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

CHAPTER FOUR

I'd never seen a real truck stop before and this was a big one. There were tractor-trailers everywhere and the restaurant was full of drivers slopping down coffee and pinching waitresses on the ass. Cabins for the night, too, for people who wanted to get some shut-eye. The smell of diesel fumes.

Traffic moving steadily on the highway three hundred yards off to the left. The sun was coming up. I'd gotten a good six hours sleep on the road. It was time to think about moving on, I had to keep moving. I couldn't be sure if they'd found, the body yet.

"Thanks for everything. I really needed some help."

Rolling Rock put his finger over my lips. "Shush! I'm sorry I can't take you no farther, but I have to unload, then make my turn-around. It was nice havin' you in the cab. Are you sure there ain't nothin' you need? You sure you've got some money? If you ain't got any, you just tell me, and I'll…"

I couldn't take money from him too. He'd already done more than most people would ever think of doing for a stranger, particularly a stranger like yours truly – a frightened girl with wet hair standing by the roadside on a cold fall night, jerking her thumb westward like a mechanical toy gone haywire.

I didn't know his name, but his CB handle was Rolling Rock. Fair enough. He thought my name was Penny Porter and that I was hurrying west to join my daddy, who was very sick in a Denver hospital. Rolling Rock was a nice man, about fifty, with a cute pot belly hanging over his belt and a big shiny bald spot on top of his head. A trucker, steering a big Kenworth with a reefer on behind. I should have been frightened of trucks. After all, it hadn't been quite eighteen hours since my mother had been killed by a truck. But Rolling Rock was too nice to scare anyone, and a dozen cars had sped past me before he pulled off onto the off ramp and waited for me to run up to his rig. And when he opened the door from inside and said, "Hi, little lady. You on your way someplace?" in his broad hillbilly voice, somehow I could sense that I was in safe hands.

We weren't even out of Athens County before my head began to nod. He said, "Why don't you haul into the back and cop a few z's?" I must have given him a look of doubt, because he grinned and added, "Ain't no harm gonna come to you in my rig. I've got a little girl about your size and age, and I'd kill any man who tired to wrong her. I wouldn't want your daddy to come killing-mad after me." I believed him, and I was sorry I had lied to him about myself and my destination. But I couldn't tell him the truth. I was a murderess on the run. Six hours later we were in St. Louis. He touched me then, for the first time, reaching into the sleep compartment to stir me awake.

I jumped, a scream fluttering on my lips. I'd been dreaming about Tony. "Hey, little girl," he said, wrinkles creasing his high forehead. "I didn't mean you no wrong. But this is the end of the line. St. Louie."

And now we stood on the asphalt outside his rig, me shivering in the early morning chill despite the coat buttoned snugly around me. "If you won't take no money, at least let me see about gettin' you a ride. Bound to be somebody on his way to Denver."

I shook my head. I wasn't sure I was heading for Denver. It had been a quick, spur of the moment story, just an excuse for my being on the Interstate hitching a ride at a little after midnight. Right now I had no idea where I was going to go, what I'd do when I got there. A cup of coffee might help me straighten out my head, but I didn't want to get Rolling Rock into any more trouble. If he was seen in the company of a fugitive from justice it might go bad for him. "I'll be okay. Honest to God. And thanks again, Rolling Rock."

"Sure, little lady," and he kissed me on the forehead, the way a father might kiss his almost grown up daughter. It had been so long since I'd had a daddy I wasn't sure how long I could keep from crying. I turned away from him, mumbled a goodbye, and hurried into the restaurant. When I looked over my shoulder from inside the door he was still there by his truck, watching me.

The coffee was almost unbearably strong. I put in so much milk and sugar it could have served for breakfast. I only had twenty dollars and I didn't know how long it would have to last me. St. Louis was still too close to home. I'd have to put a lot more miles between me and Athens County before I took time out to rest up. Maybe I could land a waitressing job in some truck stop like this one – only it would have to be a long way from here. Somewhere on the west coast, maybe and keep on using an alias.

