Ron Taylor - Stepdaughter in bondage

"I haven't been fucking around," I snarled.

"Your pussy says different, Becky baby. Somebody's been in your little goodie-box. Well, from now on, it's mine, and don't you forget it. Buddy on the shift has a girlfriend who works for a doctor. I'll get you a prescription, because I like your tummy just the way it is. And the world doesn't need another Tony Roland. Christ, there wouldn't be enough women for two of us to fuck!"

"You're a bastard," I said. "A real bastard. Do you know that?"

Tony cupped my chin in his hand and he looked down at me thoughtfully. Then he slapped me very hard, first on the left cheek, then on the right. I knew I'd been hit. My face stung and my eyes were full of tears. I tensed in my bondage.

"One more to grow on," he said, and he hit me again. The tears rolled down my cheeks. "Now, Becky," he went on, "this is a lesson I hope I don't have to repeat. You're a smart girl. You oughta be able to appreciate the situation, now that it's changed the way it has. And as long as you're a good little smart girl and spread your legs the way I tell you, when I tell you, everything's gonna be hunky-dory around the house. Isn't it?" He drew back his hand and I nodded quickly.

"Okay. What would you like to do now? Take a bath? Douche your twat? Let me untie you. Sorry I had to be so rough, but some women take a little convincing. It's gonna be okay from now on, right?" I nodded again, but I don't think he noticed, because he was busy untying me. When I was free, I sat up, rubbing my wrists and the ankle that had been bound, trying to get the circulation flowing freely once more. My body was still aching from the orgasm I had gone through and I felt the most overriding sense of shame imaginable. I wanted to go to the bathroom, find a razor blade, and cut my wrists. But I didn't have the courage.

"If you want a little more," Tony said, "you know where. I sleep. Well, don't bother to knock. Just come on in."

He went out the door, not bothering to pick up his discarded clothes, just walking naked with his limp but still sizable cock swinging from thigh to thigh.

Somehow I dragged myself off the bed, and into the bathroom. I took off the ruined nightie and the ripped matching panties and filled the tub. A shower wouldn't be enough to cleanse me, and even a bath couldn't wash out my mind. I sank into the hot water, full of bubbles that smelled sweet and virginal, like fresh lilacs, and I tried to figure out where that awful person had come from, the one who sprang so suddenly from the corners of my brain when Tony was raping me. The person who had made me come like I came. I hated her, whoever she was, wherever she had come from. I bated her as much as I hated Tony Roland. I tried to think about my mother, but she was already growing fuzzy in my mind. I tried to remember her voice and I couldn't. That made me cry. For her, for myself, too. I didn't think I'd ever stop crying.

But I did, finally, and the water was growing cold, the bubbles all flat, when I stepped out of the tub and dried myself off. I wrapped up in the towel and went down the hall. Tony's door was open and he was lying naked on his bed, asleep. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray on his nightstand. I tried to imagine what it would be like, living with him, going through this same thing every day, every night, until he tired of me. If he tired of me. My legs got weak and I had to brace myself against the wall.

I went into my bedroom. Sleep? I didn't think I could ever sleep, ever again. I wasn't sure I even wanted to. Tony could steal in while I was asleep, rape me again. And maybe this next time he wouldn't have to tie me down first. Maybe I'd remember the fantastic supercharged intensity of that unwanted organ, maybe I'd open my arms and legs and pussy to him freely, willingly.

"Oh. God, not that," I said in a small voice. "Anything but that!"

I went hastily to my dresser, dropping the towel on the way. I had a small canvas bag that used to carry my gym outfits in. It wasn't very big but it would hold a couple changes of underwear, and extra pair of jeans, maybe a shirt or two. I didn't even bother with bra and panties, just slipped my body into a sweatshirt and the first pair of denims I could grab up. Shoes, and my fall coat. How much in my purse? Twenty dollars. Not much, but all I had. I couldn't ask Tony for the money to run away, could I?

I went out the door and again I saw him lying there asleep. Like a baby, probably dreaming of what he'd done to me, of the way he'd degraded me – and my mother. Oh, oh, God, I hated him! I set the bag down and I tiptoed into his room. For a moment I stood beside the bed, looking at him. I looked around the room.

The ashtray. Yet I picked it up, tossing his burnt-down cigarette to the floor. It was an old-fashioned glass ashtray, heavy enough to double as a paperweight. Even if they caught me, I told myself, no jury in the world would ever convict me for this. I lifted the ashtray and brought it down on his forehead. Five, six, seven times. He stiffened on the bed and blood oozed through the wound I had made, and then his breathing went shallow and his head rolled to one side.

I gasped. I'd never killed anyone before. I dropped the ashtray onto the floor and ran out of the room, out of the house. Unless I were dead or a prisoner, I would never come back here again. Never! I hurried down the street, not looking, back, and my heels were on fire. I was running away from Tony, running away from the person I had stirred to life inside me.

I'd never seen a real truck stop before and this was a big one. There were tractor-trailers everywhere and the restaurant was full of drivers slopping down coffee and pinching waitresses on the ass. Cabins for the night, too, for people who wanted to get some shut-eye. The smell of diesel fumes.

Traffic moving steadily on the highway three hundred yards off to the left. The sun was coming up. I'd gotten a good six hours sleep on the road. It was time to think about moving on, I had to keep moving. I couldn't be sure if they'd found, the body yet.

"Thanks for everything. I really needed some help."

Rolling Rock put his finger over my lips. "Shush! I'm sorry I can't take you no farther, but I have to unload, then make my turn-around. It was nice havin' you in the cab. Are you sure there ain't nothin' you need? You sure you've got some money? If you ain't got any, you just tell me, and I'll…"

I couldn't take money from him too. He'd already done more than most people would ever think of doing for a stranger, particularly a stranger like yours truly – a frightened girl with wet hair standing by the roadside on a cold fall night, jerking her thumb westward like a mechanical toy gone haywire.

I didn't know his name, but his CB handle was Rolling Rock. Fair enough. He thought my name was Penny Porter and that I was hurrying west to join my daddy, who was very sick in a Denver hospital. Rolling Rock was a nice man, about fifty, with a cute pot belly hanging over his belt and a big shiny bald spot on top of his head. A trucker, steering a big Kenworth with a reefer on behind. I should have been frightened of trucks. After all, it hadn't been quite eighteen hours since my mother had been killed by a truck. But Rolling Rock was too nice to scare anyone, and a dozen cars had sped past me before he pulled off onto the off ramp and waited for me to run up to his rig. And when he opened the door from inside and said, "Hi, little lady. You on your way someplace?" in his broad hillbilly voice, somehow I could sense that I was in safe hands.

We weren't even out of Athens County before my head began to nod. He said, "Why don't you haul into the back and cop a few z's?" I must have given him a look of doubt, because he grinned and added, "Ain't no harm gonna come to you in my rig. I've got a little girl about your size and age, and I'd kill any man who tired to wrong her. I wouldn't want your daddy to come killing-mad after me." I believed him, and I was sorry I had lied to him about myself and my destination. But I couldn't tell him the truth. I was a murderess on the run. Six hours later we were in St. Louis. He touched me then, for the first time, reaching into the sleep compartment to stir me awake.