Chapter 1
"Well," Boyd Dexter said, turning the wheel of his car as he guided it onto the expressway, "at least we don't have to do that again for another whole year."
Paula Dexter sat quietly next to him, eyeing the oncoming traffic. She didn't like family reunions anymore than he did, but hell. Duty was duty. And they had promised to be there.
Her grandmother hadn't seen Miranda or
Lisa since they were toddlers.
"How much further, Daddy?" Lisa said, throwing her voice up to the driver's seat. "I think I gotta go to the bathroom."
"Why didn't you say something before?" Paula said, feeling herself grow slightly annoyed that her oldest daughter couldn't get her bladder signals earlier.
"I didn't have to go before," the girl said, sitting back in the seat and squirming.
"And I want something to drink," Miranda said, hoping that since her had a legitimate reason to stop, she, too might cash in on it.
Paula gripped the glove compartment with her fingernails. Family reunions were a heavy responsibility, but driving these brats back and forth to them was getting intolerable.
Those adorable teenagers of hers. They were driving her up a wall. She wished she could have done like her husband wanted to do. Lock them down the cellar until they were eighteen. Old enough to look out for themselves. Throw them something to eat once in a while....
But then, Paula never had been a model mother. And she couldn't figure out why, either. Her own mother had been so kind to her. Always giving in at every one of her insipid little wishes.
Even serving her favorite kind of ice cream after the family dinner. Raspberry nut swirl. She could taste it now. Whatever happened to those good old flavors of childhood? And whatever happened to her childhood?
A huge semi-diesel truck ground its gears and passed them on the left, chugging and spurting as it did so.
Childhood, Paula thought, closing her eyes. It had been so brief. She was one of those girls of who had grown up fast. Too fast, probably.
But, then, that seemed to have been what Mother Nature had in the cards for her. Her body started to develop from a lithe little girl's into a shapely young woman's starting about age ten. It was downright upsetting. Boys on the playground had started to hoot at her whenever she skipped rope of played hopscotch at recess.
She had always been pretty. An angelic looking child. Rosy red cheeks. Clear, creamy skin. And black, silken ringlets. Hair that looked like jet black strands of spun spider web. The envy of all her little friends.
Then, along about age ten, her tits started to perk up. It seemed to happen overnight. They were flat little pancakes with a dot of butter in the center one day, then the next, rising moons of creamy, succulent flesh with a thick peaked rubbery tip. Dusky rose in color and responsive as hell to the touch.
And she touched them often. Every time she went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Every chance she got.
Along about then, she also discovered she was a show off. Liked to stick her developing tits out in the hall of school. Get attention from all the guys and most of the teachers. And that was where the trouble began.
It didn't really happen till two years later, when she went into junior high school. She was twelve. Her pert tits poked against the cotton of her long dresses and seemed to catch everyone's gaze. Her legs had started to blossom then, too. They went from little girl spindly legs to long, shapely, well-defined flanks.
And she noticed hair growing between her legs. Lush, lustrous downy wisps of smooth bush hair seemed to sprout up everywhere on her pubis. That was no surprise. But what was surprising was how much she enjoyed pulling on it. Could barely stop. Even at school.
Sometimes she had sneaked off to the girls' room to play with herself. She would pick an unused stall, open the door wide so that she could see herself in the mirror over the sink across the room and peel her little nylon undies down over her sensual round thighs.
Then, standing up on the toilet seat she would play with her hair. Stroking it, petting it, moistening it with spit from her fingers. Then she would diddle her cunt lips till the blood pulsated under them, making them grow huge and hot under hands.
"Paula," her sewing teacher had said to her one day, "I write more hall passes for you than anyone else in the class. Is there something wrong with your bladder?"
She smiled a little faint smile and took the pass from her teacher's grasp.
No, she thought to herself, diabolically, but maybe there is something wrong with my pussy.