How long before they found Tony's body? What if some neighbor came over this morning with a bit of food for the bereaved, family? Oh, God, I didn't even lock the door behind me when I cleared out! I could see it right now. Mrs. Swanson from next door, maybe. She'd knock a few times. No answer. She'd probably try the door. She'd go inside. And…

"Is this seat taken?"

I turned around. For one incredible moment I thought I was looking up at Jesus Christ.

It was a guy, about six feet tail, rather lean-framed, with long hair parted in the middle just like mine. His hair fell onto his shoulders, framing a long angular face with heavy-browed eyes and a most impressive nose. He was bearded, and the overhead light played up reddish highlights in his brown hair. He looked exactly like the painting of Jesus that hangs in the Reckardsville Baptist Church, except that he wasn't wearing robes of white. And he was pointing at the empty stool beside me at the counter. I shook my head and he sat down, unzipping his blue flight jacket, reaching inside for cigarettes. I breathed a lift le easier. Jesus didn't smoke.

An hour later we were sitting in the cab of his VW van, riding the by-pass around St. Louis. My stomach was warm from coffee and the pancakes he'd insisted on buying me and I lounged happily in my bucket seat. His name was Jerry Cornelius and he was an his way west.

The sun came up behind us, but we were driving into pay cloudy skies. Rain began to spatter down in big cold drops and the further we drove, the wetter it seemed to get. Jerry had his windshield wipers on high speed but they weren't moving fast enough to keep the rain off.

"I don't know," Jerry said in his thin, nasal-toned voice. "I think we'd better pull ant and sit this rain out."

"Good idea," I agreed, because I was a little scared. I couldn't see anything ahead of us and I wondered how he'd managed to cover the last few miles. There was a side road up ahead. Jerry swung hard and we did a little wiggle as we turned onto it. He drove a few hundred yards up the road, pulled off onto the side, and shut down the engine. He turned around in his seat and looked at me.

"We might as well be comfortable," he said. "Let's go in the back."

It wasn't one of your truly great vans. There was a small bed at the very back, and an ice chest, and the floor was covered in a patchwork of unmatching textures and patterns of carpet. Like an old quilt, I thought, and very soft under my feet. I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my toes around. The bed was the only place to sit, except for the floor, so I eased my butt onto the edge of the mattress and took a deep breath.

Jerry opened the ice chest and brought forth a dripping cold jug of cheap red wine. We sipped at the paper cups of wine, neither of us saying much.

In the right light, red wine looked a lot like blood and I kept seeing the blood that oozed out of the wound I'd made in Tony's forehead with the heavy glass ashtray. None of that was doing much good for my psyche.

"I think I've had enough," I said, finishing my wine. "Listen. The rain seems to have died down." I couldn't hear it spattering on the top of the van, the way it had when we first crawled back here.

"Fuck the rain," Jerry said. He put down his wine and rose from the floor in a quick fluid motion. His arms went around me and he pushed me back onto the bed. As I went back, he came up, mounting me. "Mmmmmmmm, baby," he said, sliding his hands under the tail of my sweatshirt. They ranged upward and found the undersides of my tits.

"No," I complained, "let go of me!" I fought under him, and, skinny though he looked, his skinniness was nearly all muscle. Wiry and strong and, above all else, determined! His hands moved over the crests of my tits and he was holding me in a tight, fierce grip. It felt as if he were choking me, even though I knew I didn't breathe through my breasts. My head felt cold but my armpits were warm with frightened sweat. Warm and wet.

"Stop it, Goddamn you," I told him. "I didn't get into this van to fuck you."

"Nobody mentioned fuck except you," Jerry said, breathing wine into my face, "but since you've brought up the idea, I think I could dig it. Mmmmmmmmm." He leaned in close, nuzzling my neck and ear with his wine-wet mouth. His tongue played across my skin, into my ear, up and down my neck. His teeth closed on me and he gave me two or three sharp little nips. I squealed and fought but I couldn't seem to throw him off me. It was just like last night, all over again.

