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

CHAPTER SIX

Once I'd dragged myself out of the mud and put my clothes into a semblance of decency, the full horror of my situation hit me like a brick. The departed van contained, besides the man who raped me, everything I'd carried out of Athens County last night, when I fled like the criminal an fugitive I was. My gym bag with clean clothes which I really needed right now, and, my purse with all my money! It was only twenty dollars, but Nelson Rockefeller wouldn't have felt a bit worse being reduced to total poverty than I felt at that moment. I started to cry, and my face was already wet from the falling rain. My hair began to string around my face and I couldn't have looked any more miserable than I felt. What was I gonna do now?

Sadly I trudged down the road, back to the main highway. It seemed to take forever to walk it, though the distance was no more than a hundred yards or so. And I took stock of myself as I walked. Who, I asked myself, would stop and offer a ride to a girl who looked as if she'd been dragged through forty miles of bad road? I was mud from tits to knees. My hair and face were a total mess. I could stand here for the next week thumbing and all it would get me would be a case of pneumonia. Still, it was the only thing I could do.

After watching fifteen cars go by, I was ready to lie down in the weeds beside the road and wait for sickness and death to overtake me. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe the next car down the highway would be a police cruiser. I could flag them down, confess that I was a fugitive murderer from Ohio. At least they'd put me in a nice warm cell, and they'd feed me, and maybe they'd let me take a shower and wash off some of the mud. My body was freezing from the chilly rain – oven my coat was in Jerry's van, a million miles away by now, and the sweatshirt didn't take long to soak all the way through. But every time a car appeared in the distance, I held out my thumb and tried to smile.

It wasn't working. It wouldn't work. Sighing, I started to walk down the highway, the direction Jerry and I had been traveling. I didn't know where the road led, but at least I was moving.

Maybe a quarter of a mile from where I'd started, just when I was looking at the nearby river and wondering how it would feel to drown myself, I heard the beeping of a horn. I turned, figuring for sure someone was about to run me over. But it was a car, and it was braking to a gentle stop on the wet pavement. The rain was thinning down by this time and I could see that a woman was behind the wheel. She motioned to me, fifteen or twenty feet back, and I broke into a run. With my luck, she'd be seeking directions to Hick's Corners or some-such place. As I came alongside she reached across and opened the side door. "You'd better get in," she said with a lilt in her voice. "The rain gets worse the further down the road you go, if the radio weatherman is to be trusted."

Lara. That was her name, Lara McMinn. She wore an expensive-looking coat and she drove an expensive-looking little foreign tar, and she lived in an expensive-looking house about twenty miles west of where she'd stopped to give me a ride. We talked in the car, and she was very friendly, not to mention very pretty. About thirty or thirty-five, I guess, and she wore a large gold ring an her left hand, so I supposed there was a Mr. McMinn someplace. I hoped he didn't find out that his wife had been giving rides to fugitive murderesses. When she asked me my name I told her Rebecca; I didn't feel like lying any more.

When we got to her house, I started to get out of the car but she put her hand on mine and shook her head. "Absolutely not," she said authoritatively. Her voice was soft and rich, an alto. "You'll catch your death in those wet clothes. Come into the house with me. I'll draw a bath for you and find you something dry to put on."

I couldn't very well say no. The thought of a bath sent tingles up and down my spine, and my thighs twitched when I reflected on the possibility of putting on dry clothes. She pulled the car into the garage and shut off the engine. "Look," I said, "You don't know anything about me. What if you invite me into your house and I repay your hospitality by robbing you, or murdering you, or something?"

She laughed, a very pretty laugh, I thought. "If you were going to do it," she told me, "you certainly wouldn't advertise it ahead of time the way you just did. I'm a very good judge of character, Rebecca."

Her hand slipped down from my hand, rested on my thigh just above the knee. The presence was light but unmistakable and I felt kinda funny in my stomach. Why, I couldn't say. There was just something…

"Now you come along," she said, "and we'll see about cleaning you up. You really look as if you'd taken a mud bath or something."

