by Robin Gideon
Jared took his hand from Helen’s neck and, without a hint of forewarning, grabbed her skirt and raised it high. Even under the best of conditions, Helen could not adequately defend herself against Jared, who was so much taller and stronger than she and had reflexes countless times quicker than hers. But her defense was made even more ineffectual by the fact that she refused to relinquish the firm grasp she had on Marcus’s wrist.
When Jared reached up beneath her skirt for her underpants, Helen squirmed and tried to swat his hand away. Jared would not be denied. He thrust his fingers inside the waistband of Helen’s bloomers, curled his hand into a fist, and yanked. The drawstring bit into the flesh of her hips for a split-second then snapped as soft cotton, washed countless times, gave way to greater strength.
Jared put his left hand to Helen’s chest to keep her forced back against the wall then yanked a second time. What little of Helen’s cotton bloomers that had remained intact after the first assault did not survive the second. While keeping her pinned against the wall, Jared raised her destroyed underpants in his hand, looking at them with a queer expression in his eyes, as though he was shocked at what he had just done. Helen inspired extreme behavior in Jared.
“Oh, yes, Helen. I know just what you need.” He turned and glared at Marcus, saying, “Get the hell out of here.”
Before Marcus could respond, Helen said quickly, “Stay! Please, Marcus, don’t go! I need you with me now more than ever!”
Jared made a chuckling sound, only there wasn’t any mirth in it. He said, “If you want an audience, go ahead and have one, my dear. Makes me no never-mind.”
He moved swiftly yet without any appearance of hurrying. One second he was towering over Helen, pinning her to the wall, and in the next he was down on one knee in front of her as he forced her dress up high around her waist. An instant later he had raised her left leg and forced it up onto his shoulder. He took a moment—no more than a split-second—to appreciate the visual beauty of Helen’s sex, noting the soft, sparse hair that grew in a narrow triangle, the pink labia already gleaming with the nectar of her passion, and the small, pink nub of her clit that pulsated almost visibly.
“Gorgeous,” Jared groaned, as angry with himself for his inability to stay away from Helen as he was at her for making him want her so much.
He pressed his mouth against her delicate sex lips and without hesitation thrust his tongue far into Helen. She inhaled deeply, the molten fire of desperate passion burning her up. Then the breath got caught in her chest as Jared pushed his tongue upward, spreading the lips of her pussy as he searched for, and then found, her erect clit.
“Oh, fuck!” Helen hissed through teeth clenched with passion.
Jared heard the single, coarse vulgarity, and had his lips not been so preoccupied he would have smiled. He liked knowing that he could incite in Helen behavior that she would not otherwise allow, to speak words that she would not under other conditions even consider speaking. With his left hand he adjusted the position of Helen’s leg on his shoulder. With his right he cupped her ass and squeezed, thrilling at the velvety softness of her skin as he lavished her clit with licks that tantalized feminine nerve endings.
He brought his right hand up close to his mouth and, while flicking the very tip of his tongue up and down over Helen’s clit, eased his index finger between the lips of her pussy, entering slowly until the knuckles of his fist were pressed tightly against the shivering woman and his chin was in his palm.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” Helen chanted, her eyes closed, her head against the wall as wild pleasures rocketed through her voluptuous body.
She had experienced before the thrills that were possible for a woman to feel when Jared was on his knees and delivering the devastating cunnilingus that made bones melt, that made willpower vanish, that made two-word sentences like “fuck me” seem as natural to say as “thank you.” But past experience could not entirely account for Helen’s free fall into complete and total sexual abandonment. Yes, she knew what was just down the road, just over the hill though still out of sight. But still…something was different this time—delightfully, magnificently different. And in a way that was charged with a special eroticism that made her willing to do anything so long as she achieved the orgasm that she sensed was approaching like a runaway freight train.
Jared pumped his arm, driving the single finger in and out of her cunt as he used his lips and tongue against her clit with skill. She had her head against the wall and was rolling it from side to side, uttering indecipherable words as wave after wave of sheer ecstasy assaulted her senses.
