Chapter 1: Mr.Stent

Netty didn’t like the side-eye glances the strange Mr. Stent threw her way over the flames of their camp fire as he talked to Mamma and Papa. She didn’t like his gigantic solid frame that dwarfed even her father, who had been the largest person she’d ever seen for most of her life. She didn’t like the little grin that was always at the corners of his mustached mouth. Even less, she didn’t like the way her parents seemed to be ignoring outright that he was making her uncomfortable.

She pulled the edges of her bonnet further forward to block him from her own sight, focusing instead on the tips of her shoes in the prairie grasses.

Her family was traveling west on their way to Papa’s new land, following the never-ending wagon-wheel ruts leading further and further from home and familiarity. They would join Papa’s brothers who had gone ahead three years ago to find and purchase enough land for the whole extended family to be something of a settlement unto themselves. Papa had sold the home farm, all the cattle, the house, and most of their belongings to fund this awful trip across wild country overrun with aggressive Natives, horse thieves, robbers, and God knew what else.

The trip had been abominable enough with being rattled half to death riding on the wagon seat, eating only food that could be cooked over a campfire, the never-ending dust along the trail, wind that never settled, and bathing in cold running streams. She’d already been miserable, now under Mr. Stent’s constant gaze she was both miserable and unsettled.

“Netty,” Mama said sternly, “go to bed.”

“Yes, Mama,” Netty replied, grateful to finally be excused away from the uncomfortable company.

She quickly walked the 50 paces and got into the second of her family’s wagons, the smaller one her older brother Rand drove that contained the crates of extra provisions. The crates were packed flatly in the bottom of the wagon box under a false floor. On top of the false floor was a large mattress stuffed with straw where she, Rand, and Papa slept. In the other wagon her four youngest sisters slept tightly snuggled together where Mama would join them later on. Her two sisters closest to her in age were already married and starting families of their own. Only Netty, the eldest girl, remained shamefully at home past the age when she should have already been wedded.

Netty undressed under the screen of the canvas wagon cover. She turned the tap of a tiny barrel secured to one of the wooden boughs holding up the cover, letting water partially fill a small bucket hanging from a hook under the tap. With a rag and the tepid water she scrubbed the gritty trail dust from her face and neck, wiped down all the sweaty creases of her body and between her toes, then tossed the water on the grass outside. Finally somewhat clean, Netty slipped her nightgown over her head and slid between the quilts in the dark.

For a long time Netty lay within the cool covered wagon on the mattress, her ears tingling as she listened to the wind blowing just loud enough to make it impossible hear any conversation still going on around the fire or the sleep sounds from the other wagon. She reasoned that even without the wind she may not hear much anyway with how far Rand had parked from the fire.

Suddenly she felt the wagon lean the slightest bit to the left as Rand stepped into the wagon. She listened to him washing and changing into his night shirt in the front of the wagon while she lay there shielded from view by the second row seat’s back. Soon enough he climbed over and tucked himself behind her under the quilts.

Her skin rippled with goosebumps as she felt his arms reach around her sides, cold fingers lightly brushing over the chest of her nightshirt. Netty could almost feel him grin in the dark as his finger tips bumped over the hard nubs pushing at the fabric. He slowly circled her small breasts at the base, causing tingles to pulse across her chest and make those hard nubs harder still and more sensitive. Vaguely she was aware that she was breathing hard shallow breaths, the air hitching every time Rand’s fingers came nearly to touching the sensitive little buds. He would giggle lightly in her hair every time, then draw his fingers away just to start the slow circles over again.