I followed her through the side door, into the kitchen. It was a kitchen right out of a TV commercial, all the latest appliances, including a microwave oven, and it was spotless clean. I looked down, saw my muddy footprints on the floor. Oh, God, how disgusting! I didn't seem to notice.

"Come this way," she was saying. "Up the stairs. Bathroom is at the head of the steps. Why don't you go on in and start the water running? I'll see what I can find that might fit you."

She was taking off her coat as she spoke and for the first time I had a look at her figure. It was lovely! She was wearing a sweater and slacks combination that hugged and accentuated the lines of her slender, lissome body. Small breasts, set high on her chest, a slim waist, a high behind, and long legs. She looked very tall, but she couldn't have been more than a few inches taller than me. It was all in her carriage. Lara McMinn knew how to make the most of herself. God, I thought, if I don't get sent to the electric chair, I'd like to grow up and be her!

All except the hair. She wore her hair rather short, and it was curled and frizzed around her face, a nice shade of auburn-red but I didn't like the style. I preferred my own long, straight tresses.

I peeled out of my wet clothes and adjusted the water in the bathtub. I brewed it a little hotter than I usually do, because I had some hellish cleaning up to get done. When the tub was three-quarters full, I poured in some bubble powder, hoping Lara wouldn't mind, and I crawled into the water, sinking down with a sigh. For the first time in a couple of days, I felt good. Really, really good!

I was still just soaking, letting the hot water seep into my skin. I could feel it moving slowly and surely into the marrow of my bones, warming me all over. Taking a deep breath, I submerged my head and came up feeling cleaner still, water and suds running across my face. I blew bubbles and I splashed in the tub like a child. For now, at least, I wasn't a fugitive and a rape victim. I was just Rebecca Lee Butler again, taking simple pleasure in a sweet bath.

The door opened. I wasn't used to baying someone else in the bathroom with me. I sat up, starting, and I threw my hands up in front of my tits, though they were almost completely covered in foam anyway. Lara smiled, winningly, and I flushed a little as I put my hands down. She came over to the tub and knelt beside it. "Mmmm," she said, sniffing. "Lilac. My favorite too." Her hand poised above the soap suds, then dipped in. She brought out a palmful of soap and she blew little bubbles into my face. I giggled, and it felt nice to be giggling. I was safe. And warm. And clean, too. Soon I'd have to get back on the road and keep thumbing till I reached someplace the law couldn't find me, but right now it felt very soothing to soakin Lara McMinn's tub and bubble bath.

"Wait a sec." Lara got up, went to the cabinet beside the tub. She opened the door, reached inside. I heard a little clatter and something fell out. A tube of K-Y Jelly. What was that? Something like Vaseline? She reached for it, scooped it up quickly, put it back into the cabinet. "This is what I was looking for," she said, holding another tube. She uncapped it and I could smell flowers and herbs. "Shampoo," she explained, squeezing a little into her palm. "Make your hair smell like a garden."

Lara knelt by the tub again. "Lean over," she commanded, and I leaned. She put her hands on my wet hair, began to massage the shampoo into my scalp. Mom used to wash my hair for me when I was little, but no one had done it in eight or nine years, anyway. Her fingers felt different from the ones I was used to, and as she kept on rubbing and stroking, I found myself wishing she'd never ever stop! I purred and blew a path through the soapy foam. Lara's hands worked down my neck, following the trail of my long hair.

It was tangled and kinked, from being wet and muddied, and she undid the snarls with the gentlest touch imaginable. I wouldn't have been so delicate. It felt so good!

She rinsed out the soap with a little nozzle attached to the tap, and then she treated me to a cream rinse which accentuated the herbal aroma of the shampoo. I really did smell like a garden. And I could imagine myself sinking into a leafy bed of flowers on a sweet, warm spring day, looking up at the trees as they turned summertime green under the blue blue sky.

