Chronicles of Darla Ch. 00

She could feel the coldness again.

Then she felt his cock press against her hole.

"Here we go Darla, this won't take long."

"I am going to go slow."

Darla could feel herself opening up to his cock. She could feel it moving into her. She cried out.

"It is almost in all the way. It will feel much better when it is in."

She felt it slide in more. She felt very full.

"I have it now, Darla. I am going to start moving it in and out."

Dr. Redding moved his tool in and out of her slowly. He was in heaven taking her ass.

Darla was losing control again.

She felt like his cock in her was up in her stomach. She wanted it out, but enjoyed the feeling it was giving her body.

"Darla you are doing perfect. We are almost done."

His cock pumped in and out of her for a few minutes. Then she felt the liquid flow into her just like it had done in her vagina, after which his cock was removed.

"Darla, you did great. You have been the perfect patient. I am going to leave the room.

You can get dressed and pick up your physical slip at the front desk."

On his way out the door, he looked over at Darla's god mother.

"Sofia, could you please come into my office? I want to discuss with you that job offer in Montreal."

Suddenly, Darla was brought back to reality as the whistle sounded of the train, which she prayed would lead her a new life full of adventure and wonderment.

May 30, Northern Quebec

Life had never been easy in the Padgett household, she reflected. Her father, Charles Padgett, a Royal Canadian Air Force NCO, was both a brutal man, and a drunk. His nightly dance with the bottle had left her mother weary beyond her years, and battered beyond endurance.

Within those tired and faded walls, the passing of time had become a tortuous existence. And so, while it damaged her in more ways than she would ever know, it came as no surprise to Darla when on the night of her 15th birthday, her mother simply vanished. That was when her god mother Sofia, an army nurse, entered her life. However, by the age of 17, not long after her exam at Dr. Redding's, Sofia left the army for a new job in Montreal.

No one had even looked for the matriarch of the Padgett family. It was as though her escape was long overdue, the theft of a clemency that had never been granted. In fact, if anyone had bothered to give it any thought at all, they would have wondered why it had taken her so long.

She had told her mother that she'd be "sleeping over" at her friend Cheryl's house that night, but it had been a lie. Cheryl was barely an acquaintance. Instead, she'd spent the night in the desert with her best friend and drinking buddy, Eddie.

In honor of her birthday, Eddie had "boosted" a six-pack from the local 7-11, an infraction that was rapidly becoming a habit for him.

Close and kindred souls, they spent the night watching the constellations float lazily across the darkened sky. There, beneath the unseeing moon, they sipped their beer and dreamt of rosy futures beyond their reach.

"Darla?" he'd said. "Some day I'm going to get away from here. I'm leaving this place behind me, and when I do...I'm never coming' back."

"Me too, Eddie. Me, too." she replied. "I'll be so far gone; this place won't even be a memory."

Darla recalled coming home from school the next day, her long, dark hair streaming behind her.

"Where have you been?" her father had slurred drunkenly. "I thought you left with that bitch of a mother of yours. I was just getting ready to celebrate."

"I had to study at the library." she lied, knowing full well that Charles Padgett would never check on her there.

"Well, pull my shoes off!" he ordered. "If I'm stuck with you, then you're damn well going to pull your weight around here."

Stunned, Darla realized that her mother was never coming back, and her already oppressive life had just taken a turn for the worst. Her first impulse was to follow her mother's example, and get on the next bus out of town.

Sadly, her best friend had demons of his own to deal with, and so they had formed a mutual support group for each other. He never asked for more than she was willing to offer, and she extended him the same respect. Instead they shared an empathy that only they could understand or offer. They each gave the other the comfort and understanding so needed in their young lives, but which the fickleness of fate had denied them both.

It was hard to believe that things could have gotten worse, but with the absence of her mother, life in the Padgett home suddenly took on nightmarish parameters. Charles Padgett, formerly a closet alcoholic, now decided to make his status official. His frequent binges on the dilapidated sofa in the living room became essentially a thing of the past. His safaris into the bottle now lead him to the seedy bars and local whorehouses. More than once he'd been sentenced to the local brig for becoming "drunk and disorderly".

