tits, still firm and flawless despite her bearing three children. Her hair was held back by a blue bandanna. It was long hair of a deep, rich mahogany shade, darker and redder than the twins.
She thought about her offspring. She was young – just forty – yet she was fortunate in her children. They were intelligent, responsible, helpful. The family had its normal share of sibling dissent and difficulty, but after Jeanette's husband, John, had died, they had pulled together into an unbreakable unit. Their love had pulled them through hard times, and now their lives were comfortable and happy here in the peaceful mountains.
'Back, Red. Go on, don't be such a nuisance.' Red backed off, wagging his great golden tail, his tongue lolling from his mouth. He seemed tense, as though upset by something, but relieved that the mistress of the house had arrived to deal with it.
'Oh, Red,' she laughed, holding the screen open with a plushly padded hip while she unlocked the door. 'What've they got in there, a coyote? I've never seen you this way.'
The door opened. She walked into the kitchen and set the bag down on a counter. 'Hello. Anybody home?'
There was no answer. She walked into the living room, smoothing back her bandanna. She stopped.
'Oh!'
Sitting in an easy chair with his feet propped on the sofa, Jake smiled through his beard and gestured easily with the shotgun in his right hand. 'Howdy, ma'am,' he said. 'Why don't you just take a seat with the kids, over on the couch?'
Jeanette's knees turned to water. What was going on? Two armed strangers in her living room – and her three children, naked or half-naked and trussed like chickens. 'Who are you?' she demanded.
Betsy and Coe sat side by side on the couch. Betsy's flannel shirt hung open, baring her pale pink-tipped tits. Coe was completely naked, and to her horror, Jeanette saw that her elder daughter's normally lovely tits were puffy and discolored, as though they'd been beaten. In a second she found out why they looked that way.
Without changing expression Jake lifted his other hand. A thick leather belt hung from it. He flicked his wrist. The leather strap struck like a snake at Betsy's vulnerable left tit. The girl jerked as though shot and shrieked as pain lanced through her tit.
'What are you doing?' Jeanette screamed.
'I told you to do something,' Jake said easily, 'and you didn't do it. I had to show you what happens when you don't do what I say. It's only fair, ain't it? To let you know what the rules are.'
Jeanette looked from him to his skinny redheaded partner. 'Damn you, you sons of bitches!' she heard her son say. She turned to look at him. He was over by the huge whitewashed adobe fireplace, bound hand and foot to a massive hand carved wooden chair.
Jake turned his eyes toward the youth. 'Thought I told you what would happen if you didn't shut up, junior. Want baby sister to get her tit whipped again?'
Jack's face clouded over with rage, but he said nothing.
Jake's water blue eyes flicked back to Jeanette. She felt herself blushing as they traveled from her head to her feet. It was as if they stripped away her clothes – the man's work shirt that couldn't hide the lusciousness of her jugs, the jeans that made not effort to conceal the ripeness of her hips and ass – and left her naked and revealed to his lusting gaze. He liked what he saw, she knew.
'I got an idea,' the other man said. He was perched nervously on the arm of another overstuffed chair. 'Why don't we make her strip on down for us, like a strip-tease burlesque show?'
'That's a fine idea, Bob,' Jake nodded. 'What say, Mrs…'
'Mason,' she said reluctantly. 'Jeanette Mason.'
'Well, Jeanette, I'm right pleased to know you. My name's Jake.' He smirked at her lasciviously. 'I figure we ought to start out on a first-name basis, considering bow well we're going to get to know each other. Why don't you shuck off that blouse now, Jeanette. But slow and easy… surprise us.'
'Don't do it, Mom,' Coe said, her voice low and sullen.
Jake's head didn't turn, but his aim was perfect. The belt lashed out and with a loud smack turned Betsy's other tit a glowing, painful pink to match the other one. Her nipples stood out stiffly, responding to the pain.
'Ohhhh…' the blonde girl moaned.
