Craig Taylor - Warming her young body

Billy drove much too fast on the icy roads. Sueanne supposed that the frantic driving, skidding and slipping over the glassy shoulders of the road, was to impress her. "Boys do some dumb things to impress young girls," her daddy had told her, many times. She wished her daddy were here right now, behind the wheel of this old Chevy, driving it cautiously through the blizzard. She always felt safe with Daddy at the wheel.

Sueanne hung onto the edge of the dashboard as Billy took a turn, so quickly that the hind wheels of the car seemed to fly in the opposite direction, off the road entirely.

"Please, Billy," she begged again, "slow down. I want to get home in one piece."

Billy grinned across the dark seat at her. "You'll get home eventually," he promised. But she knew that she wouldn't be in one piece if Billy had his way. She knew that Billy's sole purpose in taking her to a football game fifteen miles from home and spending eleven dollars feeding them both afterward, was to impress her. His reason for the wild and crazy driving was to assure her of his bravery, his maleness. And that his goal for this evening was the thin membrane, her cherry, that had stayed for sixteen years untouched between her thighs.

"Slow down," she pleaded again. They were on the old country back road and there were no streetlights, only the white glint of the moon through the falling snow and the streamers of light across the ice-packed road. "Slow down, please!"

Billy hit the brake with his scuffed cowboy boot and the car shimmied to a stop, spraying snow up all around them.

"How's this?" He reached over to the dashboard and turned the heating knob to 'high'. "This slow enough for you?"

She breathed with relief that the car was stopped but her eyes widened with nervousness as Billy's grinning face came toward her and his chilly lips covered her mouth, forcing his hot tongue into her mouth. Oh, she'd been tongue-kissed before, a couple of times, but she had never liked it. And it was always followed by the boy's grimy hands grabbing for her pert, young breasts and rubbing at the V between her thighs.

"Stop, Billy."

She tried to push away but he held on tight, spearing her clenched teeth with his tongue. She felt his calloused hand pushing under her coat, finding her breast and squeezing it roughly. She continued to push at his shoulders as he rubbed the palm of his hand over her breast as though he were polishing a car.

She was fifteen miles from home in a blizzard, on a country road she had only passed through during daylight hours. She tried to look around for lights, a farm house, anything, but the only light was the silver streamer of the moon.

"Come on, baby," he was moaning and his rough hand left her breast to push up under the wool, pleated skirt she wore, rubbing along her slender, nearly hairless thighs probing at the plump and padded area between her legs.

"Stop it," she cried, "Stop it or I'll get out of this car!"

Billy laughed deep in his throat. "You're not going to get out of the car, honey. You'd freeze to death in that blizzard. Just relax, baby, let me warm you up. I got a bet riding on your cherry."

Sueanne prayed that her father would suddenly arrive, like a magical fairy prince, beside the car and sweep her to the safety of her own home. She could feel a warmth growing between her legs in response to Billy's massaging fingers and she didn't want to feel that way, not toward Billy. It was the same warmth she felt when her father took her camping and let her sleep inside the fluffy confines of his sleeping bag with him. The same warmth that she felt when her father drank too much one night as the two of them sat by the fireplace and she listened to him talk about her mother, how he loved her, how he missed her, and how much Sueanne, their only child, looked like her. He kissed her that night in a manner unlike any kiss they had exchanged before. Her father's broad, hot tongue had probed her lips and his huge hand had pressed her slender hips close to the throbbing lump that was his maleness – but then, he had suddenly gotten up and staggered into his own bedroom, locking the door between them. And she knew from the look in his eyes the next morning that he didn't remember that tender moment of the previous and drunken night.

She knew that Billy could feel the seeping warmth between her legs and that he thought that her excitement was due to his hot, rough hands.

"Yeah, baby," he was saying in her ear, "that's it. Open up, open up for me. I'm gonna put my cock inside you. You'll love it."

She heard the unzipping of his fly. It sounded like the gunshot that begins a track race, in the silent stillness of the car, she couldn't help but look and saw the boy's stiff prick, jutting from his wool pants. It seemed to be jerking and moving like a tiny animal. Sueanne had the urge to touch it. She had never touched a cock – she had only seen them in photographs. But she knew that any movement toward Billy's cock would be construed as consent for him to stick it inside her and she was frightened of that.

Sueanne had pressed her own fingers inside her tiny cunt-hole, many times, feeling the satin smoothness, the simmering warmth. If she pressed deeply enough, she could touch the pliable membrane that protected her from womanhood. But the thought of something that wasn't part of her – the jerking, wobbling cock that jutted out of Billy's pants, for instance – plunging into her cunt, she wasn't ready for that. It filled her with fear and she closed her eyes, wishing for her daddy's safe and loving arms.

She had read that in some Indian tribes, it was the custom for the father to deflower his daughter – and for the sons to be taught the art of making love by the gentle but firm hands of their mother. She wouldn't be so afraid, she thought, if it were her father's prick jutting out at her. She would trust him not to hurt her, she would believe him when he said that it would give her pleasure.

But she didn't believe Billy. She didn't believe him at all as his rough fingers pushed aside the wet crotch of her panties and drove into the slippery, hot tissue of her slit.

"No," she cried and grabbed his wrist, pushing him away. "Get away from me."

"No way out, honey," Billy grinned, regaining his composure and coming at her again, his cock bobbing wildly and his finger glistening with her juices, "You're gonna get laid. I'm gonna get myself a cherry."

With a tremendous surge of strength, Sueanne pushed hard against him, knocking him against the window and stunning him. She threw open the car door on her side and stepped out into the calf-deep snow. She tried to run but the wet and slippery snow held her boots tightly and she had to struggle to place one foot in front of the other, the thick snow crunching loudly with her every step.

There were no lights in sight. Not even the flicker of a camper's kerosene lamp or the rising blue-gray smoke of a chimney. Sueanne headed into the thick woods, not caring where she was going, so long as it was away from the bobbing cock and rough, hot hands of Billy. Her feet seemed to move in slow motion but she was well hidden in the thicket when Billy came to, rubbing the knot on his head. He stepped out of the car and looked around at the woods.

"Hey, Sueanne," he called, "where are you?"

She stood absolutely still, feeling the sting of the pine needles against her face. She hardly breathed for fear that he would find her and ravage her body with his rough, uncaring hands.

"Listen," he called, his voice echoing loudly against the night sky, his vision blocked by the streams of wet snowflakes that fell around him, "Listen, Sueanne, you'll freeze to death out here. Come on, get in the car."