Jared had seen Helen this way before, so he knew what she was like when passion overwhelmed her senses. He had known from the very beginning how she would react once his tongue began its ecstasy-inducting attack upon her clit and labia. He wanted her frantic with need, desperate for the release that he alone was capable of giving to her with such gut-wrenching intensity. As his arm pumped and his tongue slithered, he looked up and over at Helen’s hand as she clutched with white-knuckled ferocity to Marcus’s wrist. Helen was holding onto her friend as though Marcus alone possessed the strength of will necessary to save her soul from the fires of hell’s own damnation.
“Oh, God! Oh, God!” Helen chanted, her eyes opening wider, the emerald-green depths shimmering like priceless, wet jewels as lust gripped her soul.
Jared could tell that Helen was just a few seconds away from her orgasm. Now he had her right where he wanted her, at a place where she was most vulnerable and least capable of resisting his wickedest desires.
He rose to his feet, and when he did, Helen blinked her eyes several times, shocked that the mind-boggling pleasure had suddenly ended when she was so very near to tumbling into the chasm of pure ecstasy.
“Wait,” Helen said. It was easier to think now that Jared’s tongue wasn’t driving her mad with want.
Jared didn’t wait. Not even for a second. He freed Marcus’s wrist from Helen’s clutching hand. Then, grabbing Helen by the shoulder, he spun her halfway around quickly, forcing her to bend over a packing crate made of coarsely sawn pine.
“Wait. We can’t. Not here. We’ll get caught.”
She tried to defend herself, but it was a weak and futile effort, and in any event, lacked true sincerity. It took only seconds for Jared to have Helen’s arms wrenched behind her back, one wrist over the other so that he could hold them both with just a single powerful hand. With his free hand he pulled Helen’s dress up, bunching the soft wool beneath her hands, exposing the pale cheeks of her ass that so enticed him.
Marcus, standing less than two feet away, asked in a soft voice, “Helen, what do you want me to do?”
Jared was in charge of the moment, so it was he who answered. “As long as you’ve seen this much already, be my lookout. I’d rather not have any surprise visitors right now.”
“But, Jared—” Helen began.
With his free right hand, Jared silenced Helen’s protest by bringing his palm down hard on her bottom, his palm smacking loudly against her tender skin. Helen squealed in pain and tried to free her wrists from Jared’s steellike grip, but she was not nearly powerful enough to effectively combat his much greater strength.
With his free hand Jared unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. A moment later his cock sprang out, long and already fully erect, the skin stretched so tautly over the crown it appeared ready to split. When Marcus first saw Jared’s erection, he put a hand to his mouth, his eyes opening wide with either fear or surprise. It was obvious that he had never seen an erection so large. His slender body trembled from head to foot in appreciation and awe.
For only a moment, Jared paused to look at Helen, his dark gaze flinty hard. He saw the lushly rounded buns and naked, tapering thighs. He saw the utilitarian, side-button boots with the white, cotton ankle socks. And he saw the pink lips of her pussy, slick and wet—ready for him.
“Damn you,” Jared hissed, because he didn’t like the fa
ct that he wanted her with a desperation that was unprecedented for him.
His teeth were clenched. The raw lust that burned through his veins propelled him relentlessly onward. Jared brought the crown of his cock to Helen’s pink sex lips, waited for only a moment to be absolutely certain he was positioned properly, then thrust.
Hard!
* * * *
Helen’s cheek was against the rough, wooden surface of the crate, her arms held behind her back, when Jared’s throbbing cock separated the lips of her slit, driving deep into her overheating body. Even before he had fully buried his hard cock within her body, she began to come.
“Fuck!” she gasped as her body began its climactic spasms.
