Rumspringa and the Nymph

The air was still, the night was black. Emma's plain black dress and oversized prayer cap cloaked her dainty body. She shuffled her feet along the desolate road, nudging loose dirt before plopping herself to the ground. Her dress bellowed momentarily, exposing her sock-covered shins.

Above her hovered a wooden sign with hand-carved lettering welcoming travelers to town. She didn't mind to read the sign. It might as well said, "Nowhere." She dropped her knapsack to her side and whimpered. Her lips pursed and a breath of exasperation warmed her contorted wispy fingers. She rubbed her hands together, then placed them under her arms. She was losing hope.

It was the edge of dawn, when the night was the darkest. Emma watched between shivers as the veil of night lifted over the next hour. Her tiny body struggled to stay warm, though her arms and legs wrapped her tightly. The sun finally peeked above an expansive field of flowering wheat and tinged it with it's golden yellow hue.

Normally at this time of year Emma often found herself stripping those flowers from the wheat- collecting them by the fists-full- and tossing them throughout town. Her father, however, was far less amused. After witnessing her supposedly innocent act, he dragged her to the center of the village and forcefully cropped her hair to the shoulder.

"Those flowers," he explained, "are for pollinating the wheat!" His punishment went to far. After that, no one talked to her, though she begged. She only intended to spread beauty to the world, but instead she received scorn. Isolated from the rest of the community, she'd daze off about the English, the strange people from the outside with their large trucks and fast-paced music.

Emma ruminated about the English and their supposedly wicked ways. She knew little about them first-hand, but from what she heard through stories and gleaned from objects brought back, the outside world sounded dangerous- a place where it was easy to be taken advantage of. But it also seemed intriguing, where the people had no shame and would indulge in every beauty the world had to offer. That part, at least, allured Emma. The English, she figured, would be different. The English would understand her.

Emma often played, "English," in the barn, hidden behind stacks of hay. There she would act out and speak in a way she thought the English would. She would practice pouting her lips, striking glamorous poses, and tilting her head forward with intense, sultry eyes, pressing a makeshift cigarette holder between her fingers, as she had seen in the magazines, and all in front of the full-length mirror she had dragged from her mother's old room. She would roll her dress indecently high, exposing her long silky legs, and would remove her prayer cap.

Emma exhilarated in showing off her beautiful legs and long hair, and couldn't wait to show off her beauty to those that could perhaps appreciate it. One day she would visit the outside world, and when she did she resolved to fit in. Her favorite object from the English, however, had to be that particular magazine.

Oh, that magazine! That magazine was different from the others see had seen. Emma reached into her burlap knapsack, slowly pushing her fingers through, until her fingers pressed against the smooth glossy cover of a magazine she had once found sitting on the nightstand of her brother's room. She almost forgot she packed it. She ran her fingers across the cover, then plucked it from her sack. This was why she was here, plopped next to an empty road in the chilling cold. This is what she sought.

Emma flipped through the pages and felt her body quiver, a sensation she could hardly explain. The women in the magazine wore skimpy clothes and huge grins. They put their whole bodies on display and they seemed happy. That's what she wanted for herself, a reason to smile again.

She turned to one of the first pages. On it stood a woman in a black dress, similar to Emma's, but much shorter, with her hand pressed against a man's hairless chest. The woman clearly took control. Emma's eyes followed the woman's long slender legs to the woman's plump ass, just barely covered by the skirt. Emma felt her heart palpitate and her legs tingle. It was so raw, but so beautiful. And just out there for the whole world to see.

Emma flipped through the pages and watched as the woman slowly shared all of her beauty with the bare-chested man. Emma decided that she, too, wanted to share her beauty with the world just like the woman in the magazine, father be damned!

She stood up in a moment of defiance. She clasped at the side of her dress with both hands and pulled the threads apart. Her nose wrinkled and her lips curled. The crisp sound of tearing fabric caused her heart to beat even harder. With each tear she could feel her knees weaken. To her it was the sound of freedom. With the final thread split, she felt the cold rush of air between her thighs. She dropped the fabric to the ground and kicked it angrily to the side.