And, as the months grew on, she thought there might be. It ached and throbbed at all the wrong times. Like during gym class, in church, at the family dinner table.
Sometimes she would have to sneak one free hand under that table and pull her panties to one side just to wiggle her fingers up into her pussy slit and pump them in and out. She would manage to hold her fork with one hand as she fingered her swollen, hot pussy with the other. Trying to bring it some relief. Trying to put out the fire that raged inside there.
She got very good at hiding her orgasms. She would just pretend to have a coughing spell, or that some food had gone down the wrong way and moan and groan her way through a jolting, stupendous climax.
Maybe her folks were a little naive. They never seemed to guess her secret.
But other girls at school did. They would walk into the gym locker room and find her with her legs spread apart and her fingers thrust into her pink pulp hole.
And they would watch. Maybe from a safe place. Pretend like they weren't there.
But Paula knew they were there. She would have heard them come in. That always gave her great inspiration to perform. She would open the buttons of her little gym suit and stick her hot, ample tits toward them. Then, she would play with her nipples with one finger while she plugged her pussy with the other hand.
"Wow!" she would say, jerking herself to a gut-wrenching climax.
She could get anyone turned on watching her. Girls, boys, gym teachers. Okay, so she was hot. A hot little number.
But the boys in her class were too young and immature to date her. To take her out and fuck the daylights out of her properly, the way she would have liked them to.
And that's what lead to the big trouble. Her seventh grade Geography teacher. He was big. He was blonde. He doubled as the basketball coach and wrestling instructor.
"Good morning, Sir," Paula would say to him, winking her big green eyes, two at a time. Well, she didn't want to take any chances.
"Good morning, Paula," the elegantly-handsome man would say back to her. He may have been a jock, but he was not without class.
To Paula he was a combination movie-star, beach boy, sea captain, Olympic champion. She used to fantasize about him while she stuck her eager little fingers into her pussy and dished out all the clear honey inside as she hand humped herself to a quivering climax.
She would always sit in front of the classroom, legs spread slightly apart. And she would stick her tits out at him. Very hard. She figured she was the hottest little twat in Kingman Junior High. Probably in the entire city of Kingman.
And her Geography teacher seemed to agree. She used to eye his crotch for telltale signs of bulge. It lay pretty slack most of the time. Except when he bent low down over her little desk to speak to her.
"Paula," he would say, unable to resist the lure of this hot little nymphet. She was so forbidden, so completely charming.
And, then, he was hot whenever he thought of her. In all his thirteen years as a teacher, he had never encountered such a hot little number. A vixen, a teenage temptress, a Lolita.
"Yes?" she would say up to him, aiming her round, supple tits at his face.
"I've been meaning to speak to you about your work."
"Is there something wrong? she asked, casting her eyes down to the floor shyly.
"I'm not sure you understand Geography," the man said, feeling a little foolish. After all, there were many things he didn't understand either. Like why he couldn't get his mind off this little girl.
She haunted him in his study, in his car, at faculty meetings. Christ, even in his own home. He was a man of thirty-two. Well-adjusted. So he thought. Happy. He had always assumed. And ambitious. He had plans to marry a girl his age, from a solid family in Kingman. A girl he had known in college.
But still, he couldn't stop the overwhelming fantasies that plagued him now. And this little girl was always at the center.
She came to be an obsession. He grew frightened, morose, sleepless. He paced the floor night after night, trying to figure out a way to forget her, scold her into sitting in the back row, flunk her. Something! He had to quit dreaming about her. It was cutting into his time.
Then, the day came when he knew he couldn't stop. Couldn't any longer stem the onrushing flow of heat and arousal he felt whenever she walked into his classroom. That day he made a decision. He would keep her after class. See if he couldn't talk her into understanding that he was a man of simple, modest virture. And he didn't appreciate the way she looked at him, flirted with him, aroused him. He would make her see. He would confess to her his longings and sleepless night She would understand, she had to. But hell, she was only twelve years old.