"Let's get you dried, now," Lara was saying, and I didn't feel funny at all when I stood up and stepped out of the tub, onto the mat beside her. She was there waiting, with a fat terrycloth towel in her hands, and she started to move it up and down my bare body, wiping away the clingy soapsuds and the wetness.

First she did my back, while I held my hair out of the way. Her hands slid law, lingering a moment on the curve of my ass. She patted my buttocks through the towel and her fingers made a delicate rhythm on my skin. It felt good. Dropping to her knees, she wiped the backs of my legs, then started up my front. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I could do the front myself, but it felt so good being dried off after my bath and not having to move a finger in my own behalf. I sighed and closed my eyes, fingers toying through my wet, sweet-smelling hair.

Lara's hands moved upward, to my kneecaps, up the moist smooth columns of my thighs. The edge of the towel brushed my wet pussy and I opened my eyes in surprise. I looked down and she was patting me there, too, the way she'd patted my ass. Smiling, humming softly while she dried me and massaged me, and something told me it wasn't right, you know? I mean, she was a woman and I was a girl, and there was a certain something in it all, something that should have been easier for me to understand. Her hands slid upward and the towel moved across my tits. Lara's hands were guiding the towel and she smoothed it over my boobs, hands lingering on the protrusions, and this time I damn sure knew that things weren't entirely what they seemed.

"Uh," I started to say, the only sound I could make. She stood up quickly, still pressing the towel down over my tits, holding them in firm, solid grip with her small hands, and all of a sudden her face was in front of mine. Its a wonder our eyelashes didn't twine together. And then her face was even closer and her mouth was on mine, sweet breath flowing into me, her body tight and lithe and taut against my body. She was still holding the towel down over one tit, but the other one had gone around me, locked at the small of my back and she was pulling me even tighter, harder, against her. She was kissing me too, and her tits touched me – I could feel them hard and high-set under her sweater, nipples standing up prominently, seeming to burn me where they brushed against my skin. Her hand slid lower down, cupped one cheek of my ass, and it was a very small but a very strong hand, squeezing me with just enough power to make the breath clog up in my throat. My legs turned to mush, my head went swimming round and round and I'd have fallen for sure if I hadn't been leaning against Lara, all my weight thrown onto her willow-slim frame.

"Noooooooo…" I hummed against her mouth, but her tongue slipped into me while I was protesting and her hand was still busy down there on my ass, one little finger riding in my crack. I closed my eyes and made to push her away. But somehow, instead of pushing, my arms went around Lara and I was hugging her savagely, thrusting my body at hers, trying to swallow her lissome tongue.

In the end, I had to come up for air. I slid my head back, but my head was all that moved, and I stared at her, still hugging her body while she fondled and embraced mine. "What are you doing?" I said aghast.

Her answer was a little kiss on the angle of my shoulder. Her lips clung to my skin and didn't want to let go. As she kissed me, I put one hand on her curly hair and stoked her head. Without knowing it, I was dragging her face down my chest, toward the stiff waiting beacon of my right nipple. Her lips touched it, and my eyes got big, but I didn't let go of her, not even when she opened her mouth and the point of her tongue touched my nipple. White-hot jolts of surprise and excitement shot through me, but I couldn't let go. I put my fingers on the back of her head and drew her to my breasts and she began to suckle me, in a way I'd never been sucked before.

It was gentle yet fierce at the same time. Her lips pulled at me, pulled, hard and determinedly, and it was as if she were trying to jerk the nipple right off my titty. But her tongue was busy, licking, loving, spilling drool across my pap, and I just wrapped both hands around her head. I didn't want her ever to stop!

But she did, and she straightened up. My hands were still on her head, touching her cute curly hair, finding her earlobes and exploring them too. She smiled and let go of my left breast, bringing both hands round me, one palm resting on each cheek of my ass. We rocked back and forth, our crotches pressed together, and I looked at her face, not knowing how I'd gotten into this, only knowing that I was deep in it and not sure if I wanted to get out.

