The Novel Page

My first love was afflicted with a most peculiar malady, something very private that she tried to share with me. As a mere boy I could not understand and at the time there was not a definition for her condition. She disappeared nearly forty years ago, to this day I know not where. As years passed I came to learn about a condition identified as PGAD or PSAS, persistent genital arousal disorder or persistent sexual arousal syndrome.  Learning of this phenomenon and then learning more about it I realized that this was the curse that had plagued her.  To some it might be easy to think of this as more of a blessing, as surely a teenage boy would. With age and whatever wisdom I’ve accumulated since comes a fuller understanding. A compassion. Trying to imagine how this would impact a woman’s life, her attitudes, her relationships, her self image.

The Burghal Hidage is my blog, yes, but is also the title of a novel well in the works. It tells Joni’s story, as it might have happened had she not vanished. Perhaps it tells her story as I wish it would have happened. The tale is so much more than this, but Joni’s story woven through it is a vital part. This  is the back story for her character. If you care to discover more please contact me via the blog. If you should find from this that your curiosity is sufficiently piqued then you may register through the blog to learn how to obtain the novel when completed ( anticipated early 2018 )

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JONI’S BURDEN

 

It had been with her since a young age, since just before puberty.  Her earliest recollection was of a time in the fifth grade, early in the school year.  At this tender age she did not understand the sensation. That first time she felt what she thought was an urgency to pee. She had rushed into the restroom before morning recess, certain that if she didn’t make it in time she would wet herself and suffer all of the indignation that would entail.  Finding an open stall she rushed her panties down and landed hard upon the seat just as the warm stream began to escape her. The urine splashed into the bowl in a strong torrent. She was afraid that others must hear.  Although this brought some relief she could still feel the pressure within, causing her to strain in an effort to expel it all. Gradually the stream diminished to a trickle and then nothing. The sensation, though, had not abated. She produced nothing further yet still felt the swell of a full bladder. She remained seated, trying to relax those abdominal and groin muscles that pushed. The intensity subsided yet the sense of pressure remained. She strained a couple more times, yielding nothing and decided then that despite the remaining pressure she was done.

She wiped and discovered a shudder sent through her at the touch, something she had never experienced before. She had the dawning suspicion, vaguely as a child will have them, that something must be wrong. Eager to enjoy recess with her friends she tried to put it out of her mind and move on. She was done, it was time to go play.

Outside into the warm, late September sun a mild discomfort remained but not so bad as to prevent her from trotting off to the dusty playground. She found her little circle of friends gathered about the see-saw, awaiting a fourth so that they might ride two pairs in tandem.  As she joined them and began to take her place on one end she felt momentary panic that as she raised her leg to straddle the seat urine would escape. She landed hard upon the wooden seat and clenched her thighs to hold back the flow. To her surprise there was nothing. Just the dull ache of pressure, a constant urge that a flood was just on the brink. As the lever rose and fell she experienced a wax and wane as her legs swung in the air, each impact with the ground jolting her through the seat and causing a mild shudder near to what she had experienced in the restroom. These were not unpleasant sensations, but distracting her attention as she found herself unable to put them out of mind. Sometimes intense, sometimes less so, but they would not go away.

Back inside and through the rest of the school day she found it difficult to remain in her seat without squirming.  Twice in the afternoon she found that she could bear it no longer and had to ask Mrs. Davis for a restroom pass. The first time produced a mere trickle; the second time nothing. She spent several minutes trying to pass even the most minute amount of urine but there was nothing. She didn’t understand what was happening but became resigned to the fact that it just wasn’t going to go away. Returning to the classroom Mrs. Davis greeted her with a look of concern.  At the first opportune time the teacher discreetly inquired if she was feeling alright.  She answered that she was okay, not wanting to or even knowing how she might explain what was troubling her.

Later, at home after school, she dropped her books and rushed to the bathroom again. She spent quite a while seated on the toilet, once again concerned to find that she could only produce a few drops. She tried to relax and let it wash over her and subside to a lesser degree. She had always been warned to make certain that she had clean hands and to always wipe front to back. A girl needed to be careful not to get “dirty” things down there. She was still prepubescent, the mons pubis still bare and puffy with latent baby fat. With her panties still removed she went to the sink and thoroughly scrubbed her hands with soap and water and then sat upon the edge of the bathtub with her legs parted. She gingerly pulled at the fleshy mounds and with her fingertips explored her labia, pulling herself open to expose the opening of her urethra, probing gently and down to her hymen, also checking her vaginal opening. She wasn’t sure what to look for really, but everything seemed to feel as it should. As she continued her careful exploration she found something that gave her a bit of an alarm. As her fingertips traced the creases and folds of her labia she arrived at the little nub shrouded in the hood of flesh at the crown. She was aware of the spot, had sometimes noted a peculiar sensation when pressed against something and rubbing against the pubic bone. It seemed very swollen, larger than normal and peeking out from behind the hood of flesh that normally kept it enclosed. She found that it was extremely sensitive to the touch, the lightest brush against it again sending those shudders through her. As she delicately probed around it she became aware that the pressure she was feeling was not from her bladder at all. It was here, at this spot. She grew afraid at what this might mean. She had always been very careful to observe the proper hygiene . She could not imagine the cause, but she knew something was not right. She had some understanding of menstruation, knew that her big sis had already begun her monthly cycle. She would tell her mother, but decided first to confide in her sister. Perhaps this was the beginning of her own cycle.

Big sis was fourteen. She had begun to develop a healthy set of breasts, the tuft of pubic hair, the early stages of womanhood. With this naturally had come her growing interest in boys and the discovery of what the opposite sex had to offer.  When her younger sister came to her to confide her problem she was puzzled. Little sis had concluded that what she was experiencing was connected to the onset of menses and was asking if she had undergone the same. Was it normal? Would it go away? It didn’t sound the same to her. What she was describing were not cramps. When told of the swollen tissue that she had discovered she understood that little sis had discovered her clitoris and what it did. It seemed strange to her but considered that it could perhaps be a symptom related to the start of the cycle.  She asked had she seen any hairs down there or found any blood on the tissue when wiping. A hint of fear showed in her younger sister’s eyes as she assured her that no, there was none of that. Not the answer she was expecting, but still that didn’t rule out the menstrual explanation. Big sis was almost ready to tell her that she should share this with their mother then thought of something else. It was unlikely, but should be asked before getting mother involved.

“Joni is there a boy you like? I mean like as a boyfriend? You know, like….some boy that likes you, tried to kiss you or something?”

Joni had formed her ideas of which boys she found cute, or which pop idols were dreamy, but beyond this it had not entered her thoughts. She had not begun to develop any conscious form of sexuality. The question began to frighten her further and she very guardedly replied no. Her sister decided that she certainly needed to talk with their mother, but there was a part of this that she was obliged to explain for her first. She began with reassurance, sensing that the question had made her uneasy.

“Oh baby girl, you’re alright. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong and there probably ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya! That little place you’re talkin’ about, the one thats all swelled up, thats called your clitoris.  When a girl starts to likin’ boys, you know, liking, like boyfriend-girlfriend likin’, okay? When it’s gettin’ time in your life that you start growin’ into a woman your body starts gettin’ ready for havin’ sex, makin’ babies. You know about that, right?”

Joni nodded, having been at least alerted to the basic mechanics of reproduction.

“Okay. Well, when ya start gettin’ to that point you might see a certain boy that you really like and you start havin’ different feelin’s about ’em. When ya start to have your monthly cycle your body’s tellin’ ya that it’s gettin’ ready for making babies. So when that happens you start to get what they call horny. And thats what your clitoris does, sweetie. When ya start gettin’ them feelin’s it just gets all puffed up and then you’ll start to feel all wet down there. Not like pee, its different, but it’s perfectly normal. Its whats supposed to happen. So your okay, alright? Maybe your just startin’ it a little early, thats all.  You talk to mom about it and she’ll know what to do.”

Joni could grasp what she was being told, but now she was more afraid to talk to their mother about it. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t thinking about boys like that. It had just started happening with no warning, without thinking about boys or anything else.

“So will it go away? Am I gonna feel like this all the time after I start the periods?”

“No, silly! It comes and goes.” She considered for a moment that she might try to explain masturbation as a source of relief, but decided against that. If these feelings were awakening in her little sister she would discover that soon enough on her own.

 


  

Time passed and Joni found that despite what her older sister had told her the swelling sensation between her legs did not come and go. By varying degrees it remained constant, the only true respite coming with sleep though even that would be disturbed at times. Her sister’s explanation of the sensation and her mother’s apparent failure to grasp what she had tried to describe left her with a set of ambiguous thoughts and emotions. She made peace with her condition inasmuch as that was possible. It was not truly a peace as much as an adjustment or accommodation to it.  It was impossible to remove it entirely from consciousness. In idle moments she was left to wrestle with what it meant. Feelings of shame, a profound sense that she was not “normal”.  At times she felt that this meant that she was a bad girl, somehow inherently wrong. Perhaps a curse for her impure thoughts, though she wasn’t even certain what those were or if, indeed, she’d had any.

Remembering what her sister had told her she found herself looking at the boys more. Studying them and trying to match her impressions of them to what she had been told. This only left her more confused, not finding any conscious connection between what she saw in any boys and what was happening down below. It didn’t seem to make any difference. Her observations and impressions of her male classmates remained pretty much as they had before: boys were loud, silly, dirty, vile creatures. They weren’t all bad all of the time. There were some that actually seemed nice at times, if they were separated from the “pack”. They were just….different. They were boys, no different than her older brother. You had to be careful what you said or how you acted around boys. You could not say things or talk about things with them that you could with other girls.

Her condition became her secret companion, always present but unseen and unknown to others. She could not introduce or explain it to any of her other friends. There was no one she could talk to about it and so she had to put it out of mind as much as she was able. She learned that she had to avoid certain positions. Vibrations and sudden jolts were also to be avoided. She even had to adjust the gait of her walk to minimize further stimulation. All of these little things she developed over time as a means of coping with it. After a number of months it remained an annoying presence, but less so than initially. She had developed ways to make it a mostly minor inconvenience, something manageable.

In mid-winter their phys-ed class was restricted to the gymnasium. Among the various activities for the class at that time of year was the rope climb.  A very thick, natural fiber rope smelling of old, wet burlap was suspended from one of the ceiling girders for the purpose.  Their gym teacher, Mr. Jacobs, demonstrated how this was done and then formed two lines of students, boys in one and girls in the other. Students were then invited alternately from either line to perform the climb themselves. Joni was about midway back in the girls’ line and watched as students went up and down the rope. Some slid up and back down with the ease of a snake slithering through the grass. Others struggled and could succeed in ascending no more than half of the rope. She observed the motions required to make the climb and as the the line moved closer and closer to her turn she grew worried at how she would be able to tolerate the combined hiking of the hips upward and straddling the heavy rope. Though the thought of it made her increasingly nervous she was resolved to make a go of it. Begging off of the task would only invite undue attention.

When it finally came to her turn she gulped to swallow her fears and timidly approached the dangling rope. Mr. Jacobs sensed her unease and helped her find her grip on the rope and then place her feet atop the heavily balled knot at the end so that she was left with her weight swinging from the rope. She took a final deep breath to steel herself and made the first lunge up the rope, working her arms hand over hand to aid in the lift. A gasp escaped her as the pressure against the rope rubbed hard against her pubic mound. This combined with the stretching and straining of her hip and groin muscles sent intense shudders, like electric shock through her body. She paused to take a deep breath and await the intense sensation diminish. As she began to feel the strain upon her arm muscles she lunged again, drawing herself higher. Again the jolt came, more intensely this time. She felt spasms in her vagina for the first time, a quiver in her abdomen, a shudder shot through her entire body, sending a shocking tingling sensation to her nipples. It took her breath and left her legs weak and shaking, transferring most of her weight to her arms. She lost her grip and slipped back down the rope from a height of about five feet and then crashed to the floor as her legs gave way beneath her on impact. She felt the rush of blood to her cheeks in embarrassment, though no one laughed. Mr. Jacobs rushed to her aid and helped her up from the floor.

“Hey hey! You okay there, kiddo? Atta girl! That was a good try. You’ll get it!” She still seemed unsteady, a little dazed. With greater concern he asked her again. ” Hey, ya’ll okay Joni?”

