Chapter 3

"In an isosceles triangle, there are two sides of equal length while the third side is shorter. The hypotenuse..." Mr. Nolte droned on in math class.

Lena shared a desk with Ellen and they passed notes under the tabletop.

"Have you ever seen a man's thingie?" read the note from Ellen.

Lena suppressed a giggle and wrote back.

"You have? Whose?" was the reply.

"My cousin's," Lena wrote back after a moment's thought.

"I have too. This weekend. I saw Jed Raleigh's," was Ellen's exciting news.

"How did you like it?" asked Lena.

Mr. Nolte was standing over them. "Give me the note," he said.

"Oh, no, please, Mr. Nolte, we'll stop passing them only..."

"Give me the note."

They sullenly gave him the slip of paper they had been writing on. They looked shamefacedly at the floor as he perused it silently before the class and then folded it into his pocket, blushing. He said, "Now everyone pay attention. No note passing." And he went back to triangles.

Lena fixed her eyes on the blackboard filling up with figures, but behind her eyes she was lost in thought. She wondered what were the circumstances under which the skinny Ellen had seen Jed Raleigh's cock. She wondered what his cock was like. Jed was in the eighth grade, one year above them. He was thirteen.

Then her mind wandered to a thought of what a cock feels like slipping inside you. Under the schoolgirl's table, a pair of schoolgirl thighs became moist. She was wearing only a thin pair of white cotton panties under her skirt and her own moist smell came up to her from under the seat. She remembered Brad King's gentle hands opening her cunt gently prior to inserting his pleasantly-sized member into her and she recalled how it went in and out gently, exciting her further as it moved. How they had reached some kind of white pitch together, at the same time, as the horses moved violently on the horizon.

Then a shudder went through her body as her mind could not help recalling a very different kind of sex: the brutality and fear of her father's bondage in the barn. The class was interrupted at that point by a knock at the door. Everyone's failing attention was awakened and turned to the door.

Through the window they saw a scruffy contorted face.

Mr. Nolte went to the door and stuck his head out into the hall. Then he turned back into the room and called, "Lena Hanson."

She heard her name being called as if through a mist and just barely managed to revive herself from her dreams and say "Yes?"

"You are dismissed from class. Go into the hall. Your father has come for you. You have to go home," said Mr. Nolte.

Was he laughing at her? Having intercepted that note he must know, Lena felt. She felt as if the whole class were laughing at her, as if they all must know what this strange midday summons from her father meant. What could she say or do? Refuse to go? Announce to the class: my father has come to get me and take me somewhere where he can rape me? Who would believe her? And she would never have the nerve to do it anyway. At least not while her father was there watching and waiting for her. He would surely kill her once he got her away, if he heard her say something like that.

Miserably, she got up from her little desk. Ellen clung to her hand under the table then let her go. Ellen's kind eyes didn't look her in the face. Ellen surely knows, she thought. Ellen senses it, even if she doesn't know exactly. She knows something horrible is wrong.

She felt the eyes of the entire class on her back as she walked to the door, and it was almost a relief to escape their curious eyes and confront her father in the hall.

"Why have you come for me?"

"Don't ask questions." He took her by the hand and started down the hall.

"And the hypotenuse of this isosceles triangle is... Ellen?" she heard Mr. Nolte's voice getting fainter.

It was very strange to be walking through the school halls with her father. It was like having one foot in the grave she enjoyed some freedom from fear, freedom from attack. They walked together down the well-lit corridors. There were pictures done by the second graders hanging on the walls in the main lobby.

Mr. Hanson nodded to the school principal, Mr. Rice, a big, bald, paunchy man in a cowboy hat. Lena's father sold his heifers to Mr. Rice, who kept a small herd of livestock.

Outside in front of the school, her father stopped to talk to Jimmy Nails, the local cop who played cards with her father on the weekends.

"Mighty nice day, Roland," said Jimmy, rocking back on the heels of his black leather boots. He was in his blue uniform, and had his cop car pulled up to the curb.

"Yep," said her father, holding her by the hand, but stopping to chew some tobacco with his friend.