She glared at the limp pile of dirty fabric with little to say for itself, but quickly switched her attention to her work of art. The tear wasn't even, and perhaps even shorter than the woman's in the magazine, but that didn't matter. She smiled to herself and for the first time in her life felt like her own woman.

In her excitement, Emma then ripped her sleeves off and used one as a belt, wrapping it around her willowy waist and tying it behind her back. She took off her heavy shoes and socks, and then reached for her head covering, but stopped. Her father had cut her hair and it was no longer as long and as lustrous as it once was. Her cheeks burned red. She couldn't completely escape.

She glossed over that thought and instead preoccupied herself with her newfound freedom. She pranced with bare feet on the tips of her toes, imagining herself in high heels. She twirled and felt the dress catch the wind, lifting up so the cold breeze brushed against her underside. She felt so exposed, but so free.

The cool dirt would slip between her toes. She struck several poses from the magazine, showing off her half-exposed ass, her long, soft legs, and her arched back that protruded her budding breasts as far as they could go. She would pout her lips and give puppy dog eyes to an imaginary camera.

She grabbed the magazine again for further inspiration. She flipped through a few more pages and noticed the woman had removed her undergarment. She loved the way the bare-chested man begged the woman in the magazine with his eyes. Emma blushed momentarily, but the woman's smile was too intoxicating. She wanted that.

With hesitation Emma reached under the remnant of her skirt and wiggled her hips as she glided her fingers down, removing the last bit of fabric that hid her innocence from the world. She slipped it over one bare foot, then the other. She held it up and stared at it curiously. A large wet spot appeared in the middle, but where did that come from?

Her eyes switched to the road. Something was moving. A faint humming from the distance accompanied her panting. She didn't know what to do. Two glowing orbs approached. She was scared, nervous, excited. The humming turned to a roar, the faint spec in the distant grew to a mechanical beast! Flustered, she threw the magazine back into her knapsack and stood back up. Regaining a bit of shame, she tried awkwardly to cover her bare legs by pulling the front of her shortened dress down with both hands, but only managed to expose even more from behind.

The oversized truck blared it's horns, startling the girl and rousing her into action. This is what she wanted. This is what she was waiting for. She began hopping, her skirt following with her, and flailing her arms as the truck barreled past. The air brakes hissed and the beast screeched to a halt. She stared at the large truck just down the road in disbelief. Success.

Emma assembled her scant possessions and raced to the truck. As she approached, the door propped opened. She slowed her pace and cautiously climbed the side of the truck, displaying her innocence for the world to see-- if anyone were around to witness. Her head poked past the chair and she observed her savior, an older man sporting red hair, light scruff, big burly arms and a ponch to his stomach.

"Hello..." Emma spoke softly.

"Get in the truck," the driver responded. He had a disinterested stare, like he was analyzing her, trying to figure out her story. Her once conservative outfit was all torn up. He didn't know what to make of it, though.

She dropped her knapsack onto the floor in front of the passenger seat and climbed onto the chair, bare ass pressing against the leather. The girl felt the heater blow warm air into her face. Her adrenaline remained high, but for a moment she felt relaxed.

"C'mon, close the door," he spoke, still trying to get a sense of her. Her legs were naked. Her dress draped so feebly he could see the curve of her buttock against the seat. Her situation remained a mystery, but the smell that was filling the cabin partly gave her away.

Emma, noticing his gaze, reserved herself, holding her hands to her knees and squeezing them together. She turned to the hefty door. She reached so far her body tilted. The driver immediately noticed a lack of undergarment under the girl's dress. Emma meekly shut the door, the driver hit the gas, and the truck roared back onto the road.

"Where are you heading?" the driver asked.

"Into town," the girl eventually responded.

"Well this isn't the way to town, you know? I'll let you off at the next busy road."

"No, no, no! Um, wherever you're going is fine," she quickly answered back. She refused to go through that whole ordeal again. He seemed safe. He seemed kind. She looked up at the man, inspecting his legs, his chest, his face, until her eyes met his. She blushed and turned her eyes to her fidgeting fingers.

The driver raised one eyebrow and gave her a curious look. "All right."