She steadied her legs enough to stand on her own and blinked away the shock of what had just happened. Still catching her breath she managed an answer. “Yeah, I’m okay. I guess I just got a little dizzy, is all.” She then tread gingerly to the back of the line, cautiously searching the eyes of her classmates to see if there were any who had detected what just happened to her. She found that their eyes betrayed nothing, but doubt still lingered as she resumed her place in line. Joni was unaware of it at the time, but she had just experienced her first orgasm. She was eleven years and five months old.

In the summer between the fifth and sixth grades began the process of her sexual maturation. Her soft, smooth pubic mound began to form the first downy strands of hair and the week of the Independence Day holiday she started her first period.  She wondered and worried: would this make her get worse? Or maybe it would go away now? As she was introduced to the use of tampons she was discouraged to learn that the insertion and presence of this foreign object into her vagina only exacerbated the problem. When her flow had ended she was relieved to no longer need the protection, but found that in the week following the swelling, throbbing ache grew more intense. She began to experience the wetness that her sister had warned of, causing her several times to check that the bleeding had not resumed. Amid the other hormonal changes occurring in her she felt at war with her own body. As the summer progressed she grew depressed and moody. This was noticed, but attributed to the start of her cycle. Her spirit was plagued with the doubt that she could ever be normal. By the start of the sixth grade she had turned twelve and was on some days seriously contemplating suicide.

After a full year of living with this affliction Joni had undergone many changes. The transition through the “tween” years are difficult in any child’s life, let alone one burdened with such a peculiar condition. Her girlish body had blossomed in that time, enough so that boys who had scarcely acknowledged her the previous year were now caught often leering at her budding form. She was so self conscious of her difference and recalling her sister’s talk  she grew uneasy with the attention. There was a part of her that liked it, but she tried to deny it, fearing any circumstance that might require her to further confront or expose her condition.

Joni’s psychological state continued to deteriorate, becoming more noticeable at home at first, and later at school as well. Her academic performance, which had previously been in the top of her class, had begun to slip precipitously. She had grown inattentive in the classroom, did not complete assignments or neglected them altogether and exhibited an increasingly listless manner, even withdrawing from friends.  At the close of the first grading period her marks had fallen to a low C average and in the following period they continued their slide. In early November several of her teachers had contacted the home to request a parent conference.

Joni’s mother responded to this, as was customary. Her father, a brutish and surly character, concerned himself with his work and his only other contribution to child rearing was to mete out discipline when he felt like it, warranted or not. The family functioned, or rather did not function, around a shared fear of the father.  By this stage in the marriage her mother had reached a quite fragile state in her own right. Though she was aware of the changes in her younger daughter and the difficulties she was having in school she had been ineffective in any way to address the problems.  In conference she shared that the family had also observed marked changes in her behavior and overall manner. She heard the concerns expressed by the teachers yet her responses seemed more centered around her own feelings of helplessness and exasperation over the situation. Mrs. Hayden, the language arts teacher, was attuned to the dynamic at work here. She recalled having taught the older sister, Deborah, a few years previously. She decided that she would take a step out of order here and without a consult with the school’s principal ask Mrs. Underwood if she would object to a referral to the school psychologist.  There was a long silence in which Joni’s mother just seemed to stare vacantly into space.

Mrs. Hayden exchanged looks with her colleagues and then prompted her again. “Mrs. Underwood?”

Without meeting the teacher’s eyes she responded, still staring blankly, “Yes. That would be fine.”

The teachers again exchanged looks between themselves, a little disturbed by the woman’s emotionless delivery and flat aspect. A couple of them wondered if perhaps she had been drinking. To their further surprise Mrs. Underwood initiated an unceremonious end to the conference, suddenly rising, collecting her purse. “Have your psychologist call me after he sees her.” And that was it. No thank you, no goodbye, no “what can we do to help”. She just turned and left.

At the start of the following week Mrs. Hayden asked Joni to remain and meet with her alone after class. Joni’s response was dull, an acknowledgement but otherwise no visible reaction. After all of the other students had exited the class Mrs. Hayden invited Joni to come up and sit with her at the desk. She went to pull the door shut and then returned to her seat to find Joni in a chair before the desk, half slumped in her seat. The body language spoke of someone who had surrendered hope.

” Joni, you know we had a conference with your mother on Friday? Myself, Mr. Stein and Miss Hutchinson?”

“Yeah.”

“You understand why we asked for the conference?”

“Yeah. My grades.”

“Well, yes Joni, but frankly we’re a little concerned about more than that. Did your mother tell you about our meeting?”

“No.”

A disheartening, if not unexpected answer. This would be like pulling teeth.

“Joni we are also concerned about your overall demeanor. You seem sad, disinterested. You don’t participate in class and your work says that you just don’t care anymore. You have three missing assignments over the last two weeks in my class alone, putting you at a D for this grading period thus far. And Mr. Stein says that you are currently failing math.” She paused there to let this news sink in and gauge any reaction. There was nothing.

“Joni we know you are a very bright girl. I know this is a change from elementary school, but a student does not go from a low A-high B average to failing in just one semester. I’ve spoken with your teacher from last year, Mrs. Davis, and she tells me that you should already know most of the material we have covered so far this year. We don’t think of it as any lack of ability. I feel that there must be some other things that are troubling you. You’re not in trouble, dear. You don’t cause problems, we are just concerned about you. We want to help.”

Joni looked at her teacher, met her eyes, but remained silent and sullen in her seat. She seemed utterly unconcerned by any of it. After several moments of an awkward silence Joni finally spoke. ” Okay. So what’re ya’ll gonna do? Send me to reform school?”

Mrs. Hayden was taken aback, afraid she had not made clear the purpose of their talk. “Oh good heavens no, Joni! No, we want to have you meet with the school psychologist to see if he can help you sort out any problems you may be having. You know Mr. Spelling, don’t you? ”

” No. So you think I’m crazy?”

“Oh, Joni! No, seeing the psychologist does not mean that you are crazy. Sometimes a person just needs to talk about problems they might be having. It can help you find ways of dealing with it.”

Joni’s face softened a little. ” I think maybe I am crazy.” It was stated flatly. Mrs. Hayden was a little surprised at the reply.

” Well, I don’t think you are crazy, Joni, but see? Maybe that’s something Mr. Spelling can help you with. He’d want to learn why you might think that and help you to understand why you feel that way.”

Joni’s face did not tell if she liked the idea or not, but it was evident that she was thinking this over. ” Yeah, okay. So when do I see him? ”

“Well Joni he can come and visit with you at lunch time today. He said he could bring what you’d like for lunch and the two of you could meet in the office. Shall I tell him to make it a date?”

“Okay. Tell ‘im I like Burger King.”

Mrs. Hayden smiled, relieved that Joni had agreed to the day’s date with so little warning. “I will do that, Joni. I’m glad you are going to see him. I really think it will help you.”

“Okay. So I just go to the office at lunch then?”

“Sure. I’ll come fetch you and walk you down to meet him, alright?”

“Okay. Can I go now?”


 

Joni’s meeting with Mr. Spelling was the first of several with various psychologists and psychiatrists over the next four years. During that time she continued to struggle with school, barely maintaining passing marks. It seemed to everyone that knew her that she had undergone a complete change in personality. She still did not exhibit any disruptive behavior, but it was agreed that she was performing well below her capabilities.

To compound matters her life at home grew more complicated. Her parents’ marriage continued to deteriorate, culminating in a separation  midway through her seventh grade and a subsequent divorce that was finalized as she started high school. The one source of stability in the home, her older sister, was removed when once completing high school and reaching the legal age she wasted no time in getting out of the toxic environment. Her brother, DJ who she was not particularly close to, had left some time before to stay with their father.

Amid all of this turmoil she had her own private ailment to still follow her through life. She had developed a rather comely shape and alluring good looks that created circumstances sometimes perilous. At fifteen she had developed the fully rounded curves of a grown woman, deep olive skin with a flawless complexion and jet black hair, long and silky. Her eyes, though brown, appeared coal black set against her dark skin and sable hair. She had an exotic look about her and carried herself in a manner suggesting that she was much older and more mature than any other girls. A strange gait she had developed for the purpose of reducing stimulus had the unintended consequence that it translated to a seductive stroll that accented her broad hips.

She had come to accept and embrace her body and her condition. As she matured rapidly she matched the conscious thoughts and desires of an awakening sexuality  to the already roaring physical manifestations in her pants.  The one thing she struggled with were the times when the arousal was present when undesired.  It had tempered itself to some degree.  She might enjoy some hours of respite in a given day, but then it might return unbidden at a moment when sex was the furthest thing from her mind. She could be sitting in a history class where the teacher was an overweight, balding and utterly repulsive man, when suddenly the familiar throb would return with a wetness that made her feel that she would slide from her seat.  It was times like this when she would feel a self loathing for experiencing the feelings not matching her mental impression or the experience at hand. There were other times, though, where it was blissful. She could sit in the gymnasium and watch the wrestling team practice and holding her thighs at a certain position and pressure she could fantasize feeling those hard, sweaty muscles pressed against her flesh and bring herself to orgasm multiple times.

Living alone with her mother she found it easy to live her life as she pleased. Regularly drunk and drugged her mother was incoherent and unconcerned with her daughter’s whereabouts. She came and went as she pleased at all hours. Joni had discovered that she could attract the attention of any man that caught her eye. She knew she could get them to do whatever she wanted, as a rule. There were boys at school that she found appealing, but found that there was better hunting out in the real world. She developed a taste for men, not boys. All kinds of men. Bikers, landscapers, construction workers, frat boys. She could have her pick and none of them ever suspected that she was under age. They bought her drugs, alcohol, clothing, jewelry, took her to clubs.  Once she snared a married man in his mid thirties, an ex jock who was still very hunky, and was taken away for a long weekend on his boat. There was never any problem finding a man who didn’t want what she had to offer and she was pleased to take anything they could give her. She loved all of it, the feel, the smell, the taste of a man. She could derive as much pleasure from swallowing a torrent of warm semen as from deep vaginal intercourse. She genuinely liked sex. Loved sex. All of it, any of it. There was in one corner of her mind a certain resignation. She had decided that since nature had made her to be a whore then she would embrace it and be a whore. Yet through all of this she maintained the facade at school that she was the same quiet, sullen girl they all knew from middle school. By the end of her sophomore year she had experienced more sexual encounters than many women may have in a lifetime. She knew it too and she pitied those sad bitches for what they were missing.

Then came the event that brought it all crashing to a halt. A short time after the summer break between sophomore and junior year began her mother roused her roughly from her bed one morning and told her to pack a bag. She informed her that she would be moving in with her new boyfriend up in Columbus and she would be going to live with her father in Winchester. She could not believe what she was hearing, thinking that she must yet be asleep and dreaming all this. As she blinked her eyes awake she peered out of her bedroom window to see that there was indeed a moving van backed up to the garage.

Her father. That bitch had said she was going to live with her father!? Oh no, that was not going to happen. She fixed her mother with a savage scowl and marched to the phone in the kitchen. She started calling some of her regular man friends, confident she could find some other place to bail. With her mother haranguing her in the background she went through a succession of calls. Some were no answer, others she got through. In each case, though, she made a disheartening discovery that she was not prepared for. There were plenty of men out there who were only too happy to fuck her. There were none of them who wanted to take care of her.

Everything was spiralling out of her grasp. She was condemned. She knew what awaited her in Winchester, but she was trapped. There was nothing she could do. At least for now. What she did not know was that this event was destined to change her life forever. For the better. Our fates take the strangest turns when we least expect it.

 

The farmhouse was old. Her first impression was that the house smelled the same as the accompanying barn, reeking of damp, hay and other rustic odors. Winchester was a far cry from suburban Louisville. In fact the home wasn’t even in the town of Winchester at all, rather on the rural outskirts. It was summer, everything was green, but it was a landscape, when compared against her experience, that was still desolate. The closest neighbor was a decrepit looking trailer across the road, backed by fields that rolled away to the next property up the road. She thought it was the kind of place where she could stand on the front lawn and scream at the top of her lungs all day and no one would hear.

On the ride with her mother they had not exchanged a single word. The tension and hostility within that small space hung heavily, nearly tangible. Joni kept her face pressed as near the passenger window as she could, watching the scenery roll past. From Georgetown south the landscape melted from the rough, rocky ridges along I-75 into a more pastoral, bucolic scene. Gently rolling green hills demarcated by miles and miles of white fencing, grand estates lying at the end of long, poplar-lined lanes cutting through the lawns, far distant from the roads they were on. Great redbrick homes with stately columns or sprawling ranch homes built in rough quarried stone. A few were more contemporary: monuments built in cedar with towering, arched roof lines and fronted by walls of glass. And everywhere there were horses.  This was the famed land of the bluegrass, the horse country. It was a pleasant view to distract her troubled mind for a time. Joni had always loved horses, had always dreamed of having one. She was under no illusions, assured that nothing like that awaited her.

