Chapter 1
Susie eased the flashy Lincoln Continental around the corner, knowing immediately that it had been a mistake bringing the big car. She should have rented a VW. Maybe then she could have gotten through the gate-somehow-before the mine strikers realized she was the boss' daughter. Well, it was too late now to be thinking about what she SHOULD have done.
Susie checked all of the car doors, making sure they were locked. She experienced an involuntary shiver that went all of the way up her spine and then all the way back down again. It somehow seemed of little consolation that there were men hired by her father, waiting to act in case the strikers put up too much of a stink regarding the inward pass-age of "scabs" or management personnel. And since Susie had called, she knew her protectors would be on the lookout for her.
Susie honked the car horn, as much to announce her arrival to her father's men as to part the mass of rough-looking men who were purposely blocking her way.
Susie experienced this funny feeling way down inside of her. It was fear. It was also something more. It was a kind of sensual excitement about being here now, Susie McKnight, driving her big glossy Lincoln Continental, and making these big burly men part before her like so many dirty sheep on a country highway.
Susie worked her buttocks deeper into the genuine leather of the car seat. As she did so, she was aware that her cunt had gone juicy. She was also aware of a trickle of sweat running along the cleavage that separated her two large and luscious breasts.
Were her nipples actually going hard? What would these animals do when they looked inside and saw her two dollar-size buttons straining through the gray cashmere sweater that was the only material covering them?
She should have worn a brassiere! Why in God's name hadn't she worn one? She had to be crazy. First, picking out this particular car to flaunt her position, then wearing no brassiere to flaunt her body, was almost too ridiculous to be believed.
The men, about twenty of them, parted slowly. BUT THEY DID PART. One of them hit Susie's car windshield with some kind of rubber club that miraculously didn't shatter the glass--. A couple of other men began rocking the automobile.
"Leave that car alone, or you're, going to find yourself minus a couple of balls, or have your ass so full of buckshot you're not going to be performing stud duty anymore!" someone yelled. Who, Susie didn't know. But it was obviously a friend.
"I said move it, you bastards!"
It was harsh language. It certainly wasn't the type of talk Susie had grown used to in all of those private schools her father had packed her off to.
There was a scuffle of some sort-off to one side. Someone was simultaneously trying to open the door on the passenger side of the car. Susie felt a renewal of the fear (and pleasure?) welling inside of her. She bit her lips until she felt the resulting pain of her white teeth digging into her tender pink-colored flesh. "Move it, bastards! Goddamn it, move it!" It was Jim Folesom. Susie now saw him and several other men physically pushing back the strikers to widen the pathway for her car. Susie was relieved to see Jim. On the other hand, she wondered why his obvious presence made her excitement a little less than it had been.
Suddenly Susie's car was moving through the opening gate. Jim and his men had formed a protective phalanx around the auto.
The gate closed once again, Susie bringing the car to a halt in the company compound. She pressed the small chrome tab that brought the window down on her side.
"Thanks for the assist, Jim," Susie said. She flashed the man a wide smile that pulled her full lips back along a line of fine white teeth. She tossed her head in a way she knew from practice made her appear even more attractive. She then used the long tapered fingers of her right hand to smooth a few stray blonde curls out of her large blue eyes.
Jim Folesom squatted down by the side of the car to bring his large, handsome face opposite Susie.
Jim had tousled black hair, thick eyelashes and brows, deep ebony eyes. He had a small scar on his left cheek that would pucker like a dimple when he smiled. He had a deep cleft in his chin. He had massively square jaws that were perpetually tinged blue-black by the darkness of the beard shaved off at skin level. Tufts of blue-black hair sprouted wildly from the open neck of Jim's red flannel shirt.
"You're going to get this shiny new car of yours battered up real nice if you try driving it through the picket lines too often," Jim said. He wasn't smiling, his cheek not dimpling. "You're lucky there was a relatively quiet bunch on this morning."
"Is my father in his office?" Susie asked, not deigning to comment on Jim's observations. She had already chastised herself for having driven the car. She certainly didn't need a hired hand to drive the point home.
"He's expecting you." Jim said, wondering if Susie really realized what kind of potential disaster her little arrival this morning might have precipitated. Or, was Susie really the epitome of innocence she was trying to portray?
Jesus, as if it wasn't enough Susie was the boss' daughter: that in itself being enough to make those poor bastards outside the gate hate Susie's guts. But then the silly little bitch had to come driving the biggest car in her father's garage: a car whose purchase price would have kept six starving union families fed and clothed for a year. And what was Susie wearing to make herself as inconspicuous as possible? A sweater stretched so tightly over her breasts that anyone could see her nipples just for the looking; a skirt that had worked its way so far up it now revealed her attractively dimpled knees; a ring on her left hand that would have tempted a man with even a full belly to knock her over her pretty blonde head to get possession of it.
And it was highly doubtful that any of those mine workers outside the gate had a full belly at the moment. The strike had been going on now for over six months; and, union benefits had run out over two months ago. Those poor suckers out there were living from hand to mouth; and, it would have taken very little to set them off-as had been witnessed on more than one occasion in the past.
Susie McKnight, as far as Jim Folesom was concerned, was one lucky little lady.
"I'll tell daddy what a good job you did," Susie said, deciding she would drive on to the office. She didn't like the chastising look Jim was still giving her. She felt rather like a naughty little girl caught in the act of doing something ridiculously silly. Susie didn't enjoy being made to feel like an adolescent. She was, after all, eighteen. And that was a woman by most anyone's standards-if not by Jim Folesom's.
