{This paragraph re-printed from Chapter 21 for the sake of continuity}
The last thing Honey was to remember was the tall body of their leader --
who had waited until all the others were done and had drifted away into the
darkness -- kneeling between her legs. By this time Honey was so exhausted that
the leader needed no one to hold her down. His knowing, experienced hands
explored all the curves of her body thoroughly, as he thrust himself
forcefully, but not violently into her. "This is my revenge, blue-eyes!" he
growled in his strangely accented English. Finally, after long minutes of
plunging his prodigious manhood into her defenseless body, he climaxed with half
a dozen explosive staccato thrusts in time with the last six words she was to
hear him speak, "This - is - for - my - people - goldenhair!" just before she
lapsed into blessed oblivion.
Chapter 23 A Prisoner of Passion
A fine evening some three weeks later found Honey and her boyfriend Clem
going for a stroll after a satisfying dinner of chicken and biscuits. Honey was
almost completely recovered from her ordeal physically and, she was thankful
that she didn't remember all of the details of her horrific two-day nightmare.
But everyone on the ranch had noticed that her father, Henry Wilson, seemed to
have aged considerably after listening to Honey recount what she remembered of
her ordeal.
With her father present, Honey had told Sheriff Buchanan as much as she
could remember about her attackers, in hopes that they might be able to track
down Slocum and Gibbs, or the Comanches, but the two outlaws had apparently
escaped across the Mexican border, and the Comanche, as was their way, seemed to
have melted into the vastness of the llano estacado, the west Texas plain.
After a few days chase' the posse came empty-handed.
It was at about this time that Honey came to the conclusion that it was
pointless to force what details she could remember on Clem, who had been most
attentive since his return from the cattle drive. After all, what good could
come from it?
Honey and Clem walked down to the pond and were walking back, hand in hand
toward the ranchhouse, enjoying the shimmering atmospheric canvas of brilliant
reds and oranges that was the Texas sunset. In the distance they could hear
old Lester beginning his nightly campfire serenade. He was playing a lively
"Oh, Susannah!" when the strains of the harmonica first reached their ears, and
as they drew closer to the house, they could hear him start in on one of Honey's
favorites, "Shenandoah." Michael Casey, like so many Irishmen, believed himself
to have a fine voice and loved to sing, especially after he'd had a sip or two,
and joined in.
"Shenandoah, I long to hear you ...", the sonorous words of the old
folksong came to the young couple as soon as Lester had played the first few
notes.
"My, isn't that a beautiful song, Clem? It makes me feel like I've known
that river all my life, even though I've never been within a thousand miles of
it."
Clem joined in for a moment. "Shenandoah, I love your daughter," he sang,
joining Casey in song from a distance while he smiled down at his girl, before
squeezing Honey's hand more firmly. "I know what you mean, Honey. It's amazing
what Lester can do with that mouth organ. When he plays, "Oh Susannah" doesn't
it make you want to get up and dance around until dawn?" When Honey nodded,
Clem went on, "but when he plays "Shenandoah" it makes me feel like I want to
sit in silence on a hill and look out into the distance forever, hoping for a
glimpse of a river I've never laid eyes on."
Clem glanced fondly at his girl. After the incident her girlish pigtails
had gone the way of her youthful naivete, and Honey's long blonde hair now fell
to her shoulders in a gleaming golden storm. Tonight, her cornflower-blue
sundress seemed to bring out the sparkling quality of her azure eyes. The thin
blue dress seemed to Clem to be cut a half-size too small, the way it clung
almost indecently to the opulent curves of Honey's ripe young body. The dress
was cut a bit low in front, too, so that just a hint of Honey's sumptuous
cleavage was visible. When they had embraced upon his arrival Clem thought he
had felt Honey's chiseled nipples pressing against his chest; he was nearly sure
that her tempting breasts were naked under her thin sundress.