The space between exit signs grew shorter as they entered the merge with I-64 and brushed past the east side of Lexington. Watching out her window Joni viewed signs now of something resembling civilization. She knew something of Lexington though not truly familiar with it. As the interstate veered eastward all of that faded into the rear view. They crossed over the county line from Fayette to Clark County, for which Winchester was the seat of county government. In only a few minutes more they approached exit 94 marked for Winchester, Highway 1958. Joni dreaded the arrival which she knew was only minutes away now, but was eager to get out of the car and away from her mother. She couldn’t make up her mind which one of her parents she hated more.

After the exit there was a short ride through a small portion of the town. Joni was sickened as she viewed what looked like a scene from the Andy Griffith Show. My God! It’s fucking Mayberry RFD! There were only a few blocks of this before they turned to the right and the road seemed to land right back into the countryside. Pointed west she could see I-64 in the distance, running parallel to the road they were on. There was little here that she could see. A sprawling piece of property appeared at their left with a gravel lane bracketed by white fencing. Set back well from the road was a ranch home, numerous out buildings and as they passed a large pond nestled into a hollow between the upper grounds and the approach to the road. Immediately after this there was a road to the left, Brecknerville. She heard the turn signal click on and looked over to see that they were turning into this road. At the corners there was nothing, just empty land.  The next sign of anything was a half mile distant, a white farm house on the right. This was her first glimpse of her new home.

Her mother pulled into the driveway  and placed the car in park, leaving the engine running. There would be no sorry, no tearful apologies or goodbyes. Joni looked to her mother who just stared stonily ahead. She then looked out around the property for some cue. Her father’s long Oldsmobile land yacht sat in the lane ahead of them, near the house, but there was no sign of him.She was startled when her mother suddenly slammed on the horn, muttering ” Come on, you mother-fucker, I haven’t got all day!” Joni looked again at her mother in disbelief. My God she’s not even going to get out of the car! I’m just being dumped!

The front door opened and the hulking figure of her father emerged, looking annoyed. He might have been annoyed at the horn blast. It was hard to tell, the sneer on that face being a common expression for him. He stomped over toward her mother’s side of the car and stopped about ten feet away then motioned with his hand for her to roll down the window. She obliged and then addressed him tersely.

“I’ll send you the new address in Columbus after I get settled up there. Deborah will be riding down here next week some time with the rest of her things.”  Her father said nothing to this other than to nod and grunt. Her mother then turned to her and simply stated ” Get your bag and go on. I’ll call you when I can.” Cold, matter-of-fact, that was it. This was her goodbye. Joni didn’t have any sentiment she cared to add so she got out of the car, retrieved her bag from the back seat and without a word to either of her parents she walked to the front door of the house and went in. She heard her mother drive away and shortly after her father came into the house behind her.

He had only recently left Louisville to settle here himself. The move was purported to be work related, which was true to an extent. He had moved to a similar job with a different company, but there was more that necessitated this move than she knew. He had been in the house for just a little over a month, but it could just as easily have been a week before. Boxes were still piled everywhere, labeled and unlabeled. Some were open and half emptied with contents hanging over the sides, but most remained sealed and judging by the dust unmoved since the time they had been dropped. Empty beer bottles and trash were strewn everywhere. A familiar plaid patterned sleeper sofa and a television were the only other additions to the piles of boxes in the living room. Joni looked over the mess and began thinking about where to begin. She knew it would be her job to unpack it all and clean up.

Without asking how she had been, was she hungry,anything, he spoke to her as though she were a newly arrived house servant. ” There’s a room top of the stairs ya can take. There’s a bed frame up there with a mattress and box springs, but it ain’t put together yet. You can do that and somewheres in these boxes is sheets and blankets. You just find what ya need as ya put all this shit away. The kitchen’s got everything in there, but it ain’t unpacked yet. Since yer gonna be cookin’ I ‘spect ya wanna put that together too. I work six days a week, need my breakfast ready at 6:30 and dinner ready by 6:00 in the evenin’. Some days I might be home earlier, some days later. Just depends. I dont want none o’ yer dumb ass, pussy boyfriends around here. The washer and dryer is back there,” he motioned towards a door at the back of the kitchen, ” an’ I need a fresh uniform ironed every day.”

It seemed he was done for now. She kept her eyes down and simply replied okay to acknowledge she understood. He left the room for a few minutes and then returned to head out the front door. Probably headed for the bar. She would be left alone to her tasks for most of the day until he would return late in the evening, drunk and demanding dinner. If she was lucky that is all he would expect. She understood that probably the only reason he had agreed to take her was to have a slave to tend his household. As unpleasant, as cruel a fate as this was, she would be relieved if that was all he had in store for her. She was aware of what he had done to Deborah, beginning a short time after they had their “talk” about her condition, and continuing until he had left the home a couple years later. Her mother knew too. She had to know. How could she not know? Through that time Joni had been young enough to escape his special attention but she had been his target for other abuse. Her greatest fear now was that she was trapped here with him alone. Nowhere to run, no one to run to, no source of rescue. Alone with him, with her feminine charms in full bloom, it was inevitable that she would also fall victim. The thought of him doing that to her while her uncontrolled arousal was engaged made her sickened to the point of physically gagging. She tried to keep herself busy and block this thought from her mind.

The first week passed mostly without event. She had in three days completely unpacked and had assembled the house to some order. The meals had been on time and with no outbursts she had to assume that they were at least suitable. She had kept up on the laundry and had a pressed uniform prepared for every morning. She had learned her way about the house and the grounds, including the barn which was mostly vacant. There were a couple of dry stalls, unused for ages. A few rusting and ancient farming implements were parked out there, abandoned by the previous owner. A riding mower and other lawn and garden tools rested in one corner by themselves. Some other unidentifiable hardware and metal scraps were dropped at random amid barrels and other materials from his work. There was one peculiar feature in the barn that was obviously a more recent addition and remained a mystery. In the rear left corner was a wood framed structure, paneled with plywood all around. It occupied a space of about 14′ x 10′, maybe 8′ or 9′ high with a flat roof. There was a standard sized door cut out on the face with heavy hinges and a matching hasp. It was padlocked with an equally heavy duty Master lock. There were no openings that might allow a peek inside to the contents. She had searched every conceivable hiding place in both the barn and the house for a matching key, but this had turned up nothing. She remained curious, though dared not ask. And there was some sense that warned her that whatever was inside it was not good.

The following Saturday he had left for work at the usual hour. Before leaving he had informed her that he would be done around 1:00 that day and planned to go “have a few” with some of his co-workers over in Lexington, but planned on being home at about 5:30. He expected pork chops, beans, taters and cornbread to be ready and waiting for him. She confirmed his instructions and assured him it would be done. She stood at attention, waiting for him to leave. She was eager to return to her bed to try to sleep a while longer. Without warning he reached around behind her with one arm and grabbed a big handful of her ass and squeezed hard with his meaty paw.

“Thats a good girl! If yer nice maybe yer daddy will take care of ya tonight, darlin’!” He leered at her then abruptly headed out the door. As soon as the door closed behind him she shuddered uncontrollably and collapsed to the floor, sobbing. This was how it begins.

Through her tears she cried out loud. “Why, God? Why did you do this to me? Why am I so bad that I deserve this!” She curled up on the floor and continued crying until she could no longer bear the pressure points from the hardwood surface. She was able to hold the wracking sobs at bay long enough to collect herself and climb the stairs to her bed. She drew the sheets over her head and burrowed against her pillow, closing her eyes tight and trying to block horrid visions from her head. After a time her breathing steadied and she managed to fall into a light sleep, a temporary respite of unconsciousness. She dozed lightly for about 90 minutes and was awakened by a fierce episode of arousal. She did not want to think about it, but her desire was ferocious. She had not had sex in over a week and the stress had been building within her like a pressure cooker. She threw off the sheets and discarded her soaked panties to masturbate furiously for the next 40 minutes. She brought herself to climax six times and finally the fury abated to a duller, tolerable pulse. It brought her some physical relief but did nothing to soothe her troubled mind. She hungered deeply for a man’s attention yet was repulsed at the realization of the male attention she was likely to receive later that day. She wished she had some drugs to take that would numb her all over, so she didn’t have to think or feel anything. She languished in her bed just a little while longer and then rose to shower and get on with the day.

She had the dinner ready by 5:00 just to be safe, holding it all on standby in the warm oven. She had already completed most of the clean up and had a place prepared at the small kitchen table so he might come in and sit right down to his dinner. She was rather warm; the kitchen had heated up and it was warm out. The house had no central air and opening the windows for some cross ventilation only drew in the muggy air from outside. She decided at this point that it was safe for her to go outside and smoke a cigarette to await his arrival. Through the tiny laundry room at the back of the kitchen there was a storm door that led out to a small, screened in porch. This side of the house was sheltered from the late afternoon sun and though still warm it was a marked relief from the close air inside.

Her urges had abated for a time, letting her rest and enjoy the cigarette. She finished the first and shortly decided to light another. She managed to finish about half of it then heard the crunch of gravel from the driveway. A shot of panic made her heart race as she rushed to stub out the cigarette and get back inside. She would be expected to be in the kitchen when he came in, setting his plate and fetching a cold beer from the refrigerator.

As she had anticipated he was drunk, thoroughly, and was rather slow in making his way into the house. Part of his delay was due to the fact that he’d been suffering some urgency to urinate for the past number of miles and could not wait to make it to the bathroom.  Immediately after stumbling out of the drivers seat he placed one hand upon the open door and fished his member out of his trousers to let loose a long stream into the gravel. She had made it to the kitchen within plenty of time to put his plate at the table and open a bottle of beer to set beside it. She then stood back to lean against the sink and warily look for his entry, hoping to gauge his frame of mind quickly. She prayed he was gone enough to be happy left to himself for his meal and then collapse with another beer on the couch. She finally heard his heavy steps outside the front door followed by a crash as he recklessly flung the door open, letting it strike and rebound from the wall behind. There was no loud and menacing roar that often accompanied his arrival on these occasions, just some garbled, incoherent grumbling. She waited to hear his boots fall and hit the floor and then braced herself for his hulking mass to come weaving into the kitchen. The first look of him as he filled the doorframe showed he was completely shit-faced. He hardly acknowledged her presence other than to grunt a demand.

“Beer!”

He wouldn’t even look at her, she wondered if he could see straight as she meekly responded. ” On the table, with your dinner like you asked.”

He turned his head partially in her direction, his head bobbing shakily and then dragged his feet across the floor to drop heavily into his seat. It took him a moment to gather his bearings at the table until he located and snatched up the beer bottle. He took a quite generous pull from it and then brought it crashing clumsily to the table, banging against his plate and nearly tipping over. ” Better go ‘head get me ‘nother”, he muttered and then took up fork and knife to set in upon the meal. She quickly obliged the request, placing another bottle before his plate and hastily getting out of his way.

To the accompaniment of the steady banging of utensils upon the plate and the loud smacking of his lips she busied herself removing the rest of the chops from the broiler pan to a plate to be wrapped in foil. She dared to ask if he would care for another before she finished putting things away.  A grunt served as a yes and she moved with the plate and a serving fork to find a spot to deposit it. She then finished putting the rest of the meat away and began scouring the pan in the sink. She continued to listen carefully as she did this. His silence could be good. It might indicate that he was, as she had hoped, too far gone to be bothered with anything else. It might also be bad, she mused. It could sometimes be the calm before the storm. There were times with her father that she could sense when his mercurial nature was preparing to make an ill turn, though more often than not it came without warning.

She kept her focus on finishing the clean up, waiting for the sign that he was done. The remaining utensils were rinsed and placed in the drying rack, there was only the stovetop left to clean and fresh soapy water to fill the sink for his dinner plate. It was here that she heard the knife and fork dropped onto his plate followed by the gulping of the second bottle of beer and the bang of the empty returned to the table. ” Gimme ‘nother beer, will ya sweet thang?” For just an instant she froze at the words. Hope against hope she tried to rationalize: he was pretty drunk, maybe thinking he was still talking to the barmaid at whatever watering hole they’d been to. She quickly dried her hands on a dish towel and glided smoothly to the refrigerator to retrieve another bottle. As she turned with it to bring to him she hazarded a quick glance at his face. He was leering, but it wasn’t focused. His eyes were cloudy, almost unseeing. Maybe the expression wasn’t meant for her at all.