Her life was actually better when he was away, however, for it was when he was present that life truly became unbearable. Having no one else upon whom to vent his ever-deepening anger and frustration, he exercised what he felt was his paternal right and tormented his only daughter with his perpetual invectives and insinuations.

And then one day, right after her god mother left for Montreal, during the summer of her 17th year, Jean Paul Regale came roaring into their cluttered yard on his huge, black Harley, and stole her heart away.

Jean Paul was a rebel, a "bad boy" of the first order. Most people in their small town headed the other way when Jean Paul rolled by. But to Darla, he was the salvation she had always needed.

The rugged biker was eight years her senior, and had lived life on the edge since he had dropped out of high school at 16. His aging Harley, burdened with more miles than anything on wheels was meant to have, had been his only companion on the lonely road, and so, it was no surprise that he formed an immediate attachment to the lovely waif with the long, raven-colored hair and doe-like eyes.

He said that he'd stopped for directions to the interstate that day, but in fact, Regale had seen young Darla from the dusty dirt road that ran by her yard, and had invented a weak excuse to stop and establish a connection.

Wide-eyed and naive, Darla had fallen immediately beneath his spell. He was her master, and his hold on her was hypnotic. And so, in spite her father's vehement attempts to dissolve the relationship, Darla found herself spending much of her free time on the back of his Harley, her thighs wrapped firmly around him, her cares becoming lost on the lonely stretches of roadway they perpetually explored.

The situation came to a head late that summer, on a balmy night in the front yard of the Padgett bungalow. Jean Paul had once again ridden up to claim the winsome Darla, only to be confronted in the yard by her father.

Old Man Padgett was drunk that night, as usual, only this time the "spirits" had told him it was time to take Regale to task. Grateful for a chance to escape her father's wrath, Darla had rushed out to meet the aging Harley, hoping to be far away before her father could intervene. But it was not to be. With a burst of speed unbelievable in one so despoiled, Joe had rushed madly out into the yard behind her, grabbing her hair, pulling her off of the roaring piece of machinery into the dirt at his feet.

It was hard to say exactly what happened next. One minute Jean Paul was sitting astride his ebony steed, and the next, he was leaning over her father, pinning him to the ground with his knee, his fist forming a choke-hold on the tequila-soaked collar of the older man's shirt.

She could still remember the words, which escaped, like a feral growl into the desert night. "If you ever touch her again, Old Man, I'll kill you," he promised. Then, once again astride his Harley, he had offered Darla his hand.

Darla looked at her father lying drunkenly in the dust, and at the handsome young man whose coal-black eyes pierced her very soul, and made her decision. That night, in the desert, with only the stars to bear witness, Darla gave herself to Jean Paul Regale, and crossed an expanse that forever claimed the final tatters of her childhood innocence.

That Jean Paul wanted her came as no surprise. She was a beautiful young woman, and was accustomed to the lecherous stares of the young men with whom she came in contact. But until that moment, she had never felt the trust required to allow sharing this last piece of her body and soul with another human being. Now, at 17, Jean Paul had come into her life, a knight in tattered armor rescuing her from the ravages of her existence, and she knew the time had come.

Jean Paul had taken her far out into the desert that night, beyond the small sprinkling of buttes that ringed her tiny community, and away to the east where the sand shone red and gold in the fullness of the moon. He'd taken the large, colorful serape he kept bundled on the back of his Harley, and stretched it out on the desert floor. Then, retrieving a bottle of mescal from his saddlebag, he'd lead Darla across the moonlit expanse, to the edge of the festively decorated blanket.

Silently, he removed the cap from the mescal, and pressed the bottle to his lips, sucking greedily at its contents. Then, wiping the rim on his sleeve, he extended the bottle to Darla, his eyes bidding her to share in its warmth.

At first she was hesitant. Her experience with alcohol had been limited to the infrequent six-pack that Jimmy occasionally provided. But Jean Paul was a man, not a boy, and the look on his face said that he expected her to act like a woman.

Silently, Darla took the bottle from his hand, and poured the burning liquid down her quivering throat, feeling it sear its way into the pit of her stomach. She coughed... gasping for breath as the fiery liquor began to claim her senses.

