Ron Taylor - Roped and raped

"It's not for what you did to me, Luke," I said sweetly but earnestly. "It's for what you did to Emmylou. That was unforgivable. And I can't forgive you, so don't ask me."

I reached for the gunlock. My finger found the trigger and I pulled it.

Nothing happened.

"What the hell?" I blurted. I'd psyched myself up for this. I was emotionally ready to kill the man. I had even pulled the mother-fucking trigger.

Beside me, Emmylou gasped, and she grabbed my arm. "Oh, my God, Marilyn!"

I staggered back. My resolve faded like spring morning dew. I couldn't touch that gun again, not for any amount of money, not for any sense of satisfaction.

"Come on," I told her. "Let's get the hell out of here. We've done enough."

"Uh… you go on," she said. "I gotta get a couple things out of my bedroom; my mama's picture and my doll. I don't want nothin' else."

Her doll! Her mother's picture! My God, she was only a child! Yet she'd been through so much. Emmylou rose onto tiptoes and she kissed me sweetly on the mouth. Luke had to see that if his eyes were open, and I hoped the son of a bitch was looking. He had used the girl's body, but I was positive her heart belonged to me.

I went downstairs and out the door. Ole Blue came out from under the porch. If I'd had a gun, I'd have shot the dog.

And precisely as I was telling myself that, I heard a resonating blast – an explosion that shattered the air and seemed to come from the second story of the house. In a moment Emmylou came out the front door, her face dead-white, her eyes enormous. She ran to me, collapsing against my breast, and I hugged her tightly, absorbing the tears and shudders that seized her then. I couldn't blame her. I'd have done it myself. I should have done it myself.

"Come on, Emmylou," I said. "We'd better be going."

Wonder of wonders! My purse was in the cab of the truck. They must have left it there when they carried me into the barn. And even more wonderful, they hadn't bothering rifling it. My wallet was inside, with a couple of hundred dollars in cash and three hundred in traveler's checks. We could depart in style.

We drove the truck to Huntington and abandoned it there. If the Tollivers reported it stolen, it would be returned to them, sooner or later. I didn't know what they planned to do about Luke. It was doubtful they'd bring in the police. However, because of Luke, Emmylou and I couldn't go to the cops either. I didn't regret his death but I didn't think the police would exactly understand.

We checked into a hotel and I left Emmylou to sleep while I went shopping. Both of us needed clothes, as well as plane tickets to Boston.

She was up, waiting for me when I returned, and the mouth that fell upon mine was hungry, starved for kisses. We rolled onto the bed, kissing and touching, and I slipped my hand into her shirt. A little tit waited there, warm and delicate, its pink nipple erected lovingly.

"Yes," Emmylou purred as I unbuttoned her. "Kiss my titty, please!"

So sweetly invited, how could I refuse? I opened my mouth and suckled her darling young breast, my tongue sloshing back and forth around the tingly tab of nipple. She was shrugging off her blouse, bringing my hand up to cup her other titty, and she said a wondering, wonderful "Oooooohhhhhh, Marilynnnnnnn!" when I shifted my lips from the right tit to the left.

"Come see what I've bought for us," I told her proudly, and she sat up on the bed. "This is for you," and I opened a box.

Emmylou took its contents, a pale-green silk shirt, beautifully sheer. She studied it from every angle.

"You can see right through it!" she laughed naughtily.

"I hope I can," I replied.

That was for private moments, though. Me and Emmylou, all by ourselves in my apartment in Boston. No one else would be allowed to delight in the prettiness of her pink nipples and apple tits as revealed by the transparency of a green silk shirt. Noone but me.

"And…" It was a black dress, satin, with red trimmings on the hem and sleeves. The sleeves were long and the skirt, I was sure, would fall all the way to her toes. No one but me, Marilyn Bergman, would look at this darling child and know that hidden beneath the beautiful long gown was a body to delight the eyes and quicken the heart and make the cunt juices flow in sopping profusion.

Oh, God, the way they were flowing now!

She stripped off her jeans and panties, posing for me a delicious moment completely naked, completely adorable, and then she slipped into the dress.

"Let me help you, Emmylou – God, I love to say your name! Emmylou, Emmylou, Emmylou!"

But while she was fastening the buttons and catches, I was unfastening them, and Emmylou giggled as I peeled the dress over her shoulders and down her young frame.

"I dreamed of doing that," I said, "the first time I ever saw you."

"I'm glad," she whispered, and we were kissing again, my hands stroking and petting the length of her. So many lissome young curves, and such soft, velvety flesh beneath my fingers!

This was the first time we'd made love, and it was working perfectly. Perhaps, I thought, I'm taking advantage of a mixed-up child. She'd been through so much. Mightn't I be forcing her into a relationship with me now? The thought was sudden, unexpected and sobering. I raised my mouth from her tits.

"No!" she cried, grabbing my hands. "Don't stop! Please, Marilyn, don't ever stop loving me!"

"I couldn't."

And it was true. She might be another Angela, another love to sustain and then abandon me. I couldn't know that, not so soon. I could only try to show her how I felt, hope that she responded. Let it be this time, God, I implored silently. Let her be the one. I'll be good to her. I'll be mother and sister and lover and best friend. Whatever she needs, I'll be. The Tollivers didn't deserve Emmylou. I'd take her with me to Kentucky when I went to Boonesfield to begin my job. She'd never want for anything. Only let me keep Emmylou.

That's all I asked.

Prayer said, I cupped her tits, kissed the nipples again, and licked my way down her tummy. She giggled. "It feels like I have butterflies inside me," Emmylou informed me. I kissed her navel, rimming it with my tongue, and she began to writhe in happy response.

My hand slid lower, cupping the soft swell of her pubes. The slit was obvious but very neat, and she had pale golden pussy hair, matching the locks on her head. Her cunt was a vision of beauty, delicate and fragile as glass. The labes were perfectly formed, and they showed no signs of the abuse that had been thrust upon her last night in the barn.

"Tell me if I hurt you," I said. "Because I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't think you could ever hurt me, Marilyn. Not you."

"Oh, Emmylou, I want to love you and kiss you and lick you with my tongue! I want to bury my face in your pussy and show you what love is all about! Tell me I can."

"Please!" Her voice was soft but intensely accented. "Oh, please show me what love is all about!"

I reached under, cupping her buttocks, which were hot as fire. They got even hotter as I squeezed them. I was kissing her slit, tickling it with the end of my tongue, and my thumbs came up between her slender thighs, opening her pussy from the bottom to the top. The lips were still virginally tight, and I had my first real look at Emmylou's cunt.

It was gorgeous! An oyster or coral flesh, smooth and already a little bit wet. Folds and crevices and intriguing little nooks and crannies that simply screamed to my tongue – lick me! Lick me! And from its tiny hood of flesh, the tip of her clit was emerging shyly, a pale pink nubbin.

I touched it ever so gently with the tip of my tongue, in humble adoration, and Emmylou moaned, and so did I, for my own clitty was throbbing, too, throbbing and thumping from the excitement of it. I knew that if, in our maiden encounter, I could bring her to an orgasm, I could erupt spontaneously in one of my own. The knowledge spurred me on, inspired me, thrilled me beyond belief.