Hero Worship

Jane took her time sucking Steve. She'd stop often and let his cock pulse and dance in the air. She'd then attack again and take him deep into her throat. Then she licked from his ball sack up the underside of his shaft to his mushroom. The tip of her tongue flicked the tip of his cock head, coaxing out little drops of pre-cum that she eagerly slurped up. Her tongue circled around his head and then down his shaft. She nibbled at it like she was eating an ear of corn, sucking and tenderly biting until she reached his balls. She sucked in his left ball and rolled it around in her mouth. Then she gave his right ball equal time as she stroked his cock with her left hand. She repeated this series of moves again and again, each time stopping at the tip to savor her reward, that white goo oozing out of Steve's penis head. Then she'd take him deep again. Then she'd pull out and smack his pulsating cock with the palm of her hand. The sting both sent Steve to another plane of ecstasy and quelled his urge to cum.

Steve had never been sucked with so much passion and enthusiasm. Jane repeated her phallic worship. Devouring him as if she were a starving woman finally allowed to eat.

She gave it one final lick before she crawled up Steve's body and straddled his face.

Her turn now, she held her pussy just off his mouth and circled her clit hood gently on the tip of his nose. Steve inhaled her musk, and this only made him want to eat her more. But, when he attempted to drive his tongue up and between her sweet pussy lips, she pulled up, teasing him. She lowered her clit hood once again to the tip of his nose and circled her clit. Steve used his nose to push deeper into her hood and grind it against her clit. He inhaled again and again the sweet aroma of her lust.

"Ooooh, you smell sooo good....I can't get enough," he hissed as she teased. He grabbed her ass, a cheek in each hand, in an attempt to position her lower so his tongue could get at the object of his desire. But she would have none of it. She held her ground, just tempting his lust higher.

She taunted him for another minute, and then, "Enough of this teasing. I need your tongue in me now," she howled, as she lowered her love flower's petals to his eager mouth.

He drove his tongue into her waiting pussy and laved her love alter. He couldn't get his tongue in deep enough as she swirled and ground her pussy on his face. She moaned and clamped her thighs around his head as she rode his face like a jockey taking a race horse to the finish.

Soon, she repositioned herself so only her clit was above his wanting lips. He attacked her clit with the same wild abandon he had assaulted the depths of her vagina. Steve grabbed her thighs and pulled her in tighter to his face. He bit and nibbled and laved her clitoris. She moaned and jerked and ground her clit on his mouth. His tongue and her clit dueled and jousted until he wrestled a powerful orgasm from deep within her groin.

She fell off his face and slid down his torso--depositing her moisture as she slithered her pussy along his chest and belly. She stopped short of planting herself on his throbbing staff. She lowered her face to his mouth and licked the nectar she had left there. They kissed passionately for what seemed to Steve like an eternity as she slowly ground her clit on his pelvic bone. He was eager to get inside her but he could tell she was recharging. With each moment that went by, she ground her clit harder until she could no longer contain herself and moaned in his mouth as they kissed.

When she was ready, she reached around and stroked his pulsating tool. She positioned his cock head against her love lips, and then with one delft move, she sat down on his shaft. Steve felt that old familiar feeling, the magic he feels whenever he first penetrates a new lover and his cock feels her inner love muscles for the first time. He thrust his hips upward in an attempt to reach deeper into her womb. She reached her hand to his hip and pushed him to the bed, a signal to him that she would lead this dance. He surrendered the lead to her. Laying back he enjoyed being fucked. She rose up to the tip of his shaft and swathed her pussy lips around his cock's head and then she drove down on him deep again. She performed this move many times; slowly at first, then faster and faster until there was no delay at the top, and then he joined in with her thrusting, and then there was the two of them fucking each other hot and hard until they both exploded together in one big orgasmic heap of flesh.

~ ~ ~

Awoken in the middle of the night from this dream of Jane, with his hard-on pulsing against the sheets, and Rachel laying next to him sleeping, brought him back to his present circumstances; namely, that he wouldn't allow himself to use that hard-on on Rachel. Frustrated, he rolled over and fell back asleep.

