Rustled
By
Natasha Stories
Copyright 2014 by Natasha Stories
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
Warning: Strong sexual content. Intended for mature audiences over the age of 18.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
I knew I was in the worst trouble of my life when my teeth stopped chattering.
Hours ago, a patch of black ice had tossed the SUV I was driving sideways into a deep gully beside the road. I might have been able to get out despite the car lying half on its right side. But, I remembered reading somewhere that in an emergency it’s better to remain with your vehicle. It’s bigger, rescuers can find you more easily.
That may be true, however a heavy blizzard was raging all around me, making it unlikely that anyone would see my car from the air. I wasn’t sure it was visible from the road. The sides of the gully seemed deep. I kept my head for a while, even after I searched the car in vain for some way to stay warm. Must remember to run the engine—thank god it started—but only for a short time, because of carbon monoxide. Yes, I could smell it creeping into the car when the engine was running. The body of the SUV must have been breached somewhere in the crash.
My thin cotton dress wasn’t much protection from the cold. I had been running the engine until warm air washed over my legs from the heater, flowing up under my long skirt, then shutting it off, waiting until my shivering was so violent I could barely turn the key before I turned it on again. Then, it failed to start. Awkwardly, I pumped the gas pedal, and turned the key again. Nothing. I kept cranking until it didn’t even try, just a click when I tried the starter. Out of gas, probably, and now I had run the battery down.
I squirmed until I could see into the back seat, searching for a forgotten jacket or picnic blanket for the tenth time. Nothing. I was in for hypothermia, possibly frostbite, unless someone found me soon. What a stupid stunt, I thought, out of the frying pan, into the fire. No, fire would be good, circling my thoughts back to a previous idea. Fire would save me. I checked my purse again. Knowing there would be nothing to start a fire there, I checked it anyway. Then the glove box and console, but neither had miraculously produced what I sought since the last time I searched.
Please, God, please let there be a match, or a cigarette lighter, somewhere. The irony was lost on me. No one in the Church smoked. There would be no fire until I got to Hell. Then, maybe I could get warm. What kind of stupid slut runs from an advantageous marriage straight into a blizzard, Father’s voice raged in my mind. You’re going to die.
Better than being the fourth sister wife of a disgusting old man, I answered, though I knew Father wasn’t there. I might have even believed it. When the shivering stopped, and my teeth stopped chattering, I knew with some tiny, still-functioning part of my brain that my body was shutting down. Unconsciousness would follow, and then death.
I felt no fear, only lethargy and a mild regret that I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to my parents, even though I was mad at my father at the moment. It actually wasn’t a bad way to go. Comfortable, almost, once you couldn’t feel the cold any more. I did feel a little warmer, didn’t I?
§
My fingers and toes were the first to wake, tingling, itching, burning like I had never felt before. I was in agony! Eventually, my condition reached my brain, about the same time as my olfactory sense woke up. I could smell wood smoke, and my hands and feet were on fire. These two thoughts combined in my semi-conscious state to mean I was in a fire. My eyes flew open as I screamed, but oddly, I didn’t hear it.
What I saw when my vision cleared made no sense at all. A pitched ceiling of pine logs, criss-crossed below with rafters that had various objects hung on them in groups. Directly above me, what looked like an oil lantern, swaying dangerously. That couldn’t be safe, the random thought crossed my mind. Somehow I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, and I struggled to make sense of my surroundings.
A curious combination of utter confusion and placid acceptance accompanied my wandering eyes. Over in that corner, a collection of iron pots and pans hung from long hooks that in turn hung from the rafters. In another corner, what looked like skis and snowshoes were thrust through the rafters. Only after examining every object I could see in the rafters did I think to lower my eyes to the room where I lay, in a bed that took most of the floor space.
In the corner below the pots and pans was a wood-burning cook stove, with a kettle steaming on it, though it made no sound. Shelves dotted the walls on both sides of the stove, which was placed kitty-corner, with a barrel of something behind it, tucked further into the corner. On the shelves on one side were dishes and a few mugs. On the other, jars and tins of staple foodstuffs apparently. One said FLOUR. The more objects I cataloged, the more my mind seemed to clear, until a burning question emerged: Where was I? Next came: And how did I get here?
As my eyes traveled further around the room, they froze upon encountering another person. A man. Clearly a man. Dressed in nothing but the skin he was born in, he was turning to feed a split piece of wood into the stove. I must have gasped. He turned.
“Good, you’re awake. Just a minute and I’ll get back in bed with you. Had to stoke the stove.”
My mind still wasn’t working properly. I heard, “back in bed with you” and my body stiffened as my mind stumbled over the idea. Wait, he had been in bed with me? What the fuck? Automatically chastising myself for the crudity, I tried moving my arms, tried to feel whether I was clothed. Holy shit! I was naked too. Instant rage filled me. This asshole had taken advantage of me while I was unconscious! As soon as my hands stopped burning, I was going to kill the motherfucker.