The convulsions were powerful, wrenching, so intense they were nearly painful. A thousand different emotions went through Helen in a heartbeat. She was aware, of course, of the enormity of Jared’s cock and how it brought something more than just a hint of pain with all the pleasure when it filled her. She was distinctly aware of the solid shaft, thick and round as it forced her tender tissue to stretch to accommodate its girth, nearly rubbing against her detonating clit as he pumped into her again and again. She was intensely aware of the solidity of the wooden crate beneath her, its surface harsh against her lust-distended nipples despite the barriers of her chemise and blouse. She was aware of how her right knee was hitting against a sharp object on the crate—she wasn’t certain what the sharp object was, only that it was causing her discomfort—which she bumped against each time Jared’s pelvis collided with her buns and his awesome cock speared into her. She was especially aware of the edge of the crate, where it dug into the flesh of her lower abdomen as she rocked back and forth, her voluptuous body buffeted by the madman-lover who could talk her into doing anything.
And she was aware of Marcus’s presence, so nearby, watching everything. Who would Marcus tell? What would he tell? Marcus had always been a notorious busybody and gossip, and his sexuality was something many women in town gossiped about. This bit of scandalous news would simply be much too lurid for Marcus to keep it to himself. Would anyone in town believe him if he did talk?
These were tantalizing and frightening questions for Helen as she drifted down from the heights of her orgasmic frenzy sufficiently to have at least a modicum of emotional coherence.
As though listening to someone else, Helen could hear her own gasping cries of pleasure that punctuated each of Jared’s thrusts. She could hear Jared’s huffing gasps as he worked furiously behind her, pounding her against the harsh, wooden crate, seemingly trying to drive his cock not simply hilt-deep into her, but right through her.
My nipples and pussy will be sore for a week, Helen thought, the idea not without its pleasurable aspects.
At that moment, Jared brought his palm furiously down on her bare bottom again, his hand striking her ass with such force that a clear imprint of his hand remained afterward. The stinging spank caused Helen to simultaneously cry out in pain—and, not coincidentally, begin yet another orgasm. The contractions weren’t quite as powerful as the earlier ones, but they were jolting just the same.
At somewhere between the third and fourth contraction, Jared released the hold he had on her wrists to keep them behind her back. Helen kept her hands behind her back despite being freed, a small corner of her psyche aroused by the concept of being submissive to ultra-masculine dominance. With her wrists still crossed one over the other, Helen’s hands opened, palms upward, fingers splaying out in unconscious anticipation.
An instant later Jared’s hands were on her naked hips, holding her tightly as he withdrew the powerful shaft completely from Helen’s silken embrace. He did not retreat long. Holding Helen’s hips firmly, Jared leaned into her, his slick shaft pointing upward, trapped between his own abdomen and in the tight valley of her trembling buns.
An animalistic sound of fury, like a cross between a growl of rage and a roar of triumph, was choked out of Jared’s throat, passing through his clenched teeth as he thrust forward and upward, the underside of his shaft, made slippery by Helen’s own nectar, rubbing intimately against her tingling, forbidden entrance as the first jet of semen exploded from his overstimulated testicles.
Though Helen had been with Jared before in a situation not terribly different from the one she was in now, and she knew what it was like to feel his climactic eruption rain down upon her back—he being gentlemanly enough to employ coitus interruptus where so many other so-called gentleman did not—it seemed much different this time, rather particularly lewd inasmuch as she was out in the open with Jared where public discovery was an every-second possibility. And there was the additional lewdness of feeling Jared’s hot sperm landing upon her while Marcus stood just a few feet away, watching every eruption. She felt the first explosion of semen hit her in the hair at the nape of her neck and leave a line down her back. Jared’s cum, warm and thick and slippery, left lines from her shoulders down to her hips. Helen felt it, gooey and heated, hitting her upturned palms. And then, when the deluge had nearly come to an end, Helen felt the final dregs of his sperm being deposited on her buns, hot and slick and quickly cooling as it dribbled down the inside her thighs.