Jeanette felt her eyes fill with hot tears. She'd been a good mother, a capable one, and while she'd done her best to see that her children learned to stand on their own, she'd always tried to protect them. Now they were in a more dangerous situation than any she could have imagined, and she was powerless to help them.
But there was a way she could help Betsy – for now, at least. As if of its own accord one brown hand, still slim and fine despite the toils of ranch work, stole up the front of her shirt and toyed with the top button. Jake's tongue traveled a slow circuit of his lips as she undid the button and folded the shirt open slightly – enough to reveal a hint of white titflesh. Bob swallowed audibly.
It was strange that the two should react so, with two totally naked and totally desirable teenaged girls sitting in arm's reach of them. But Jeanette's lush body was a mystery to them, one they were becoming increasingly eager to have unveiled. Rolling her hips slowly, she undid another button, and another.
With her thumbs she pushed back the front of the shirt, slipping her fingers under her brassiere clad boobs and raising them as if offering the twin treasures of titflesh to her captors. Her nipples were taut now, wine-dark and visible through the filmy cups of her bra. Despite herself, she was getting excited.
It had nothing to do with the two scruffy strangers sitting in her living room pointing a gun at her – her own husband's shotgun – or the certainty that as soon as she was naked – if they even waited that long – they would rape her savagely and repeatedly. What was impelling her to perform the steamily erotic dance for her captors was her daughter's safety, temporary as it would be – but the reasons she put such delicious carnal life into every motion of her exquisite body was something else again.
Her husband, John Mason, whom she'd married at sixteen and had loved all her life, had always taken delight in watching his wife undress. Long after each had learned all the sexual secrets of the other's body. Jeanette undressing languidly, teasingly, by the fireside late at night with the kids in bed in the big master bedroom with its brass four-poster, had never failed to get both of them so incredibly aroused that their fucking seemed a new and overwhelming experience. Jeanette had loved to strip for John as much as he'd loved to watch her. When she stood nude and he came for her with a growl of lust, her pussy was always wet and hot and desperately hungry for the thrusting fullness of his big hard cock.
Now she was doing her dance of lust again, this time for two total strangers, to save her young daughter a few moments of pain the vicious men would probably give her anyway.
But with her eyes shut, it was almost as if John were alive again.
She writhed out of her rustic shirt. Her body was sheened with perspiration. Her skin was white except for her face, hands, and the vee of her neck – unlike her elder daughter, she'd never been much of a sun-worshipper. Her hands roved her body, cupping her tits, stroking down her flat belly to undo ever so slowly the button of her fly. Then she drew the zipper down gradually, her hips undulating. She could almost feel the strangers' eyes swiveling to follow the motion.
She peeled back the front of her jeans and slipped a hand into her panties. Her cunt-fur was hot under her palm. She gave a small soft moan of pleasure at the pressure of her own hand on the mound of her pussy. Her fingers probed briefly, and she wasn't surprised to find the crisp hair that fringed the mouth of her pussy wet and matted with aromatic cunt-oils.
Her hand came out again, and neither Jake nor Bob missed the shine on her fingertips that told of the moist eagerness of her cunt. 'God damn,' Bob muttered. Little Jake just stared.
Deliberately she pulled her tight jeans down her long sculptured legs. She turned gradually so that when she kicked off her shoes and bent to pull her pants off, her ass was pointed right at the men, her white panties stretched taut over the bulging mounds of her asscheeks. Then she straightened, took off the band and shook a cascade of gleaming hair down her back. She reached behind herself and undid the clasp of her bra. Holding the cups of the bra in place in front of her ripe tits, she turned back to face the men, her green eyes still shut, her full lips slightly parted in a half-smile.
She fondled her tits through the cloth of her bra. Slowly she worked one cup down until a brown-red nipple peeked above it, stark against the snowy paleness of her tits. Then she spun like a ballerina, and when she came around to face the spectators again whipped the bra away so that her tits flew free, bouncing loosely, her inflated nipples making figure-eights in the air.