When he awoke the next morning, Rachel was snuggling up against him, her head on his chest and her arm draped over his waist.

"Good morning," she said, as Steve came to life and focused on the situation. "You're a quiet sleeper. I didn't even hear one snore from you last night," she added, smiling.

Steve felt the remnants of last night's erotic dream of Jane, his morning erection. He was still trying to be good, and not seduce Rachel, but his libido was fighting the logical side of his mind. He knew he had to get out of bed before his erection won out. He moved her arm off his waist and slid out of bed keeping his back to her. Steve always slept naked. He attempted to conceal his erection with his pillow, but in his half awake state, he forgot his backside was bare, and he exposed his buttocks to her as he headed to his bathroom.

"Nice buns," Rachel let out.

"This isn't going to be easy," he said to himself, just under his breath as he slipped into the bathroom.

It was a Saturday. There would be no classes that day for Steve to escape to; he'd have Rachel with him all day. He took a cold shower to knock down his lust filled erection. When he came back to his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Rachel was not in bed where he'd left her. He dressed, and as he walked down the hall towards the kitchen, he smelled breakfast cooking.

"I hope you're hungry. I'm making bacon and eggs," she said as she looked over her shoulder at him as he entered the kitchen.

"Starved," he replied. He sat down at the table and she brought a cup of coffee to him. It was then he noticed she was still dressed in her nightgown under a man's white oxford shirt; the shirt he recognized as one of his. The shirt was not buttoned, and when she leaned over to deliver the cup of coffee to him he noticed just how shear her nightgown was. It was a short gown, and her legs looked bare under his shirt. Her breasts were all but pouring out of the gown's shear top. He could see now just what type of nipples she had. His cock, as if a mind of its own, stiffened.

"Could you button up?" he said to her while averting his eyes from her seductive cleavage.

She smiled at him and then did a reverse striptease; she hummed the striptease tune while slowly buttoning the shirt, his shirt, from the bottom up. Leaving the top open just enough for some cleavage to tease his eyes.

Steve shook his head in an exasperated way, and then added, "What did you mean last night by you can't sleep alone? I thought you were living on your own in an apartment in town. Who are you sleeping with?" He said in a slightly demanding tone.

As soon as those words left his mouth he felt like he had over stepped his bounds. He felt like he had come off too familiarly, as if he had some right to know. Having just met yesterday, and previously he couldn't have imagined that he'd actually ever meet her, he was still uncertain how he fit in her life, if at all. He was just about to utter: "Sorry. That's none of my business," but she responded, "I do have to sleep alone most nights. But, I do have boy friends; I'm not a virgin. In fact, I wasn't one before the abduction."

Steve was again floored that she was so cavalier about the incident. She had no qualms using the term 'abduction' to describe it.

"Do you currently have one, a boy friend that is?" He asked, with a little less demanding tone.

"Nothing serious; a fuck-buddy, but he's not someone I'd end up with, that's for sure."

Her use of the word fuck-buddy hung in his mind. Steve thought of himself as sexually progressive, he always had. But, now hearing Rachel speak that way, he suddenly felt old, as if his prowling days where slipping behind him, and the next generation was talking up the charge.

"You're an amazing young lady, Rachel," he said between sips of coffee.

"What about me do you find so amazing?" she quizzed him.

"Everything. But mostly your ability to have seemingly put behind you the horrific things that happened to you, and talk about it as if it happened to someone else. Or have you put it behind you? Are you just putting on a brave face? Have you ever talked to anyone, a psychologist or anyone like that?"

"Yes, of course...I've spent time with several psychologists. But I've done more than that, Steve. I've started and continue to run a weekly support group for abused girls. Well, it started out for girls, but we now have women of all ages...so, it's a support group for women...all types of abuse."

He looked at her with admiration.

"I'm really well grounded now. I sense that you have a hard time believing me, but I've done the work. I'm OK. You needn't worry about me, at least in this matter.

"And what about you? Why no girlfriend?" She suddenly turned the inquisition to him.

"What gives you the impression I don't?"

