Rustled (21 page)

By this time,
I had fully embraced my idea, and would have been devastated if he’d said no.
But, he saw my enthusiasm and mustered some of his own. “Kitten, I think it’s a
brilliant idea! As soon as I’ve evicted the men, we’ll go down and inspect the
structures to see what’s needed. Can you help by writing letters to the women,
explaining that they don’t have to leave if they don’t want to? And we need
some sort of plan to hire teachers and other staff, design a curriculum, look
into whether we need certification through the state. This is your project, I
expect you to take the lead.”

Throwing my
arms around him, I thanked him, not only because he was doing something I had suggested
and thought was a good idea, but also because he was trusting me to get the
details right. As bossy as he was, he must still have some respect for my
abilities to do this.

It gave me
something to do, something important, as the cold Wyoming spring blew out its
last storms. I knew that some of the women would choose to follow their men,
but that was their choice. For the others, a bright new future was possible. If
I could have loved Russ more, this would have done it, but I already loved him
more than my own life, more than anything other than our baby growing within
me.

As the weeks
passed, I made Russ tell me where he had picked up all of his ranch hands, and
was gratified to confirm that he had indeed rescued many of them, from
career-ending rodeo injuries to boys as young as sixteen who needed a place to
stay and some structure in their lives. The meth trade that had largely replaced
marijuana coming up from Mexico had devastated small towns all over the West;
their children, especially boys, becoming addicted to the poison or the
excitement of dealing in spite of their country upbringing. He loved them all
like brothers and fought for their recovery from whatever trouble they were in,
which in turn made them the most loyal employees a man could have.

Already the
girls were flirting with some of them, and we discussed whether we should
intervene. Deciding to just warn the men that these girls were jailbait despite
being mothers already, we let nature take its course, watching with amusement
and secret glee when Annalee set her cap for Hank’s nephew, a young man of
twenty-four who, bewitched by her beauty, didn’t know what had hit him. Maybe
there would be more weddings this year, after ours. At least Annalee was of
legal age.

In the end,
everything worked out as if it had been ordained. Before all the evictions were
complete, it was time for the wedding, but before that we took a flight to
Phoenix from Salt Lake City to visit Mom as soon as she was allowed visitors.
In only a few weeks, we hoped she’d be well enough to attend the wedding if not
be released. Once the baby was born, if she was still in rehab, we’d visit
again, stopping in Bethel City to inspect the progress of our conversion of the
RALDS houses to our women’s shelter.

Mom wasn’t
fully recovered by April, but she was well enough to get a furlough, and her
appearance had made a remarkable recovery. She looked lovely in a rose-pink
dress that complimented her blonde hair. Russ even said he could see she had
been beautiful in her youth, and that now he knew where I got my looks, though
the auburn hair was a gift from my dad. Dad, by the way, didn’t show up. I knew
then that he had been the one to betray our whereabouts to the Prophet, and
mournfully tucked the memory of the dad I’d known before his conversion away in
my heart, as I would have if he’d died. He was dead to me.

True to her
word, Eleanor planned an elegant wedding with only a few guests, very good
friends of their family and of course all of Russ’s employees and our girls. A
fortunate warm spell allowed us to move the wedding from the great room at
Russ’s parents’ home out to the garden, and Eleanor brought in dozens of roses
to create the illusion that it was blooming, though it was far too early in a
Wyoming spring for anything to bloom. Russ looked like a model from GQ in his
tux, and everyone told me I looked lovely in my Empire-waist gown, strewn with
crystals in a sunburst pattern on the bodice. I rather thought my cleavage was
a bit much, but when you’re seven months pregnant, there’s not much you can do
about that.

Russ leered at
me all day, and when it was time to go home, barely contained his roughness
when he undressed me. I told him I’d hurt him badly if he tore my beautiful
dress, and he must have believed me, though how I would have accomplished it I
couldn’t say.

Russ’s big
hands caressed my rounded belly as he kissed me, thoroughly over every inch of
my skin. My breasts were already letting down some fluid, which he suckled with
every evidence of enjoyment. I wondered if the baby’s nursing would send those
same connected sensations to my core. I couldn’t believe that Russ still found
me so desirable, because I could see in the mirror that I looked very strange, an
otherwise slender woman, with something the size of a beach ball distending her
abdomen, topped by enormous breasts. But he did. Russ couldn’t get enough of
staring at me while I was naked, and our wedding night was no exception.

“How do you
feel, Kitten? Are you up to making love with me?”