"Do you feel better now?" she asked in her soft alto, and as she spoke she let her hands glide up and down my buttocks. I shivered and the motion made my crotch rub hers again. Yes, I thought, I do feel better. I don't know why I do, but…

She dropped the towel. "What happened?" she said, pointing to my left breast. I looked down. There was a large bruise on the underside of my tit just below the nipple. Jerry, I thought. Jerry and his pinching fingers. Lara touched it with the tip of one finger.

"Oooohh," I said, "it hurts a little."

"Let me," she invited, and she bent her head. She kissed the sore spot and when her lips were gone it still looked raw and purple, but it didn't hurt at all. "Does that have something to do with why you were on the road in the middle of that rainstorm?"

I nodded, uncertain how much I dared tell her. She had created strange hungers in me, feelings ant passions that were boiling and simmering away inside my body though I couldn't understand the why or the how. But could I strip my soul naked too? "I was with a boy," I said, "and we had disagreement. He threw me out of his van. An left, with my coat and my money and my extra clothes."

"Are you running from something, Rebecca? Don't lie to me. You can trust me. Just tell me the truth. You're too young to be hitchhiking by yourself, and you certainly don't talk like a Missourian. From a bit further east. Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania. Ohio, I think. Right?" I nodded. "But you don't want to tell me? You're afraid?" I nodded again. Lara pursed her lips. It was a pretty expression.

Her fingers moved through my crack. My asshole was still a little tender from the fucking it had gotten a couple of hours ago, but there was a healing quality in the touch of her fingers. I forgot all about hurt as her hand slid over the red little hole, as her fingers skated on, made contact from behind with the wet muff of my pubic hair and the tingly lips of my snatch.

I jumped onto tiptoes when she touched my pussy. "Ohmygod," I said in a rush of words, "what are you doing?"

Her finger toyed with the hole, then slipped inside, just enough to let me know she was there. Her mouth curled into a sweet smile, the sweetest smile imaginable. It made Mona Lisa look like a two-dollar whore giving the come on to a horny sailor. The tip of her finger rested inside my crack, not moving, simply letting me know it enjoyed being in my warm wetness, Lara tilted her head and kissed me on the mouth again, pressing her lips against mine, and I don't think I really needed to ask what she was doing. I think I knew.

It was something I'd never done before. I mean, I knew that things like this went on. Two lovely women locked in a nude embrace, their red lips touching and clinging. Hands exploring the contours of firm, stiff-tipped breasts, or of smooth, curvy asses. But I'd never been in the least bit curious about trying it, myself.

It was not like a man's touch at all. At least, it wasn't when Lara touched me. A guy would have been jabbing his finger up my cunt, trying to get his whole hand inside my pussy. And she just stood there, looking at me with a calm expression on her face, and the red-painted tip of her finger was nestled inside my twat, the nail not even jiggling or scratching at the lining of my pussy mouth.

And I could feel liquid fire starting to boil in my belly, could feel moisture flowing down my tube, wetting the end of her finger. Already the sexy smell of aroused pussy was stronger in my nostrils than the herbal garden shampoo she'd used to wash my hair. I should have guessed when she touched me, when she massaged me so gently and delicately. I should have known this was the obvious next step!

But would I have told her to knock it off, even if I had known? I didn't know, not with her finger in my pussy, my nipples hardening under the calm stare of her eyes. They were brown eyes, soft, liquid, loving. They lifted, from my tits to my face, and I felt myself sinking into those brown pools. Lara gave her finger the tiniest, teeniest wiggle, and I became a piece of jello in her arms.

"It's nicer in the bedroom, Rebecca," she said, and I could just nod, sobbing but not crying.

"T-take me to the b-b-bedroom, then." I said.

