Runaway, 2011

Joe Christopher didn't know, while he was out working on his 1952 Ford, Mary, an eighteen year old girl who had at last run away from an orphanage in Illinois, had made her way to his house of all places out in the middle of rural, Bryan, Ohio, and snuck into his house through the kitchen.

Mary couldn't wait another three years. She'd escaped during the night, and had stayed on the run for days. By the time she reached Joe Christopher's, she was good at staying concealed, at not appearing suspicious out here where everyone knew everyone else. She looked younger than she was, and she quickly realized people mistook her for a local kid out wondering in the fields.

By late afternoon she'd walked through the cornfield of the adjacent property, a sprawling farm, and while Joe wasn't himself a farmer, his home was surrounded by farmland, and his was just the house she'd happened upon out in the middle of nowhere.

Mary quietly slipped in, held onto the weathered wood screened-door frame until it shut. She listened for any sound that someone might be in the house.

She didn't mean any harm. She was hungry and thirsty and tired, and went inside just to find some food. She had every intention of moving on, even if she had no idea where exactly to go.

She was a tough little thing for her age. She'd cut her hair short like a boy's, and petite and lanky thin, wearing baggy boys-clothes she'd pulled from a clothesline somewhere in Illinois, she'd successfully hidden her feminine curves. She'd made it this far, however improbable, hiding in barns along the way, staying off roads, sticking to the woods and fields.

She was almost sure no one would come looking for her, or if they'd even report her gone to try to get her back. She didn't think they would, and they didn't.

Looking in the pantry she found a small burlap sack with a bright red potato farming logo on it, and began filling it with apples, bread, whatever food she could find, careful to not take anything that would be noticed right away. She immediately ate several pieces of sliced beef, and some bread from a covered plate, and like a starving little kitten she drank down half a quart of milk from a blue glass jar.

She heard men's voices and half panicked as she glimpsed another man through the windows go around back, effectively cutting off her escape. Harried she screwed the lid back on the jar of milk, and dropped it in the potato sack.

With nowhere to go, feeling trapped, she panicked, and quickly made her way up the stairs to the second floor, glanced at the two available doors, and darted into the bedroom just as Joe and the other man came back around front, their boot steps on the wooden porch sounding close through the quiet house.

She heard the other man and Joe laughing and talking, and then their voices become serious, talk of a Korean war. She heard them solemnly saying goodbye to each other, and heard the other man's car start and drive away, and turn out onto the long gravel road as the front door closed.

Her heart stopped racing, but Joe was still in the house. He and the other man sounded like decent people. She seemed less afraid because of it; if he caught her he would probably be nice to her.

She was so tired. She wasn't sure what to do. She almost began crying, and made herself stop.

She heard Joe coming up the stairs. Without thinking she shimmied under the big bed, the bedspread hanging low to the floor where she wouldn't be seen.

Mary held her breath as he came into the room. She could see a man's work boots, his footsteps, evenly paced; he didn't know she was there. The sunlight made angular shapes on the floor, dust particles sparkling and dancing in the bright light as the man's movements moved the air.

He sat down on the edge of the bed just above her, the solid bed springs just barely squeaking, his feet just in front of her as he unlaced and took off his leather boots, the sounds of his movements shuttering her breath. One foot at a time, the bed again slightly creaking as he pulled off his socks, and she saw his bare feet touch the floor, first one and then the other.

She watched him walk out of the bedroom door, the backs of his smooth bare calves, his slightly hairy thighs, across the hall, and when he got far enough away she could see he was naked. She felt a glimmering voyeuristic attraction. She wondered if she'd, see him.

She heard him turn on the faucet, water running, the globes of his bottom tightening as he leaned, the water running into the porcelain sink (a bath sounded so good, she pictured herself naked, the feel of hot water) directly across from the bedroom door. She wouldn't be able to get out without being seen.

She didn't dare lift the edge of the bedspread for fear he'd see her. She worried he might see her in the mirror, so, her face pressed sideways, she peered out from the slight space between the bedspread and the floor, seeing what she could, a naked man up to about mid-chest, a little extra weight, probably around fifty she guessed, broad chest and shoulders.