“Always,” I
answered dreamily. He undressed then, and resumed caressing me, pausing to feel
the baby kicking. He put his lips to the spot and said, “Behave now, little
Kitty, mommy and daddy are busy.” Because of his endearment for me, we had
decided to name her Katherine, Kitty for short. Now he touched me gently in
that spot that always melted me instantly, stroking and drawing moisture from
between my legs to the erect bud of my clit.

As my belly
grew, Russ had become more and more creative in positioning me for his tongue
on that spot, until now, when I was nearly at term, we needed to lie on our
sides, him curled around my belly. Naturally, that placed his cock
strategically within the reach of my mouth, too.

At first, I’d
laughed at what we must look like from above, curled into the classic
sixty-nine position. It made him look at the ceiling speculatively.

“We could have
a mirror installed up there.”

“Russ! What
would the workman think, whoever we had do it?” Except for my uninhibited
cries, our lovemaking had always been very private. I couldn’t fathom someone
knowing that one or both of us liked to watch ourselves, though Russ often
pulled the cheval mirror to the side of the bed to do just that. I discovered
it was pretty hot, myself.

“Oh, I’d just
have one of the hands do it,” he teased. That earned him a playful slap, but
within days, my bedroom ceiling had been decorated in mirrored tiles, Russ
doing the work himself. I just hoped the housekeepers never looked up.

On our wedding
night, Russ had a different idea. He lay on his back, his legs propped up at a
steep angle, and directed me to straddle his chest and lean back. Then he
scooted me forward, his big hands covering my ass, until my core was positioned
perfectly for his feast. The maneuvering had been awkward, my ungainly body
requiring several adjustments before I felt comfortable and relaxed, but with
the first touch of his tongue to my clit, desire flooded me again. I gave
myself over to the ecstasy, urging him on with my cries and moans.

“I like this
view,” Russ said, peering upward at the ceiling and stopping his lapping to
make the remark.

“Russ,” I
gasped, “don’t stop now!” He chuckled a little, then blew gently, warming me
again.

“I think I’ll
just take a little rest.”

“Think again,
hombre,” I said between clenched teeth, pushing toward him.

“Oooh, I like
it when you go all Domme on me,” he said with a smirk, lying through his teeth.
If anyone was into that kind of kinky play, it was he. I’d once offered to tie
his arms and legs to the bedposts and give him a blowjob, and got one of his
stinging spankings in response. But, this time, he obeyed me and resumed the
exquisite torture of my clit and pussy with his long, agile tongue.

My legs were
folded back in a kneeling position, though they weren’t supporting me, Russ’s
hands were. When the intensity of his tongue on my most sensitive spot brought
my first orgasm, it lifted me involuntarily on my knees, Russ rising to follow
me and continue lapping. I was quivering helplessly and hanging on to the
headboard to avoid collapsing and crushing his head when he relented and pulled
his face away.

“God, Russ,
are you trying to kill me?” I gasped.

“Not just
yet,” he grinned. Still handling me carefully, he helped me move my leg so he
could slip out from under me. Patting the bed, he had me lie down with my back
to him. Russ had become expert at taking what he wanted from me without being
rough, and, although I missed the rough passion, we both had concern for the
baby. When he had made me ready, he turned me so that I was lying on my side
with him behind me and propped my leg up so he could enter me from behind. This
position didn’t allow him to enter me as deeply, but it gave us the connection
we craved without the danger of starting contractions.

He stilled,
holding me with his hands covering my breasts, rolling my nipples and giving
little grunts of pleasure when it caused me to contract around him. Slowly, he
rocked in and out, moving one hand to my clit to increase my pleasure. Only
when he felt me tense and the orgasm begin did he thrust more strongly,
bringing himself to release right after me. It was a sweet and tender time, not
the most passionate we had ever shared, but easily the sweetest.

Nuzzling my
neck, he murmured his love for me and for our baby, along with his promise
never to leave us, never to take any action that would harm us. I turned in his
arms to give and receive a deep kiss, and promised never to leave him again, either.
We fell asleep, sated but still entwined, and at last I was Mrs. White.

§

Katherine Hope
White was born on June sixth, weighing a healthy 7 lbs. 8 oz., and sporting a
full head of coppery curls set off by her Daddy’s blue, blue eyes. I couldn’t
have loved her more, and her Daddy was equally smitten. Grandma Elizabeth was
in attendance at the home birth, along with Grandma Eleanor, Dr. Beth, and of
course, Daddy. He cut the umbilical cord, swaddled our baby, and laid her in my
arms. “I love you, Kitten.”

“I love you, too,
Russ.”

“I’m so glad
you wrecked in that ditch.”

“You goof,” I sputtered,
watching with wonder as my daughter found a nipple and began to suckle. “We
would have met somehow. It was fate, remember?

THE END

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