"There's no evidence of a woman living here, or even crashing here for that matter. And, it's a weekend. You've easily accommodated my sudden arrival. If you had a girlfriend, there would have been some mention of a change of plans, or something."

"I'm between things," was all he said. But her observant questioning shifted his thoughts to himself. He hadn't a good answer to why he stopped dating altogether about a year ago. He couldn't come up with a good answer for that question, not for himself, not for his friends who always asked, and certainly not now for Rachel.

After breakfast, Rachel headed into the bathroom to take a shower. As Steve sipped his coffee, his thoughts once again returned to the incident. He recalled the details he had learned about how the police solved the case and found Rachel still alive. Some of the details of the case he had learned from Jane--his intimacy with her opened more than her legs, some from the police Sargent himself--he had shared a few beers with the Sarg at the Pine Arms after the rescue, and some from the rumor mill around town. He started daydreaming about what a crap shot it had been that that camera was able to capture the mirror flying off the truck. And, how it captured the key clue.

~ Case Cracked ~

The Pembleton camera only provided the police with pictures of the truck's mirror, and the last picture clearly showed it's part number. With the part number, they deduced the truck was a Ford F150 between the years 1997 and 2003--that same mirror was used throughout those model years. But where to look from there? There were hundreds of thousands F150s registered in New York, tens of thousands from those years alone. Without a plate number the police had a tall order investigating the whereabouts of that many trucks. And, given the number of vacationers and other transients in and out of White Pine at any given time, the police wouldn't necessarily be looking at a local resident--that truck could have come from anywhere, even out of state.

Another week had gone by, and Sergeant Tim called Steve several times during that week to ask him if he remembered any of the license plate numbers.

"No. I'm terribly sorry...I'd only be guessing," he'd say. Each call from the Sarg only made him feel worse for not remembering the plate number.

"Well, keep trying. We got a lead on the make and model of the truck, but we really need to narrow it down. That plate number--actually any of the numbers, if you can remember just a few--will help immensely," Sergeant Tim reminded Steve. During this one particular call, the sergeant was just about to hangup the phone, when he said, "Wait, I got an idea. Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No. Not that I recall," Steve replied.

"It's worth a shot. I'll setup an appointment with a shrink we've worked with before on this sort of thing--where a witness can't remember a key event. I'll call you back with the details. Stay by your phone," Sarge barked the order to Steve as he hung-up.

The hypnosis was a success. While under, Steve recalled the whole intersection encounter with remarkable lucidness. He not only recalled two digits and one letter of the license plate number, he was able to give a more detailed description of the man driving the truck. The plate numbers Steve recalled were 7 and 5, and the one letter was K. This was enough to narrow the truck down to two individuals in New York that owned Silver FORD F150s in that year range. For some yet unknown reason to Sergeant Tim, the description Steve gave of the driver did not match what the DMV had on file for either one of those two truck owners. The State Police immediately dispatched two units to find and question the owners of those two trucks.

The one lead proved to be a dead end. The owner of that truck had had his truck in his possession at the time and date of the incident, and he was at work all day with his truck parked in the parking garage. His alibi checked out.

As for the other truck owner, the police had a little more work to do to get to the bottom of that mess.

A month before the intersection incident, John Dexter, a guy with a shady past and a long rap sheet, was released from prison. He had been convicted of endangering the life of a child, for which he spent a year in jail. The DA wanted to convict him on child molestation charges, but they couldn't prove it. The child, a friend of the Dexter family, wouldn't talk. They did prove that the child, while in Dexter's care, was exposed to alcohol, drugs, and prostitution, so, up to the penitentiary John went. After he served his time, John, still living with his mother, wanted to get away from everything for a while, and as he told his mother, 'set his life straight.' He had some money he'd stashed in his bedroom from drug deals he did before he was sent up to the pen, and he used this money to buy a truck from a drug addict he'd previously sold drugs to. Kurt, the drug addict, needed money for drugs, and he was all too eager to sell his truck for a fix. Neither the drug addict, Kurt, nor the ex-con, John, thought to get the legal transfer paper work done on the truck. Neither respected the DMV or the state's authority in the matter. Neither of them were smart enough to care one way or the other.