Chapter 2
I hadn’t found my voice yet when the stranger calmly walked over to the bed as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and climbed in beside me. Rigid with shock and fear, I steeled myself for whatever was going to happen.
“Turn over on your left side.” Apparently unaware that I was struggling to protest, he rolled my body over and snuggled up against me, his dick in the crack of my ass, where it immediately proceeded to grow hard. Finally, my spluttering got the man’s attention.
“Don’t sweat it, natural reaction. It’ll go down in a minute, your ass is as cold as ice.” His voice was deep, the kind that might have made me swoon with instant desire, but there was a hint of amused irritation in it.
Now I was more confused than ever, and still unable to form a sentence, even in my mind. I lay there, stiff, terrified, infuriated and baffled, until I was able to utter a thought.
“G-g-g-et OFF!”
And then, he laughed! I didn’t know whether I couldn’t speak because I was still so cold, or because of my fury. If I had been capable of moving at will, I would have turned and pummeled him with my fists, but it dawned on me that he had me pinned with a big arm wrapped around my waist and holding my wrist, pressing my arm into my chest. My naked chest.
“L-l-let me g-go. I’m g-gon-na k-kill y-you.” I managed.
> He chuckled. “Now, Kitten, that would be foolish of me, if you’re gonna kill me. Tell you what. You let me warm you up as best I can until you’re out of danger. Then we’ll talk about killin’”
Kitten?
I fought my lethargy for a few minutes, wanting to resist, but didn’t have the energy to sustain the panic that having a naked stranger in bed with me brought. If he was going to ravish me, he wouldn’t get much satisfaction out of fucking a dishrag, I told myself as sleep overtook me in spite of fighting desperately to stay awake.
I don’t know how long I slept, but everything was the same when I woke up. I was lying in a bed, in a cabin, in a blizzard, naked. With a naked stranger wrapped around me and his erection snuggled between my ass cheeks. It was the most infuriating, incomprehensible, ridiculous situation I had ever been in, and that included being chastised by the Prophet with my long skirt flopped over my head and his hand smacking my bare bottom.
What had I gotten myself into now? One thing was certain, I was stiff and uncomfortable, and I needed to move. I ventured a shift, rolling over further onto my tummy, which at least took the man’s dick out of my butt-crack. And woke him up.
“Feelin’ better, Kitten?” His deep voice was gravelly with sleep, but the nickname brought out the bitch in me. I could never keep my mouth shut, in spite of the Prophet trying so hard to eradicate my defiance with his discipline.
“What the fuck is this Kitten business? Who are you, what are you doing, and why am I naked?” Well, my powers of speech had returned, anyway. My captor observed the same thing.
“Whoa, Kitten! Is that any way to talk to the guy who saved your life?”
“And then took advantage of me.”
“No one took advantage of you.” His voice no longer held amusement. Now he sounded mad.
“Oh, yeah? Then why am I naked and you’re naked and wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. Get off.” My shrill tirade sounded weak, even to me.
“Fine.” He rolled away from me and got up, still feeling no need to put on trousers it seemed.
“Where am I?” He ignored me. Maybe I shouldn’t have accused him of assault. I didn’t feel like I’d had sex. I mean, I didn’t think I felt that way. I hadn’t had sex all that much, and it was a while ago, but I thought I’d be able to feel it if he had...you know. I started to throw the quilt back to get out of bed, only to hear him snarl from his stance near the stove.
“Get back under that blanket. You still haven’t warmed up to a proper temperature.”
“I need to pee. And if I’m not warm enough, why did you take my clothes?”
“Wrap the blanket around you. Bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to a narrow door in the corner I hadn’t seen yet. Apparently I wasn’t going to get an answer to my question about my clothes. I was wobbly, but determined to make the few steps on my own. Then I tripped over the corner of the quilt. Instantly, he was at my side, preventing me from falling.
“Do you need some help in there?” Amusement tinged his voice again, giving me the distinctly odd and conflicting feelings of a sudden warmth in my groin and rage in my heart.
“Not only no, but fuck no!” His mocking chuckle followed me into the tiny bathroom, where I found the toilet seat was cold as ice. My business done, I crept back to the bed, utterly exhausted. This freezing to death must really take some energy out of you, because I was completely drained. Before I could decide whether to keep questioning him or give up, sleep took me again.
§
The next time I woke, I was no longer alone in the bed, but at least he wasn’t in my personal space with his personal junk. He was snoring slightly and I found it strangely endearing. What the hell was wrong with me? Then I wondered if I had died after all, and this was all some sort of weird after-death dream.
Absently, I examined his face. My rescuer, or captor, whatever I wanted to call it, appeared to be somewhere around thirty. His dark hair grew below his ears and curled at the ends; brown, I thought, but coppery in the light of the oil lamp. His tanned, square-jawed, unlined face didn’t seem so forbidding in sleep, his eyes below the closed lids rolling around constantly. He must be dreaming.
The soft snores ceased, and I waited, holding my breath, for him to wake up. After a minute, I cautiously touched his chest. Was he breathing? His hand lashed out and caught me by the wrist, making me cry out.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was firm, but not threatening.
