Chapter 12

There has to be something I can do, thought Priscilla Devereaux as she spurred her horse angrily across the rolling hills and meadows near her father's huge estate. She knew she was near the edge now, close to moving onto Pace property. But no one cared around here who rode across whose property. It was open land and a horse never hurt anything.

There has to be something I can do to get him away from that bitch! The thought rattled around in her head irritatingly. The little trollop Desirée Mitchell had had her way with Mark and Priscilla had no intention whatever of standing by and watching it all pass under the bridge as if it had never happened and Mark and she had never been lovers. She wanted him back, and that meant she would have to separate him from his hot-and-sticky-cunted little wife.

And that might take some doing.

Down below she saw Nancy Pace's little Camaro negotiating the dirt road leading to and from her uncle's estate. Priscilla thought that Clete Anderson's teenage fiancee would be better off trying to take a four-wheel-drive vehicle in to town. The river had risen high from a recent rain and had flooded a piece of the road. She could easily get stuck and immobilized far from anywhere. Priscilla drew her binoculars out of her saddle bag and took a closer look. Yes, Nancy would be lucky indeed to make it across the swamped part of the road just ahead.

Priscilla swept the vista with her lenses again and stopped. Well, if it wasn't her own dear Mark driving this way in his new Bronco, whipping up a cloud of dust. What was he doing down this way?

Nancy cried out as her Camaro plowed into the water, hearing the spray roar up under the hood, killing the engine. Damn, how could this happen? She was in a hurry to get down to see Clete. He had been away for a few days, and they had had no intimate moments. Strange how he had turned a virgin teenager - well, he and the raping dog Lobo - into such a wanton and sexy woman. She was burning with desire for his big cock and their times together had become quite animal. All that he had taught her now ran through her mind constantly. She need him almost every day to quench the fires of sensuality he had stoked within her.

Clete had taught her well - all the things a loving woman needed to know. Every position for fucking, every way to please a man. She had begun to like sucking his big, black cock, though it was terribly difficult to get even half of it inside her mouth. Her hot pussy burned just thinking about being with him and now this flooded road had thrown ice water on her plans and libido. What was wrong with her? Damnit, it was Clete's fault for making her such a hot-pussy bitch at the very tender age.

There was absolutely no response from the engine. It was drowned, just like her plans to be with Clete. With a mild curse, she gingerly stepped out of the car in to knee-deep water and began to walk.

Mark welcomed the chance to be back at work after his pleasant but exhausting honeymoon, the breakfast and hot coffee doing much to restore his energy. Damn, if he could just find the strength to leave his young wife, Desirée - but Christ, he almost couldn't this morning! He had just wanted to lie in bed with her and make love and stroke her hot and sweaty body. He was already getting hard just thinking about her. When was he going to become just slightly used to her beauty and be able to get back to work.

Irately, the town's councilor slammed the gears through their cycle, forcing his mind to concentrate on other immediate issues at hand. As much as he had his own personal weaknesses, there were other local matters to be looked to, especially the area's drug trouble. The high-school was seemingly saturated with it, and Clete Anderson had done nothing concerning the three teenage pushers Mark had picked up and turned over to the police chief. Though Mark tried never to draw obvious conclusions, Clete's laxity in bringing the three before the county judge for indictment, plus his refusal to discuss the matter, underscored what he'd feared all along. He hated to believe it, but more and more it began to look as if Clete was in cahoots with the young pushers, though to prove the matter might be next to impossible in Pickford's Meadows, for it was up to Clete himself to present all evidence.

The police chief had the Devereauxs on his side, had somehow curried favor with good old venomous Priscilla and her father, and who would buck James Devereaux, even with him somewhere overseas. On top of that, Mark had already made an unbearable enemy in the beautiful, auburn-haired whiplash of a daughter who had laid claim to him years back. But what else could he have done but spurn those big, lusty green-eyes? He'd married Desirée, was head-over- heels in love with her. His affair with Priscilla, which had never been anything more than a lurid diet of sexual variety, was over! Hell, there'd never been any future in it from the beginning. There was no place at the time for him in the wealthy Devereaux circle. It had always been his stud value, and he'd never tried to fool himself on that score. But Priscilla didn't like her playthings taken from her, not before she had broken them and was finished, and she had made that well known to him back at the Radisson Hotel. How had she so glibly and gently put it? "You-you sonofabitch, goddamn you, Mark Denning! I'll have your nuts for this! I swear I will! I'll have your nuts!"