She stepped to within an arm’s length of him and cracked the cap then reached to set the beer down before him. His big head was weaving. She could tell if he saw her at all he was seeing double and probably did not realize that it was his own daughter. She decided to play a part to help reinforce the illusion that perhaps he was still out somewhere.

“Here ya are, hon. Kin I take them out yer way fer ya?”

He blinked, trying to focus, but was obviously still disoriented. He took a couple of swallows from the beer and then absently replied, ” Yeah, sure. Take ’em. I’m done.” She deftly retrieved the plate, flatware and empty bottles and fluidly glided away, back to the sink. The exchange had occurred very quickly, without thought, and it seemed her ruse was working. All the while, though, she had the sense that this was a very dangerous dance she was engaged in. As she finished the washing she found herself at an awkward junction. He was still seated at the table, working on that bottle of beer. Should she ask to be dismissed or should she just slip quietly away? She then made a snap decision. The role of a waitress she had slipped into had seemed to work thus far. Perhaps staying within that was her ticket away.

“Is there anything else I kin git fer ya before I look after other tables?” He sat stone silent, staring unfocused. She felt the pins and needles emerge to prick her flesh, the eternity of stillness as she awaited his reaction. She began to feel the cold sweat form along her spine and then the accursed sensation began to well again in her loins. Oh my god! Oh please, not now, she screamed inside. Finally he lifted the beer and drained the rest, followed it with a long belch. Seeming proud of himself he sneered his reply. “Naaaahh! I’m done…” He started to rise, unsteadily, then found his footing and mumbled something about grabbing one for the road.

She wasted no further time getting away, slipping through the laundry room to the screened porch where she collapsed, shaking, and relit the remains of her earlier cigarette. She fidgeted in her seat, trying to find a position that would minimize the growing arousal.She was determined to wait out here until she felt certain that he had retired to the couch for the evening. Here on the back side of the house the waning sun was obscured, the hint of cooler night air just beginning to creep upon the lawn. So quiet here. It was a space that would become a refuge from her woes. After finishing two additional Kools from her pack she shifted in her seat, finding a relative calm settling in her panties. She still felt greasy, her pores grimy and skin prickling with the needles of heat and dried sweat. All she wanted now was to slip past and up into the bath where she would soak and relieve herself with another climax and slink off to the cool sheets.

As stilly as possible she crept back through the laundry and peeked in on the couch. She found him reclined, pants unfastened with a hand stuffed inside his shorts, an empty bottle at his feet. The room was growing dark, the only light from the television set. Almost holding her breath she waited, watching for any movement. Unable to see his eyes she could not tell if he had dozed off to sleep or if he was just in a drooling stupor. In either case he did not move, gave no sign that he was aware of her presence.  She decided it was safe to make the attempt and swiftly crept across the few feet to the bottom of the staircase. On the bottom step she halted to listen carefully. With no sound but the low murmur of the television from the next room she crept onward up the stairs and slipped into the bathroom.

She spent several minutes preparing the bath, testing the water often to get the temperature to her liking. When sufficiently filled she dared to crack the door open to assure herself there was no stirring from below. She never felt entirely safe in this house, not even when alone, but her worry was calmed enough to press the door shut, disrobe and ease herself into the water. She lazed there for a time before finally taking soap and a cloth to wash, then douse and shampoo her hair. At the rinse she found her stimulation begin to rise again and she slid down to lie in the tub, legs parted and begin to stroke and rub her growing ache.  Most evenings she found that bringing herself at least two or three orgasms was enough to hold the beast at bay and allow her to settle into rest. This night she closed her eyes and thought of Robbie, a strapping young carpenter who had pleasured her often. For some strange reason she found the faint scent of wood upon his skin to be more exciting. She remembered his hands, large and rough from his work but strong and gentle upon her skin. He had that move where he would firmly clench both of her buttocks while thrusting deep into her. Oh yeah….she was almost on the crest of her first blow as she thought of those hands. Mmm. Yes. Robbie. He was always a good fuck. She had both hands working, the water splashing as she urgently raced to reach that spot. What she wouldn’t have given for a good piece of that man right now!

She felt the wave of spasms shudder through her body, panting, heart racing, waiting for it to come down, but it did not subside. Wave after wave shuddered through her as she tried to will herself to calm, steady her breath. Her eyes clenched shut to picture his strong arms and shoulders above her she let a soft whisper escape her lips. ” Oh fuck….” And then every nerve in her body turned to ice.

“Whatcha doin’ there, little girl? Ya’ll need a man to help ya with that.”

The voice stunned her, cold fear swept through her flesh. She was not imagining things. He was there. She could not open her eyes to look but she knew he was leering over her. She had been so engrossed she’d not heard him creep in, no idea of how long he may have been watching her. Reflexively she curled herself up to hide though she knew it was too late. She was already exposed. She wanted to plead, wanted to hide, just wanted him to go away, but any words were trapped in her throat. Her heart pounding in her ears she heard the faint rattle of the towel bar and then the sound of the fabric landing on the floor next to the tub.

” Ya’ll go on an’ towel yerself off, ya little whore!” This followed by his cruel laugh and the door slamming shut. The impact of the door made her jump, her heart still racing. Blindly she felt over the edge of the tub for the floor below, searching the towel. Her fingers found the edge of it and drew it up from the floor as she tried to raise herself from the bath. Once finding her feet and clutching the towel before her she finally dared to open her eyes. He was gone. The relief struck her, making her knees weak and she had to steady herself on the rim of the tub. Seated there with her feet still in the water she worked to steady her breathing. She began to shiver uncontrollably and shakily arranged the towel to wrap around herself for warmth.  As she drew it tighter she felt something….something on….oh my god what was that?! She pulled it away from her skin to look and then in disgust dropped it into the water and sprang out of the tub. That sick fuck had jizzed all over the towel! He was jerkin’ it, watching me….oh god. Tears of both hurt and rage welled up in her eyes. She frantically clutched for a clean towel, hastily wrapped it about herself and left the bath just as it was. She cracked the door open first to see if there was a clear path to her bedroom. She didn’t see him standing in the hall and dared to open a little wider then stepped into the hall. She leaned forward to look around and make sure he wasn’t there waiting in her room.

She was in the middle of the hall, about half the distance to her bedroom when she saw him seated at the top of the steps to her right. She met his eyes for only an instant and he leered ” Was it good for you, honey?” She bolted to her room and fixed a chair against the door behind her. She was seized with utter panic, could not take her eyes from the door, expecting him to come crashing through. Instead from out in the hall came that vile, hateful and mocking laughter. It grew louder and louder echoing up the stairwell as he stomped away.

That night was the first time. It got worse.

 


 

She had known that it was bound to happen at some point. In some remote corner of her heart she had harbored a hope that it might not, but in the back of her mind the fear had still cast its shadow.  In a peculiar sense there was a bit of relief : at least the suspense was gone. No longer was it the worry of would he or wouldn’t he. That did nothing to diminish the deluge of emotions that came with it. Disbelief and betrayal, anguish and hurt. Helplessness. And the worst was rage. Not a roaring blaze, but the slow, smoldering hatred, contempt, disgust. For him. For her mother. For herself. Consciously she knew that she was not to blame for any of it, but ever lurking about the edges was the doubt, the lingering suspicion that somehow her condition invited this upon her. Even though she’d not asked for it, had not desired it. It was just the way she’d been made for whatever purpose it may hold.

Now the rules of the contest were defined. It was a daily cat and mouse game. She became acutely aware of everything she did in his presence, constantly checking herself to prevent any invitation or provocation. There were daily duties and these were clear. There was no reward for doing the job right other than the lack of abuse for having done it wrong.  It was the closest it would come to any token of appreciation, but gratefully accepted nonetheless. She had also learned to expect the unexpected, ever on her guard for the grope or the slap. He liked to grab her by the hair to force her to the floor. It didn’t happen every day, but the constant tension, knowing that at any time for no apparent reason, the abuse could come was wearing. Mentally and physically. She was trapped in a siege mentality.

There were not only the physical acts, abuse or molestation. These were events that occurred within a given time and space and then they were done. Underlying these was the ongoing atmosphere of degradation. Where many girls her age enjoyed pet names from a doting and protective father like “honey” or “darlin'” or “princess”, hers were spat at her in contempt. Names like whore, li’l bitch, cunt. And the one with great utility which might easily be inserted as the part of any command or statement either one: fucking hole. At least this one was not exclusively hers. To Donald all women were fucking holes.

While maintaining a defensive posture she also began searching for a plan, some answer to save her from this hell. She was at least spared his company for long hours on most days of the week. Mornings were okay sometimes. Evenings were worse, the hours for the most hateful events. Nights might allow her some rest. Mostly. The days after he had gone to work were a blessed respite. She would finish the chores thoroughly on a disciplined schedule, most days being done at mid-morning. Then she was left free to regroup her mind, to think. If the weather was pleasant, not raining or too steamy, she would take long walks. She had to be careful to keep a measured pace with loose fitting shorts and athletic shoes. She could not make rapid time, but in that fashion could manage. If the weather did not favor her she would pace the floors. This was her thinking time.

She had within a very short time run through an array of options in her mind, discarding most. It was a slow, persistent process of elimination. She had looked about the entire property for forms of poison or other toxins. How, for instance, would one introduce rat poison without it being detected? Better in food or drink? What tastes would best disguise it and what dose was needed? The lethal dose in one serving would be ideal.  She toyed with this one for some days and decided that no, she probably could not get away with it. It would be her luck that it wouldn’t kill but only incapacitate him, dooming her to his continued care.

She examined various ways to set up an accidental electrocution. None of these were certain and given his profession he’d be unlikely to step into any of them. There was always the hammer to the skull in his sleep. On nights when he was really drunk it would be easy. He’d never even know what hit him. This left the problem of what to do with the body. Or make up a cover story of an intruder. These were quickly abandoned. She had to admit that she didn’t have the courage to go through with the act and she was a terrible liar.  She didn’t have access to large sums of money to hire a hit. She wouldn’t know where to find those services anyway. She did have her body to trade, but would a man kill for her? And if he did then wouldn’t he own her? No, that was trading one nightmare for another. There were a few other scenarios she contemplated, but soon exhausted all of her fight options. That left finding a flight option instead.

The actual physical act of getting away would be easy. She had ten hours a day at least on most days that she was left untended, but this was not the issue. She had no money, no drivers license, no transport for that matter. Plenty of time and opportunity to get away and means of transport could be found. A bus. She could probably round up enough in cash or something to pawn that could buy a bus ticket. A one way ticket to…? Where? Where to go? No, getting away was not the problem. It was what would she do after. She would need a place to stay and some way of taking care of herself. Or someone to take care of her. She might be able to swallow her pride and beg. Maybe her mother would take her back in. But other than the fact that she was somewhere in Columbus, Ohio she had no idea how to find or reach her.  She could maybe get away with crashing at her sister Deb’s for a while, but she certainly wasn’t able to care for her. She considered that she could get a job and they’d be roommates splitting the rent. Deb might go for that. Here, though, were another set of problems. She had no ID, she wasn’t even 16 yet and only with a tenth grade education. She had never worked anywhere before, so no experience, no education… what did that leave? She was sure she could wait tables. She didn’t know for sure, but she didn’t think waitresses made much money.

She again went through her list of male acquaintances. It might not be hard to get one to come and take her away from this, but she had found before that none of these could or were willing to offer a long term solution. She hadn’t reached all of them but ticking off the list in her head she wasn’t finding any of those remaining to be good candidates. Days and countless miles of walking, searching for and turning over idea after idea and she was no closer to any solution.  One day she was left feeling exasperated with the whole process, resigned that there was no answer to be had. She sat in the porch one afternoon, smoking a cigarette and a sarcastic notion entered her mind accompanied by a twisted smirk at one corner of her mouth. It was a thought originating in jest at first but then she hung on to the idea, attempting to treat it with some seriousness.

There was always prostitution. It wasn’t any more degrading than the pile of shit she found herself in. At least she would get paid for her trouble. And, she considered, she was physiologically wired for it, wasn’t she? Maybe that was the purpose for her. Constantly aroused, easily stimulated, well lubricated and yes, she had to confess it. She did love sex. Craved it at all hours. She didn’t want to believe it could be true, but rationally she had to wonder if it wasn’t the reason why she was like this. Was there a better explanation? If there was it escaped her and she had long given up looking for one.