When he turned, Mary almost gasped. He was hard. His cock was big. It stood out from his body, swayed with his movements. She felt fluttery in her tummy, that warm feeling in her belly, and stole her hand between her legs her nipples pressed on the carpet under the bed. Mary had been sexual since she could remember, almost always horny, she'd masturbated nightly since she was much younger. Her first chance to touch herself in a week or more she felt the familiar hot feeling in her tummy begin, and the delicious slippery wetness between her legs.

She could see the side of his face. He looked like he hadn't shaved that day. He was, yes, he was attractive. She closed her eyes, strumming her fingers over pussy through the thin material of the pants she had on, wishing she could touch herself, her bare pussy, and she slid one hand under the waistband, her eyes glued to the man's cock. She hoped he would touch it. She creamed on her fingers, excited, hoping she'd get to see him, him touch himself.

She was so horny and immediately slippery wet, she slightly hunched her little hips up and down, trying to not make a sound, watching him, aroused by her voyeuristic glee, pressing between her legs, when she almost moaned out loud picturing the man licking her, fucking her.

❖❖❖

It was almost dark when Mary woke up under the bed. She didn't know where she was at first. She didn't hear any movement in the house.

Slipping out from under the bed, she looked out the bedroom window. The car was gone. She sighed a breath of relief. There were just fields, a row of windbreak trees in the distance, swaying, the leaves shimmering on an evening breeze.

She reached under the bed and pulled the sack out. She drank the rest of the warm milk, and ate several of the sweet cornbread rolls she'd found in the red ornamental bread box as she decided what to do.

The image of the man's swollen hard cock played through her mind. She didn't know why, what was attracting her to him so much, but she wanted to fuck him. She fantasized him on top of her, sliding that huge thing inside her, telling her it was okay, she could take him, all of him.

She didn't know how long the man would be gone, and thinking she could slip out when she heard the car coming back, she decided to run herself a hot bath. It sounded so good. She knew it was risky, but couldn't pass up the opportunity.

She rinsed and then filled the jar with water from the sink, drank and noted the porcelain interior of the grey metal lid as she screwed the lid back on, the sound of it threading rough and gravelly in the silence of the house.

There were two knobs on the tub faucet, and she was happy to see he had a hot water heater. The one at the orphanage only worked sometimes. She turned on the water, and dropping her pants sat down on the toilet and peed.

Steam was rising from the white rimmed metal tub as she stepped daringly into the hot water, her first bath in a week. She laid down in the water, dipped underneath to get her hair wet. It felt so good. She washed her hair, and then kneeling ran the bar of soap all over her until she was lathery. She thought about the man again, seeing him naked, his hard cock. Her nipples got hard, and she felt flushed, that warm feeling in her belly again. Mary ran her soapy hand down between her legs. She spread her knees further apart, and reached behind her and soaped her bottom, too. She stood and rinsed off.

Mary didn't hear the car. She heard the front door close. She could hear the man moving around downstairs, music playing.

Slipping out of the tub as quietly as she could, she was afraid to drain it for fear he might hear the running down through the plumbing. Maybe he would think he'd forgotten to drain it after his last bath.

She quickly wrapped the same towel he'd used around herself, toweled herself off, noticing his smell, liking how he smelled, and quickly pulled on her pants and shirt, wishing she had clean clothes.

She tiptoed to the door, and then to the top of the stairs, peaked around the corner, and ducked back just as the man walked past the bottom of the stairs. He was barefoot. She was lucky she heard him at all before he saw her. She wondered if he'd even be mad if he found her. Maybe startled at first, but not angry, a young woman in his house, a girl who would ... Mary smiled, and felt that feeling again, remembering how hard the man had been. He must be really horny, too, she thought to herself. I can take care of that, she beamed, her little pussy sudden't slippery wet again.

The light dimmed on the flowery old blue wallpaper in the stairwell, and she knew he was turning out the downstairs lights. He would be coming back upstairs. The front door was closed. She didn't know if it was locked. She couldn't risk running down there. Where would she go if he came after her? There wasn't anywhere to run. Maybe she should reveal herself. She didn't know what to do.

She heard him coming back toward the hall, his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, saw the last light go out, and heard his footsteps come toward the stairs.

