Judd Michaels - The virgin captives

Penny Tucker finished hanging the last of the wet laundry on the line and picked up the empty wicker basket on her way back to the house. She paused on the screened back porch, wiping beads of perspiration from her fair face with the back of one slender arm. Almost hopelessly, she glanced at the thermometer which hung from a rusty nail beside the back door. It was 85 in the shade, and climbing.

Tired and more than a little fed up with her workday routine, Penny let the wicker basket slide from her fingers to the floor as she padded slowly through the kitchen. She noticed that dishes remained in the sink, still unwashed from last night's supper, but she turned away from the sight, unable to feign interest in a new job at that point.

With a low sigh of virtual exhaustion, Penny let herself slump into one of the living room's two threadbare armchairs, carefully choosing the one with the least exposed stuffing. She half-sat, half-lay in the padded chair, with one shapely leg thrown up and over the mounded arm, her foot swinging casually in mid-air.

The heat wave had been going on now, sapping strength and grating nerves, for almost six weeks. There was no end to the steamy weather in sight, if one were to believe the predictions of the meteorologists on radio and television. It was, in fact, the worst heat wave of any spring which Penny could recall, unusual even for the humid region of Georgia in which she lived.

The surrounding woods and hills, they said, would help to deflect and dissipate the summer heat, but Penny had found the exact opposite to be true. The mountains and valleys of her rural home county seemed only to act as a trap for the heat, holding the sun's scorching rays prisoner there even after dusk had descended to bring theoretical relief. Penny idly wished that she had the money necessary to move north, into cooler weather, or even south, to New Orleans on the Gulf.

The thought made Penny Tucker laugh out loud in the dingy little living room. It was not bad enough that her mother's hospital bills and funeral expenses had eaten up every last cent of their already tiny life savings, but she had to care for her younger sister as well. If anyone moved away from the hard-scratch Georgia farm, both would have to go, and that was clearly out of the question. Besides, Melanie, Penny's sister, was barely fifteen, and if they moved north she would have to go back to school, cutting their potential earnings in half.

Penny Tucker had to admit to herself that it was not the unseasonable heat alone which left her on the brink of total exhaustion that spring morning. She had hardly gotten a single wink of sleep the entire night before, and that was not because of the weather. That was Luke's fault.

Luke Hollowell was the oldest son of their nearest neighbors, Old Man and Mrs. Hollowell, who farmed an almost identical plot of tired ground eight miles away to the east. At twenty-one, Luke was two years older than Penny, and, she had to admit it, quite possibly the best looking young man in all of Cowden County. She was quite flattered that he seemed to take such an interest in her, but at the same time, there were things about their budding relationship which deeply disturbed her as well.

Penny felt the old stirring inside her at the mere thought of Luke, and shook the feelings away, rising gracefully from the easy chair and padding softly through the house to the bathroom. She suddenly felt the need for a cool shower, and with Melanie still away at her part-time job in town, there was nothing to prevent her from taking one immediately.

Penny Tucker stood in the middle of the tiny bathroom, one of only two dozen or so in that part of the county which had both a working shower and a toilet. Slowly, almost dreamily, she began to undress for her shower, unable to keep her mind from wandering back to Luke Hollowell and the problem which had kept her awake all night.

Not that Luke himself was a problem, far from it. He was what any other girl in the county might have called a "catch", and Penny would have had to agree with them on that score. No, Luke was not the problem, nor were his feelings for her the problem in and of themselves. It was just that Luke was a man now, with a man's needs, and he wanted to… well, to go too far, too fast.

Numbly, unthinking, Penny's fingers opened the buttons which held her blouse together in front. There were only a few such buttons, and in a moment she was able to shrug the garment off, letting it fall in an untidy heap on the bathroom floor behind her.

Penny Tucker wore a brassiere only on formal occasions, when it was necessary to dress up and go into town, so she was without one now. Glancing at her own reflection in the mirror of the bathroom's medicine cabinet, seeing herself naked from the waist up, she felt a momentary surge of pride at the sight of her own firm young body. She could afford to be proud of the mounding swell of her young breasts, standing taut and perky without need of artificial support, the twin cherry peaks of her little nipples staring back at her from the mirror like eyes narrowed in sensual excitement.

Penny cupped a hand beneath each breast, letting her mind drift for the moment, pleased, enjoying the firm, taut tone of muscle and flesh beneath her hands. Slowly she stroked the orbs of breast flesh, gasping slightly as the contact of her fingertips upon her own nipples brought the rubbery little buds into tingling erection. Electric little jolts of erotic sensation radiated outward from those tiny pleasure buds, igniting responsive fires of passion in her still-covered loins. Hurriedly, Penny dropped her trembling hands away from her chest, taking several deep breaths in rapid succession to calm herself. As she leaned forward to turn on the shower and adjust the water temperature, she let her mind return to Luke Hollowell and their very personal "problem".

Her most recent date with the strapping young mountain man had been just the night before, and Penny's thoughts returned to the events of that evening as she continued undressing there in the bathroom. She unbuckled the belt about her waist, and then unfastened her faded work jeans, swiftly running the zipper down and open with a soft, sensual whirring sound, and beginning to slide the tight pants downward over the bell curve of her full, womanly hips.

She and Luke had gone to see a movie in Cromwell, the county seat, and then had stopped off at a little roadhouse on the way home for some drinks. The proprietor of the roadhouse was the sheriff's second cousin, and thus exempt from many of the regulations which governed such offenses as the serving of alcohol to minors and the mandatory closing hour imposed by state law. Penny and Luke had stayed late, drinking more than their fair share of the moonshine whiskey which the roadhouse owner purchased from local bootleggers and rebottled himself with forged legitimate labels.

It was late when Luke delivered Penny to her front door. She was tired, and more than a little tipsy from the effects of the "white lightning" they had both consumed. She would have liked to go directly to sleep, but Luke had seemed anxious to stay and talk, about what he chose to refer to as "their future".

Penny was not entirely pleased with the way he discussed their coming life together as if everything had already been settled, all decisions made. But she had to admit that it did feel good when he took her in his arms, and in her present woozy state it was comforting to lean against his broad and muscular chest, feeling his big hands lightly caressing her back through the thin material of her summer dress. She was almost able to ignore his presumptuous words, allowing herself simply to bask in the glow of his obvious affection for her, enjoying the physical sensations which his touch and his nearness inspired in her ripe young body.