She undressed by the bed, where I already lay stretched out. My skin was warm from the bath and pink-glowing where she'd rubbed me dry with the towel. I couldn't take my eyes off her, not even to examine the bedroom, which was truly delicious. The colors were soft and deep. The carpeting on the floor was a foot deep and the bed was an antique four-poster with a canopy top. Satin bedclothes surmounted it, waiting only for Lara's hand to turn down the sheets. The lighting in the room was indirect and cast delightful shadows on Lara's body as she undressed herself for me. I stopped looking at the furnishings the moment she unzipped her slacks and I didn't take my eyes off her till she was lying beside me.

She let her pants drop. Under them she wore the strangest-looking panties I'd ever seen. Silk, and sheer black, with a lacy trimming, and nothing in the crotch except a protruding patch of deep auburn fur. I wanted to touch her panties, to see how real silk felt, but even more I found myself gulping because I knew I also wanted to touch that muff of red hair, to work my fingers in it to feel and caress what was lurking inside it. The hem of Lara's sweater began to rise and, my eyes followed it.

She was tantalizingly slow in exposing her breasts. I knew she had been wearing a bra when she took me upstairs. The sweater fit her rather snugly around the back and I'd noticed the line of her undergarment. When had she taken it off? While I was getting my bath ready? Had she come into the bathroom prepared to seduce me?

Anyway, her tits were bare under the sweater, which I already knew because I'd felt her nipples stiff and perky against my skin while we were kissing in the bathroom. But the sight of them was delight to the eyes and a temptation to the lips and fingers.

Her breasts were small and high-set on her chest. Shaped sorta like champagne glasses, or rather, the insides of champagne glasses. Tapering to points, capped in the tiniest little brown-red nipples I had ever seen, no bigger around than dimes. But the tips extended a long way, and the tips were stiff with passion, and I rubbed my thumb against my index finger, wishing that stiff red nipple was caught between my thumb and finger right now.

She threw her sweater aside, something I'd never have done with a garment as obviously expensive as that sweater, and she sidled onto the bed. One leg stretched across the mattress, the other rested on the floor. I sat up and looked down into her lap. The puff of hair was really sticking out of her crotchless panties and I wanted to touch it so badly.

"Go ahead," Lara invited.

My hand dove into her pubes and the hair on her pussy was fine as spun silk. I touched it with wonder simmering in my heart, and my fingers pressed in, till they tapped the line of her slice. She had a small, tight-feeling gash, and the inner lips didn't stick out at all, which I'd have expected in an older woman like Lara. But I didn't care. It was much nicer to touch her smooth even crease, I suspected, than it would be to feel a cunt whose labia hung down to the knees. It was a soft, moist pussy, and I had only to touch it with a little insistence, for the lips to part and suck me into Lara.

I kept pushing, expecting to feel something, but I couldn't. She reached down, covered my hand, guided me. My finger plunged deeply, suddenly, into her damp snatch, and the muscles of her cunt began to suck at me, contracting in little tremors as I worked myself inside Lara. She closed her eyes, let her head slide back, resting against my shoulder, and she worked my hand fiercely.

"There – there – there!" she moaned, and her pussy erupted around my finger. It must have been a very nice come because she shivered against me for almost a minute and her pussy snapped and rippled along the inserted length of my finger. Wetness oozed from her, and it smelled like honey. I sniffed, appreciating the musky sweet scent, and my arm slipped around Lara.

She turned her head and we kissed and I knew she was thanking me. For what? I'd just wiggled my finger inside her cunt. She'd done all the work. My body started to get cold and I felt awkward and strange and a little silly, sitting here on this plush bed naked, with my finger up the cunt of a woman I'd just met about forty-five minutes ago on the highway.

"Uh," I said, working my finger fret, "Maybe I oughta be…"

Lara shook her head. She put her hands on my shoulders, eased me down onto the bed. I stretched out reluctantly and she started to kiss me passionately on the mouth and nipples, on my stomach and in my armpits. Her tongue glided across my skin and it tickled, but I didn't feel any other response.