When the cops descended on Kurt the drug addict's home, they found him stoned out of his mind. They arrested him and took him in for questioning.

"Where's your truck? And where were you on June 23th, at 12:16PM?" They badgered him for hours. Finally, Kurt gave up John Dexter. He told the cops about the truck he'd sold to him a month earlier, and that they didn't do any of the transfer paper work; he had just taken the money and given Dexter the keys.

Believing that Dexter, after his release from prison, was again living with his mother, the Swat Team descended on his mother's home. Bashing in the door, they demanded to know where John was. John had previously told his mother where he would be staying in the Adirondacks; he'd be renting a cabin in the town of Pine Hill, a neighboring town to White Pine. In his mind, there was no need not to tell her where he was going; after all, he was going up there to, as he put it, 'set his life straight.' He was not planning to commit another crime while away at the cabin, nor anytime in the future as far as that goes. He'd thought that he was done with jail and was looking for a fresh start.

But, John's worst devils got the best of him.

A month into his self prescribed seclusion, John Dexter got restless. The cabin he had rented was off the grid, and the only way to it was a mile long dirt road. John himself couldn't say why he'd gotten in his truck that June day and went into the town of White Pine. He was looking for something, something only the deep recesses of his lizard brain understood.

When he saw a young girl hitchhiking along a county road outside of town he spun the truck around. Rachel had been warned against hitchhiking many a time by her mother, but she always brushed it off. She and her friends had hitchhiked all the time into town and the few miles home again. Usually locals picked them up and they had a nice chat during the ride--a good way to catchup on gossip in a small town. No harm had ever come of it. She didn't recognize the truck that pulled over to pick her up, but she got in anyway. When John didn't make the turn Rachel had told him to take to get to her house, she began to suspect something. Within a few miles the truck careened through the intersection where Steve had been running.

The cops radioed ahead to the Pine County barracks. An all out swat team descended on the cabin John was renting. Helicopters and dogs were deployed.

They caught John red-handed at the cabin. Rachel was tied up in a backroom. The dogs attacked John as he tried to escape; they bit him in his crotch subduing him.

~ ~ ~

As Steve sat there after breakfast finishing his coffee while Rachel showered, he imagined the dogs cornering that creep in the woods as the ex-con tried to escape; one dog biting his crotch, three other dogs barking in his face as that monster squirmed on the ground trying to protect his dog bitten privates.

The sounds of the dogs barking in Steve's head while he daydreamt of Rachel's past nightmare obscured the sounds from the bathroom. He didn't hear the shower turn off, or a few minutes later, the bathroom door open. When Rachel came down the hall and back into the kitchen, she was drying her hair with a towel. She had another towel wrapped tightly around her body, and held to her by looping a corner of the towel back into itself just under her armpit, near her right breast. Steve, startled by her seemingly sudden appearance in the kitchen, was caught off guard. The unmistakably beautiful form of her body under the tightly wrapped towel lured his lust from his control. Images of ripping the towel off her and devouring her with his tongue flashed momentarily through his mind. And then, once again he remembered who she was and what she had gone through. He suppressed his libidinous thoughts, but not before those brief thoughts hardened his cock.

As she continued to tousle her hair, she moved closer to where Steve was sitting at the table.

"What are we going to do today?" she questioned. He had given this some thought during breakfast. He knew he'd have to entertain her for the weekend. He was making a mental list of things to keep them busy--too busy to let his lust win over his will.

"I thought we'd take a train into the city. We can shop, or just walk around and site see...get some dinner, or something. I don't imagine you've spent much time in the city. Have you?"

"No. I've only been there once. Just last year, in fact; a few of my girlfriends and I spent a weekend there for my eighteenth birthday. Girls Gone Wild in NYC we called it, but it was kinda tame...mostly we just shopped."

She finished drying her hair and then flipped her hair back and tossed the hair drying towel at Steve playfully.

"Or we could stay here, and spend all day in bed," she said with a devious grin, and then she let the towel wrapped around her body slip from her and to the floor. She feigned a lame attempted to cover herself and make it look like the towel slip was accidental.