Ron Taylor - Stepdaughter in bondage

Once I'd dragged myself out of the mud and put my clothes into a semblance of decency, the full horror of my situation hit me like a brick. The departed van contained, besides the man who raped me, everything I'd carried out of Athens County last night, when I fled like the criminal an fugitive I was. My gym bag with clean clothes which I really needed right now, and, my purse with all my money! It was only twenty dollars, but Nelson Rockefeller wouldn't have felt a bit worse being reduced to total poverty than I felt at that moment. I started to cry, and my face was already wet from the falling rain. My hair began to string around my face and I couldn't have looked any more miserable than I felt. What was I gonna do now?

Sadly I trudged down the road, back to the main highway. It seemed to take forever to walk it, though the distance was no more than a hundred yards or so. And I took stock of myself as I walked. Who, I asked myself, would stop and offer a ride to a girl who looked as if she'd been dragged through forty miles of bad road? I was mud from tits to knees. My hair and face were a total mess. I could stand here for the next week thumbing and all it would get me would be a case of pneumonia. Still, it was the only thing I could do.

After watching fifteen cars go by, I was ready to lie down in the weeds beside the road and wait for sickness and death to overtake me. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe the next car down the highway would be a police cruiser. I could flag them down, confess that I was a fugitive murderer from Ohio. At least they'd put me in a nice warm cell, and they'd feed me, and maybe they'd let me take a shower and wash off some of the mud. My body was freezing from the chilly rain – oven my coat was in Jerry's van, a million miles away by now, and the sweatshirt didn't take long to soak all the way through. But every time a car appeared in the distance, I held out my thumb and tried to smile.

It wasn't working. It wouldn't work. Sighing, I started to walk down the highway, the direction Jerry and I had been traveling. I didn't know where the road led, but at least I was moving.

Maybe a quarter of a mile from where I'd started, just when I was looking at the nearby river and wondering how it would feel to drown myself, I heard the beeping of a horn. I turned, figuring for sure someone was about to run me over. But it was a car, and it was braking to a gentle stop on the wet pavement. The rain was thinning down by this time and I could see that a woman was behind the wheel. She motioned to me, fifteen or twenty feet back, and I broke into a run. With my luck, she'd be seeking directions to Hick's Corners or some-such place. As I came alongside she reached across and opened the side door. "You'd better get in," she said with a lilt in her voice. "The rain gets worse the further down the road you go, if the radio weatherman is to be trusted."

Lara. That was her name, Lara McMinn. She wore an expensive-looking coat and she drove an expensive-looking little foreign tar, and she lived in an expensive-looking house about twenty miles west of where she'd stopped to give me a ride. We talked in the car, and she was very friendly, not to mention very pretty. About thirty or thirty-five, I guess, and she wore a large gold ring an her left hand, so I supposed there was a Mr. McMinn someplace. I hoped he didn't find out that his wife had been giving rides to fugitive murderesses. When she asked me my name I told her Rebecca; I didn't feel like lying any more.

When we got to her house, I started to get out of the car but she put her hand on mine and shook her head. "Absolutely not," she said authoritatively. Her voice was soft and rich, an alto. "You'll catch your death in those wet clothes. Come into the house with me. I'll draw a bath for you and find you something dry to put on."

I couldn't very well say no. The thought of a bath sent tingles up and down my spine, and my thighs twitched when I reflected on the possibility of putting on dry clothes. She pulled the car into the garage and shut off the engine. "Look," I said, "You don't know anything about me. What if you invite me into your house and I repay your hospitality by robbing you, or murdering you, or something?"

She laughed, a very pretty laugh, I thought. "If you were going to do it," she told me, "you certainly wouldn't advertise it ahead of time the way you just did. I'm a very good judge of character, Rebecca."

Her hand slipped down from my hand, rested on my thigh just above the knee. The presence was light but unmistakable and I felt kinda funny in my stomach. Why, I couldn't say. There was just something…

"Now you come along," she said, "and we'll see about cleaning you up. You really look as if you'd taken a mud bath or something."

I followed her through the side door, into the kitchen. It was a kitchen right out of a TV commercial, all the latest appliances, including a microwave oven, and it was spotless clean. I looked down, saw my muddy footprints on the floor. Oh, God, how disgusting! I didn't seem to notice.

"Come this way," she was saying. "Up the stairs. Bathroom is at the head of the steps. Why don't you go on in and start the water running? I'll see what I can find that might fit you."

She was taking off her coat as she spoke and for the first time I had a look at her figure. It was lovely! She was wearing a sweater and slacks combination that hugged and accentuated the lines of her slender, lissome body. Small breasts, set high on her chest, a slim waist, a high behind, and long legs. She looked very tall, but she couldn't have been more than a few inches taller than me. It was all in her carriage. Lara McMinn knew how to make the most of herself. God, I thought, if I don't get sent to the electric chair, I'd like to grow up and be her!

All except the hair. She wore her hair rather short, and it was curled and frizzed around her face, a nice shade of auburn-red but I didn't like the style. I preferred my own long, straight tresses.

I peeled out of my wet clothes and adjusted the water in the bathtub. I brewed it a little hotter than I usually do, because I had some hellish cleaning up to get done. When the tub was three-quarters full, I poured in some bubble powder, hoping Lara wouldn't mind, and I crawled into the water, sinking down with a sigh. For the first time in a couple of days, I felt good. Really, really good!

I was still just soaking, letting the hot water seep into my skin. I could feel it moving slowly and surely into the marrow of my bones, warming me all over. Taking a deep breath, I submerged my head and came up feeling cleaner still, water and suds running across my face. I blew bubbles and I splashed in the tub like a child. For now, at least, I wasn't a fugitive and a rape victim. I was just Rebecca Lee Butler again, taking simple pleasure in a sweet bath.

The door opened. I wasn't used to baying someone else in the bathroom with me. I sat up, starting, and I threw my hands up in front of my tits, though they were almost completely covered in foam anyway. Lara smiled, winningly, and I flushed a little as I put my hands down. She came over to the tub and knelt beside it. "Mmmm," she said, sniffing. "Lilac. My favorite too." Her hand poised above the soap suds, then dipped in. She brought out a palmful of soap and she blew little bubbles into my face. I giggled, and it felt nice to be giggling. I was safe. And warm. And clean, too. Soon I'd have to get back on the road and keep thumbing till I reached someplace the law couldn't find me, but right now it felt very soothing to soakin Lara McMinn's tub and bubble bath.

"Wait a sec." Lara got up, went to the cabinet beside the tub. She opened the door, reached inside. I heard a little clatter and something fell out. A tube of K-Y Jelly. What was that? Something like Vaseline? She reached for it, scooped it up quickly, put it back into the cabinet. "This is what I was looking for," she said, holding another tube. She uncapped it and I could smell flowers and herbs. "Shampoo," she explained, squeezing a little into her palm. "Make your hair smell like a garden."