"Maybe you could give me some home study," she said, licking her lips just at the corners and cocking her head to one side. "I mean, if I need extra work."
"You certainly do," he said, unable to think what subject he was teaching. Unable to even remember how the two of them had gotten into that room together.
Oh, yes, this was his classroom. He was the teacher. He was in charge here.
The bell rang suddenly and class dismissed. Hordes of eager youngsters filed out the door chatting, shoving, elbowing, throwing books and papers.
He walked solemnly toward the door and closed it. Then, he turned to face the engaging little angel.
"Paula," he said, trying on a stern voice for the occasion, "I'd like to say.. . "
"Do you play basketball when you coach?" she said, smiling and tossing her thick black ringlets off her shoulders.
"Yes, sometimes," he suddenly was seized with the feeling that this wasn't going to be easy. "But that's not why I asked you to stay after."
"If it's about my Geography grade, please don't tell me," she said, looking down and pouting. Her luscious red lips pursed together a moment and she threw him a sorrowful look. Like a lost puppy.
He wanted to run over and throw his arms around her. Take her home and adopt her. But there were more pressing problems. Like the way his cock was slamming against the seam of his jock.
"I don't want to know," she continued, biting that ruby cupid's bow Up of hers, gnawing at it nervously, "see I'm flunking everything but sewing class. I'm just getting a warning notice in that. I don't know what's the matter with me. I mean, I don't think I'm dumb, but.. . "
"But what?" the man said, forgetting his own plight and getting sucked into hers. Whatever it was it concerned him now. It passionately concerned him.
"But I just can't stop thinking about.. . " Her voice fell off as two little tears welled up in the corners of her luminous green eyes. "About.. . "
"About what, dear?" he said, sitting on the top of her desk and putting a fatherly arm around her.
"I hope you won't think I'm a bad girl," she said.
He shook his head in what must have been the biggest lie of his teaching career. .
"But I can't stop thinking about sex."
He felt himself slide off the desk and managed to catch himself on the ledge before his athletic knees gave way.
Christ, this little girl was giving him a boner. A big, man-sized boner. A banging, throbbing demanding big hard. It ached and pinched and tugged and pulled. What the hell was he going to do now, he wondered, unable to move.
"I hope you don't mind my telling you this stuff," she said petulantly, "but you're my favorite teacher."
"I am?" he said, feeling a thrill run up his spine. A heated rush of pleasure that he had not known since his team beat out their inter-city rivals in last season's all state junior tournament.
"Mmmmmmmm," the tiny tigress nodded.
She could feel the heat from the body of the huge muscle-bound man as he edged his way in next to her, sharing the tiny wooden desk seat, holding her closer to him.
"I just never can stop," she continued, happy that her counselor was an understanding man. "Even now I've got sex on my mind," she said, "see how bad it is?"
"But Paula," he said, smoothing a tangle of hair from her lustrous raven head, "I don't think that's bad at all."
"You don't?" she asked brightly, opening her big eyes and gazing up into his.
He felt his underwear melt as she looked into his eyes. His cock was now locked into a heated life and death battle with his pants zipper.
Paula stuck her tits as close as she dared into his chest. She had never seduced a teacher before. Didn't even know what 'seduce' meant. But here was the gorgeous man, the one she masturbated while thinking about practically all the time. And he was sitting right next to her.
And unless what her little friends had told her was a complete out and out he, his pecker was stiff. Stiff as a board.
"And the really awful thing," she said, letting out an adorable baby doll sigh, "is that I don't know anything about sex. I mean, I don't even know what a man's . . . you know.. . looks like."
"You know?" the man echoed, feeling like a robot. A robot with a very long handle.
"Pee-pee, peckerwood, dingle John, Peter Cottontail, lunch meat, French loaf, Moby Dick, pickle stick.. . "
"I see, Paula," the man said, loosening his tie. He'd never heard so many euphemisms for penis in his life. Maybe this little girl knew more than she was saying.