The hard length of him pressed against the valley of her bottom, reminding her that this long tease was as much for his enjoyment as hers. He liked to get her worked up, liked seeing how desperate he could make her before his willpower to hold back evaporated. She was shaking by the time his hands roughly hitched the nightgown over her hips and that long length of wooden flesh buried its self between her thick thighs. He coated himself  in the gooey wetness found there before angling his hips to rut between the round meaty globes of her seat. Over and over he humped, dipped back between her thighs for a new coat of lubricant, then interred himself again. He never tried to enter either of her holes, content to enjoy what he already took, but she wished he would slip up and ram into her to alleviate the pressure built up in her pelvis. She craved to feel that motion within her body for once, instead of just rubbing maddeningly on the outside of her skin. The ache throbbed almost painfully, demanding to be filled, to be massaged with the whole extent a man could provide.

Suddenly his fingers directly brushed her hard nipples and she nearly screamed with the sudden jolt. All at once the need between her legs became so much worse, so sharp and needing she wanted to cry. She shuddered against him, making his low giggly growl come again from the satisfaction of knowing what he could force her to feel with barely any touch. With one arm under her he held her securely against his front, that hand kneading one of her tiny breasts while with the other hand he began to directly toy the nipple of the other. Netty bit into her wrist to keep from screaming at the sudden onslaught of tugging and rubbing, rolling and flicking as he finally relented to please her. With both hands  he grasped the nubs between his thumb and forefinger and pulled over and over lopas if trying to milk more from her than her shivering and shaking.

The wagon tilted slightly again, announcing that their father was coming to bed. Netty could barely spare enough awareness to hear him changing clothes or washing up over the rough sound of her own breathing that she tried so hard to keep quiet. If she was too noisy Mamma, or worse yet the girls, would hear her even over the distance. Mamma’s thin lipped glower would be bad enough, but the girls asking what the noise was in the morning, their big innocent green eyes confused at what kind of animal could make such a sound, would shame her beyond words. She could feel her whole face flush wickedly red at just the thought of so much disgrace, but even that made the achy need worse.

Papa came over the wagon seat to settle on the other side of her, sandwiching Netty so tightly between the two of them she couldn’t breath in or out without feeling them pressing on all sides. Another set of roughened hands joined Rand’s, another hardness poking at her. From the front Papa slipped himself between the wet folds of her so that the whole length rubbed against the most sensitive part. Just like Rand he did no more than rub back and forth between her wet thighs and against her own tiny hardness, taking great pains not to penetrate her. The rubbing friction against her hardness was some relief to that demanding need further between her legs but had long since stopped being enough to fully sate it.

“Pa-pa, ple-eas,” Netty begged in a gasp so low he wouldn’t have heard her if her face wasn’t tucked under his chin.  “Please put- please pu-put it i-i-in me. It hu-u-urts so mu-u-ch.”

One of Papa’s hands replaced Rand’s on her chest, each of them pulling and tugging and rolling a nipple as he pleased and driving her insane.

“I can take this much of you, little sugar-snap, but you have to stop tempting me further. I’ve got needs, like any man, but I’m no Lott,” he whispered against the top of her head, rubbing the flat head of his member punishingly against her throbbing soaked nub while twisting her nipple cruelly so that she shuddered harder yet.

Behind her Rand’s thrusts were so demanding across her back hole she could easily imagine the relief of being filled. In front Papa slowly slid in and out between the press of her thighs despite how invitingly her canal beckoned.

“What a-a-a-about Rand?” she pleaded, hoping for something, anything, to make it better.

“We can’t take what rightfully belongs to your future husband, sister,” Rand answered, his low voice teeming with mirth at how desperate she was becoming.

“Yo-you can use the b-b-back hole!” she argued in between pants.

Rand guided the tip of himself so that it sat poised against the opening as it twitched and begged him to enter.

“Right here?” he asked, his breath hot as he whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” Netty hissed in a voice that wanted to sob.

Now she could feel his teeth scraping the rim of her ear as he spoke, his hips slowly undulating so that his tip just barely probed her puckering flesh.

“Have you no shame at all, asking to be mounted like little hired boys back home would mount pigs? Do you have such a sinful need that even that would make you feel better?” he whispered, taunting and teasing her even as he was tempted to shove himself in.

