Unknown - Pony girl

Her father had raised her skirt and lowered her panties as she lay beside him in a slavish position. Now he had only one hand on the wheel. The other hand was occupied with his daughter's cunt, served up on the seat right beside him.

Damn, it was so fucking good, he thought, to have some good quality meat around again. He poked his fingers up the cunt he had paid $50 for. It was soft and sticky and young and healthy. Tight, too, he thought, testing out the width of the inner canal. Slimy, the way he liked it, he remembered, sliding down the passage from the tip of the labia to the root opening.

Cars passing were no trouble: the drivers couldn't see the girl crouched on the seat. But trucks were another story. A big rig traveled with them for several miles, almost an hour, to watch the big man poking his fingers into the pretty young girl in obeyance on the seat. The riggers cracked jokes and made lewd remarks.

"Got you some car-cunt, there, fella, don't you?"

"Yep, that's how I like it."

"Mmmmm, sure looks good. Hello there little lady," the rigger called down.

Lena was thinking of how, if she were put away she would never again smell the open fields at haying time, never see the brown earth turned over fresh and dark at planting time in spring. She would never again ride a horse, and feel the dark wind blowing in her hair. Never again wake to the possibility of freedom and a life of her own. She recalled the week of freedom she had enjoyed, waking up alone at Bill's every morning, going down the street for a cup of coffee in the cafe, talking to the waitresses and truck drivers. She thought of the pleasure she had received collecting her tips at the club, the money she had earned.

Roland grew tired of finger fucking and he let her sit up. They rode on in silence again. The rig that had been watching moved on.

They stopped at a gas station for gas and Lena said she had to pee. She went into the ladies room after getting the key from the station attendant. She stood in the small dirty cubicle looking at herself in the mirror over the sink.

She saw a very sad girl, her blonde hair in disarray, with sad blue eyes and a strong set look to her lips. She didn't recognize herself. What she saw was no longer the little girl who could be shocked, or hurt by the lack of love she received. She no longer expected love or care from anyone. She had only herself, and she made a vow to take care of herself as best as she could. She told herself she loved herself very much and she lectured herself there in the mirror before looking around for some movie-like escape. But there was no window in the bathroom, no back door to slip out of. She peed, and went back outside where her father was standing outside of the car waiting for her.

The attendant came up to him to give him his change.

"Please, help me, I'm going to be raped by this man! Help me! Please help me! Please! Help!"

She hadn't known she was going to do it, but she found herself clinging to the arm of the gas station attendant while her father tried to pull her away.

The gas station attendant was a young pimply guy, a high school kid, who was totally bewildered by this situation.

"Don't pay her any mind, son. This is my daughter. She's a very sick girl. I'm just bringing her home from Beau Rive, the mental home, you know. We're supposed give her a trial stay at home, but as you can see, she's still not adjusted to normal life."

"He's lying! Please! Help! Help!" Lena kept crying, but her father succeeded in prying her loose from the boy and sticking her back in the cab of the car. He did this as gently as he could, talking to her in a low voice.

"It's all right honey. Everything will be all right." That was for the gas station attendant's benefit. Under his breath he whispered fiercely, as he secretly jerked her arm, "You'll pay for this, Miss."

"Well, gee, sir, gee," was all the boy could get out, and he watched them drive off shaking his head.

Roland couldn't risk tying her up, but now he knew he couldn't trust her. He couldn't tie her up until they got home, for that just wouldn't look right if anyone on the road saw him riding with a girl in bonds.

However, he found a place for her, where she would be out of the way and useful at the same time. He made her sit between his legs under the steering wheel.

"Open my pants and suck my dick," he said.

He held her securely between his thighs and he could hit her on top of her head anytime he wanted. He hit her soundly now with his fist, for she hadn't jumped to answer his command fast enough.

She unzipped his pants and pulled out his soft cock with the indifference of a nurse emptying her thousandth bedpan. She played with it expertly until it got hard, swatting it back and forth between her hands and sometimes laying her lips on it.

Once it got hard she began licking it, the way he liked it: with the hard flat beam of her tongue down the back starting at the tip.

He swatted her on the head when he wanted her to change.

"Suck it now."

She had to suck him and suck him for what seemed like hours, the whole way home to Linden. She did her mind trick again which helped her to forget what she was doing, and the humiliating position she was in.

She thought of her father's stallions. If she were put away in mental home she would never again be able to sneak out of the house late at night and ride off across the plain on Red Beauty or Black Pride. Never again be able to take one of them down by Neversink Creek, where it crossed the King's land and there was a little grove. Never again would she know the electrifying fear, which turned somehow to a terrifying joy, when she approached the underside of the horse, approached its genitals, and felt the horse stiffen as he waited for her touch. Never again know the strange passion of mounting a horse and feeling its power, greater than the power of any man, flow between her thighs.

Her father was a virile man, himself, however. She went in and out of her fantasy of soothing or exciting images, and once she found herself, still under the wheel whose shaft pressed down against her neck, with come dripping out of her mouth. She had been on her knees for hours, and this must have been the fifth or sixth time he had come. She felt sick, at the slime in her mouth, and at the amount of times that lay ahead when she would have to perform this same feat of acrobatic mouthwork on this man whom she despised.

Roland Hanson was singing to himself as he saw the road signs announcing they were approaching Linden, population, 9,000.

"Get back up here on the seat, girl," he said.

Wearily, with a cramped back and neck and achingly cramped legs, and even a cramped mouth, she crawled out from under the dashboard and resumed her place on the seat beside him.

"We're almost home," he said.

She looked wearily out the window at dark countryside passing by, the familiar billboard for Black Velvet whiskey and the one for Holesome White Bread, and at the familiar barns and rises in the land. She wiped her mouth and spit out the window and her eyes became glazed again as she waited to arrive home.

He stopped the car when they came to the lane that led to their farmhouse. He bound and gagged her. He told her: "Now your mother's sick and she don't know you're home again. I don't want no noise out of you. The doctor said she's got to have quiet."

He pulled the car into the driveway and went around to the other side to help Lena out. She stumbled on her tied feet as she stepped out onto the ground.

Roland picked her up and carried her into the barn. He threw her on the hay in a corner by the horses.

"That's going to be your home from now on, until you learn to behave. If you're going to act like an animal, running away from home and disobeying your father, then you're going to live like an animal." And he left shutting the door behind him.