"I mean I wouldn't know one if it came up to me on the playground and shook my hand."
He felt his own cock throb with longing and heat. If this little nymphet didn't stop torturing him, she was gonna get a first hand education, post haste!
"I can't stop diddling myself," she said, in an open and honest assessment of her true condition. As honest as she could speak it.
"Oh, dear," the man said, as his prick aimed at the roof. If he didn't let it out for an airing soon it would rip his zipper to tinsel.
"I can hardly keep my hands where they belong, even now," she said, spreading her legs and feeling sparks fly up her pussy hole.
"Oh, shit," the athletic teacher muttered under his breath.
"I'm sorry," the little girl said, "but I just can't help it. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
"Oh, no," he said, holding her close and forgetting himself long enough to stick his hard cock into her thigh.
Paula felt that hard cock poking her flesh through her thin cotton skirt. Through his thick woolen pants. And something gripped. Something uncontrollable.
"Let me see it," she said, surprised to hear the words flowing out of her mouth.
But flowed they had, and now, it was too late to take them back.
A bitter rush seized the teacher. A pained, agonizing block of tension and fear. This little seductress was tempting him, teasing him. Trying to get him into trouble.
He flew into a rage. The heat of anger pounded his temples so hard he leaped out of his seat. He thrust a sinister finger into her face and shouted at her hard.
"You little Bitch!" he roared, "you naughty little girl. You're trying to play games with me. Bad! You're trying to get me fired! Well, I'll show you. I'll teach you things most teachers wouldn't even bother."
With that, he unbuckled his belt and drew out the long, tooled strip of cowhide.
Paula froze to the spot. What the hell had she done? But, then, she realized, she knew very well what she had done.
He snapped the thing down hard on the top of the desk. It made a loud report, like a gun shot.
"Come here and take your punishment, naughty little girl," he said, barely able to control the rage that engulfed him.
"No, no, no," she said, shaking her long tresses and squirming out of her seat.
He caught her by the hair as she ran down the aisle toward the door.
He pulled her back. He yanked her whole little hot body down across his lap and plopped himself onto the seat of the nearest desk.
He brandished his belt high over his head and brought it down on her back.
"Stop, stop," she cried, kicking her feet in protest.
Unsatisfied still, his cock going like a jackhammer, he lifted up her skirt. Lifted up that blue and white striped short little skirt and looked down onto the silken nylon panties that encircled her ass cheeks.
Those hot creamy cheeks. Those crescents of nubile flesh. Flesh that he craved. Flesh that he couldn't allow himself to crave. Forbidden flesh.
He would whip that flesh until his craving died. Till it aborted and left him alone. This little damned nymphet was invading his life. Altering it at every turn. He would put a stop to it, and he would put a stop to it now.
Frightened at his own anger, he let the belt drop from his hand. He stared down into the crevice of her tight little ass. The delicious pink sphincter hole so spongy and hidden inside her ass valley.
The rounded mound of her pussy, split slightly in the center, revealing a plush pink gash. And those mossy tufts of childish hair, fringing the slit on either side.
He nearly wept. Instead, he raised his hand and slapped it down hard on her white, high round slippery buttocks.
"Owwwwwwww," she cried, tossing, pitching, squirming to be set free. She may as well have been a worm on the end of a fishing hook.
"Stop torturing me!" he said, "stop it, stop it, stop it."
He throttled her with the hard, planed palm of his hand. He whopped his punishing hand down on to her gentle, quivering butt mounds, flailed her as hard as he could humanly hit.
The red welts on her butt appeared as like the blush on a peach. He had created them. He had put them there. But he couldn't stop. He wanted to slap her in two. Stop this obsession once and for all. Make his cock behave. Put it in its place.
But, unlike his mind, his cock obeyed another master. Its own. It stiffened up smartly, thudded against his zipper and jutted into the girl's tits. The little girl so cruelly thrown across his lap.
