboard, only inches from my face. Splinters of broken bulb flew everywhere. I closed my eyes – the only protection I had.

He pulled my wrist again, "If I have to tie you down, cunt," he told me, "I'll fucking tie you down!"

And with that he tore the cord loose from the lamp and began to bind my wrist to the bedpost.

There was no way I could stop him. He made it a tight knot, too, Goddamn him, so tight my hand began to swell and throb with constricted blood. As soon as he'd fastened the knot I started up and began to undo it. Tony whacked me along side the cheek and I fell sprawling back onto the bed. He looked down, saw my stockings on the floor by the bed. I saw him smile as he came up, an nylon stocking in each of his hands.

"Roll back," he said, "and stick up your hand."

"Screw you!"

He clenched his fist and touched it to the point of my chin. He pushed once, and I got the message. If he had to beat me unconscious, the cocksucker was prepared to do exactly that. Slowly I moved back, my free hand lifting even more slowly. Tony crawled across me, grabbed my hand, and, with the stocking, bound it fast to the other post at the head of my bed. A prisoner, I lay panting and shaking, my body lewdly exposed thanks to his ripping, rending hands, and a prisoner I was going to be until someone untied me.

"That's better," he announced, deliberately drawing back and staring at me. If anything, the bulge in his pants had gotten even bigger since the last time I'd seen it. He was still holding one of my stockings. "What shall we do with this one?" he asked.

"Why don't you stick it up your ass?" I suggested with a snarl.

Again he touched my chin with his fist. Just a warning. But, oh, God, what a warning! My whole body chilled at his touch.

He turned around, grabbed one of my legs, wrapped the stocking around the ankle very tight, then proceeded to bind that foot to the post sticking up at the lower end of the bed. He had to stretch me a little to make the connection, and it hurt. More than a little. I growled in complaint. He turned around. "Don't you know when to shut up?" he demanded. I shook my head defiantly. Tony jumped off the bed and he came up holding my blue print patties in his hand. "Chew on these," he said, stuffing them into my protesting mouth.

Gagging, choking, wanting to die but not able to, I lay on the bed, tied hand and foot, watching Tony as he stood beside my bed undressing himself. He stood as tall as Darth Vader, and as big and, oh, God, three or four times as menacing! I hadn't realized how big he really was until he stripped off his shirt and undershirt, dropped his pants, and loomed there above me, all shoulders and chest and hard flat stomach, with his tight jockey shorts swollen all out of proportion by the weight and bulk of the erection inside them.

And when he slid the shorts down his legs and his cock sprang out free and horny as hell, I felt a knot in my belly and a tightening in my throat. He was big, and I mean BIG!

He'd said seven inches, and as I stared at the fat, lengthy extension of his stiff pecker, I wondered if he hadn't been selling himself short. The tip of him was as fat as an apple, blood-red, and his balls swung rhythmically beneath his protruding dick. If he were any harder, he'd be steel instead of flesh. I knew that, just looking at him, and I wished I were somewhere eke.