His cock began to harden in his pants where he lay on me. I could feel each spurt of blood that tooled into Jerry's prick and made it stiff, stiffer. He rubbed his crotch into my body, made me feel him, and his fingers pinched mercilessly at my breasts. "Come on," he said. "You knew what you were asking for. Girl with tits like these – you know I've been around. You know what it's all used for. You fight, it's only gonna make it harder. For you. And it's plenty hard already. Get a feel."

With his fingers guiding mine, fitting them to the outline of his stiff dick. I felt numb. But my fingers didn't. They felt every single pulsation of his thumping dick, moved up and down its length as he guided them, I had been raped once in the last twenty-four hours, and I should have been a, little more used to the sensation. But I wasn't. I felt sick in the pit of my tummy and my head was swimming in terror.

He got me jammed up against the wall, holding me in place with a knee planted firmly on my thigh. I huffed and puffed, but that was about it. "Look at this, Penny," he said, unzipping his pants. I'd almost forgotten that I was Penny today. I hoped the real Penny Porter, a girl in my class at school, didn't mind that I was using her name. I wished to hell that she were here right now instead of me, about to be assaulted by a guy who looked like Jesus Christ in the back of a VW van on a side road. Off a not-too-busy highway. My sins were catching up with me. Maybe God didn't care for the fact that I had murdered my stepfather. Maybe this was only the beginning of my trials and tribulations and punishments.

Jerry worked his pants down. They were denims, fitting pretty tightly around his ass. He wasn't wearing shorts under them, and his cock jumped out at me as soon as he pulled his pants down far enough. It was a slender cock, not very long, not very thick, I guess, but at that moment it looked like a fencepost. Red, fat-headed, pushing impatiently toward my face. I choked and felt as if all the wine I'd drunk were starting to back up my throat.

Jerry got me around the neck and pulled me over, across him. He lay back on the bed and worked my face into his lap. "Suck on it," he commanded. "I like to be sucked first. Then I'll suck you, if you treat me nice. I do a pretty good lob with a fast tongue and a tight pussy. Well, for shit's sake, Penny, get the fuck with it! Stan sucking!"

He worked my head around, his stiff cock rubbing up and down my cheek. It was hot against my skin and my mouth kept sliding into the tangle of pubic hair at the base of Jerry's tool.

"I don't want to," I said angrily, and the moment I opened my mouth he grabbed me by one fall of dark hair, jerked my head up, and plunged his cock into me. It happened just that fast, just that unexpectedly. One moment I was telling him I would not do it, the next moment I had his cock in my mouth and he was guiding my head up and down on him, his hands just tight enough to make sure I couldn't lift my face off his lick, only rise and fall with it impaling my mouth.

I thought I was going to choke on him. He pushed me down hard, till what seemed and felt like a mile of rod was in my mouth, the head of him lunging almost into my throat. Not until I gagged and coughed did he let up, and then it was only enough to let me rise four or five inches. The end of him was still in my mouth and he made damned sure it didn't slip or slide out.

He was using just the one hand on my head. With his other hand he was pulling up my sweatshirt, pulling it up to free my bare tits. His fingers locked onto my boobs and when they locked, they stayed locked. I didn't know the combination to get them loose. They pinched into my tits, and they really pinched! I could feel the welts springing up on my flesh like beans after the first good summer rain. He kept squeezing and pinching, tweaking my nipples till I gurgled and moaned around the cock in my mouth, and I wished to hell that I were somewhere else.

The only thing I could do was suck Jerry's cock. The alternative was being choked to death on the Goddamned thing.