Paula felt the bite of his hand in her ass cheeks. And the thrust of his man cock against her developing tits. She couldn't decide which sensation was more painful.. . or which one she liked more.
The heat from her ass cheeks was igniting her pussy to a fast flame. Her hero's hard hand burned her butt to crimson turn. She was as hot as she had ever been in her life.
Devilish child that she was, she couldn't resist reaching down and fumbling for the man's zipper. She had sneaked climaxes before, right at her parents' dining room table. Why not sneak a look at a guy's dick? He probably wouldn't even notice anyway.
He was too busy thrashing her to within an inch of her life.
"Owwwwwwww," she shouted back, tossing her head and banging her tiny fists down on the man's knee. She let one hand drop a moment and stuck it down onto her tits. She felt them there, quivering with lust.
And just underneath, that man's plump prick was throbbing with all its might.
She fiddled with the zipper till it loosened. Then, she pulled it down.
She felt a hard, smooth expanse of flesh greet her delicate fingers. It must be the man's tool, she thought excitedly. She helped free it by tugging at it, though it seemed willing enough to get out almost unaided.
She wrapped her tiny palm around the man's huge pole and pushed it down, like a thick, long leer. It stuck into her stomach and bobbed up and down, as though it were attached to a spring.
She went back in and patted the man's spongy, hair-covered balls. Such gigantic sacks, like velvet cushions, she thought, unfurling them out of the man's pants as well.
The teacher felt the hard knob of his cock press against the little girl's chest. He felt it run clear pre-cum from the top of it, from the third eye.
He wanted to lay it flush up into her cunt, stick the whole damned pecker right inside her moist, wet hole, ream her to death. Put an end to this obsession, once and for all.
He wiggled his ass a little on the seat to the place where he could feel his hard cock head ram against the little girl's naked thighs.
"Now," he said, "are you going to leave me alone? In peace?"
"You got that mixed up, Mr., " the defiant little bitch spat back at him, "it's you who won't leave me alone."
"I'll teach you to invade my privacy!" the madman said, slapping her ass hard for the hundredth time.
He aimed the tip of his cock in between her thighs and slipped the panties that still ringed her ankles off and let them drop to the floor.
Then, reached down rudely with one hand and spread her hot, wet cunt lips. That darling curtain of downy hair. It pained him to think how precious it was, and for a moment, he hesitated. But this little cunt had to be stopped. He couldn't live with the images of her constantly plaguing his mind another day.
He readied his long, immensely thick tool for the kill. He arched his hips up hard and thrust the thing between her lips. And with one cautious hand, covered her mouth.
"Hrmffffffffff," she mumbled through his knuckles, kicking her feet hard, spreading jier legs to allow him entry.
His cock tip hit the little socket with a hard rap. He could feel the juices from her cunt moisten it, allowing a little penetration. He stuck it up, hard.
It butted against her tiny inner lips, trying to get in. No dice.
The man spread her cunt lips with his fingers, splayed them out hungrily. His cock couldn't be kept waiting much longer.
Again, he rammed his hard head against those plump, warm lips, parting them.
The gagged girl kicked and tossed her hips up, then down, dying for him to stick it in. But her protests were causing her as much excitement as his cock was. It was fun to resist, fun to be wanted so desperately.
"Little cunt!" he said, sticking the full roundness of his smooth dick head up inside her throbbing lips, "fucking little cunt tease. Now see how you like this!"
He ground his cock hard against her firm, shaking pussy parts. He squeezed, crammed, rammed himself hard up inside her. Hard enough to make his balls twitch, throb, and bang against his shaft.
That shaft that was even now coating its whole smooth hard length with hot clear honey from the girl's moist pink inside pockets.
Those delicious pockets of flesh. That tight, wringing hole. He wanted to plunge his tool all the way up inside her, all the way until it struck oil.
"God!" he cried as it hit something tough, "I broke you. Oh, no, I broke your cherry."