She darted back into the bedroom, aware of her nakedness under her clothes, the warm night air, her nipples still hard from thinking about the man's erection, her bare feet almost silent masked by his footsteps and the creaking of the stairs. She started to dive back under the bed but instead tiptoed around to the other side, opened the already cracked open door into the closet and quickly covered herself behind and under all the hanging clothes. She tried to stop breathing so hard.

She heard him go into the bathroom, and saw the light come on. The long hanging clothes were a woman's dresses. She had seen pictures downstairs, and hadn't payed much attention to them. She remembered seeing a woman, petite, dark hair, like hers; she was pretty, Mary thought. She had a sexy smile. Like she was hungry. Sensual. She looked so sexual she thought. A black and white photograph, the woman older than Mary, wearing dark lipstick; she wondered, red.

She pulled a soft dress around her head to dry her short hair, and wondered where the woman was. She rubbed her hand over her scalp; the bristly soft hairs felt really good, all clean and washed. There was no sign of a woman living in the house, but the house was decorated like a woman had lived there. The bed, was a woman's bed. The bedspread, the wrought iron headboard, feminine.

Mary slowly moved away enough clothing to be able to see over the bed and him in the bathroom; she prayed he didn't notice the door was more open than it had been. Oh no, the towel! The bath water!

She could see him from the back, and from his chest up in the mirror in front of him; he's strong, she thought, he's even good looking, yes, he's handsome even. She felt that warm fluttery feeling in her belly again.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and leaned down and rinsed his face in the basin. He turned, and paused for a moment seeing the towel on the wooden chair, not on the bar where Mary had taken it from. As he dried his face, he paused and looked at the towel, and smelled it. He looked over at the tub, and Mary thought of the way dogs turn their heads sideways.

Mary thought she'd better hide in case he came in and looked in the closet. She heard him come back across the hall and into the room. He must have undressed because she heard him pull down the blankets and then the bed frame creak as he first sat, and then laid down. She thought maybe she could slip out after he'd fallen asleep.

Mary wasn't prepared for what happened next.

She could hear him moving, and his breathing get louder. The bed frame creaked slightly as he adjusted himself.

The sounds were rhythmic, and Mary knew the sound from the herself and the other girls in the big dorm room touching themselves at night under the secret of darkness, he was pulling on his cock.

Joe thought he'd smelled the fragrance of a woman on his towel, and he thought he'd drained the tub. Ah well, he'd use the water for laundry in the morning. He quickly dismissed the thought, but he felt horny because of it. He thought of his wife. He could see her in his minds eye, her dark silky hair, her dark brown eyes, her smile, how he'd look at her as she slept, how beautiful she was with her eyes closed, her long eyelashes, her nose, her lips, how she breathed. He missed her, so much.

Just under his breath, Mary heard him begin talking, his voice husky and ragged, gentle, insistent.

"Mmmm, lil baby, yes, pull on Daddy."

Mary felt herself become instantly aroused, instantly slippery wet, her nipples pebble hard.

"Mmmm, that's my girl, that's my good girl, mmm, yess, let Daddy suck your nipples, sweetie. Daddy loves your gorgeous tits baby."

Mary closed her eyes. Her nipples felt hot, her breasts swelling. She reached up and began squeezing one, and then the other, imagining his mouth sucking hot and wet on her breasts, her breathing becoming shallow, slow. The man's words were making her so hot. Hearing him say, "good girl" made her heart beat faster. When he said "Daddy" she practically gushed out loud.

She was seated on the floor of the closet, leaning into several folded blankets, her head against the wall. She scooted down a little, spread her legs, and unbuttoned the boy pants, slipped both her hands under the waistband.

"Mmmm, feels so good, Kitten, yes, mmm, suck Papa, oh fuck, mmm, lil baby."

Mary pictured herself pulling on his cock, looking into his eyes, making him so hard, making him moan like that.

Joe fantasized his wife was still alive, hearing her voice, feeling her mouth on him, tasting her, hearing her moan, "Nnn, ohhh, Daddy, lick me Papa."

"Mmmmm, yes, Daddy loves sucking your little pussy, my little babygirl's soft little pussy. Daddy loves your cream, so good lil baby, yesss, let Daddy make you feel good too." Joe and his wife had role-played father and daughter since they first met, and every time he jerked off, it was to this same fantasy of his wife.