“Oh…Jared, how could you?” Helen asked, though she knew that the answer was self-evident. Jared did because Jared could. What other people felt or thought was seldom of much concern to the man in black clothes with lightning reflexes. The answer was quite simple.
She rose slowly to a standing position, smoothing her skirt over her buns and down her legs, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of wool clinging wetly to semen-splattered thighs and buttocks.
Jared looked at Marcus. The man was ashen-faced, emotionally shaken by what he had witnessed, and clearly uncertain of what the proper opinion should be. Jared wasn’t much concerned with what Marcus did or did not feel.
“I want you to go to your home,” Jared said to Helen as he tucked himself back into his trousers and began buttoning the fly. “I’ll meet you there later on. I’ll find out whatever makes it necessary for you to get engaged to an ass like Gregg Neilson, and then I’ll take care of that problem.”
Helen leaned back against the wooden crate. Her legs were weak. The climaxes had drained her of most of her energy.
“You can’t do that,” she said.
“The hell I can’t.”
“I promised Gregg that I’d let him come to my house tonight.” She looked away, unable to look into Jared’s eyes when she spoke of her fiancé. “If you come, he’ll see you. There’ll be a fight. I know there will. I can’t let that happen.”
In a quiet, uncertain voice, Marcus said, “Helen, you can come to my house. My brother went to the St. Paul stockyards, and he won’t be back for most of a week, at least.”
Jared smiled. “Thanks. I owe you a favor, Marcus.”
Helen was shaking her head. “No, this is not going to happen.”
“I’ve got to change hotel rooms,” Jared continued, refusing to even consider Helen’s attempts to deny him. “Gregg strikes me as a vindictive man, and after I’ve turned him down, he might take it in his head to come after me. So there are some things I’ve got to do now, but I’ll see you later on tonight.”
“Jared, you just don’t understand.”
“Fine. Tonight you can tell me all about it, and then I’ll understand.” He turned to Marcus. “Do you live far from here?”
Marcus’s face was still pale, but he smiled anyway and said, “Not far from here at all. Do you know where Bartleson’s Dry Goods store is? My brother and I have a house right behind it. It’s a nice, white house with yellow shutters on the windows.”
“Thanks.” He turned to Helen, sliding his right hand around her neck. “I’ll see you as soon as I get things settled.”
“But—”
Jared slanted his mouth down over Helen’s, kissing her lightly, his lips brushing from side to side over hers briefly before sealing over them. Helen tried to protest, but when her hands came up
to push Jared away, her fingers instead caressed the solid muscles of his chest through his black, cotton shirt.
Chapter Nine
When Jared got back to his hotel, there was a note waiting for him at the reception desk from Jerome Neilson. It read, Jared, don’t make a final decision on employment hastily. Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m sure an agreement can be reached that will be beneficial to all our interests. Sincerely, Jerome Neilson, President of the First Bank & Trust.
Jared always traveled light, so he was able to pack his belongings in only a few minutes. At the reception desk, he paid for an extra two nights then carried his belongings out the back door of the hotel. If the Neilsons made a cursory investigation, it would appear that Jared was still at the hotel and intended to be there for another couple nights.
He went to the livery and got his horse, saddling up and mentioning to the livery owner that he was headed out of Whitetail Creek. Instead, Jared rode south and then circled around and headed north. He found a livery to his liking, paid for three nights to care for his horse and store his saddle, Winchester rifle, and other belongs, and then found a hotel that was far beneath his standards but was anonymous enough to meet his needs.
If the Neilsons went looking for him, Whitetail Creek would be too small for Jared to remain anonymous. But to be found now in such a low-life hotel would require a concerted effort, and Jared doubted the Neilsons were up for that.
As the sun was setting, Jared had a smile on his lips as he went in search of a small, white house with yellow shutters behind a place called Bartleson’s Dry Goods store.
* * * *
“Would you mind heating some water? I need to clean up,” Helen asked as she sat in one of Marcus’s kitchen chairs, unbuttoning her right boot.