The handsome young couple passed the Wilson barn on their way toward the
bunkhouse; the door to the barn was ajar, and Honey glanced in and saw the
familiar bales of hay and shivered silently. The sight of the bales stimulated
memories that she had tried hard to repress and suddenly she felt herself
reliving the awful moments when Slocum had thrown her down violently across some
of those very bales, and Ernie the Weasel had forced her to caress her body
shamelessly while the two desperados had raped her with their lascivious eyes.
But even that humiliation paled when compared to the memory of Black Jack
Slocum's savage assault itself, not to mention the thought of his maniacal
sidekick giggling while he touched the red-hot tip of his burning cheroot to
her thighs and belly and breasts.
Honey closed her eyes for a few seconds as she walked, trying to rid
herself of the dreadful images. When she opened them she and Clem were standing
in front of the bunkhouse.
"Evenin', Miss Honey." Lester, in between songs, greeted her with his warm
familiar smile, his impossibly white teeth gleaming in the middle of his
improbably dark face. "Sho' is a lovely night, Miss. Evenin' suh," Lester
addressed Clem.
Honey was fond of the old man, whose hair seemed to have grown
unaccountably thinner and whiter in recent weeks. "Yes, it surely is, Lester."
Seeing that the most of the ranch hands were scattered in a semi-circle around
the Negro musician, Honey crossed her arms across her generous, thinly-covered
breasts protectively, and spoke to them. "Hi, Red. How are you-all doin'
tonight? Slim, Stoney, Michael. Buck." She greeted the last-named more
coolly; she still remembered how he had made a grab for her at the birthday
party a while back.
" 'Tis a balmy evening to be sure, Miss Wilson, but nothing like the nights
we had back in Ireland. I remember one night lookin' out over Galway Bay while
..."
"Oh, stow the blarney, for once, Casey. We could put your whole stinkin'
island in one little corner of Texas!" Red liked to egg the Irishman on.
"Could ye now, you red-necked son of a sodbuster? I'd like to see ye try!"
Casey put the cap back on his bottle of rye, and stood up unsteadily, ready to
take on the much bigger man. Slim grabbed him and held the feisty Irishman
back. "Aww, c'mon Mike. Red was just playin' with ya. Wasn't ya, Red?"
"Yeah, I reckon so," said the foreman good-naturedly. "Say, Lester, play us
another tune; maybe it'll calm that crazy Mick down." Red winked at Honey.
Lester had gotten halfway through the first verse of the poignant
"Londonderry Air" which Casey had taught him and which always seemed to placate
the hot-headed son of Erin, when Honey heard Henry Wilson's voice calling from
the doorway of the house. "Honey, we got a council meetin' tonight in town, so
I'm going to take the buckboard in. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't
let her sit out here listenin' to Lester, all night, will you, Clem? She still
tires easy."
"No sir. I think we're about to go inside now. I'll be leavin' shortly
myself."
*******
Ten minutes later, thankful for Henry Wilson's unexpected departure, and
the opportunity to be alone, the amorous young couple was sitting in the love
seat in the parlor, Honey on Clem's lap, in the midst of a long, steamy kiss.
Honey's body had been sore for the better part of two weeks, and now that the
pain was finally gone, she just wanted to feel good for a change. The pressure
of Clem's insistent mouth on hers and the touch of his hand on a soft, warm
thigh under her thin dress, sent pleasurable tingles through her body. Through
the curtained, but open window, they could hear Lester's harmonica finishing up
an Irish lullaby.
"Ummmm, yes," Honey purred sensuously as Clem's hand slid further north,
toward the apex of her supple thighs. "That feels nice, Clem. Touch me, baby,"
she added as she wriggled with pleasure. "I want to feel your hands on my body."
Clem's hands flew to Honey's bodice where they fumbled clumsily with the
ivory-colored buttons. Impatient with his inexperienced awkwardness, Honey
whispered, "Here, let me help you, sweetie," and her slender fingers flew
through the series of stubborn circlets, slipping them through their respective
buttonholes, and a few seconds later the pale blue bodice fell open nearly to
her waist.
"God, they're beautiful," Clem muttered, as Honey slowly drew the panels of
her dress apart. As Clem had suspected there was nothing underneath Honey's
bodice except her splendidly pink-tipped breasts, the inner curves of which were
fully revealed to his ravenous gaze. Honey adjusted her position slightly so
that she faced her adoring lover, straddling his thighs, her knees on the soft
cushions of the love seat.