Netty mewed forlornly. The probing alone felt good, but coupled with the steady pumping against her front and the never-ending onslaught to her chest it was almost too much. Still, she had to feel him inside her.

“Please?” she begged, and even that one word shook.

Rand chuckled low in his chest as he took all pressure off her inviting hole to slide between her crevice instead. When he heard her weeping with need he only snickered.

Netty felt the tears pouring. She went to wipe them when Rand caught her arms and pinned her elbows behind her back, forcing her chest to push obscenely against Papa.

“Neither of us will be partaking of your holes, girl,” her father asserted quietly. “The only man who can enter a woman is her husband, no matter what opening he chooses to take. Even the filthy things you’re asking for are you’re husband’s by right and you should be ashamed to beg anyone else to take them.” He pulled and twisted hard at her chest as if he would pull them right off her body, daring her to cry out and deepen the embarrassment she would already feel when Mama looked on in scorn at her in the morning. “You shouldn’t beg for such favors when I know these alone and that little button against my prick are plenty enough to bring you off, girl.”

For a few moments she could do no more than cry, restrained by Rand’s constricting hold and roughly groped and prodded from all sides. She knew her Papa was right.

 More nights than not she found herself brought to release by one or both of them, usually several times, and if they were feeling benevolent, or she was in a particular mood, it could go on until she couldn’t stand it. She had no right to ask more of them than the generosity they already provided. Even still, she couldn’t help what her body screamed for any more than they could help what theirs needed from her. If Mamma wasn’t so damaged from her last birthing, or if Rand had been able to marry before they left, she would not even be in such a position to enjoy the company they supplied. She would be left sodden, needy, and entirely without a way to get any relief at all. She felt badly for seeking more than she was already fortunate to receive.

“Perhaps tonight you will not be given any release at all, and you can use that to become glad of what you’re provided with instead,” Papa threatened through tight lips. His hips were bucking in a way that signaled he was going to be finished soon. If he were done for the night there would be no more attention given to her own hardness because Rand would only go at her from behind in respect of that threatened punishment. She needed that sliding grinding pressure on her front in order to finish; she couldn’t do it any other way, as they were both aware, and she was frightened to think he could threaten her so.

A small sob hiccuped out of her at the thought of going all night and the next day in that state. She thought of how she could look at any of the girls or her mother with her inner thighs dripping with desire beneath her petticoats. How could she bare the jarring wagon seat all day long vibrating against her if she was already wound up as she was right then?

“I’m sorry Papa,” she managed to breath out. “I sho-shouldn’t have been s-so gr-greedy. I’m grateful f-for this opp-ortunity to serve you a-a-and Rand. Y-y-you’re both so good to m-m-me helping me to get relief as often as you do. You have ev-every right to pun-pu-punish me for being greedy and ungra-ateful.” She could hardly speak at all, stumbling over her words every time Papa flicked or pulled at the elongated protrusions jutting so eagerly from her chest. Every time he rolled one with his thumb she lost track of where she was in a word. But Netty knew how much he liked her begging his forgiveness as if he was the religious authority she must pray to and prostrate herself before to earn gratification, and if she did it well he would be too pleased with her to go through with his threats.

Papa listened to her begging but said nothing. He slowed his thrusts so that the ridge at the head of his wood dragged against her bud with each stroke, silently articulating how easily he could tip her over the edge if she worshiped hard enough.

Behind her Rand shuddered and shook, and she felt white-hot thickness splatter in her rear.

Papa tipped her chin up to look into her face.

“How close are you?” Papa asked.

He couldn’t see her well in the dark and she was glad for that as her face burned with embarrassment to have to speak it out loud.

“Only a few strokes more,” she whimpered.

“Good.”