"That sure is a pretty little girl you've got there. How old are you now, Lena?" the cop said patronizingly.

"Twelve," said Lena sullenly.

"She'll be thirteen in August," said her father squeezing her hand tightly.

"She sure is right pretty. Sure is. Pretty soon all the little boys in her class will be wanting to take her to see the double features down to the Rialto," Jimmy the cop spoke about her as if she were absent.

"She's too young for such things," said her father spitting.

"Well, I don't know about that," said Jimmy leering and looking frankly at her well-developed bust.

"Well, I do know and I'm her father so I guess I get some say so in what she is allowed to do and what she is not. And seeing boys is not allowed. Come along honey," he said dragging her into his waiting pick-up. "We got some chores we got to do today," he added.

"Father knows best," said Jimmy grinning and he put on his dark sunglasses and climbed into his own car.

"Please follow us," Lena was praying. "Please be suspicious and follow us and see what he tries to do to me, and rescue me and put him in jail, or me in jail or just something, anything, to keep him off of me!" were Lena's hysterical thoughts. But as they pulled out onto the highway that led to the old abandoned shack by Neversink Creek, one glance in the rear view mirror told her that Jimmy the cop had had no such thoughts as following them on his mind.

Her panic grew as they rode silently in the car. She couldn't even go to the police for protection from her father. They would never believe her either. Half of them were her father's buddies, and they would only pat her on the head for making up stories and return her directly to him.

He threw her skirts up around her waist so he could look at her thighs as they drove. He put one big hand over her thighs and tweaked at the flesh that lay under her panties. Her soft white thigh flesh seemed to pull away from his coarse intruding hands, but he didn't seem to notice. He was breathing heavily as they turned onto the dirt road that led down to the creek.

He offered no explanation as to why he hadn't been able to wait for her after school, as he had other times. Why he had to add the extra humiliation of removing her from class before everybody's watching eyes. It was as if he wanted her to have to bear this extra alienation, of not being able to explain why her father came to remove her from school. He was making her feel different, and there was no one to whom she could tell her story when he stopped the car and jumped out of the cab, she remained inside. He had to come around to her side, open her door and pull her out. She clung to the gearshift, and then to the door, screaming, "Please, father, no!"

He slapped her face a few times until she was silenced, then unwrapped her fingers from his car's door and slung her over his back. He carried her down to the water's edge.

It was a beautiful day, one of the first days of summer. The water in the creek was high and spangled with sunlight. The leaves were almost full-grown on the trees that hung over the water, and they dappled the water with their shadows. There were flies in the air, just spawned by the earth overnight, it seemed, and Lena's eyes caught sight of a dragonfly, the first she had seen this year, glinting just above the surface of the stream's rippling water. Her father threw her down on the grass-covered bank and fell on top of her.

"You're making me think of you all the time, you little cunt," be whispered hoarsely in her ear. "Can't even work, now. Have to ride the tractor, do the planting, oversee the crew of boys who are helping me, but I can't, and it's your fault." He stuck his thick, tobacco-stained tongue in her ear and explored all the crevices of her soft pink seashell.

She felt the tongue like an unpleasant animal, a worm or a conch, worming down into the canal of her ear and it stirred her unpleasantly.

"In the yard I watch you bending over to feed the chickens, in the barn where I watch you squat on a stool to milk the cows. I get jealous when I watch you stroke their flanks. The cows. I get jealous when I see you touching the fucking cows." Now he was exposing her breasts to the open sun.

They were beautiful, firm, oblong-shaped, and white as fresh cream with brown nipples like the nougat inside of a candy bar. He slobbered his mouth all over these mounds of flesh, taking the nipples between his teeth and pulling lightly on them, watching as he raised the whole tit to a standing position by pulling on the nipple. He had the playfulness of a child today as he laughed gleefully when he released the nipples and the breasts fell back onto her chest like water balloons thrown gently on the ground. They did not burst, they rolled around and resumed their former shape. He cradled the boob weight in his hands and looked off in the distance as if her were judging the weight of one of his prize heifers.