Clem's eyes feasted on Honey's peaches-and-cream pleasure-globes as waves
of pleasure rippled through his amorous manhood. Tonight was the first time
since the incident that Honey had been in one of the sensual, kittenish moods
that had cost him so many sleepless hours. Clem crushed his lips against
Honey's again, tasting the sweetness of her breath and the softness of her
mouth. He felt Honey's fingers running through his longish brown hair even as
she permitted his own hands to resume their ambitious ascent, this time up the
backs of her tawny thighs.
"Oooh, I love the touch of your hands, Clem. You make all the hurt go
away," Honey whispered, as she shuddered with pleasure. "Make me feel good,
sweetheart. Ooooh, yesssssssss. Higher! That's it!" she said breathlessly as
one of Clem's hands found its way to the lacy fabric between her legs. "Make
me feel good all over." Honey slid further up his thighs, and leaned toward him,
feeling his trousered manhood pressing thick and hard against her loins, and
offering her pulsing love globes to his caresses. "Love 'em up, Clem.
Ummmmmmmm, yes, baby, yesssss!"
Delighted by Honey's long-dormant passion, Clem slid his left hand inside
Honey's gaping bodice, filling his questing hand with a smoldering breast.
While his right hand fondled the curves of her buttocks, Clem scooped her right
breast in his left hand lovingly, and pressed it inward against her other love
gourd, marveling at the beauty of the concave canyon of flesh he had created.
Honey's coral-pink nipple-nuggets seemed to swell with desire even though he had
yet to touch them.
But he did not long defer that pleasure. He leaned forward, inhaling the
lilac fragrance with which Honey had anointed the scented valley between her
breasts. He had barely touched one of her quivering lust-buds with the tip of
his tongue, when Honey moaned with pleasure and slipped the bodice of her dress
back off her shoulders, thus giving him untrammeled access to her quivering
man-pleasers.
Deciding that he, too, could play the teasing game, Clem decided to ignore
Honey's quivering nipples for the moment, and concentrate instead on the rest of
her peaches-and-cream pleasure-melons, even though her love-buds reached toward
him, pink and aching with desire.
Clem's hungry mouth sought out Honey's left breast and attacked it gently
with his lips, starting with the inner curve and slowly kissing and sucking his
way around her wondrous globe. Leaning backward slightly, and supporting
herself by placing her hands on the loveseat, Honey arched her back into a
sensuous curve and thrust her opulent breasts forward for Clem's delectation.
Clem obliged by continuing to pay homage to Honey's majestic lust orbs with
his lips and tongue, polishing every inch of her softly-curved pleasure-domes.
"Mmm, yessss, Baby," Honey purred, as she slid a hand across Clem's crotch.
She could feel his young manhood, thick and hard, primed for action.
It was Clem's turn to groan with pleasure as he felt Honey's hand on his
cockstaff. His former diffidence long since cast aside, Clem stiffened his
tongue and then swirled it around each of Honey's thrusting nipples without ever
actually touching the throbbing tips of her breasts. He explored every minute
crevice, every sensuous irregularity in the pebbly texture of her pink areolae
with his questing tongue. Meanwhile Honey's yearning lust-nuggets, still
untouched, strained toward him, as if begging him to put an end to his cruelly
benign neglect.
When at last Clem's lips did close around a succulent nipple, Honey gasped
with desire and threw her golden mane of hair back and abandoned herself to the
pleasure of the moment, permitting Clem to feast on each of her deliciously
swollen nipple-buds in turn.
Responding in kind, the blonde teenager reached inside Clem's fly and
extracted his swollen member; she stroked his firm glans lovingly, noting that
in his excitement a glistening pearl of male seed had formed on its handsome
cock-tip. Honey swept her pink tongue across her moist, full lips with wanton
shamelessness. Clem almost came on the spot, as the thought of Honey's tongue
licking that lone drop of semen from his pulsing rod, much less orally coaxing
every last drop of his man-juice to make the same exciting voyage up and out of
his ardent cock-shaft, sent incredible ripples of pleasure through his aroused
genitals.
