Chapter 2
A slow breeze made its way up from the turgid river below the shack, and Heather was glad for the stirring of air. Heat from the wood cook stove made the inside of the shack unbearable, and, even on the porch, sweat gathered on her nearly nude body and her hair felt sticky against her head.
She still didn't enjoy meeting her sister's eyes, and instead stared down at the piece of corn pone she didn't really want to finish. But she needed its strength; Heather meant to get away from the shack and the brutal, lewd man, so she ate the coarse bread and drank from the gourd of spring water.
Arley Santee said, "I'll bust us a rabbit tonight, and maybe scrabble up a big ol' mudcat for you to cook. And you, baby sister, how you like that stump juice?"
Honey nodded her head, and Heather could see that her sister was well on the way to being drunk. Santee was forcing that awful moonshine whiskey upon the girl, and she wasn't used to alcohol.
Heather looked at their suitcases, sitting yet on the first step of the porch, where they'd first put them down. She wanted a dress, something to replace the one Arley had torn from her body, anything to cover up her semi-nakedness, but he had come close to stopping her from putting her panties and bra back on.
"Might's well take off your shirt, sis," he said to Honey. "Let's see what kind of titties you got on you."
Heather cut in, "Please-look, if you'll only listen to reason, I'm sure we can work out some. . . . "
"Woman," he said, "I ain't talkin' to you; me and sis here are workin' up to a good screw. That's the way, sis, take that shirt right on off."
Heather said desperately, "She-she's only a child. If you have to-to force yourself on someone, take me."
His pale eyes glittered up at her. "Oh, I aim to take you some more, woman. But I mean to fuck this 'un, too. You might's well get used to the idea, and shut up 'til you're spoke to."
A slight giggle escaped Honey Hyatt as she peeled off her shirt to show that she hadn't been wearing a bra. Heather stared in shock at her baby sister's bare breasts, and saw that they were neatly, tidily modeled. They were high and cone-shaped, and the light brown circles in the centers were offset by darker brown nipples that were standing shamelessly erect.
"Honey!" Heather said sharply, and Arley Santee swung a casual backhanded slap that rocked her head. In the yard, the black and tan hound growled a warning thunder, and Heather put a hand to her burning cheek.
Honey said, "Can't help it, got to-to do like the man says. Can't hide it any longer. Right, Arley?"
"Reckon so, city girl. Them are right pert titties, so now let's take a look at your pussy."
"Can't help myself," Honey said, her brown head lolling, her mouth a little slack. "Can't be a little kid forever, because the man says get it off."
Watching her sister rise unsteadily to her bare feet and work at the waistband of her shorts, Heather blamed the reaction on the bootleg whiskey. Surely Honey wasn't such a hussy, the girl had always been obedient and never wild. It must be the alcohol, for Honey ,was now swaying as she unzipped and worked the shorts down over her slim legs. Heather saw that she did have panties on, and that even though her sister had always seemed somewhat delicate, that Honey's body was well-shaped. The thighs weren't lush, but dainty, and even if Honey was on the tiny side, she was put together with jeweled precision, it appeared.
"Yes, sir," Arley said, grinning around his jug of whiskey, "that there is real pretty hide, all young and tender-like. But get to the pussy, sis, get to the pussy."
Hooking thumbs into the elastic band of her sheer panties, Honey pulled them over her squirming hips, down her thighs, and over her knees; then she lifted one slow leg at a time, to step out of them entirely. The pubic hair on her sister's mound was a deep, rich brown, Heather saw, a match for her hair, and Heather had a fleeting gladness that Honey had not been cursed with red hair, that she'd taken more after their father.
Her sister was beautiful, Heather thought, and felt a pang of guilt for not having protected that loveliness better. Now the poor child was about to be raped, as Heather herself had been raped, and nothing, nobody, could stop it.
Unless-and Heather steeled herself to the thought-unless she could attack Arley Santee, hit him with something when his back was to her and he was busy despoiling the girl.
She looked away from her sister's nude flesh, looked around the shaded porch to find a weapon in its clutter. She'd seen Arley hang the rifle back over the mantelpiece, but she knew it couldn't possibly be reached before he reacted. She didn't know how to work it anyhow.
Past the end of the porch there was a chopping block with a hatchet sticking into it. Heather shuddered, she couldn't strike a human being with that-even a man so depraved as Arley Santee. A piece of stove wood would be better, something to stun him with, so they could flee back to some kind of civilization.
"Like-me?" Honey asked, and Heather caught her breath as the girl rolled her bottom suggestively, like one of those obscene dancers on TV.
"Like you fine," Arley answered. "I'll just lie back here and take me another swaller of bust-skull while you come over and straddle me. You ever been fucked afore, sis?"
Swaying boozily, Honey said, "Not yet, but it's about-about time, I guess. Is it going to hurt?"
Heather slid down the porch, moving on her heels, crouching. If she could reach the woodpile and get a big, long stick. . . .