Regale took the bottle from her hand, and once again drained a substantial amount before screwing the cap in place and tossing the half filled container down on the sand at his feet. It was then that he directed his attention to the naively alluring young woman before him.

Darla stood, pale in the moonlight, her hair streaming down her back, almost to the edge of the brief cut-offs that exposed her trembling thighs to the chill night air. Regale eyed her hungrily as he closed the distance between them, his hands moving impatiently on the black leather of his biker chaps. Wordlessly, within the unyielding grip of his arms, he pressed the rugged planes of his body to hers, and claimed the soft interiors of her mouth.

Darla tipped her head back, and watched the stars spin crazily out of control. She could feel his lips move greedily down the length of her throat...touching, tasting, and demanding.

Then, with a primal growl, he lowered her to the blanket...and Darla felt the last vestige of her childhood slip silently into the desert night, to be replaced by a woman of hunger and passion.

Slowly Jean Paul untied the drawstring on her peasant blouse, gently enlarging the neckline until it cleared her shoulders and he was able to enjoy the fullness of her naked breasts. He was surprisingly gentle as he ran his hands up under her rib cage, cupping her with his palms, stroking her with his thumbs.

"Darla...you're so beautiful." he whispered, as his mouth sought her turgid nipple, inflaming its pebble surface with his tongue. "You make me so hot, Mon Ami', I think I'm losing my mind."

The prominent bulge at the apex of Jean Paul' chaps had grown alarmingly, pressing, rock-hard against her outer thigh. Her breath quickened. He seemed so huge...the thought frightened her, and yet something inside felt drawn to the physical presence of him.

Sensuously, Jean Paul trailed his fingers down her midriff, his hand descending to the front of her cut-offs. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him gently "pop" the snap at her waist, slowly lowering the zipper downward toward the juncture of her thighs.

"You're not wearing any underwear, My Cherie...I like that. I like that a lot." he gasped, as his fingers dipped between her thighs and explored the downy triangle between her legs.

His touch was electric, as he invaded her by inserting a finger between her moist folds, seeking access to the hot, moist inner recesses of her body. But something was wrong.

"Darla...?" He looked puzzled...unsure. "Darla? Are you...I mean, have you ever had sex with a man before?" he questioned intimately.

By now she was aware that it was Dr. Redding's cock which had been her first, but fearful that her honest answer might displease him, Darla hesitantly shook her head. "No...Not yet, Jean Paul. You'll be the first."

Slowly he got to his knees beside her, and stared at her well-endowed form laying prone in the silvery moonlight. She was untried...and she wanted him. She was his for the taking. No matter what else happened, she would remember this night for the rest of her life.

Wordlessly, he bent and pulled her blouse off over her head. "My Cherie, I don't know how much I can take. I...I'll try to take it easy, but..." He was unable to finish the thought.

Caressing her leg, he silently removed her soft leather boots and reached for the waistband of her brief denims. His hands trembled as he peeled them down her naked thighs and dropped them on the sand at her feet.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, praying for control. Then Jean Paul stood above her, tearing at his own clothing until, finally, he stood naked before her anxious gaze.

Unseen in the pale moonlight, she felt a flush creep upward, engulfing her face. He was enormous! Darla had heard stories from other girls about their "first time", and she felt the initial stirring of apprehension begin to grow and build within the in the pit of her stomach. What if he was too big? What if she was too small? Should she ask him to stop? Should she run?

Shakily, Jean Paul knelt on the blanket between legs, his hands slowly caressing the silken flesh of her inner thighs, working their way upward toward her moist, quivering epicenter. Breathing heavily, he once again paused to regain control over his burgeoning member, then inserted his thumbs between her nether lips and opened her fully to his heated gaze.

She was wet...so very wet. Jean Paul inhaled sharply at the thought of burying himself in her moist, molten center. How long could he hold off? Already his body was screaming for release.

Determined to make her transition to womanhood as painless as possible, Jean Paul hungrily lowered his head and began to taste the sweet moisture which flowed freely and unbidden from the wellspring of her soul.