The girl stirred inside herself. Her little pink membrane had been busted indeed. She felt a little trickle of red juice seep down, down her thigh, then drip onto the floor.
But it was too late to turn back now. The teacher dug his butt muscles into the seat, yanking his hard shaft out of the girl's pussy, then, after a split second, he raised them up again and plunged back down deep, deep up in her.
Her untried little virgin's muscles were wreaking havoc with his huge prick, squeezing it, pulverizing it, grinding it to mincemeat.
The sensation overpowered him to near tears. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he tried to hold back the inevitable flood that was massing just behind the dam.
Paula gripped her cunt muscles even tighter, trying to capture and hold the big, thick prize that pumped inside her. And when she did, she felt the pump spurt. Spurt and spew and blast. The teacher was shooting his load. He was shooting his whole thick white creamy load of come. And he was shooting it up into her very own pussy.
"Oh, God!" he cried, as though cursing some unforeseen force that was making him blow. Making him blow his cock top.
The girl clutched the man's knee with both her tiny hands. She gripped onto it for dear life, for support, for safety.
Her pussy was acting up something furious. Twirling, spinning, wringing. Wringing out the torrents of white, feverish come that spelled an orgasm. Her first with a man. Her first come with a cock thrust up inside her.
Her first cock. Her first come with a cock.
"Yipes!" she said, arching her back like a cat in heat and feeling the big stick shift gears inside her.
She flailed her hands and legs out into the air. Out and down. Raining blow after blow upon the man's knees, his chest, his face, as she spent herself. Spent herself in a non-stop torrent of coming. Orgasm after orgasm of fresh, dewy come juice.
After a moment or two of silence, she stared up at the man who had beaten her with his huge fists. Pounded her sweet little rear end to a red pulp. And fucked her to kingdom come. Broke her cherry and screwed the stuffing out of her.
Then, she smiled. A gorgeous, baby doll smile. Delicate and warm.
"Nice," she said quietly, "really."
The man mopped his brow and reached for his still swollen and aching schlong. He patted and tucked it back into his pants as best he could, considering the fact that it still smarted. Smarted and flamed.
"I had to do it," he said, blustering a streak of meaningless huffs and puffs along with his words. "You were bad.. . terrible., naughty.. . horrid."
"I know," the girl said, bending over and picking up her darling little blue panties.
"You do?" he said, feeling like he might keel over from the delirious strain of the last forty-five minutes.
"Yes," she responded calmly, "I had it coming to me."
She stood up and came toward him as she smoothed her skirt back down. She leaned over and kissed him on his startled cheek. That stubble-covered athletic cheek.
"Gotta go now," she said, returning to her own desk and tucking her books under her arm. "Time to be hitting the road as they say."
He felt devastated, as though he'd been raped.
"But.. . " he started, wondering how the whole thing had happened. How had he allowed it to? How had he lost control? And where? When?
"Sorry," she interrupted, making her way for the door. "See you tomorrow," she shouted back, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her.
It stopped before it hit the door frame and the adorable nymphet stuck her head in the crack remaining, "Tiger!"
She winked and disappeared.
Paula Dexter blinked and sat up in the seat. She had nearly dozed off, just thinking about that day, so long ago. How long ago? Not so long, really.
Yeah, she'd been a hot little kid. A dynamite little kid. And she got what she wanted. She got her Geography teacher. Not just that afternoon either, but many times that year. On school bus trips, behind the library, under the auditorium bleachers.
Of course, they got caught. Caught in the act. By no less a personage than their illustrious principal. Mr. Henderson, principal of Kingman High. He had expelled his Geography teacher, basketball and wrestling coach. He had him thrown out on his butt.
Paula's family would have pressed charges, except that by that time, Paula had managed to get pregnant. Good and pregnant.