"It'll hurt good," Arley promised, and Heather stared in awful fascination at the lifting of his penis, that thick and meaty thing that had only recently loosed its spurting inside her vagina. Now it was readying itself for an assault upon the virginal mound of Honey, and Heather couldn't allow it to happen. She just couldn't. Backing away, she reached the end of the porch and slid one foot down for the yard where the woodpile waited.
Low and throaty, the rumble sounded right at the calf of her leg. Heather snatched back her foot, trembling so hard she could barely breathe. That damned monster, that hound! He was blocking her way, as cunning and evil as his master. She clung to the rickety porch railing, a sob building in her throat. Poor Honey; she couldn't help her sister now.
"A pussy looks funny when you look right up into it thisaway," Arley said. "It's made passin' strange-them little soft lips hangin' tight together, and that there hood up front. Right pretty hair you got over it, and a fine ol' ass, I swear. Come on, sis, kneel down over me with one leg to each side. Take hold of my pecker, too."
Heather bit her lips and closed her eyes; the scene was too painful to watch. Poor little Honey would lose her virginity here, with this uneducated, animalistic man; she'd have a more difficult time getting married, even though this horrible assault would not be her fault.
It was Heather's fault, she should have taken her sister to a different place. It was only a quirk that had brought her to the deep south, anyway-some left over legend she had heard at her grandma's knee. Grandma had been from around here, from this very part of Mississippi, but surely she hadn't been like Arley Santee. No, Grandma was aristocratic and genteel, and Heather had learned many of her moral values.
"Just play with my cock to your heart's content, sis," Arley said, "because I'll pull it back, do you try to make me come by jackin' me off."
Hideously, the dirty words jolted upon Heather's ears, and she did her best to reject them, as she hoped Honey was also doing. The girl was numbed with liquor, frightened by the ugly power of Arley Santee, but maybe when it was over, Honey could keep the event from becoming traumatic.
"Just steer it to your pussy," Arley commanded. "Guide it on into them pink cunt lips and kind of wiggle around until the head of my pecker gets set solid to your hole."
Heather couldn't seal out the language, and her face turned toward them as they posed starkly there together; she was drawn by something more compelling than the weakened fabric of her moral values. She had to watch them because she could not help herself, even though a part of her recoiled in distaste from the sight of beginning copulation.
Her baby sister sat astride of the nude man, one knee on each side of his body. Arley was stroking the knees, the upper thighs, and watching avidly as Honey pushed the glistening head of his penis into the soft wealth of her brown pubic hair. Heather stared at the girl as she held her upper body poised erectly, the small mounds of her breasts outthrust with nipples stiff. It was as if she was going to stab herself in the crotch, Heather thought, as if the girl held a dagger she had to work into her tenderly giving body. There was fear, of course, and something elsea determination, perhaps.
Clenching her hands upon her own thighs, Heather sat immobile except for the pulse beating wildly in her throat and the heaving of her breasts. The moment was at hand; her little sister was going to be deflowered.
Honey shivered. Heather could see the ripple that passed over her sister's flawless skin, and she could also see the meaty pole of Arley Santee as it buried its head into the girl's tender vulva. Honey was lowering her body, inching slowly and uncertainly down upon that upright shaft of maleness. Honey's face contorted and her eyes closed, and Heather thought, it's hurting her; it's tearing up into her hymen and hurting her, the poor, innocent child.
"Uhhh!" Honey moaned. "Oh-it's-I can feel it sliding up and up inside me and-oh, oh, I'm stretching, stretching. . . . "
The girl's polished haunches moved farther down, their sweet roundness so young and so beautiful. Honey leaned forward as her hips came lower, and her firm breasts pointed downward for Arley's hands. He reached up and held to them, and Heather watched him roll his belly, saw him hunch his crotch upward as the entire head of his penis vanished into the silken lips of Honey's young labia.
"Ooohh!" Honey sighed, her chest coming down and down, her tail riding, squirming, wiggling down and down. Another inch of the man's heavy tool disappeared into the vulva, and Honey's butt hesitated, seemed to try and lift itself away from the thickness of the thing penetrating her unused vagina.
The head of it must be poking against the hymen, Heather thought, that distended glans must be shoving insistently against the barrier of
Honey's virginity-pushing, poking, demanding entrance to the sensitive depths beyond. It had happened to Heather once-after nights of sweaty, clumsy attempts it had finally happened, and her husband acted apologetic for weeks afterward.
"It's in you!" Arley grunted. "It's stuck clear up into your pussy, sis, and damned if you ain't just as hot and even tighter'n the other cunt. Just shake your ass, girl, wind it up and shake it so's you can enjoy your first fuck."
Heather stared at his hands as they clung to the cheeks of her sister's tail. She saw Honey shake her head and throw her hair from side to side, and she saw Arley scrunch down so that he could take one of the girl's adorable little nipples into his suctioning mouth.
Honey lay still atop the man, lay quietly supine as she felt the length and thickness of the man's rod buried inside her vagina, as she knew the feeling of his pelvis against hers, and the strange pressure into the hood that protected her clitoris.