June rolled into July. July dragged on tortuously with searing heat and humidity, frequent thunderstorms. And every weekend became an exercise in shame, humiliation and self loathing. Forced to strip and display herself before him. Each time she continued a mantra in her head. It will be over soon. I’ll do this, he’ll finish and its over. If she were only able to keep her eyes closed and repeat this over and over. But that was not possible. He made her keep her eyes open. Made her watch. It gave him total control. She learned very early that any resistance would earn her a club in the head which may or may not be followed by a series of vicious kicks, depending on the level of intoxication. Each session grew worse, progressively invasive. She would have to watch him masturbate, endure his fingers and other objects being inserted both vaginally and anally. And each time amid a barrage of verbal humiliation. “Yeah, yer daddy’s little slut, ain’tcha! Yer a dirty little whore! You like that shit, dontcha, you fucking hole !”

She saw the pattern forming clearly. Each time was a progression, moving to something more with every sickening minute. Usually he saved it for the weekend when he could relax and spend hours at his torture until he had spent all of his potency. The last weekend of July, the week before her 16th birthday, she thought that she had caught a break. On Saturday he remained out very late, not arriving home until the wee hours of Sunday morning after the bars had all closed. He stumbled in blind drunk and collapsed on the couch. He remained there until mid-day Sunday then only sloughed off to his bed to continue sleeping it off. She was relieved, knowing to just leave him alone but remain available to answer any call when he was ready. Finally late Sunday evening he rose,still bleary eyed and unshaven, wearing only his boxers. She had heard him stirring and gone to the kitchen to pour him coffee from a pot that had been sitting on the burner since afternoon. He shuffled through the kitchen doorframe and shielded his eyes from the glaring sun pouring in through the window. She told him she had coffee for him and asked what he would like to eat. She sensed that he had heard her, but still dazed he did not answer. He took the coffee and sipped from it twice then went to the window to lower the blind. Joni moved a couple of steps aside to grant him a wide berth and awaited any further instruction. He turned away from the window and was pointed towards the table. His movement was still lethargic and she was caught completely off guard as he whisked an arm at her, grabbed a fistfull of her hair and forced her down to her knees. He was twisting the knot of hair, pulling at her scalp and made her whimper. He jerked her head up so her eyes were level with his disgusting white beer belly drooping above his shorts. She tried to avert her eyes but could not avoid the erection beginning to tent his shorts. She knew what was coming next. At least at this level she could keep her eyes closed.

He was still silent, glowering over her. She could hear his labored breathing. His fist remained balled in her hair and pulled her face closer. “Take ’em off.”

She shut her eyes tight, squeezing tears out from the corners of her lids to stream down both cheeks. She reached out with both hands to find the hem of his shorts and pull them down to his ankles and then waited.

“Now suck it!”

More tears welled and her stomach turned at the thought of what she was about to do. Blindly she moved her face to his groin and with hands trembling located his twitching erection and guided it to her mouth. She took the tip in her lips, trying to keep her tongue well away from it. Growing impatient he twisted her hair harder and growled.

“Come on! Get it in yer mouth ya little whore! I said suck it!”

She took it all in and closed her lips firmly around him. He was below average size and she could feel that he was unable to get beyond half staff. Not a real man. A real man would be rock hard and throbbing in this mouth. She obeyed, mechanically rocking herself up and down the shaft, occasionally swirling her tongue around it. She had to keep fighting the instinct to gag. He sensed the hesitation and eased the grip slightly.

“What’s a matter bitch! Too big for ya! Heh-heh-heh…”

Don’t flatter yourself you fat fuck, she thought. Joni was well versed in the fine art of fellatio. She knew how to obtain the desired result, but in this instance she dreaded the result and did not provide her top performance. She prayed he wouldn’t know the difference. It went on for several minutes that seemed to her would never end. It was all she had in her to keep from getting sick. She could feel him failing, the erection fading. He pumped his hips at her, straining to regain it. She felt his frustration grow and he began to grow abusive.

“Jesus H Christ, you fucking hole! Where’d ya’ll learn to suck cock anyway, huh? Yer mother! Fuck she couldn’t suck a dick either!” He pulled away from her abruptly and threw her roughly to the floor. ” Never mind ya little cunt, I’ll just jerk off, it’ll be quicker!”

She started to scramble up from the floor eager to bolt away when a heavy foot knocked her back. ” Ah-ah-ah….where the fuck you think yer goin’ cunt! Huh!” She flattened back to the floor and tried to turn her head away. He stepped on her to hold her down and commanded her to turn her face up and watch. She froze, looking up but in her mind trying to look past what was before her eyes. For several more minutes she was trapped there as he furiously stroked himself and finally ejaculated, spraying it down on to her face and hair. He glared down at her in triumph, his chest heaving as he regained his breath. He held on to his drooping member, shaking the remaining semen and then finally released her. She remained still, trembling and waiting for him to tell her she was free to leave. He looked down over her for a moment longer then replaced his shorts and snorted. “Next time yer gonna have to try harder!”  And with that he left the room, back to his bed. She did not see him again until morning.

That night she did not sleep. Feelings of revulsion and self loathing alternated with fear, rage, desperation, anguish. After washing herself vigorously with soap and the hottest water she could withstand she had retreated to her room, as certain as she ever could be that he would not rise again until preparing for work in the morning. Her mind raced and she paced the floor of the small room incessantly. From the door to the window. Then to the head of her bed at one wall and the opposite to the closet facing. At one point she just wanted to collapse in tears on her bed, but the adrenaline pushed her on. There must be something to do, somewhere to go. A thought crept into her mind that she had entertained but then dismissed before: she could go to the police or the sheriff’s office. There was another sad chapter from her recent history that prevented this.

When her father had begun molesting Deb she did everything she could to keep it secret. Joni did not learn about it until well after the time it had started and Deb never spoke a word of any of it to her. After a certain period of time the abuse progressed from peeping into her room or the shower to slipping into her room at night and fondling her beneath the sheets. When he began exposing himself and forcing it on her she finally mustered the courage to tell her mother. To her utter disbelief Deb found that her mother would not believe her story  and slapped her across the face. How dare she tell such lies! This left her stunned for a while, but as the incidents continued she finally broke down and told a school counselor. This in turn led to a report being filed with the authorities, an interview with her at the school and a subsequent visit to their home by a detective from the juvenile division. It ended up being a fiasco.  Her mother and father both vehemently denied any such goings on, indignant at the very suggestion. They countered the accusation with the idea that she had made this elaborate fabrication as petulant reaction to having been restricted from privileges. The detective and social workers who spoke with Deborah seemed to be more sympathetic to their parents, buying the whitewash and finding no other source beside her own account of things to corroborate her story. The school counselor remained sympathetic to her cause, but with the investigation completed and no substantiation of her charge there was nothing more that she might do. Joni had no reason to think that it would go any different now. It would only be her word against his and she knew how it would be for her if she tried this with the same result as before.

The following week would be her 16th birthday. Sweet 16. Ha! That was a joke. It would be anything but that. Chances were she would not even get a card. The week, including the day of her birthday, passed without event, either good or bad. Not even a phone call from her mother or sister. She doubted that her father even remembered what day her birthday fell on. Absent any form of celebration to mark the occasion she was grateful that she was at least left in peace. She held her own celebration in the privacy of the back yard.

The day, August 1, fell on a Wednesday that year. It was blistering hot, the afternoon air like a sauna. After completing her morning chores Joni fetched a pack of Kools from her closet and liberated half a fifth of Seagrams from a kitchen cupboard above the refrigerator. She then took a glass and an ice cube tray from the freezer, put all of it into a small styrofoam cooler stowed up on one of the laundry room shelves and headed out through the screen door of the porch. A hundred feet or so from the back door, situated right in the middle of the fenced in back yard stood two aged oak trees, their trunks about twelve feet apart from one another. Affixed to these towering giants were sturdy ropes suspending a musty old hammock made of heavy canvas. She had tested it before and found that it was secure. If no one else was going to recognize it she had determined how she would mark the day on her own.

She placed the cooler beneath the hammock, retrieved her cigarettes from her hip pocket and lit one up, placing the pack and her lighter atop the cooler. She was almost prepared to climb into the hammock when she thought of something else. The canvas was rough. For what she had in mind she decided that a soft blanket and a pillow would be in order. She strolled back inside and in a few moments returned with each and arranged these inside the hammock. It was 10:30 in the morning heading for 11:00 and the temperature had already soared into the upper 80’s with like humidity. The sun approaching it’s noon day post high in the sky the hammock remained mostly shaded by the leafy boughs of the trees. She opened the cooler and cracked some cubes from the tray to fill half of the glass and then generously splashed the amber colored rye whiskey over them. She replaced the lid of the cooler and set the glass on top, then removed all of her clothes, retrieved her glass and climbed into the hammock. She scooted her bare bottom along the blanket to get her weight distributed just right and then settled back propped on one elbow to let the suspended canvas come to rest. Thus settled in she rose the glass in the air to toast herself. “Happy fucking birthday to me!”

She lazed there for some time, sipping at the whiskey and smoking cigarettes, wishing they were some good dope instead. Today the liquor would have to do. As she got into her third glass she began to feel it warming her insides to match the heat of the day. The warm air felt blessed upon her bare skin. A light breeze would stir occasionally to brush across her exposed nipples, sending a tingling charge through her nerves and stirring the familiar longing between her legs. As the sun crept steadily over the treetops it began to fall upon her, kissing her flesh with it’s warmth. She sat the glass aside for a time and reclined, closing her eyes and basking in the glorious light. She let herself succumb to the urges building, picturing in her mind the talents of lovers past. Jeremy. Andy. Darryl. Mmmm…..yes! Darryl. Oh he was precious. So good! Her engine was already revving, she let her fingers drift down across her downy muff and descend into her folds. She found she was already dripping wet, her labia swollen, puffy at the gentle brush of her fingertips. She ministered to her longing gently at first, growing firmer as her excitement heightened. She felt a growing ache inside to taste Darryl’s musk, feel him hard and pulsing beneath her lips.

She spent the entire afternoon there, baking in the heat and reliving one encounter after another in her mind’s eye, the pulsing constant and urgent. She lost count of how many orgasms she had reached. At times there was no distinguishing one from another, just one continual wracking spasm gripping her core. It had been a while since she had indulged her desires like this. Her unquenchable desire. Sometimes at rest, but ever present. She pleasured herself continually for four hours and could have gone on, but for the now searing rays of the sun. She finally brought herself to come up for air just to ward off a wicked sunburn. Rising from the hammock she found herself momentarily light headed, her legs weak as she tried to plant them on the ground. She steadied herself and pulled on her pair of shorts to stumble, still nearly dazed, to the porch screen door.

She went inside the kitchen briefly to get a glass of ice water then returned to the screened porch to remain out of the sun and cool down. It was now the hottest part of the day, the mercury swelling well past 95 degrees. It had grown still and the air was heavy, a sheen of sweat glistened on her exposed torso. She sat fanning herself and gulping the cold water until feeling at least some respite from the blistering heat. There was for a short time the thought that perhaps she should return to the hammock with her face down so as to even up the sun with the remaining hours to be cast upon the yard. It was her birthday after all. But the knowledge that in about an hour and a half she would need to collect herself and prepare the dinner she let go of this notion. After enjoying another cigarette she collected the blanket, pillow and cooler, pulled her cotton tee back over her head and returned to the house. She put away all evidence of her long siesta, changed into less provocative attire and dragged herself into the kitchen to begin preparing his dinner.

That evening passed without event. No outbursts, no assaults and as she had expected there was no acknowledgement of her birthday. He hardly spoke two words from the minute he arrived home and after dining retired to the couch with a beer and the television. All in all it wasn’t the worst birthday she’d ever had.

The rest of that week followed the same sad, predictable routine. The weather remained tropical until Friday evening when the gathering heat and humidity culminated in the formation of roiling deep grey storm systems on the western horizon. It rolled ominously forward, growing to a towering mass as it came, filling the sky. Distant flashes came from deep within the thick veil of cloud, lighting the broad column in eerie colors. Low thunder, at the early stages still felt more as a tremor under one’s feet than heard, announced a looming maelstrom. Though it was nearly three hours yet until sundown the skies had blackened all around to form a unsettling half light. The progress at one point seemed to reach a halt, pausing before the final onslaught. The mass churned as flashes of lightning from within increased, the thunder following faster and more audible. Close enough to rattle the window frames. A sudden heavy and cooler mass of air descended all about, surrounding the home with a stillness. The heavens took a deep breath to gather themselves before finally unleashing their torrents upon the earth. All time and motion seemed to cease for several minutes as the massive static charge of the storm front continued to build.