"Yes, you tell him," Jim said, getting to his feet. If Susie McKnight were his daughter, he would have pulled her skirt a few inches further up her luscious body and tanned her delicious young ass cheeks.
Jim got to his feet, slapping the glossy metal surface of the car roof as Susie drove away. Jim stood for a minute and watched the car heading for the executive parking area, deciding that the spoiled little rich girl had no real conception of the life-and-death struggle that was going on here. But then why should she? Even her father really didn't look on any of this as a really big deal, did he?
Talbot McKnight, owner of the McKnight Coal Mine and father of Susie, didn't really need the profits from his coal operations to keep bread and butter on his family's table. The time had long since passed when the McKnight coffers were filled only from the cash received in payment for bituminous coal deliveries. The McKnight fortune, although based originally on coal profits, had long since been expanded to include input from oil, natural gas, silver, gold, tungsten, and copper investments. There were also stocks in all sorts of companies, ranging from cereal to textiles. That Talbot McKnight even held onto the coal mine was mainly because of family tradition. His father and his father's father had had coal dust in their lungs. His great-grandfather had been an unskilled worker in these very shafts.
Try explaining to the miners, though, that Talbot McKnight was prepared to sacrifice his profits on this operation indefinitely if necessary just to bring the strikers to their knees. Guys whose whole lives revolved around the holes in this ground wouldn't easily be able to accept the fact that Talbot McKnight looked upon the mine as no more nor less than an expensive plaything.
'That broad is fucking crazy!" Tim Westphal said, bringing Jim out of his temporary reverie. "If the bunch we had out there yesterday had been on the lines this morning, they would have had that bitch's ass out of the car and had it raped before we could have stopped them."
"She's just a kid," Jim answered, wondering why he was suddenly defending Susie from accusations he'd himself just been making against her.
"If she's old enough to bleed, she's old enough to seed," Tim said. He then headed off toward the gate and the other guards on duty there.
Jim found himself helplessly drawn into wondering just how things might have gone. They had turned out damned calm and uneventful in comparison to what might have happened. Tim had been right. Those crazy bastards might have rushed Susie's car, broken open the windows, disengaged the restraining locks, and pulled Susie-out.
How would that pretty little bitch have looked, struggling like sixty while coal-blackened hands started feeling her lily-white skin and exploring those forbidden places between her legs and ass crack?
That would have been something to see! That was for damned sure!
Susie's sweater would have torn, revealing twin mounds of alabaster flesh, each mound punctuated with a dollar-size aureole of brown flesh surrounding an erect little nubbin. Jim was positive the young woman hadn't been wearing any support for her naturally elevated breasts.
Rough hands would have gone wild, feeling Susie's exposed breasts, pinching Susie's hard nipples. Callous-hardened hands would have grabbed Susie's skirt, pulling it down over her creamy ass and thighs.
Jim wondered what color panties Susie was wearing? Blue? Would they be lacy? Would they be so transparent as to show the dark blonde hair fringing Susie's juicy cunt? Or, would she even be wearing panties at all? Yes, she would probably be wearing them. Susie wasn't some common slut of whore. Going brassiere-less was okay, accepted even by the upper classes. But going without panties wasn't quite nice. Susie was possibly wearing one of those new kinds of panty hose Jim was always seeing advertised on television. The ones with the panties knitted right in them so there was no unsightly bulges.
Whatever Susie was wearing, those men would have made short work of it once they'd jerked the girl out of her car. Their dirt-caked nails would have hooked the nylon and stretched it until the material ripped to reveal Susie's blonde-fringed cunt and her firm young ass cheeks.
Jim licked his lips. His cock was going hard in his pants, coaxed into erection by his lewd thoughts of what might have happened to Susie. Jim knew his obscene thoughts were doing nothing but making him hopelessly horny. Still, Jim found it exceptionally difficult getting Susie out of his mind. Now that he had Susie mentally stripped and ripe for a gang-bang, it was hard not to carry his fantasy through to its conclusion.
Jim's right hand automatically went to his crotch and adjusted the bulk of his swelling penis to a more comfortable position.
No, by God, Susie McKnight didn't really know how lucky she had been. Because if she had been pulled out of that imagine car, stripped of her clothing and underwear, there would have been very little Jim could have done to save her. Oh, Jim had a gun; all of the men on the gate had guns; but, some of those miners had guns, too. And those miners weren't going to sit around while Jim and his men started taking potshots at them. They would fire back. And they would merely have quickly pulled Susie behind some convenient protective barrier, spread-eagled her out on the ground until her firm and cheeky buttocks got all pockmarked in the gravel. Then, one after the other, those big, butch miner workers would pull out their huge cock-s and stuff them up Susie's raped and spasming pussy.
Jim felt an oozing of pre-seminal juices from his cock. He felt another gushing as his mind pictured just how it would have been seeing Susie McKnight wide-eyed and naked, her ballooned breasts heaving, her mouth squealing, as her cunt was stuffed again . . . and again . . . and again with rock-hard miner cock.
Jim shook his head to clear it. He felt ill at ease over where his fantasizing had begun to take him.
Suddenly it hadn't been one of the striking miners fucking Susie's delectable pussy. It had been Jim Folesom on top of her. It had been Jim Folesom pumping away. It had been Jim's ass dimpling on every inward shove, Jim's balls banging the strip of female flesh connecting Susie's cunt mouth with her ass-hole. It had been Jim's hairy chest pressing into Susie's mushrooming breasts. It had been Jim's low voice, pass-ion-choked, commanding Susie's pussy to take his spewing load of creamy male sperm.
"Get hold of yourself, buster!" Jim said to himself, determined to wrench his mind back to the reality at hand.