"Fuck away," Arley directed. "Just do what comes natural to you, sis. With a hot, juicy pussy like you got, it must be you're just a born piece of ass so just turn it loose!"
The girl moved, lifted her shapely buttocks slowly and with care, and Heather could see Arley's penis being exposed, all shiny with Honey's inner lubrications. Up, the girl's butt-her asswent, until almost all his thing-his cock-was gleaming in the open. Then Honey slid back down upon the shaft, moaning as she did so, and Heather's fingers clawed into the skin of her own thighs.
Her mouth was pulling at the humid air, and Heather's nipples ached. She felt dizzy, all soft and limp, and fought against the urgency that was rising darkly, violently within her own feverish body. No, she told herself savagely, no! This was wrong for Honey, and twice wrong for the older sister, for the one who'd had to play both mother and guardian all their lives.
Rocking back and forth upon her heels, Heather fought the badness within herself, and watched the sexual scene before her as she might watch a movie she had not meant to see, the action fleet and repetitive but never quite the same. Honey was moving faster now, wiggling with each hike and drop of her ass, her hands clutching Arley's shoulders, her mouth fastened to his. It was good inside her vagina, Heather realized, the girl was discovering the sensuous joy of having her clitoris stroked by the rhythmic passage of Areley's prick. Honey was riding it as if every touch were magic and she had to hurry before the enchantment went away, had to hurry to reach the peak before the witching hour.
"F-Far out!" Honey cried. "Oh, yes, lover man, oh, do it to me, darling! Stick it deeper and deeper, and-oh-oh, yes, baby! I'm-it's happening to me-it's happening!"
Honey's slim ass jerked and shuddered, and she clawed at the man's shoulders, bit at his tanned throat as she went wild in the throes of her first orgasm. The girl was coming, Heather thought, and envied her sister the sweet, hot rush of torrid sensation that was bursting through her vagina-her womb-that was vibrating that young clitoris.
"Hang on, you cunt! I'm shovin' it to you, fuckin' you right good now-yeah-ahhh, yeah! Grind that pussy on my cock, sis, I'm about to come!"
The girl shook and bounced, as if her body was out of control and hunching itself, twisting itself, in a mad hunger for more rapture. Heather's glazed eyes saw Arley's balls leap upward as they flexed, and knew that the fountaining of his hot semen was splashing into her sister's tightly clinging cunt.
Thighs squeezed tightly together, tits aching and throbbing, Heather cupped one hand over her own tremulous mound, fighting the impulse to slide a finger into the dewy lips of the pussy itself. She would not do such a thing, could not-but oh, oh-the temptation was great.
Her sister collapsed atop the sweaty form of the man who could no longer be called a stranger to either of them, for he had fucked them both, had pumped his hotly flowing juices deep up into their cunts, and saturated them with his forceful manhood.
Quaking inside and out, Heather gnawed her lip and watched the little sexy ripples that passed over her sister's ass. The girl had gotten her climax the very first time out, the first time she had taken a man's penis into her sheath, and Heather envied her for that.
But then she passed a hand over her eyes and shook her head to clear it, and she knew by all criteria that Honey wasn't to be envied, but pitied. The poor kid had been raped, had lost her cherry-her maidenhead-to that backwoods animal who could have no concept of even the word love.
At least Heather had once known that much, for Vic had loved her in his weakly fumbling way. She could never understand how he could be so unsure at home and so sharply concise in his work. It took an efficient man to be what her husband had been, a very good CPA. If he hadn't been the best available back in New England, the Company wouldn't have used him, and she wished now that he had been only mediocre. She wouldn't be running and hiding if he'd never done the Company's books, she and her little sister would never have suffered the ultimate indignity of rape.
It was all on the recording her husband left in the safety deposit box, and she'd felt weird, listening to the voice of a man already buried. But Vic had it set up for her to live comfortably; he had been milking the Company slowly and carefully for almost a year, covering his tracks as only an adroit accountant could. And he told Heather in the tape where the hundred thousand dollars was. He also warned her that she'd have to leave quickly.
"Pick up the money and run, Heather," his voice said. "Go far away to some place where nobody knows you, and hide. In a year or two you'll be able to start spending the money. But don't let them get to you, or they'll kill you for it. It's--it's all I could do for you, Heather, and, look, don't worry about the money not being honest. There's no way you could give it back; it came from gambling and prostitution and dope, all the stuff the Company is mixed up in. So I only stole from thieves. Keep it for you and for Honey, and -and good luck."
The tape had ended, and Vic had never once said "I love you" on it. But Heather thought he had; she was certain of it. He'd gambled his life to buck the gangsters of the Company, just so she could take care of her little sister. His insurance had been good, but nowhere near the hundred thousand dollars hidden in the frozen food locker Vic rented by the mouth downtown. So she took the money and she ran, just as he said. The trouble was, she ran to the wrong place, to a shack she hadn't even known existed before today.
"Climb off me, sis," Arley Santee said. "I got to get my strength back afore screwin' you some more, or your sister there; I'll decide which gets the meat, later on."
Definitely the wrong place, Heather thought.