It was a scandal that rocked the little town. Rocked it to its limits. And beyond. The two of them were married, quietly. They had to go out of state, get written permission from Paula's mother, and it certainly hadn't been easy getting her into that motel, but they managed.
Of course, they had to move out of Kingman. Move to a nearby city, a place named Waverly. But Boyd got a job there, teaching. His credentials didn't seem to bother the school board that hired him. And it was a position in an all-boy school. A school for delinquent boys, in fact.
Their daughter was born a scant seven months later. A lovely bouncing blonde thing, just like her dad. They called her Miranda. Her birth was a bit sticky, considering that Paula was only thirteen when she was born, but they were lucky. All systems were go, and everything worked out.
That little girl was now a luscious honey blonde of fifteen, sitting in the back seat with her younger sister, the one who came a short year afterward. Their darling Lisa. The raven-haired one. The one who favored her mother.
The mother who had been a child bride only fifteen and a half years earlier. The child who had married her Geography teacher. The man who was sitting next to her now, reaching for the cigarette lighter.
"We're getting close, dear," he said, shoving the coil into the dashboard, "next exit."
He smiled and patted her hand on the seat. The man who had married the child bride. The little girl he had fucked in his very own classroom and gotten with child when she was herself a child. A girl twenty years his junior.
Well, it hadn't been a bad life. There were compensations. Like the fact that his wife was the most sensual, sexual hot little animal around. She had kept her figure, her face, her energy, and her love of bizarre sex games.
That had kept him loyal. Kept him sniffing her fucking pussy vapors whenever she walked across the room.
He hadn't minded the fact that her mother barely spoke to him for the first ten years after they were married. He wasn't particularly fond of Magda anyway.
And now, things had mellowed a bit. The family even invited them to their insipid reunions. Those once a year affairs like the one they were even now driving home from. It was strange to drive back into Kingman. Drive back there with his child bride, now almost thirty years old. And his two darling daughters. The ones everybody made such a fuss over.
And why shouldn't they? The girls were both paragons of beauty. Different as night and day, but adorable. Pert, wide-eyed and gorgeous. Exactly like his own Paula had been when she was their age, a little younger, actually.
So he had married a thirteen year old girl. So what? He was proud of her. Not that she had contributed anything intellectual to their marriage. She damned near didn't finish junior high.
"Daddy," Lisa said, pointing to the exit sign, "is that us?"
"Yes," he said, edging the car onto the ramp. His eagle-eyed little Lisa. The one who looked so much like her mother. Even now, they could pass for sisters. The three of them. Sisters. What a hoot! What a life, really.
"Are we near a filling station?" Randy said, sliding over to the window.
"There'll be one up here a bit, if I remember," their mother said back to them.
Lisa looked at the back of her mother's head. Her long, lustrous hair was twisted up into a French knot on the crown of her head. She wore it a lot like that, especially when they went out. It made her look a little older. But still not old enough to have two teenage daughters.
"Are these yours?" shop ladies and doctors and dentists and teachers and amazed people everywhere had said, upon the discovery that Paula was mother to the two of them. "I can't believe it. You're too young to have two grown daughters."
"I don't show my age," the woman would say, trying to stoop her shoulders and squint a little to make her look more matronly. It never worked. Their mother was just plain stunning, by any standard, and young looking, too.
The town of Sibley lay somewhere in between the towns of Kingman and Waverly. And that was fitting, since it was somewhere in between them in size as well.
"You know which street to turn on?" Paula said, anxious that her husband not get lost. It had happened once before when they came here.
"I think it's Green," the stern figure spoke back, "but maybe.. . maybe it's Rush."
"It's Long Boulevard," Lisa said back up to him, as the car hit the center of town.
Low, overhanging tree branches filled with the green growth of late summer hung heavy over the streets. It was a pleasant town. The Dexters probably would have come here to settle, since Paula wanted to be near her mother, but that didn't happen. Boyd couldn't find work here.
But, oddly enough, they had found something else here. And it was for that reason that they were making the stop right now. Turning off the expressway and riding through this town on their home from the family reunion.