With that he moved so that his length no longer caressed where she needed it so desperately. He slid it quickly against her thighs well away from anything that would cause her any pleasure at all. Rand pulled harder at her elbows so that she was bent nearly double backwards with her chest thrust out  to meet the sucking mouth that latched to her nipple. The sudden warm wet suction would have made her scream if Rand hadn’t clamped his free hand around her throat, choking off her air and any noise she could have made.

In silence she suffocated and suffered, whole sweaty body shaking uncontrollably as her nipples took turns rolling on her Papa’s tongue. His teeth nipped her so that she jerked with each pleasurable torturous little jolt. When she was about to pass out Rand eased on her throat so that she could get a few breaths before clamping down, cutting off her air yet again.

This is what it must be like to go mad, Netty thought in her fuzzy little brain. She was overwhelmed with sensation, maddeningly huge waves of it, but not enough in the right place to bring it to a conclusion. Suffocating only made her more sensitive to those needs. How many times had Rand eased his hold to let her get a breath or two? Had Papa already finished between her thighs or had he just stopped moving to savour it longer?

Waves of pleasure rose and ebbed back and forth towards that much needed pinnacle as the toying at her nipples became more forceful, then gentle, then escalated again. Papa slackened his assault until her shaking became a shiver, then would suckle and milk at her forcefully until her thrashing rocked the wagon. Up and up he teased her, closer and closer to a beckoning edge only to stop just before she could tip over. She couldn’t count how many times she’d been within just a flick of that fall when all at once out of nowhere she crashed. The wetness that had slowly seeped the entire time now poured out in such a gush she thought she’d wet herself.

The sensations were a relief, but the suffocating and torment of her chest did not let up. They knew she had finished, must have known it had been the most violent all-consuming orgasm she’d achieved in her entire twenty years, but the onslaught did not stop or let up. All of her nerves were screeching; everything was too bright and too sensitive.

She almostvwanted it to stop now.

Rand gave her a breath but no chance to make a noise before she was again choked. Papa lapped and tugged and sucked at things that shrieked to be left alone. Lights exploded in front of her eyes as another release wracked her body with spasms. Her body struggled, trying hard to curl into a ball but couldn’t move with the way their forms held her captive.

They didn’t stop. Again they acted as if she weren’t convulsing. They ignored her jerking muscles and fluttering hands. Her fingers brushed the rounded tip of Rand’s length and she realized that he was as hard as if he’d never came the first time. He stroked the head of his shaft against her palm.

When she was allowed her next breath she tried to beg them to stop, but managed only an unintelligible babbling. Rand only chuckled as he pressed his palm under her chin, his long fingers reaching to pinch her nose shut. In this position she couldn’t open her mouth or even move her lips from the pressure of his hand against them.

“You begged to not be left in need,” Rand reminded her. She barely heard him over the blood rushing in her ears. He shook behind her, spraying her back and filling her hand with a fresh load of hot semen.

Again, with no more warning than before, electricity crashed through Netty’s body so hard she stopped thinking at all. With each release the feeling was becoming more intense. Her brain numbed and for a moment all she felt was the undulating lining of the hole between her legs clamping around nothing, desperately wanting something inside it to clasp to and hold her together. Without something to grasp she felt she was going to fly apart.

Something grabbed the engorged nub peaking from her wet furrow, the touch alone ripping another outburst from somewhere deeper in her body. The grip tightened and pulled, extorting the bit of flesh to another orgasm within just seconds of the last.

Netty’s brain refused to work. She couldn’t control her limbs, couldn’t so much as flex a finger. She lay quivering, consumed by sensation at the three smallest but most electric parts of her body being  mercilessly harassed. The orgasms soon stopped having a beginning and end. Instead, they lashed together head to tail building up and up and up. At some point she became aware of the fingers on her nether being replaced by what felt like a frantically thrusting ribbed log as Papa use his sex to torment the swollen screeching little thing further. At times she felt them both from either side, using what parts of her they deemed acceptable without satisfying the ache reaching up like stab wounds.