He rolled her over on her hands and knees so he could look at her boobs hanging down. They almost touched the earth. The nipples were distended now, from his biting them and from hanging down, and he reached under her to cup his hands around her young tits and sway them and nip at them with his fatherly fingers.

"All the time. All the time," he kept whispering hoarsely in her ears like a gadfly, like a record, unrelated to what was happening which she nevertheless could not turn off. "I keep thinking of you, seeing you, seeing the shape of your tits in the mounds of earth the tractor drops seeds into, seeing your hair flowing over your boobies when I turn on the hose and wash down the sacks of feed. I can't even look a cow in the ass, I think of your sweet pink cuntflesh between those white thighs of yours, and I want 'em. I want 'em so bad I can't think, I can't work, can't do nothing but come to school and get you to take you away where I can put my hands all over you alone and touch you everywhere and make my mind stop trying to remember you.

His hands were all over her now, up her dress, around her waist, slipping under her panties, scratching through her pussy hair.

"Father!" she tried to stop him. They were right out in broad daylight now, after all. Someone might come along. She hoped someone would. But maybe now, in broad daylight, he might listen to reason, come to his senses.

"Father, it's against the Bible. Don't you know this is a sin? You can't fornicate with your own daughter. You'll make the sky go black some day with your dreadful deeds. Father, go to the women in town, go to mother, go to anyone else, but please leave me alone, I beg of you. If you can't bear to see me around the house without wanting me, I'll go away. I'll go away somewhere so you won't have to look at me, but please don't."

He didn't even hear her last words, though he was laughing at her protests. He had gotten his forefinger in her slit now and he was rubbing back and forth feeling the wetness increase. He moved his forefinger up to rub the swelling mound of flesh between her labia and then he slid the finger back down to the hole and entered her youthful love-cave.

Her clit too was swelling and throbbing despite herself, and she was all wet now. The wall-to-wall quilting of her twelve- year-old cunt was slimy with female love muck and he laughed as he withdrew his horny finger and heard a sigh from her.

"I thought you didn't like it," he said, raising himself up off her for a minute to unbuckle his pants.

"Uh," she opened her eyes. For a moment she had imagined that it was Brad King who had been tickling her excitement up the crevasse between her legs. Why did women have to have this stupid hole right up the very center of them, she thrashed bitterly as she knew the inescapable truth that it was her father, his breath sour on her lips, who was pressing his huge member over her face.

Why did he like it in her mouth? It was so incredibly disgusting this way. To have to take your father's big hard dick into your mouth. He forced it in, pulling her lips and teeth apart the way he would to examine a horse. His balls knocked against her chin. She spit and choked but still he did not relent as he shoved his long pointed spear into her soft throat. He loved to watch his cock disappear into the face of his daughter. He loved making women eat it. He loved watching it disappear into the hole in the middle of their faces, even more than he enjoyed sinking it into their cuntholes.

This way he could be sure only he got the real pleasure. He closed his eyes and sank it deep in her throat again, holding her by her luscious boobies. Her hair flowed over the riverbank and into the water. He dreamed of being able to tie her up down here so that whenever he felt like sinking it in her, he could just come down here, open his pants, spread her legs or force her to open her mouth, and sock it to her.

She gagged on the wicked cone thrusting down her throat as if it wanted to be completely swallowed. The thrusting quickened which meant he was near his coming. She shuddered and retched at the thought but there was no way of escaping taking his semen down her throat. He held her firmly pinned by her arms and by the way he sat on her upper chest. She felt like a doll, limp, just a bunch of boobs, a mouth with a flowing dick in it, and somewhere down there, a mass of cuntflesh which was not at present being used.

He felt his tide rising in him, and jiggled her boobies in his hands behind him, like melons they were, and jogged up and down faster on top of her face, sinking his cock into her small compliant mouth--open like as if it were a dickhole, made expressly for his dick. He kept bouncing it into her and the tip of his cock felt the smooth firm slimy quilted throat tissue, while the shaft of his cock felt the pulling of the walls of her mouth as he yelled, "Suck me off! Suck me off you bitch!" and gave her tits a hard tweak.