A still darker shadow fell across the land and then the winds began to swell from the mass. They burst forward in sporadic gust at first, carrying the first promise of the hard rains to come. More thunder and lightning grew, creeping closer and closer and then the sustained, swirling winds came. The front approached from the west but now the winds seemed to come from all directions. Joni sat within the screened porch on the back corner of the house and watched the mighty boughs of the oaks wave and dance in the sky at the mercy of the growing tempest. The first weighty sheets of rain broke to pummel the ground and drum violently upon the roof of the farmhouse. One would come and hammer mercilessly for several seconds then cease abruptly. Thunder pealed nearer, shaking the earth harder and then the next sheet of rain would whip from the skies. It continued like this, the intervals between growing shorter and each new belt lasting longer than the one before it, lashing at the earth with a growing ferocity. She sat calmly smoking a cigarette, entertained by the mighty spectacle.

When she had been a little girl, in those days of innocence before the curse befell her, she had been deathly afraid of storms like this. Now as she was rapidly blooming into her womanhood she felt no fear, not even a tinge of worry at these. From within the house she heard the phone ring. Once. Twice. No more. He had answered, as she knew he would. As the earth and skies grew more violent outside she sat calm and content, feeling a sense of a weight having been lifted from her. He would have to leave. Storm overtime. The power was sure to be knocked out somewhere on his grid. He would be gone all night. Maybe even for days, if things grew bad enough. Ten minutes after the phone had rang she heard his workboots tread across the kitchen to the laundry. She did not turn around when she heard him come to the entrance of the porch.

“I’m headin’ out. Looks like it might be a long one. Go ’round and shut up any the windows where its rainin’ in and keep by the phone, ya hear?”

Without turning to face him she replied ” Yes sir.”

“Don’t know how long we gotta be out. I might be doin’ some climbin’ myself.”

In her head she scoffed at this, thinking “Yeah, right! I see yer fat ass climbin’ a fuckin’ pole!”

” I’ll give ya a call when I’m headin’ home.” It was 7:45, Friday night.

 


 

Heavy thunderstorms raged across central and eastern Kentucky throughout Friday night. The intensity waned some time after 1:00 AM Saturday, allowing a few hours to attempt to survey the damage, then resumed around 4:00 AM. There were already numerous poles and many lines downed and nature was not yet done with her work. Another round of rains and fierce winds whipped up before dawn and continued until noon. The worst had ended then, but lighter clouds still followed bringing a steady rain to last throughout the day. By Sunday morning as much as 5-1/2 to 6″ of rain had fallen in some places. An unconfirmed sighting of tornados came from the Friday night storm just outside of Richmond, to the south. Twisters or no there was ample damage from straight line winds and in places flash flooding hampered restoration efforts. Miraculously the power had remained on the entire time at their home. The lights had flickered a few times and there were momentary outages as local reclosers operated in response to surges, but the lines around their area remained intact. The good in all of this for Joni was that he was gone the entire weekend. The only bad part would come later. After being out for a prolonged period on trouble calls he would return home after most restoration was complete and would be off for at least 24 hours. He would be tired, irritable and would probably drink himself blind.

It was lonely. She was bored stiff, but at least she could enjoy a weekend in peace. Two whole days at home without having to be on constant guard against verbal and physical abuse or sexual assault. She had run out of cigarettes on Saturday night but was too tired to venture out. On Sunday the day dawned cooler and the rains had ended. She rounded up a couple of dollars worth of change and made the long trek to the gas station up by the exit from 64. As a preparation she brought herself to a few climaxes before leaving. Just enough to take some pressure off of the top of her simmering pot. Her dreams the night before had awakened her to a state of arousal that grew nearly painful. She could never endure such a long walk without relieving some of it first.

On her way out of the station she stopped outside the door to remove the wrapper on the pack of Kools she had just purchased. She glanced idly out into the lot as she extracted one from the pack and prepared to light it. There was a long, slender boy out at the pump filling a couple of gas cans. He had long, dark hair and very pale skin and noteworthy to her eyes she saw that he had the most remarkable pair of hands. Long, slender fingers, so deft in their movements. She did not consciously know why this had captured her attention, but she was captivated by his movements. The white skin in contrast against the bright red gas cans perhaps accented the features.

She lit a cigarette and leaned against the storefront to watch him as he completed his task and placed the cans into the open trunk of the car. She didn’t know cars well enough to say what kind it was. He had a long stride too, very long legs to match those gorgeous hands. He took no notice of her, seeming completely self absorbed. Then there was something else to catch her eye.

Another young man emerged from the driver’s seat of the car. He was also tall, quite tall in fact, and a little sturdier build. His hair was also long, but in contrast a sandy blonde-brown shade and wavy. His limbs were long, swinging casually in a loping gait as he was heading toward her. He also had big hands, long fingers, though a little less delicate in their appearance. From this distance they looked more like working hands. He was wearing a pale blue, plain tee-shirt that clung tightly to his form, a long and firm torso, and tanned, well defined arms emerged from the rolled up sleeves. She looked down the length of him, admiring the legs that filled the straight legs of a well worn denim. He moved with such comfort, confidence, she could not take her eyes from him as he drew nearer. Within ten feet of her she got the first really good look at his face. High brow, high cheekbones and darker, thick eyebrows. Those eyes seemed intense, intelligent and the slightest hint of mischief. His jawline was strong but not too pronounced and a fine mouth. His lips were well defined, smartly curved. They were slim yet full. His facial bones had that structure that was “her” type. It was difficult to describe. She just found that there was a certain look, a vaguely defined type that just did something to her. It was a look, the only look that truly made a correspondence with the conscious lust between her ears and the physical lust between her legs. It was a look that matched her thoughts to her feelings. It could allow her to feel what she felt without any uncertainty or confusion or guilt. As he arrived at her side to open the door she could not unlock her dark eyes from staring at his face. She felt her heart race, her mouth went dry and her legs quivered slightly as the rush of physical desire flooded into her shorts. He looked at her for just an instant and with a slight nod of his head said ” Hey, how ya’ll doin’?”

His voice carried a deep tenor timber, a faint hint of a smoky raspiness. He carried a very casual, relaxed air. She was only able to produce a faint “Hey” in response. He gave just half of a smile as he passed to enter. She turned as the door closed behind him to get a look at his backside. The tight fitting jeans flattered a skinny, taut ass that moved fluidly with his stride. She could tell he was young, certainly younger than most of her past lovers, but so fine. She would have no problem climbing all over him. So delicious she wasn’t sure where she would start. She would have liked nothing better than lure him back to her hammock and peel those clothes right off of him to have as her pet for the day. It was a glorious thought that hung there in her mind for several minutes, but the reality denied this. She didn’t know when her father would return. It could be any time today. She was already taking a chance being away from the phone this long. Still, there was a chance to make a connection for later. This was the first male she had seen to ruffle her feathers since she had arrived here. Filling gas cans that looked like they were for lawn equipment made it likely they were local.

She had an excuse to linger. Nothing strange about standing next to an ashtray while she finished her cigarette. And besides, at this hour on a Sunday morning who would it matter to anyway? She was confident that she could garner his attention as he left the store. She had cultivated a withering come hither look that drew men like bees to honey. She waited casually puffing at her smoke, doing her best to remain patient. After what was only two minutes he emerged, carrying a couple packs of Winston cigarettes and two green bottles of soda. He cast a brief glance to his right, seeing she was still there, but pressed on, apparently in a hurry for some reason. Damn! They hadn’t even made eye contact that time. Before she knew it he was at the car, passing the goods through the open window before opening the door to climb back into the drivers seat. She wanted to call out in some way to attract his attention, but found herself at a loss what to say. There was one other way…

She stuffed the remains of her cigarette into the sand atop the can and began to saunter from the lot back towards the road. Unless they were headed for the interstate they would likely travel the same way.  A few steps from the road she cast a look over her shoulder to see that they were indeed wheeling around the gas pumps to exit from the same side of the lot. She stepped onto the berm and turned right to head back down through the town, moving slowly but steadily with an effort to put a little bit of extra swing in her hips. She didn’t feel that her behind was her best feature, but in the shorts she was wearing it would have to be noticed by any man with a pulse. She kept moving, waiting to hear the car turn and approach from behind her. She counted, three,four, five, six…still no sign. She turned over her shoulder once again and was disheartened to see they had turned the other way driving on the 64 overpass and dropping from sight as they headed away. She sighed softly to herself, accustomed to disappointment  as she was, and strolled onward for home. She would remember that face and watch for it, hoping that they might meet again. Hope had forsaken her for so many things, but a girl has to hold on to something, she thought. Anyway there were many more fish in the sea.

She enjoyed another quiet day at home, alternating between reading and tending her itch. The phone never rang. Unless there had been a call earlier in her absence. If that had happened, though, he would have kept calling at regular intervals until she picked up. Either things were much worse elsewhere with more repairs needed or he meant to just turn up unannounced. Considering that possibility she prayed for the phone to ring. The day lapsed into evening, then well past any dinner hour she felt she was safe to recline on the couch with the television. As darkness approached she gazed blankly at a rerun of Battlestar Gallactica. Not her favorite, but she found nothing better on. This was followed by the ABC Sunday Night Movie, an unremarkable western featured she turned the sound down and returned to a book. She dozed off on the couch until waking midway through the 11:00 news broadcast. A quick look out the front window showed no sign of the car. She crept back to his room to peek inside, making sure he’d not been dropped off by one of his crew. With no sign of him she decided that it was safe to retire to her bed.

After having napped on the couch for a couple of hours she found it difficult to settle back into a full sleep.  She tried several positions, steadied her breathing and made a conscious effort to will herself to rest. Her urges rose again, unwanted, and then found herself full awake. She kicked off the sheets and slipped her hand beneath her panties, visualizing the two boys from the gas station that morning. She imagined herself naked, tangled in both of their long limbs, their hands and mouths exploring her body together. This fantasy sustained her through two orgasms which brought little relief, the fever of her desire mounting. She tried to turn her thoughts to something a little less intense, something more gentle. She slowed the rhythm of her fingers, gently massaging and coaxing herself to a deeper climax, slowing it down and picturing another lover who moved with long, slow, deep strokes. It worked, this one got her over the top. As she lay staring out the window, waiting for her heart to resume a normal pulse she realized that she could not go back to sleep, would only toss and turn if she remained here. She decided to go down to the porch and have another cigarette.

It was now a bit after 1:00 AM, all quiet. Only the distant lonely hum of 18 wheelers on I-64, the chorus of crickets, stars and drifting fireflies for company. The storms had broken the cycle of unrelenting tropical air, the night was pleasant, in the low seventies. She let her mind fall idle, mesmerized by the glowing ember in the darkness. This was what she needed. Just take the time to wind down and then try the bed again when weariness beckoned. When she neared the end of her smoke she considered chaining another. She had reached into her pack and had drawn one halfway out when the glow of headlights grew in front of the house and up the road beyond. She froze and waited to see if they came closer, listened for the sound of a car. The lights grew brighter and then she heard the car approaching. She held her breath, waiting. Soon there came the crunch of gravel beneath tires and the beams cast their shafts beyond the house and into the back yard. He was home. She dashed quickly into the kitchen to peer from behind the curtains of the kitchen window. The lights were doused but the engine was still running. She wondered for a moment if he wasn’t just stopping to pick up some things and then going back out.

The driver door opened and the interior light switched on. She could see her father exiting the car and someone else in the front seat. Another man, she could tell that much. He had a thick mop of steely grey hair, but beyond that she could not distinguish any features. The lamp was only illuminated for seconds then her father shut the door and began walking toward the house. She turned and raced to the stairs, praying she could have herself tucked into her bed, convincingly sleeping before the front door opened. Reflected on the back wall of the kitchen as she fled was the amber glow of the parking lights reflected through the window where she had stood moments before. Either her father had returned to the vehicle or the other man was moving it. She didn’t look back to find out, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. She landed on her mattress and whipped a sheet over herself, gasping in gulps of air to calm her breathing. With her heart still pounding in her ears she heard the front door click open and the hinges squeal as it was swung wide enough to enter. She kept her eyes shut, turned on her side to face away from her door toward the window and listened intently. He was moving stealthily, his normally heavy footfalls reduced to dull, subdued steps across the floor. Only the cry of creaking floorboards betrayed his location. He was headed back to his bedroom. There was quiet for a few minutes and then a faint rustling from the room beneath her. The tell-tale creaks resumed in the short hall and ended in the kitchen. She could hear him open the door and the clink of bottles as he removed the remaining beer. There was again silence until she heard him leave the house and pull the front door closed behind him. Maybe they were leaving again as she had guessed earlier.