As I've probably already told you, I wasn't too keen about eating cock, and I didn't really know too much about it. Jerry moaned and pulled my hair viciously when I failed to keep my teeth under control, and I learned pretty quickly that teeth didn't have too much role in a blowjob. I tried to keep them covered with my drawn-back lips. What to do with my tongue? I wasn't really sure. At first I kept it very quiet and idle, but it gradually began to move of its own will, and that astonished me. Jerry's hand slid down from my tits, down across my belly, into the waistband of my jeans. The button popped open and his fingers wiggled into my pubic hair. I hadn't bothered with underwear when I left home just after midnight. There was nothing under my clothes except Rebecca Lee Butler. Only right now, she was being raped.

I realized that Jerry wasn't holding my head any more; that I was rising and failing on his cock in rhythmic passage, without any guidance at all. It scared me. I lurched up, almost losing his cock. His hand touched my head and I shot down again, swallowing him quickly, greedily.

His hand was in my pants, tight on my pussy, and my thighs were clamped together on him, gripping him possessively.

My nipples were stiff, rubbing the denim of his bunched-up pants halfway down his legs. I hadn't noticed that reaction either. Good God, what was happening to me? Yesterday I was a good girl. And today, for the second time, I was – oh, God, I was! I could feel it clotting on the lips of my twat – I was starting to turn on furiously while being raped and abused by a sex-obsessed male!

His finger slipped into my hole and I was ashamed to feel my pussy start contracting rapidly around the foreign object. Wetness oozed from me, more with each little penetration of his finger, and at the same time his other fingers were busy massaging the puffy mound of my cunt. His thumb went a lot of time near my clit, not touching it directly but rubbing around the base of my little button, sending shivers and tingles throughout my entire body. The wetness flowed, and he wasn't holding my head but still I was moving up and down, eating his cock as if I enjoyed it.

"Enough, Penny-girl," I heard him say, and he took me by the ears, lifting me from his stiff prick. Drool flowed from the corners of my mouth as my head came up. His face was bright and smug. He knew that I was starting to turn on. He knew it, and he reveled in it. "Now it's your turn."

He pushed me back, over onto my ass, and he slid my pants down. One hand on my tits, he thrust his face into my crotch and burrowed through the little V of hair. His tongue touched my silt and I moaned, but somehow the magic spell was beginning to fade. I couldn't tell why, couldn't tell how, but I could feel my arousal going flat, like a bottle of pop that's been left too long without a cap.

He worked his tongue into me, but he might as well have been doing it to the real Penny Porter, for all the good it did me. My cunt felt as if it were drying up, in spite of the spittle and drool he bathed my pussy with, and I began to squirm restlessly. "Stop it," I said. "Stop it right now, damn you! Stop!"

As I spoke, I humped up, knocking him aside. He fell onto his shoulder and I started to jump off the little bed. His stiff cock brushed my thigh and I felt an electric tingle in me, very similar to the ones I had felt when he was forcibly fucking my mouth and tickling my twat with his strong, irresistible fingers. There were butterflies in my tummy as I started to stand up, but I didn't make it all the way. Jerry grabbed me by the wrist and jerked, and I fell sprawling onto the bed. I couldn't have walked far anyway. My pants had slipped almost to my knees. They fell a little farther when I slumped onto the bed and they tangled at my ankles. I had one quick feel of fuzzy carpeting under my toe and then my feet were up in the air and Jerry was dragging me across the narrow bed. My head bumped the wall and it hurt, but only for moment.

"Listen, bitch," he said, "you're sucked me till I'm hard enough to cut diamonds, and you're no getting off this bed till I say so. You got that?" And to emphasize the words, he braced his am against my throat, pushing down. Air collected it my lungs but seemed unable to rise up, into my mouth, with his arm blocking the way. He pushed a little harder, and as he did, he worked one of his legs in between mine. I grunted, and he was on me, jabbing with his cock at my pussy. As he sank into me, he lifted up the pressure of his arm on my throat, and it didn't feel anywhere near so bad as I thought it might.

You're just grateful because you can breathe again, I told myself. You're not enjoying the rest of this one bit. Not one – Goddamn – bit! His cock plunged home, lifted, plummeted again.