Their amorous embrace was interrupted when Honey heard old Lester start in
on "I Dream of Jeannie" while Clem continued to bring pleasure to the bold,
thrusting breasts which had endured so many torments at the hands of Slocum and
Gibbs. His lips worked her tasty coral nipples in turn, leaving Honey quivering
with lust. "Yes, Clem, Yes! Mmmm, right there. Suck it, baby! Ooh, that feels
so good!" Her hands held his head to her breast as if she wanted him to
pleasure her sensitive breast-mounds forever.
It was perphaps best that in the dim light of dusk, Clem could not make
out that the tip of one delicious nipple was slightly darker in color than the
other, the result of Ernie's sadistic cigar play. Or that the underslopes of
Honey's warm, pulsing love-melons still bore faint traces of the flesh-wounding
barbed wire...
********
Despite her erotic rapture, one small part of Honey's consciousness was
aware of the fact that Lester had begun to sing. The old man had a rich baritone
voice, but he couldn't play the harmonica and sing at the same time, so he
rarely sang. But tonight, he must have put his instrument aside for a moment,
because he was singing now.
"I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair, " he sang, his voice dark
and sweet, and the lyrics and the Foster melody carried across the distance
between the bunkhouse and the parlor, cutting easily through the faint sonic
veil of cricket chirps so typical of a west Texas sundown.
But when the word "hair" reached her for the second time, Honey released
her cock-pleasing grip on Clem's fleshy maleness, and pulled away from his
questing mouth as if she had received an electric shock.
"What is it, Honey? What's wrong?" Clem asked, his erect manhood surging
forward eagerly, anxious for Honey to renew her warm embrace.
Honey, her dress still open to her waist, her meltingly beautiful breasts
glistening with Clem's adoring saliva, looked like she had seen, or heard, a
ghost.
"I don't know, Clem. For a second there, Lester's voice frightened me.
I'm still a little edgy I guess."
"Well, that's OK, darling. Are you all right, now? Now where were we?"
Clem muttered with a knowing smile, as his hungry hands slid back under the hem
of her dress, and slowly made their way up Honey's luscious thighs, stroking her
confidently, passionately, as his lips found hers again.
And they lost themselves in each other's bodies again for a few moments,
until Lester again sang the line ending with "light brown hair." This time
Honey broke free, and stood up, holding her dress together at the throat, and
rubbing her shoulders. Clem saw that she was trembling and that her bright blue
eyes were as frightened as those of a small child.
"What's wrong, Honey?"
"I -- I don't know, Clem. Something about that song, or those words, is
just giving me the chills tonight. Can't say why. I've always loved that
song."
"Don't worry about it, Clem." she went on a moment later. " I'm just
havin' fancies I guess. I'll be all right. But maybe you'd better go. Somehow
all of a sudden I just don't feel right tonight. And besides," she added as she
looked up at the grandfather clock, "daddy'll be home soon."
Clem, while vastly disappointed and puzzled by Honey's sudden change of
mood, was chivalrous and considerate, and stood up and adjusted his clothing.
Then, taking Honey in his arms he gave her a warm kiss goodnight, to which she
responded tentatively, and told her that he'd come by tomorrow to see how she
was feeling. And then he turned and strode toward the front door.
Honey watched him as he crossed the yard to the hitching post. She stepped
outside on the porch and waved as her tall, handsome, beau mounted his
Appaloosa. Clem smiled and waved back, mouthed the word, "Tomorrow" and headed
down the long drive toward the road.
Honey stood there on the porch, and she watched Clem ride away, she
absently let go of the pale bodice that she'd been holding together at her
throat. For a moment, she stood there, her breasts half-bare in the twilight,
as she puzzled over why the line of a song had upset her so. Then, suddenly,
she looked down at her open dress, realized where she was, looked anxiously
toward the bunkhouse to see if anyone had noticed, and stepped back inside the
house.