“Okay! Jeez, I was just making sure you were alive.”
“What made you think I might not be?”
“You stopped snoring.”
He snorted then, a mixture of derision and amusement. Were we going to get along better now? Maybe he would talk to me if I asked my questions nicely.
“Mister? What’s your name? Or, if you don’t want to tell me, what should I call you?”
One eye opened lazily. Oh, they were blue! God, were they ever blue. Blue as Bear Lake, up on the border of Utah and Idaho. I think they called it cobalt blue. Blue enough to fall into and drown. His voice rescued me from my thoughts.
“You can call me Russ.”
“Like, Russell?” I pried.
“Like, Rustler. Like cattle rustler, you know?” No inflection, no amusement. Was he serious?
“Oh.” I didn’t even know there were still cattle rustlers. Was this man a criminal? I had been in this cabin, alone with him, for hours. Naked, I reminded myself. And the only liberties he had taken were apparently designed to keep me from dying from hypothermia. I decided to trust him, for now, but not let my guard down.
“Okay, Russ,” I said. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we in a city, you know, with an ER and doctors? Why did you bring me here?” Weak as I still knew I was, I needed to know my situation. And even though I had decided he probably wasn’t a danger to me, Russ still made me deeply uneasy. Maybe because he was a desperado.
It took a long time for him to answer, as I suppressed my need to pepper him with more questions, like, ‘where are my clothes?’ And ‘is there anything to eat?’ I had warmed up to the point of shivering again now, and I was intensely uncomfortable, aching and shaking, while trying to maintain my nonchalant manner. Russ opened both eyes and took in my appearance.
“Come here, you’re getting cold again.” No, wait, wasn’t I warmer than before? He opened his arms to me, and though I was still not sure of this situation, I obediently scooted into him, where he curled around me again. His warmth soaked into me almost immediately. Oh, that was nice! But something was coming between us, that damned erection again.
“Seriously, does that thing stand up all the time?”
His low chuckle warmed me in a strange way, starting low in my abdomen and spreading. “Only when it feels naked flesh. I can’t help it, I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you, but this is the best way to bring your temperature up to normal, by sharing my warmth with you, skin-to-skin.”
Reassured, though for all I knew he was a lying, devious, low-down cattle rustler, I relaxed. What was it I was going to ask him? Oh, yeah, where were my clothes? Just then, my stomach growled. It wasn’t just a little lady-like ‘grr’, either. It was a full-on, worthy-of-a-trucker, roar! Russ busted up laughing and I couldn’t help but join in, even when he squeezed me tighter to him and Mr. Automatic twitched against my leg.
“Hungry?” Russ asked with one eyebrow cocked sardonically. Did that have a double meaning?
When he got up, I was treated to the sight of Russ’s manhood jutting straight out from his loins as he walked over to a rack I hadn’t noticed, by the stove. It was a fine sight, I had to admit, despite my apprehension about this whole thing. Russ took a pair of underpants from the rack and felt them with his hands. Apparently satisfied that they wouldn’t freeze his dick off if he put them on, he proceeded to do just that, much to my admittedly contradictory disappointment.
I mean, come on, I was a red-blooded twenty-year-old, and a wanton woman according to the Church. Not only because of my
defiance and foul language, but because one of the elders had caught me with Johnny Nielsen, one of the Prophet’s brood, in a pile of hay a few weeks ago. We didn’t even get to do it, because one of his little brothers ratted us out and we were caught before we could.
But, tearing my thoughts away from the past to pay close attention to the present, I now saw that he was also pulling on trousers and what looked like a thermal undershirt. Too bad I hadn’t been wearing one of those. But who thinks of a blizzard in early October? Especially when Bethel City’s average daily temperature was still up around eighty degrees. I forgot how far north I had come.
Russ was checking my clothes on the rack, now. He brought me my panties and bra. How mortifying, that they were plain white cotton, completely unadorned, as befitted a sister of the Church. Especially since I had never chosen that role.
“I think these are warmer than you are, now,” Russ said. “Check them out, will you?”
I stretched my arm out from under the quilt to take the tacky items, and pulled them in against my belly. Yes, marginally, but they were warm against my skin instead of cool. I nodded.
“Okay, put them on. I’ll get the rest.”
I hurried as fast as I could, and felt a little less vulnerable when he turned around again, holding my long, plain cotton dress. “What the hell kind of getup is this, to be wearing in a blizzard?”
“Long story,” I ventured, not really wanting to get into it.
“We’ve got time,” he said. “Last I heard, this storm’s gonna blow for about five days. We’re not going anywhere until it stops. You can tell me over some of this canned stew.” Bringing me a bowl of the foul-smelling stuff, which normally I wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot spoon, he helped me sit up in the bed, wrapped the blanket around my now fully-dressed body, and settled in beside me, looking at me expectantly.
Chapter 3
“Have you ever heard of the Reformed Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints?” I started.
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