She lay completely still, her pulse and breath finally returning to a calm state, but she remained wary, listening for every foreign sound on the night air. It remained still for 15, then 20 minutes. She’d not heard the car pull away, but she heard nothing else either. With her eyes shut she continued to strain for any sounds coming from outside. A half hour passed and she began to believe that they had driven away. She began to feel the curtain of sleep fall across her consciousness. Soon there was void, dark dreamless sleep had finally taken her.

She never heard his return to the house or his cautious scaling of the stairs. He stood in the frame of her door watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The moon was now shining through the window, casting a blue glow upon her pillow and shining off of her raven hair. He crept forward to the edge of her bed and waited again. Still she did not stir. With a cloth in his left hand he fished a small bottle from his pants pocket with his right. He eased the cap from the bottle and balled the cloth over the neck, turning it on its side to soak the cloth with its clear liquid contents. In her deep rest she was suddenly alarmed to discover that she could not breath. Her eyes flicked open but her brain was still halfway in a dream state. She felt a hand on her head and another clasped over her face with a rag. She coughed as she drew in a sweet almost citric smell tinged with something. Strong, biting like grain spirits. Ether.

She had no idea how long she had been out. Her mind was foggy and a sickening coppery taste filled her mouth, her throat dry and burning. As she tried to open her eyes her lashes brushed against something. Her eyes opened all she saw was black. Blinking into the darkness she became aware of something tied around her head. She didn’t know where she was and struggled to recall the last thing… She had been asleep, finally, in her bed. And then? It was all hazy. Her breath had been stifled, panic and then the smell, the fume in her throat and nostrils. As she gradually regained a sense of self she moved reflexively to remove the blindfold wrapped around her head. To her shock she discovered that her hands were bound at the wrists, tied to something. She was naked, her arms stretched wide to either side of her. She found she was bent forward to rest her upper body upon some type of platform, her lower body left to hang and come to rest on her knees below. She then attempted to rise to her feet to find that her legs were spread apart and her ankles were likewise bound. In her fuzzy state she processed this information as best she could and then her stomach sank like a pit, tears of despair welled in her eyes. She still didn’t know where she was, but she had gained a pretty good idea of what had happened and what was about to happen. Her efforts of resistance cued her audience that she had regained consciousness. From somewhere behind her she heard her father’s voice, cold and menacing.

“Well…there you are. ’bout fuckin’ time, bitch. We didn’t wanna start without ya.”

She wanted to scream at him, but what good would it do? He could be perched above her with a ballbat or a truncheon for all she knew. Any outburst would only be met with some kind of blow. The best way through this was to remain silent, try to place her mind somewhere else and wait for it to end. It always ended eventually. She heard him again, now speaking to someone else. Then she remembered. There had been another man in the car. The man with the thick grey hair.

“I told ya she was a hot little tail! A fucking hole, young and fresh. She’s already wet for it, look….”

She felt his thick fingers roughly spread her labia open, exposing her vagina for inspection.  She heard the other man then. He whistled first and then replied.

“Damn, pardner! Thats a fine piece o’ tail. Bet that shit’s tight as fuck, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Got a sweet little mouth on ‘er too. Loves suckin’ cock,” He smacked her right buttock. Hard. Then prompted her ” Dontcha, little girl? You love slurping that big man meat!

No reply was required. The two of them shared a sinister cackle. She tried to peek below the bottom edge of the blindfold to gather some clue where they were. If she could identify it and later lead the police to it she would finally have the proof to get out of this nightmare. She could only make out the faintest crack of light from the edge of the cloth, no other recognizable details.  Their laughter faded and she heard the crack of beer caps followed by gulping and exclamations of satisfaction. Then her father spoke again, the words cold and jarring.

“Ya’ll go ‘head and take first crack at ‘er. I kin git this shit any time I want.”

She heard more gulping then the clang of the empty bottle landing on the floor or a table, she couldn’t tell which.  This was followed shortly by a shuffling of feet behind her and then a pair of hands rubbing her buttocks. He moved closer, she felt his hairy body brush against her bare bottom as his hands slid up her sides and around to the front of her to fondle her breasts. He nudged closer and she felt the tip of his erection brush against her labia. He rocked, applying increasing pressure against her, trying to probe into her. When this yielded no result his hands moved down to her lips and roughly pried her further open. He began to rub the tip of a thick, stubby erection into her growing wetness then spreading it up to her anus. Growing impatient with this progress he plunged his fingers deeper into her and spread a thick glaze of her fluids over her anus and began to work them into the opening with is fingers. He was rough, awkward, his poking clumsy and painful. After several minutes of this preparation he pressed the tip of his penis against her tight sphincter and gradually eased it into her, rocking back and forth until he had managed to bury himself balls deep inside of her.

It was a metaphor for the rest of the day. Or night, whichever it was for she had no idea. Rammed up the ass. Nearly every imaginable degradation followed as the two men tag teamed their way through nearly every orifice of her body. Penetrated by their disgusting sweaty flesh, foreign objects, slapped, whipped, spat on. She was their plaything to indulge any and all of their twisted fantasies. She endured. She tried everything she could to take her mind away to another place, to somehow block out what was happening to her. She prayed that she could just fall unconscious and awaken later, never knowing how she had been defiled. She was moved several times, turned over, passed from one restraint to another, but the blindfold never came off.

After interminable hours they finally tired of their games. The room fell quiet, their lecherous banter ending. She supposed they could only be dressing and tidying up, preparing to leave. For an instant a dread fear leapt into her head. What if she was to be left there? In the dark, tied up. Maybe he meant to kill her? If he could do all of these things what was to stop him from finishing the job? He already left her feeling dead inside. She still heard movement in the room, they were still there. She was not abandoned yet. As she concentrated on hearing, trying to learn any detail possible, she was grabbed by her hair and the cloth again smothered her face. It would end the same as it had begun.

 


 

She awoke in her own bed, slowly wading through a fog, reaching for the conscious world again. Her head hurt, her mouth dry with a sickening metal taste still lingering. Before she opened her eyes she lay there listening. The faint whisper of a breeze floated from the window, the musical trill of blackbird’s cries carried from their distant perches. Her lids slowly cracked open to confirm that she was in her own room. There was daylight in the window, though no hint as to the time of day. She blinked, trying harder to concentrate and obtain her bearings. What day was this? She strained to recall. She had fallen asleep very late. That was the very early hours of Monday morning. It must be Monday then, but what hour. She had obviously slept quite late. There was a moment of panic at the realization that she had failed to perform her morning duties. She tried to sit up and found that she was very sore. Her wrists were red and chapped, clearly abraded by something. She became aware of her lady parts feeling quite roughed up. She looked beneath the sheet and found she was nude. She examined herself and besides the marks on her wrists she saw no other marks, no foreign fluids pooled on the sheets beneath her. The sudden panic left her, realizing that if she had missed her morning duties he would surely have stormed in and kicked her out of bed. Now she began to remember. He was still out on the storm detail. She had waited and waited but he never came home.

She must have slept very hard. Her head was still fuzzy and the strange marks on her wrists worried her. There was only a mild stinging there but she could not remember how she had got them. It looked as though she had been tied with a rope or cord of some kind, but could not remember when or how. The horrid dryness and taste in her mouth drove her from the bed. She snatched up a long, oversized tee from the foot of the bed and slipped it over her head as she made for the stairs. The house was silent. He was either still out at work or had arrived home and crashed into his bed exhausted from the long weekend troubleshooting storm damage. He was sure to be bitchy when he woke. She had better prepare.

At the bottom of the stairs she headed to the living room window to look out front for his car. There was nothing there. She tread softly back to his bedroom to peek inside. Not in his bed either. Relief flushed her at the knowledge that at least for a while she would be left to collect herself in peace.  A trip to the kitchen to prepare coffee then. As she  prepared the coffeemaker she was startled to see the stovetop clock reading 2:15! My God, you did sleep in girl! Now she was further puzzled. The marks, the headache, the late hour. It was like she was hung over, but she could not remember drinking. She began to rein in her thoughts, trying to order a sequence of events. She couldn’t remember drinking anything since her birthday. That was last Wednesday. Had she done something to her wrists on the hammock? She didn’t remember. Then there were the horrendous storms Friday night into Saturday. He left for work, said he would call….  Then it was Sunday morning, yesterday. She’d gone to the gas station and back and been home ever since.

As coffee brewed she paced into the living room and saw her book, Vonnegut, spread open and face down to where she had left off on the couch. Thats right. She had waited there, some stupid movie on. Got bored, read, fell asleep on the couch. She woke, the news was on and then she had gone to bed. That was all she could remember. There was still something  nagging at the back of her mind.  The marks on her wrist were out of place, she could not account for them. Had he tied her to the bed maybe ? Maybe, but when? The coffeemaker beeped signalling it was done brewing. She went back to the kitchen and poured a cup then went back to her screened porch to sit and smoke with her coffee.

When she entered the porch she looked down at the little lawn table where she sat and saw her pack of Kools with her lighter sitting in the middle next to an orange plastic ashtray. There were three butts in the tray, one only half smoked and had apparently been crushed out in haste. She stared at the table dazed for a moment. Something…

She had an odd sensation, something like deja vu but not precisely. Something about the table, the butts in the ashtray. There was something that seemed familiar about it. Not truly a deja vu, as in she had seen it before and was re-experiencing the same thing again now. Something that had happened there. Something that beckoned from the deep recesses of her sub-conscious, something she should remember. It was right there, right on the edge of her mind, yet it eluded her. She sipped at her coffee and took her seat, lighting up a cigarette. It would not come to her so she just stopped trying. Maybe it was just because she was still a little groggy. She hadn’t passed a mirror yet, dreading the thought. I must look like shit.

Later she washed, then discovering that her rectum was also rather sore as she cleaned. Suspicion fell to her father, but again there was no recall. She sometimes included some anal stimulus in her masturbation, but never penetration that would have caused this discomfort. She finished her bath and simply rang it up to just one more of the many fucked up things that made her life.

Around 4:00 the phone rang. She’d been dreading it, but knew it would come at some point. She answered on the third ring. He was picking up his car over in Danville and would be home in a couple of hours. She asked him what he wanted for dinner and he surprised her to say he’d grab some dinner on the way in and then he would just go to bed and have the next couple of days off.  Well at least she would be left alone tonight. But then she was stuck there with him for two days. If he would be off for a few days maybe she could get Deb to come pick her up for a short visit. She didn’t know why but she suddenly felt that she had to do everything possible to get out of that house for those days.

Her efforts to reach her sister fell to naught. The last number that she’d had for her was currently disconnected. She despaired at this but would keep trying later. Maybe she had just fallen behind on the phone bill. Her instincts to get away for those days were well founded, though it was nothing more than that. Instinct. For as bad as things were she had the deep unease that something else was wrong, something she was missing.

On Tuesday he mostly rested, leaving her alone other than for demanding his meals. That afternoon he dispatched her to the riding mower to cut the lawn. It was warm that afternoon, but tolerable. She didn’t mind if it kept her away from him.  In the barn she found the gas can for the mower, making her think of the boys she had seen at the gas station a few days before. A wry smirk curled at the corner of her mouth as she thought of riding in the sun, picturing them as the roar of the engine vibrated through the seat. This wasn’t going to be a chore at all!

After filling the tank she replaced the gas can to where she had found it on the ground. As she was bent over something flashed out of place in her peripheral vision. There  was something on that plywood structure in the corner she hadn’t noticed before. Sticking out from under the locked door was a strip of white cardboard about 4 or 5 inches long. She knew it had not been there before. She stepped over to examine this more closely. It was a bland white with some tape residue and some numbers printed in green. It was just a random series of digits that meant nothing to her. Probably a serial number or something like that. It appeared to be a flap from the top of a box. There were roughly ten inches of it exposed, drooping over the raised threshold but wedged tightly under the door. Squatting down she tugged at it gently but it didn’t budge. She looked up at the hasp and saw that the padlock was still secured. It was obvious someone had been in there, but she was no closer to learning what it was.