Mary had one hand down inside the baggy pants, the other rolling her nipple in her fingers, listening to Joe jerking his cock, imagining his hand sliding up and down his hard penis, his "cock" Mary said hotly in her mind. "oh god, Daddy, let me pull it for you Papa. Let your little girl jack your cock, Daddy."

She began talking back under her breath, "Mmm, Papa, suck my nipples, nnnn, Daddy, yes, lick my little pussy, so wet for you Daddy, so hot" just as the man stopped talking out loud. Mary stopped, listened to his deep breathing, his movements slow, the sound of his breathing change to sleep. Frustrated, she rubbed herself until she came softly breathing out, "Nnn, Daddy."

❖❖❖

Nestled into the cushion of clothes Mary woke up to the sound of one bird singing just before first light.

She drifted back to sleep long enough to have a dream, a sexual dream, her naked, sitting on a man's lap, him sucking her nipples, sucking her breasts into his warm-hot mouth, him touching her between her legs, whispering naughty, dirty things. "Mmmm, lil baby, you like that, don't you? Tell Daddy how much you like it." Mary was having a wet dream.

She woke a second time, wet between her legs, thinking she needed to get out before the man just a few feet away on the other side of the closet door woke up. She remembered touching herself the afternoon before, under the bed, then in the closet last night listening to the man jack himself.

The door was only slightly ajar. As she got up her pants slid down a little, exposing her slender feminine bare hips. She pulled them back up, and held them. She didn't touch the handle for fear it would make a noise, and ever so gently with her fingertips began the motion of moving the door, and to her relief it opened soundlessly.

She could hear him breathing, not loudly, but slow and deep, sleeping. She made that first step taking care to set her weight on her bare foot slightly, and then more, so she could stop if the floor creaked. She stepped through the doorframe and turned toward the sleeping figure. As she did, as she looked, he rolled back onto his back. Mary stopped. She watched him from half behind the door. She felt herself becoming warm down there again. What was it about this man? she thought to herself.

His breathing again became deep and long. Mary watched his face for any sign he was waking up. His mouth was slightly open. He was so handsome, masculine. Something about his shaved head, his grey whiskers. He was an older man, but he seemed gentle, kind, and Mary liked that.

Suddenly he made a slight sound. His arm suddenly moved, his hand under the covers moving to his waist catching Mary's eye. He moved again and the covers slid down enough that she saw his cock was hard. Mary felt that pang again. It was so hard, so long and thick, laying upwards on his belly. He moaned, "Mmm, yes, ... mmm, baby, feels so ... ." he drifted off, dreaming of his wife, her long dark hair wrapped around his hand.

Mary felt she needed to do something. She didn't know why, or how she didn't think he would freak out. It was like she was in a dream.

His words from the night before played back through Mary's thoughts, "Mmmm, my sexy lil girl, that's my girl, yesss, suck Daddy little baby. That's my good girl, Daddy's going to lick your wet little pussy, mmm, yess, Kitten, let Daddy suck your nipples, sweetie. Daddy's going to slide my cock inside you, lil baby, that's what you like, isn't it? Yess. Mmmm, feels so good, Kitten, yes, mmm, suck Papa, oh fuck, lil baby, mmmm, yes, Daddy loves sucking your little pussy, my little girl's soft little pussy, mmm, Daddy loves your sweet cream, so good lil baby, mmmm, yesss, let Daddy make you feel good."

She didn't know what came over her. She had the thought again that he wouldn't be mad, finding a girl in his house, willing to, wanting to, ... .

Fuck, she was so horny. Her nipples were already hard again, and at the same moment she felt that warm feeling, and then a wash of creamy wetness between her legs.

Mary stopped being afraid. She let go of the hem of her pants, and so loose they simply spilled from her tender little frame, over her bottom, her bare naked hips, down her lovely slender legs.

She pulled her shirt over her head, her nipples hard in the cool morning air, her torso sleek and curved, fragile, her breasts, her nipples swollen and hot and hard, aching like they never had before, her pussy pulsing, that warm buttery feeling so deep in her belly.

Bemused, staring at Joe's erection, his hard cock, Mary sat so softly naked on the edge of the bed it hardly registered her weight, and leaned in toward him, stirring him to roll toward her enough that his hugely hard throbbing cock draped toward her.