They had been here before. About twice in the last six months. And this was the second time they had brought the girls with them.
But it was clear from the conversation at the filling station that the girls were not being brought here to visit with anyone.
"I want you two to stay in the car," Boyd said, standing up to find his wallet. "You can take a walk if you like. Go to the park.. . there's a lovely little park about a block away, I'll show you. But remember, there's been a death in the family, so you won't be allowed in. We'll be out in a couple of hours."
"You can stop at the store if you get hungry," Paula said, reaching into her leather bag and pulling out a few bills. "Soft drinks okay, but no hard stuff, okay? We're having dinner as soon as we get home."
Randy and Lisa found the coke machine, the little girls' room, and saw to their individual business there. They skipped back to the car gleefully and hopped in.
"Are the Hills nice people?" Randy asked, taking a swig from the soda bottle.
"Yes," Paula replied, "you'll get a chance to meet them soon enough."
"Do they have any kids?" Lisa asked, "any that we could play with?"
"No, they don't," Boyd said, rubbing the back of his neck. The long drive was beginning to wear on him.
The car rode up a long hill and the family got a good view of the western half of the town.
"Nice, huh?" Boyd said, coasting the car down the hill. "There's the park, on our left. It's got a little garden and a water tower, and I think.. . yeah, I think it has a merry-go-round."
"Just a little one," Paula countered, "now remember, don't talk to any strange men." Paula Dexter had more than the usual fears of a mother for her teenage daughters. She had a damned good idea what strange older men could lead to, and she had these two little girls to prove it. Had the first one when she was thirteen. And her daughters had already shown signs of sharing in their mother's sexual temperament.
She had already caught them playing little lesbian games with each other. Diddling each others' pussies with their burrowing little inquisitive fingers. Sniffing each others' cunts, kissing and hugging in the back yard.
And they had shown a great deal of interest in boys. Not older men yet, thank God, but they talked about boys a lot.
Paula remembered that boys their age weren't too interested in girls, so she felt safe on that score. But the girls were a sexy little twosome.
Attractive to men, any men at all. Miranda was an adorable blue-eyed blonde, like her father. Tall, svelte, athletically-inclined, intelligent and too fucking big for her britches.
Lisa was more like her side of the family. Dark, curvy, little, vivacious. But lazy, an idler, a dreamer. And she had a sense of humor. Her black hair was set off by her creamy ivory skin, her green eyes. And her well-stacked little shape.
Both of them had matured very early, like their mother. Randy was sporting a set of tits on her to make a movie star envious by the time she was thirteen. Now that she had just turned fifteen, she was hot enough looking to be a model, an actress, a show girl.
Lisa was even more striking in that department. Her tits were twice as big as her mother's at that age. She didn't know where she had gotten that characteristic from.
So, she and her husband had to keep a sharp eye on them. But, then, they were growing girls. She knew what that was like.
"Here," she said, her eye catching a familiar driveway.
Boyd Dexter turned the wheel of his car sharply into the long, L-shaped drive. The low, rambling ranch style house sat huddled next to the garage. He stopped the car in the driveway, behind the one parked there already and turned off the motor.
"Can we go now?" Lisa shouted eagerly, bouncing up and down in the seat.
"Go on," her father said, "but remember, two hours, then come back. And be sure you knock first."
The girls scampered out like kittens at play. Boyd Dexter slammed the car door and sorted the keys out till he found the one to the trunk. He walked back and unlocked it as his wife took one last look at herself in the rear view mirror.
He opened the trunk door and peered into the dark hole. The brown leather valise was sitting right where they left it. He reached in and hooked his firm, muscular hand around the grip and pulled it out, setting it down carefully on the sidewalk.
That innocent-looking brown bag. Their ticket to good times. The good times they were about to have with the Hills couple. The couple that sat just inside the house, waiting. Waiting with baited breath.