She looked again, but from the corner of her eye, and gave a little smile. The driver reminded her a bit of her father, but with much less facial hair and red hair instead of white. He dressed differently as well . He wore a red stripped shirt. Her father only ever wore black.

From there they rode silently, both staring ahead into the distance. Emma would steal a few glances at the driver; He would roam his eyes across her naked legs. Eventually Emma's whole body acclimated to the warm cabin heat and she began to relax, letting her thighs separate a bit and her arms fall to her lap. She rested her head back into her chair and smiled to herself.

The driver looked the girl over. "Brook," he half grunted.

The girl shot him a confused glance. "Pardon me?"

"That's my name, Brook," responded the driver.

"Oh." She smiled. "Emma."

"Well, Emma, you look a bit young to be traveling alone. How old are you?" Brook inquired.

Emma sat there shocked, but didn't have a good answer. "I'm old enough!" she responded, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, okay, well I'm heading in to Ohio," Brook shared.

"That is fine," Emma spoke, "I will go there with you. What will we do there?" Her naivety was fully exposed.

"I'll take you as far as the border, but if you would like to go further, you'll have to pay. No ride is free." Brooks face was expressionless as he spoke, his eyes trained toward the road. Emma was a bit confused, and began to think what she may have in her knapsack that she could use to barter. She grabbed her knapsack and placed it between her thighs, rummaging for anything to give.

"I have a slice of pie I baked. It is all yours, if you like." She unwrapped the cloth-covered slice of shoofly pie and offered it to Brook. He looked at it through the corner of his eyes and then looked back to the road.

"Actually, I was thinking of something more, well, personal," he spoke.

"Personal?" she inquired, unsure what he could possibly mean.

"Well do you want to go to Ohio with me or not?" he asked. She thought about it for a second, trying to understand the conversation.

"Yes, I very much do. But what personal thing could I offer you."

"Here," Brook responded, ready to be more explicit and cut the confusion. "Let me show you," He steered with his left hand while reaching down with his right. He shuffled his fingers about until his pants made a zipping sound. He reached further down and within a moment produced something she was only familiar with from her magazine. She sat there shocked he so willingly shared his beauty with her having only just met her moments ago. In her town that was taboo.

Emma was giddy with joy and knew exactly what to do. She fumbled in her chair until she rested on all fours facing Brook with an open-mouth smile. Brook was surprised at her willingness, but just stared at her from the corner of his eyes. Emma began striking the many sexy poses she practiced repeatedly back in her barn. Her poses started as teases: crossed legs and pouty lips; biting her lips while squeezing her tiny breasts together with her arms; kneeling on her chair with bunny paw hands, puppy dog eyes, and duck lips.

But as she floundered about, she started noticing what Brook was responding to. Whenever her skirt flipped up as she positioned herself, she would see his eyes widen and his lips curl in. She started striking more suggestive poses: standing between the two cabin seats and lifting her already obscenely short skirt ever higher, exposing her leg all the way to her hip; kneeling on the chair while leaning back, causing her dress to ride up just enough to show where her two thighs met; and finally escalating to her on all fours, face pressed against the seat of the chair as her ass pointed upward, while looking back with her, "oops," face.

Emma watched Brook grind his hips into his chair and his face contort. His shoulders hunched over like he was restraining himself. Despite not being completely clear about the situation, Emma reveled in the tension she could feel building between her and Brook. She looked down at Brooks rod, standing as forthright as ever through his pants zipper. Forming at the tip was a bead of morning dew. She studied it curiously, then look at Brooks begging eyes.

"Can I touch it?" Emma spoke softly, then looked down shyly.

Brook thought she would never ask. "Yes, of course. I brought it out for you."

Emma almost leapt out of her chair, a giant grin stretched across her face. She clapped her hands and let out a squeal of excitement.

"Wait, wait, not too rough!"

Emma froze in mid-clap for a moment, processing what he had said. She looked at Brook, she looked at his protruding member, then gave a devilish grin and and giggled to herself.

"Hehehe, okay!" She stepped from her seat and kneeled beside Brook's, trying with each moment to slow herself down and contain her enthusiasm. Up close, it towered over her. Brook struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he watched Emma with intense interest. She reached out her hand and traced the engorged veins twisting and knotting around the shaft. Brooks legs twitched as her fingers found the curve of the bell and rubbed underneath.