Mark's keen, but tired mind diligently worked as he drove, covering the miles on that winding rural road to the Pace house, to see if talking to the chestnut-haired Nancy Pace and her uncle could tell her anything. He wasn't quite clear in his mind what value would come out of a chat with her, but she'd always been an amiable girl, talkative and eager, and she undoubtedly had at least been exposed to the drug-traffic at school. And maybe, just maybe, she might let something drop that she had observed in Clete's behavior that might explain why he kept covering for the drug pushers. Anyway, he had to start somewhere, and he'd promised Rodney that he'd try to get him an interview with her.

His mind was again reverting to irritatingly lustful thoughts of Desirée when he saw the attractive brown-eyed beauty, Nancy Pace herself, on the road, the warm curves to her shapely young legs first catching his eye, then the miniskirt and white pullover she wore. Drawing closer, he realized that she was obviously braless, a new thing for the reserved and shy teenager, her full, youthful breasts doing an arousing sashay to her every step. He swallowed, wondering if maybe he shouldn't wait until tomorrow when her uncle was with her.

She saw him and waved. Mark smiled back, responsively easing the Bronco to a stop, making no motions toward her, yet she swerved from the sidewalk to come and talk with him.

"Hi, Mark... , I-I mean Mr. Denning. I just bogged my car down," she said in one breath, her young white teeth glistening with her smile.

"Y-Yes, I can see that," he stammered, her accidental use of his first name surprising him. In the past, it had always been Mr. Denning. "Come on, I'll drive you. I wanted to talk to you anyway," he added with a little smile of his own. "Ooohhh?" he heard her pleasant girlish voice questioningly fade as she unhesitantly circled the car, that too astonishing him. He opened the door for her and she climbed in, making none of the usual demure efforts toward covering her youthfully rounded thighs with her tiny mini-skirt. Being with Clete these last few months had changed her, not to mention her horrid experience with the wild dog. "It's not very often that I get picked up by the handsomest man in town," she said with a light, flirty air, the pleasing scent of fragrant soap reaching him.

Mark uncontrollably grinned as he spurred the automobile back into motion, her less-than-naive coquettishness giving him another start that he hadn't been prepared for. He naturally had had some experience with these teenage girls in his life, but he doubted that he'd ever quite get comfortable with their casual disregard for the teasingly provocative sexiness they exuded. It was difficult to believe they were unaware of their ripened young charms, though he'd never thought of Nancy along those lines, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was either getting old, or blind... , or was it that she had suddenly grown up when he wasn't looking?

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Denning?" Nancy questioned, purposely twisting in the seat so that she faced him, her young nylon encased legs nearly touching at the knees, her fully rounded thighs knowingly revealed to him. She saw his handsome, greyish-eyes magnetically rake over them, and a little quiver of excitement fluttered through her.

"I have a friend here, a writer who'd like to interview you, Nancy," he clumsily managed, gluing his eyes to the street ahead with the sight of her curvaceous young thighs mentally branded in his mind. Damnit! He was still hot and horny from his honeymoon. "Name's Rodney Foster and he writes for a national magazine!"

"About the dog, Lobo, that day?" she quickly responded, her teenage, dark eyes innocently absorbing him, then clouding with sadness at the memory. "Is that what he wants to know about?"

Mark again swallowed, this time more tightly. "Ah... yes, he wants to do an article on the wild dog phenomenon, Nancy, but that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about, though I'd welcome anything you have to add to our record on the experience you had."

"Oh, there's nothing more. I've told everything. He did it, you know, screwed me, that's all," Nancy replied with a sadness that caused her youthful face to crumble into something outwardly pathetic. Her choice of lewd words causing the flesh of his balls to creep! "Well, nearly all. That is, there's one thing that I haven't told anyone, Mr. Denning, but... but I know I can tell you."

