Tanya pressed Robyn's hand warmly. "Come on, tell me about it. Tell me about the first time with him. From the beginning."
The teenage brunette looked at the other dark-haired girl, finding warmth and, more than that, a fire in her eyes.
"I… I took a horse, to catch up with Priscilla, when she rode out in a hurry. I wanted to… go with her," Robyn continued haltingly. "The horse got spooked, saw something, it looked like a wolf, I think, and ran… ran away with me. Toward a cliff. I knew I was going to die, I was so scared, and I lost control. Wet myself. It was so embarrassing. All down my legs, my jeans – Yuck!"
Tanya was smiling, chuckling, but without ridicule. "Go on."
"I was sure I was going to die, but then he was there, Uncle Jim, like a knight in shining armor, and just swept me up with his big arm and threw me on the back of his horse. I was so weak with fright that I couldn't resist him when he touched me. He peeled my wet clothes off and just… just did it."
"What was it like?" Tanya asked smoothly.
"It-it felt good. Strange to be touched, but good."
Tanya, smiling softly, reached out, put her hand caressingly on Robyn's round, firm breast. "Are your breasts sensitive? Does this feel good."
Robyn shivered and dropped her eyes to the touch. "Yes – they are sensitive."
"And you like to have them touched?"
"Well, yes…" Robyn said, and gave a little nervous laugh. "Yes, I like it. I'm normal, aren't I?"
"Very normal," Tanya reassured her, taking her hand slowly away. She got up and poured another two glasses of wine, giving one to the younger brunette.
Robyn took a sip and smiled. "I guess I shouldn't get too upset. Lot's of girls have lost their virginity by my age. I'm the only one back home – or I was."
"You've got a whole new world of pleasure ahead of you, Robyn, now that you've learned to enjoy a man's cock inside you."
Robyn shivered at Tanya's explicit words, thinking back on the way her Uncle Jim had stroked his big penis so effectively and pleasurably in and out of her tight, wet vagina and brought her to orgasm countless times.
Changing the subject, Tanya said, "Have you seen this house? You know, the Mitchells are really wealthy. While I'm house sitting here, I'm using DesirЋe's room, now that she's married and living with Mark. Like a tour?"
DesirЋe burst through the double doors of the Pace mansion and stopped in the middle of the spacious reception room, looking anxiously around at the faded and dusty furniture. It was a bit eerie to be here in this place that she had heard about but had never before seen. This was where Nancy Pace had been raped by the wild dog, and there were local legends attached to the place. No one seemed to know why the house was unlived-in, but there had been talk of a murder here forty years ago and a haunting, ghosts of the angry departed. It was a splendid house, but the family chose not to live here, preferring a smaller, homier place two miles away on the property, over a hill from there.
Now she stood there, searching for Mark, some sign of his beloved presence, or something of his injury.
Nothing.
Spinning on her heel, she faced Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones coming through the door. While Sam Quaid turned the key in the door lock, Billy Canning walked toward her, smiling.
"Where's Mark?" DesirЋe asked. "I don't see him here."
Billy smiled. He was not bad looking. He had never suffered the acne that had scarred his older brother Johnny's face, and his proximity to and use of drugs had not yet wasted his younger body.
DesirЋe saw his transparent smirk and remembered something of his face out of the nebulous dreams that plagued her sleep at night.
"Just what is this?" she said suspiciously. "Please. Tell me, where is Mark?"
Billy stopped, removing his jacket and loosening his tie while Mr. Smith, Sam Quaid, stood behind him quietly. She forgot, now which was Smith and which was Jones? And it occurred to her that the two names were aliases and that something was seriously wrong. Her voice trembled as she asked meekly, "Please, what's going on? Where's my husband?"
Tossing his jacket and tie on the settee, Billy hooked his thumbs into his belt. "I'm not sure where he is, but he's probably where he's supposed to be. It's you who're in the wrong place."
"I want to go home," she said lamely. "If Mark isn't here, I've nothing to do here."
Billy smiled. "Oh, but you do, I'm afraid." His hand dipped into his pocket and came out with a huge – to her – revolver.
DesirЋe felt her knees going weak, felt a trickle of urine, which she quickly stopped by tightening the exercise-strengthened muscles between her legs. "What-what do you want with me?"
Billy's eyes blazed and there seemed to be a madness in them. "Revenge."
"Revenge? For what?"
"Revenge for my brother, who your nigger lover murdered out there in the fields."
DesirЋe gasped. She was shocked that they knew about her and Clete, doubly shocked that he had killed someone. Out in the fields. That young man in the pasture, torn apart. But that had been the dogs, hadn't it? How…
"He killed my brother, tore him to shreds, because of you."
"Me? Why…"
"So now it's payback time."
Mr. Jones, or was it Smith, thrust the gun at her and she quailed. She hated guns, feared them worse than almost anything. DesirЋe stumbled back.
"Now get your fat ass upstairs."
She hesitated the briefest moment, then turned and hurried up the curving staircase, running away into what she thought must be a dead end. She stopped at the landing, turned and saw the two men right behind her, stopped, looking this way and that.
"There, in that bedroom."
DesirЋe gasped. "Bedroom?"
"Bedroom," averred Billy.
"Please," she whispered, her throat dry. "Not that."
"Yes," answered Billy sadistically. "That. You're going to be a movie star." He looked at Sam, but the latter wore an uncertain expression, and he hesitated as DesirЋe walked slowly through the door, her shoulders drooping as Billy followed her.
Sam was not happy with this. His suggestion to kill DesirЋe had been made under the influence of drugs and now sober and alert, he was not sure killing her would be a good idea. It was certainly not fair. The girl was innocent and would never hurt anyone, yet she was to be made to pay for Johnny's murder. Still, his first loyalty was to Billy, since high school his partner and lifelong friend.
Sam saw the girl pause in the doorway, taking in the sight of the large bedroom, more like a suite, with the fireplace and the large area covered by an Indian silk rug. And the tripods and video cameras set all around.
DesirЋe wanted to throw up. They were going to make her do something and photograph it. Her lips trembled with frustration, that she had just rid herself of the threat of one nasty film and now another one was going to be made. She felt Smith – or was it Jones? – give her back a push and she stumbled into the room. It was a bedroom made for royalty, but what was going to happen to her here inside it?
Sam watched Billy go over to the leather bag where he had secreted the weapons with which to kill her. The plan was to slit her throat with a large, razor-sharp hunting knife, the saw her limbs off, disembowel her, and use the body parts to incriminate Clete for her murder, but not until they had shown the black sheriff the film they planned to sell in the brothels of Europe. The murder of the wife of a state politician would not go well for Clete, and Billy was gloating over Clete's date with the executioner.
Billy started the three video cameras one by one, then positioning the uncertain and frightened girl in the proper spot between them, thrust his hand into the leather bag for the huge Bowie knife. Sam waited, his heart rising to his throat at the thought of seeing DesirЋe's throat gouged open and her hot blood arcing from the severed arteries onto the carpet, the innocent blue eyes that would open wide in wonder, then dim with the rapidly encroaching oblivion of death. Billy was drawing out the knife when Sam's hand grasped his wrist and forestalled the movement.