After finishing the lawn it was time to prepare dinner. She took a few minutes to cool down in her porch and enjoy a cigarette before starting. When she went into the kitchen to begin he came in, took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and took a seat at the kitchen table. He didn’t say a word, just sat there watching her. It made her a little uneasy at first, keeping her on her toes for whatever might suddenly come from his way. She kept pace, remaining focused on the job, but had to frequently steal a discreet look to be sure he remained in the seat. After several minutes of this he rose and returned to the refrigerator to take out another beer. This was a little surprising to her. Ordinarily he would have demanded that she fetch it for him. As she moved about from cupboards to countertops, drawers and pantry shelves she maintained an eye on him. There didn’t seem to be the usual menacing quality in his eyes. In fact his body language spoke of a man at ease. Puzzling. He just seemed to be studying her. She was beginning to find it more unsettling than the normal malice thrown her way.

She carried on, slicing potatoes for the skillet, breading and seasoning chicken parts. He still remained there, working at his beer, his expression unchanging. At one point she turned to get something from the refrigerator when his voice startled her.

“How’d ya sleep the other night, sweet thang?”

A curious question. An uncharacteristic inquiry into her comfort or well being? Who was this man sitting in that kitchen? It caught so off guard for a moment she stood at the refrigerator door trying to recall what she had been after.

“Umm….okay, I guess. When? I mean what night?”

He didn’t answer the question verbally, just dismissed it with a wave as he drained the contents of his second bottle. Butter. It was butter she had been after. As she passed the table going back to the stovetop she stole a longer look at his face. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but she thought she detected a smirk on his mouth. Like he was rather pleased with himself for something. Continuing her labors she looked at the fading marks on her wrists. Intuitively she knew there had to be a connection between these and his question. It had to be! But still she could recall nothing.

Donald belched from his beer and reclined lazily in his seat. Trying to decide if he wanted another beer yet. He’d watched her, kept a keen watch on her expressions. She was evasive, but that was normal. No trace of hostility, no contempt or defiance. When she had answered his question there was no hesitation in her voice, no sarcasm in tone. Things were always tense in the home between them, he wanted it that way. An atmosphere of fear and intimidation was what kept his upper hand. This is my fucking home, god damn it! It’s gonna be my way or the highway. These fucking cunts! They’d all made a misery of his life! Well he was getting even now, wasn’t he?

There were two things he had been unsure of that night. How long would the chloroform work and was the dose for the shot correct. He didn’t know for sure what was in it, but he had the instructions, had followed them to the letter. He didn’t want to kill the little bitch, just have some fun. It seemed to have worked alright. She’d been totally submissive, it didn’t kill her and best of all she didn’t seem to remember a fucking thing! Either that or she was a damned good actress. Nah! That couldn’t be! Just a stupid little cunt. She wasn’t that smart. He’d try it a couple more times to be certain and then he could bring more players. Or spectators. Or both. There could be some real money to be made here! She’d only be good to him for a couple more years, but he could pile up a pretty decent chunk of change in that time. After that he didn’t give a fuck what happened to her. He’d wait until she was out and then he’d try it again on his own tonight.

For months to come he repeated the sadistic ritual. Once it became a routine it quelled his appetite for other more vanilla flavored favors in the home. The verbal abuse and humiliation continued, but the more overt and invasive sexual assaults became limited to those performed in the playhouse. In a cruel irony she was left to believe that she must have grown too mature to hold an appeal for his tastes any longer. Just a fat fuck bent on making her life a living hell. She just kept her head down and resolved to endure. He would have to keep the doc in on the action sometimes in exchange for the supply of drugs. Anyone else had to pay the price of admission. After there had been enough of the sessions to soundly convince him he grew bolder. The blindfold was no longer necessary. It was an added rush to watch her eyes, glassy and doll like, as she accepted it all. Unseeing, unknowing, just a piece of fucking trash like her mother. She actually bore a strong resemblance to her mother, a bonus.

With the beginning of the school year there were some restrictions on the frequency, but at least one night of every weekend was maintained. A week before Labor Day she was enrolled for her junior year at George Rogers Clark High School in Winchester. This event, and one other quirk of fate, delivered her to her salvation.

On her first day there had been some confusion in her schedule. The homeroom was right, but after entering the first two classes on her printed schedule it was found that she was absent from the roster for either class. She spent the rest of the day with the junior class counselor, Mrs. Kerr trying to sort it all out. After the scheduling errors had been worked out it was lunch time and the rest of the afternoon was spent walked through the tour, in order, of the corrected class schedule. For the last hour of the day she was finally escorted to an elective course, Creative Writing, where Mrs. Kerr took her leave. Joni weaved around the room and selected a seat toward the back where she could observe. It gave her a view of the whole classroom and the door.

As she settled into the desk the bell rang for the period and a pair of stragglers raced in as the bell expired. Her heart leapt into her throat and the familiar fires were stoked down below her belt. It was the two boys from the gas station from about a month before. She couldn’t believe the luck! The teacher for the course was Ms. Thatcher, a second year teacher fresh out of UK who didn’t appear much older than the girls in the class. She seemed pretty hip. After introducing herself they went around the room making introductions as she took the roll call. In alphabetical order by last name she fell in near the  bottom of the order with the surname Underwood, followed only by Vance, Wright and Yount. From the roster she learned their names for the first time. The sandy haired one was Ian Franks. The pale dark haired boy was Teddy Jarvis.

They were both pretty quiet and seemed to keep mostly to themselves. Ian was the one to really strike her fancy, though they were both cute. Teddy had an intelligent face with soulful china blue eyes. He was blessed with eyelashes a girl would kill for. Maybe it was because of his pale complexion and contrasting dark hair, or maybe because they truly were, but his full lips appeared the color of a sweet red apple. She imagined they would be delicious to kiss. As a personality, though, he was retiring. Maybe even a little backwards.

Ian was also quiet, but just a reserved kind of quiet. He seemed to be like she was, someone who preferred to observe. He could be sociable enough when engaged, but would scarcely initiate it. Where Teddy was lean to the point of malnutrition Ian was a little more filled out. Also tall and long limbed, but with a little more meat on those bones. She learned that there was quite a bit of buzz surrounding him in this his senior year. He had for the past two years been a standout end on the football team. George Rogers Clark was no hard charger in the state rankings, but Ian had been touted as a strong college recruit and in his junior year named to the all conference team. Without any indication or warning he had opted out of playing this season. Most students seemed wary of asking him about it, but rumors swirled for the reasons. When she looked at him she considered this. He was built for it, but he really didn’t appear to her to be a jock. Wrong personality type. Another tidbit she picked up through rumor was that he came from a rather wealthy family, their holding Franks Farms was one of the premier stables in all of the horse country. The more she heard the more she was convinced that there was a lot to like there.

Her roaring libido was not going to diminish. She had come to accept this. Where a few months before she seemed resigned to and ready to embrace being a whore, she began to wish for something different. She’d never had the “high school boyfriend” experience. School dances, proms, all of that. Maybe she was ready for it now. All she had to do was survive a couple more years of her father’s rule. Maybe she should try to make the best of it and find a path out. Maybe.

She tried flirting at him with her eyes at any chance that wasn’t too obvious. She didn’t know anyone here yet and was still trying to be careful of how much she wanted to show of herself. She found herself vexed by his failure to respond. There were times when he was looking right at her and displayed no response, hardly even a sign of recognition. He wasn’t rude or snotty in any way that she could tell. Just clueless. She’d never encountered a boy, or man for that matter, who she felt she needed to hit over the head to gain his attention. There were times when Teddy seemed to pick up on her vibe. He would quickly turn away, his cheeks flushing scarlet. It made her giggle in spite of herself. She concluded that he was a virgin and weighed the possible merits of taking a cherry. It might be fun to teach him.

This went on like this for the first several weeks of the school year. She learned that the Franks’ home was right around the corner, the big property on Colby Road before turning onto her own road. And Teddy lived in the trailer across the road from her. Figure that one out. The more she learned about them the more unlikely a pair they seemed, yet they hung together like they were brothers. In weaker moments she still found herself entertaining charged fantasies of being naked and entangled with both of them together. In fact it became her go to fantasy for letting a little steam off the top of the pressure cooker before leaving for school in the mornings.

The weekend heading into the final week of September she was left alone on a Sunday, not a normal occurrence. That afternoon she discovered that she was nearly out of cigarettes. She didn’t relish the long walk up to the gas station, but she didn’t want to try to get through the rest of the day with only two smokes and none left for morning. She rounded up a couple of dollars in coins to buy a pack and maybe a can of soda. Once outside she had a change of heart. It was quite a pleasant day out, perfect for a leisurely stroll. It wasn’t the most stunning scenery from home to the interstate, but it beat the four walls she’d been hiding in all day.

She took her time, nearly 35 minutes to walk up to the station and nearly that long on the way back. She’d found that she had enough change on hand for a pack of Kools, a can of Dr. Pepper and a small bag of Fritos. On the return trip she munched these down quickly, discovering she had a little more appetite than originally thought. The salty snack made her down the can of soda in rapid fashion as well. By then she was rounding into Colby Road, a mark she figured to be about the halfway point.She lit up a smoke as she came up to the Franks’ home. She kept her eyes on the property the whole time she was walking past. The place looked busy today! Lots of cars, people going in and out. She assumed there must be a birthday or reunion or some kind of family occasion going on. The kinds of things other people’s families did. She watched all the way until the road dipped and took her from view in the hopes that she might catch sight of them. Either or both. She walked away a little downhearted at seeing neither.

She reached the turn onto Becknerville and began to prepare herself for the return to the lonely farmhouse. Still better to be lonely than assaulted. She had covered maybe a little over half of the distance to home when she heard an engine approaching from behind. It sounded like a truck maybe. It didn’t sound like the bastard’s car anyway. Thats all she cared. As the sound neared behind her she heard it slow and the tires crunch over the stones at the edge of the road. She turned to see an old pickup truck rolling up. There were three figures crowded into the seat and suddenly one poked his head out of the window and called out “Hey Joni!” She smiled at the recognition and stepped towards the truck as it came to a stop. She saw that it was Teddy and Ian both. She didn’t recognize the driver.

“Hey Teddy! Ian…What’s goin’ on?”

Ian was seated by the window but said nothing. He looked as though he had not slept in days. She glanced back to Teddy and saw a wary expression cross his face as he searched his words.

“Bad news. Ian’s mom and dad were…” Teddy looked briefly to Ian, hesitating and then like trying to quickly remove a band aid finished, “They were killed in an accident yesterday.”

The words stunned her, she felt the blood drain from her face in shock. She had to say something, her mind went blank. She stammered out the only response she could muster.”Oh my god! Oh..Ian! I’m sorry….I…” she felt like a complete ass, but there were no other words that would come to her. Her heart swelled in grief for him and unconsciously her lips formed into a pout as she offered the most sincere face of empathy she could present. She struggled, searching for anything else to say. Shock grew to disbelief and before she knew it was leaving her lips she uttered only one more word. “Damn!”

A heavy silence hung off of the end of that lone word spoken softly. The hum of the truck engine went on as they all awkwardly searched their souls for anything to add. It was Ian who finally broke the silence.

“You want a lift?”

She couldn’t conceal the momentary look of panic that came across her face. She recovered quickly. “No, thanks. I better not. My dad, he uhh…It’s okay. I’m just across the road from you, Teddy.”

“You sure? We’re goin’ right up there now.”

“No. It’s okay. I’m sorry Ian. I really am.”

“Whyncha come over after school tomorrow?”

That was totally unexpected! ” You’re goin’ to school tomorrow!?”

“Hell no! Better yet, why dontcha ditch tomorrow and come on over?”

Again disbelief. Could this actually be happening? ” Yeah?”

“Yeah, why don’t ya?”

She was still incredulous at this but fixed him a sideways look. “Okay. I could maybe do that.”

“Okay. See ya tomorrow then?”

Its all it took to stoke her fires. Her face grimaced at the sudden rush but came across as a slight smirk on her lips. “Sure. See ya tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye!”

The truck slipped into gear and they rolled away. As she watched them she saw Ian’s face in the side view mirror looking back at her. That odd and slightly awkward exchange was the beginning. Neither one of them knew it yet, but the events of that weekend would set in motion the course of both of their lives from that day forward.