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Wh-What's that, Nancy?" he managed, not daring to look her way and/or down at those luscious young thighs again.

"Well, at first I tried to fight him," she said, speaking in a childishly soft, sultry voice that he could never know she had painstakingly rehearsed before a mirror. But then, she excitedly thought, there had been many things that had happened to her since Lobo, hadn't there? And her lover Clete had introduced her to them all. "At first I did, until I realized that it was no use, and then... then, I gave up! I-I let him do it, even helped by pushing myself back at him! D-Does that make me sound like some sort of d-dirty girl, myself? I-I mean, the way some people look at me."

Christ almighty, Mark thought, driving over toward the Pace ranch, skirting the pool where the girl's car sat drowned and immobile. He was getting a gnawing hard-on at the sound of her voice and the lewd story she was telling him. He couldn't help but imagine his own young bride, Desirée, naked and kneeling before the huge German shepherd, and the brute's thrusting cock driving her right out of her skull!

"Listen," he hoarsely rasped, forcing the unwanted fantastic thought of his young wife mounted by that dog, ramming his feral animal-cock up between the smooth grinding cheeks of her naked buttocks and into her pink pussy from his mind! "Listen, there's no one in this town who can look down on you, Nancy! You put that right in the forefront of your mind, eh? Try to understand that many of these people are bigoted religious fanatics who don't know any better. They're not really to blame anymore than you were for what happened!"

"I-I've tried to, Mr. Denning," she softly replied, gazing downward toward her candidly exhibited legs in an accomplished gesture, fiery sensations already tingling hotly through her at the sudden realization of their being out on the road and all alone, far from the relief of Clete's marvelous cock! Her brain burned with a sudden thought. It could happen if she was clever enough! But did she dare? Mark Denning, wow, he was so handsome! "Honestly, I've tried, even thought that they didn't know any better, religious fanatics, as you say, but-" she looked up at him, her flashing dark eyes rounded in question, "but even religious people know about fucking, don't they?"

She might have shoved a white-hot, searing iron right between his legs. Mark's head reeled at her casual use of the graphic four-letter word, his swollen hardness jerking noticeably inside his pants-front! Goddamn, what was he doing out here in the hills with her, anyway? He'd momentarily lost his head, that was what! The fresh young feminine fragrance of her, and her wide-eyed innocent use of lurid words, say nothing of the way she was displaying her thighs all the way up to her panties to him, had lustfully set his blood-thumping cock into doing his thinking for him! What the hell was he stupidly contemplating but having a shag with Clete Anderson's fiancee! He, a happily married man. Goddamn, he could see the white nylon crotchband of her panties snugly hugging the puffy little pubic mound between her lush, teenage thighs!

"Well, don't they Mr. Denning?" she persisted.

"Y-Yeah... sure, Nancy... of course they know," he stammered, tearing his eyes from between her youthfully firm legs and beginning to look for a place to turn around. He had to get hold of himself! His resistance was at low-ebb due to his hypersexual honeymoon. It seemed that all his cock wanted was to fuck something. His brain was groggy, his slowly stiffening prick was lecherously attempting to make his decisions for him! Christ, the narrow wisp of satiny whiteness caressing the fleshy swell between her rounded, full, young thighs was searingly imprinted in his roused brain! "Don't worry, it'll all work out for you, Honey."

Honey! He'd called her Honey, and there was no doubt about that swelling in his pantleg and the way it'd jerked when she'd used the word, fucking! God, it looked as big as Clete's! Not that it mattered how big it was! She knew she'd love it inside her if it were no larger than her little finger! Mark Denning! He was so handsome, and her pussy was getting so tingly wet! How was she going to manage it? She said: "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Denning? I'd tell you anything... anything!"