Darla gasped as a silken knot began to form in the pit of her stomach, growing, consuming, radiating throughout her body. Her heartbeat quickened, and she pressed her thighs uncontrollably around his face, capturing the object of her pleasure. Then, fully under his spell, felt herself go rigid and a rush of moisture gushed from within her. In a state of shivering abandon, she began to arch her spine, grabbing his hair, pulling him upward, urging him to consummate their union. No longer did she worry about the size of his member, only that it fill her...and immediately.

Jean Paul could wait no longer. Her mute pleas drove him over the edge, beyond the point of reason. Wiping his face on his lower arm, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms, positioning himself to remove the last barrier to nirvana. "Are you sure, Darla?" he gasped huskily, wondering if he still had enough control to back off.

"Yes" she breathed. "Now...do it!"

He gazed steadily into her eyes as though to gauge her readiness, her state of arousal... her pain. Then, readying his body for the quick, powerful thrust that he knew they both wanted, he paused. There was a better way.

He suddenly realized that it was within his power to keep from hurting her. Once more struggling desperately for control, Jean Paul wrapped his arms around her, rolling on his back until she lay above him, her thighs straddling his hips. Then, sliding his hand between them, he again positioned his engorged member within the nest of her saturated curls.

"Go ahead, my love...you call the shots." he said, praying that she would be quick.

The hand which had aligned their union, now began to pay homage to the feverish nub which strained insanely beneath his experienced touch. Maddeningly, Jean Paul passed his finger across its distended surface, manipulating...arousing... bringing her once again to the very brink of ecstasy. His left hand, now free to roam, pressed insistently against her buttocks, drawing her against his straining manhood, frantically urging her to complete the joining of their bodies before he burst into a million pieces.

Darla dug her nails into her palms, her face contorting into something primeval. Moaning deeply, she began to shudder, her climax throwing any thought of hesitation to the wind. Then, hungrily, with a motion born of heated abandon, Darla thrust herself against his powerful erection, feeling it penetrate her barrier, her body, and finally...her soul.

If there was pain, she didn't notice. Jean Paul's cock felt so much like the tool that Dr. Redding had used on her. Her only sensation was one of pure, untamed passion as he arched his pelvis, impaling her fully on his distended sex. She paused to adjust to his enormous presence, then thrusting her hips once more, she sought to take him ever deeper within her, feeling him fill her with his pulsating arousal. Feral moans erupted from her throat and were lost in the still desert air as she began to mimic a rhythm as old as time itself.

Finally, unable to control himself any longer, Jean Paul once again flipped her over on her back and began to thrust mightily within her. She cried out...not in pain, but in an effort to urge him still further.

Jean Paul complied, and as he once again felt her heated juices flood around him, he gave a final, powerful lunge, burying himself ever deeper within her, inundating her very being with his essence.

Jean Paul collapsed at her side, his breath coming in deep, labored gasps as he sought to regain his composure.

"My cheri', if that was your first time, I can't wait to see what you're like with a little experience under your belt!"

She smiled weakly. The night was young, They had lots of time to find out. Late Summer, Northern Quebec

Jean Paul proved to be both an exciting and demanding lover, and it was at his insistence that Darla left her home with Padgett and took up residence in his rented trailer on the outskirts of town. There, in their little hideaway, the alcohol she'd abhorred in her former home, ironically became a frequent visitor in her own. Eventually, her father grudgingly resigned himself to Jean Paul' dominance in Darla's life, and began to separate himself from her altogether.

Jean Paul, himself a drop out, offered little or no support when it came to Darla's education. It was to Darla's credit alone that she remained in school, although the influence of his demands, and the alcohol, which he readily supplied her, took a decided toll on her grades.

Life with Jean Paul was not the idyllic existence Darla had longed for. The fact that he considered her his property went without question. His irresponsibility and domineering nature, however, became a burden she had not expected. If not for the alcohol dependence he had fostered within her, and the terrible fear of retribution, Darla would have packed a knapsack and vanished, like her mother, on the next bus.

Then, on her 18th birthday, Jean Paul drove Darla south along the main road to the bright lights of Montreal. There, at Jean Paul' insistence, and "high" on tequila "shooters", they became man and wife, forever removing her from any illusion of control that Charles Padgett might still harbor.