Finally her fingers made their way to the clear liquid bead resting so delicately on the very tip. She took her pointing finger and placed it atop the dew drop, deforming it so it wrapped around her finger tip. She lifted her finger and watched curiously as a stream of semi-sticky liquid continued to connect her to Brook. At this point Brook could hardly contain himself and he shivered with anticipation.

Emma grabbed Brooks rod in her soft, warm hands and again, starting striking poses she saw acted out in her magazine. She placed his rod across her face, demonstrating its size; She pressed her lips together and kissed the tip, dragging a stream of dew as she pulled her lips away; and finally she shoved it into one side of her mouth like a cigar so it puffed up her other check; and all while maintaining the biggest grin Brook had ever seen. He could tell she loved what she was doing and that only served to further harden his already solid excitement.

Emma had not had so much fun since she could remember. Everything she had hoped about the English turned out true. They were ready to embrace her beauty, and she was more than willing to embrace theirs. She shoved his beauty in her mouth and pushed her face down as deep as she could go, clamped her lips tight, and dragged her whole head back until her lips made a popping sound and his manhood bounced back covered in Emma's saliva, glistening beautiful in that morning sun. Brook let out a moan of satisfaction.

Emma climbed back onto her chair and giggled shyly.

"Was that right? Did you like my beauty?" She asked. She looked up at Brook. He panted heavily, but he furrowed his brow and his lips quivered with frustration.

"Uh, yes, I very much loved your beauty, Emma," Brook started, realizing she was unaware how these things work. "But you haven't finished paying."

Emma looked stunned. "What do you mean?" she asked inquisitively.

"Don't get me wrong. What you did was great, but you haven't finished yet. You see..." Brook wrapped his hand around his protrusion and began bouncing his hand up and down. "You need to milk it," he said. "You'll know when you're done because, well, my milk will squirt out."

Emma tilted her head in a bit of confusion. She had practiced this moment so many times and now she risked messing everything up. She hesitated for a moment, then reached her hand out, her mouth agape and her eyes uncertain.

"No, no, with your mouth," Brook continued to instruct. Emma shot him a glance, then looked back down. She climbed from her chair and stood in-between the seats once again. She opened her mouth wide and began to bend over.

"Wait," Brook interrupted. "Take off your cap." Emma shot straight up mortified. She grabbed the back of her cap with both hands and held on to it defensively. What would he think of her short hair? Would he reject her? Would he not talk to her anymore like the others?

"I want to see your hair," Brook begged. Emma knew she couldn't keep it a secret forever, but did it have to all unravel so fast? With each reaction, Brook understood the mystery girl a bit more, putting the pieces together. He stretched out his big arm and placed it comfortingly on Emma's shoulder. "It's okay, you're safe now."

Emma felt slightly comforted, but her anxiety stayed strong. She felt her whole body flush with shame. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and slowly removed her prayer cap. Her short hair untangled and fell to her shoulders. She clasped her prayer cap in front of her and slowly opened her eyes. Her eyes caught the light and shined a luminous green. Her smile turned to a quivering lower lip and her eyes glistened as tears formed at the corners. She saw him staring at her, judging her. He did not move.

"You're absolutely beautiful," Brook said, finally breaking the silence. Emma was taken aback. She interrogated him with her piercing eyes, but his eyes just continued to beg for her. A smile expanded across her entire face as she leapt up and hugged Brook as hard as she could. He did not see her shame; He only saw her beauty. She immediately dropped to her knees, took everything he had to offer in her mouth, and bounced her head up and down.

Soon enough his hips tightened. She felt him twitching in her mouth, then streams of a thick liquid coated the back of her throat. Her mouth filled with this sweet yet musky milk until her cheeks bowled out like a chipmunk. Emma clamped her lips as tight as possible, but some of this newfound ambrosia slipped from the corners of her mouth and slid down her chin. The deluge eventually stopped and his engorged rod shrank to a twig. Emma pulled her head back until his member plopped out. She fell back and held her head up, unsure of what to do but not wanting to lose a drop.