"Is something wrong?" Lara asked, raising her head from my tits. "You feel cold." She put her fingers against my cheek. "You feel very cold."

"I'm sorry," I told her. "It's not you. It's me. I'm a pervert of some kind. Maybe I'd better be going. Look, I won't bather you by borrowing any clothes. I'll just put mine back on and get it onto the wad. I really have to be on my way, anyhow. I…" I stopped, for I'd almost said something I shouldn't have.

Lam sat up. So did I. She slipped her arm round my shoulder and put our foreheads together. She was really beautiful – clean, economically chiseled facial features, high cheekbones, that particular kind of hollow-cheeked look you see on the covers of fashion magazines. Her lips were red and glossy, her eyes a sympathetic brown, and her nostrils twitched a little as she looked me eye to eye.

"It isn't you," I repeated. "I told you. It's me. I – well, I sorta turn off, you know? I don't feel anything once it gets started. I just get cold and – it embarrasses me talking about this, and if you don't mind, I'd rather not…"

"I'd rather talk," Lara said softly. "You were okay in the bathroom. I felt your body heating, and your nipples throbbed, and you kissed me when I kissed you. I'm not trying to force you, Rebecca. If you don't want to do it, that's perfectly fine with me. It's your body and your decision."

"That's just it," I said. "You mentioned force." She looked at me curiously. Were her eyes brightening, beginning to sparkle? And if so, why should they? "I told you I was kinky, and, well…"

I told her a cleaned-up version of the story. I changed names and places, so that if anyone came to ask her questions she might not connect Rebecca Lee Butler, fugitive, with the Rebecca she'd picked up on the highway. Though God knew why anyone should come to this house and ask Lara McMinn about a girl wanted by the Ohio police. Still, you have to keep your steps covered.

I told her about Norman and about Bucky, how I'd gone ahead and screwed, with them because I really wanted to – only I didn't really want to, once it got started, and I didn't feel anything except a lot of pain in the ass while it was going on. And I told her about Tony, how he'd raped me the night my mother died – tied me to the bed and fucked the shit out of me. And how I'd turned on like crazy, coming in fountains under him, even if I was tied up and hating him every second while he was screwing me. I glided over the details of what happened after he had finished, just said I'd run away from home and wouldn't go back.

And I told her about Jerry Cornelius, this afternoon, just before she had the kindness to stop and pick me up. He'd raped me too, taken me when I didn't want to be taken, and I'd fought him, fought him courageously until the whole scene started turning me on… again. And only the revulsion I felt toward myself when it was over had led me to pick up that wine bottle and threaten to brain him with it, had gotten me tossed out of the van into a mud puddle.

"Do you see?" I told her finally. "I can't respond to sex. Not normally. I mean, other people can, and I guess they have a good time, but I have never gotten turned on in my life unless…"

Lara nodded. Her face looked cloudy. I guessed she was pretty disgusted with me. Well, that made two of us. She was nice and she had some nice ideas too, but I just couldn't get into the flow of them. The sooner I got going, the better it would be.

She slid off the bed and walked across the room to a large double-door cabinet. She opened the door and I saw that, inside, it was fixed up as a bar. Several decanters, glasses, ice bucket, the whole works. Lara looked over her shoulder. "Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?" I shrugged and nodded. She poured two glasses of red wine and came back to the bed.

I took mine, waiting till she'd sipped at hers. She looked at me over the rim of the glass in her hand, and her eyes had a funny expression. "So," she said, raising her head. "You don't turn on unless you're being raped or brutalized, or whatever?" I nodded, blushing.

Lara's hand jerked back and she flung the contents of her wine glass into my face. I blinked furiously, raised my hand to wipe the liquid out of my eyes. She grabbed my wrist. "Okay, bitch," she said with a snarl. "I think you're about to be raped."