Holy Christ, there wasn't any question, Mark's nearly exhausted intelligence screamed! She, this devilish little teenage cockteaser, was laying it on the line before him! He couldn't help but think of Priscilla Devereaux's flagrant lust that had been his real indoctrination! Damn, was Nancy blindly gearing toward being another Priscilla? He tried to think of his wife, Desirée, anything that would restore a measure of needed reason, but the mere thought of his voluptuous, blonde bride brought fire to his brain.

"What do you know about the drugs going around town and the high school?" he threw at her, almost hoping that she would get angry and bring the whole trouble-heading scene to an end right there.

"What do you want to know?" the teenager questioned, inching closer to him along the seat.

"The pushers - who are they?" Mark snapped.

"Johnny Canning, Billy, his brother, and Sam Quaid, but I haven't seen them around for a while," she quickly answered. "No one's seen them, as if they disappeared."

Mark licked at his thin lips. They were the three Clete had picked up and turned loose the next day. "Has the traffic died down?"

"I don't know, Mr. Denning. I've never been involved with drugs at all," she answered, slowly slipping her arm around the back-rim of his seat as she slithered tightly against him. "I've had no interest in them."

"Who's the source, do you know?" he managed, sensing the warm weight of her arm behind him and the delicate play of her fingers at the back of his neck. Jesus Christ, he'd been so right, so right! She was offering all that ripe, youthful loveliness to him to fuck right now if he wanted it!

Nancy swallowed, her young throat as tight as a drum. Someone out of town, that was all she knew. But lover Clete would kill her if he ever found out! He would, he'd kill her for even thinking of taking her panties off for his enemy, Mark Denning! It wasn't the same as before she'd begun to sleep with him; she hardly had any privacy or secrets anymore. He made her suck him all the time before he ate her pussy and fucked her, and she knew that he'd skin her alive if she made a mistake!

"I can't tell you that, Mark!" she hoarsely exclaimed.

"Please... please don't ask me! J-Just be nice to me, Mr. Denning, please? I-It isn't easy being me right now, little Nancy Pace - the sweet young girl that, that dog, Lobo, raped, with everyone in the county looking down at me."

Whether it was the pathetic tone of her child-like voice, or her self-pitying words that reached him, Mark would never know, anymore than he could understand the reasoning behind his own sudden, stupidly impulsive statement: "Damnit, I told you about these people!" he said, swinging into the mouth of a dirt lane that led to a deserted quarry and coming to a skidding halt. He rammed the gears into reverse, then turned to gape at inch- distance into the attractive young face crowding his.

"Wait, don't back up!" the long-haired teenager pleaded in a throaty whisper. "Please, Mr. Denning, don't back up. Keep going. Drive up into the quarry," she pleaded, her sweet young breath hot against his cheek. And then he felt her other small hand's electrifying contact with the tensed muscle of his thigh, beginning to caress warmly as it moved with pointed intention toward the jerking rod of hardness straining at his pants front! "Maybe you can make me feel better, ease the ache inside me, while I draw the fire out of this for you!"

"Christ!" he gasped to the hot, encircling pressure of her small palm and fingers suddenly grasping the thickened hardness of his throbbing cock inside his pants. "D-Do you know what you're saying, talking about doing, Nancy?" he rasped at her, his fired brain spinning like the vanes on a windmill, while her delicate young hand began to knowingly trace the outline of his long rigid prick with unbelievably skilled fingers!

"Yes, yes, of course I know, Mr. Denning! Can't you tell by my hand on your cock?" she lewdly whispered, then possessively clutched it as she pressed forward, crushing the resilient young flesh of one full, bra-less breast against his tensed arm and kissed his cheek with warm, wet lips. "Please, Mr. Denning. Please? Do it to me - I want you to! Fuck me, do anything you want to me, just let me make you happy!"

He couldn't have moved at that moment had he wanted to! Her lithe, young body hotly pressed against him, her yielding, teenaged breast searing the muscled-flesh of his arm right through his shirt-sleeve, but it was her youthful little hand caressing his throbbing cock that was tearing him up inside! Her lustful plea with its lewd words screamed in his tired skull and he knew he was rapidly losing any resistance to her that he might have had! Still, he made one last effort.