Batrea Samantha Tyden sat with her long legs propped up on the open back window sill of her parents’ tan Mercury sedan, feeling the rush of the wind against the bottoms of her bare, size-seven feet. She’d taken her pink socks off along with nearly everything else she could to cool off without her father turning around and chiding her again. He refused to turn on the air-conditioning so Trea was sweating down her back and between her thighs. She could see her mother in the front seat lifting her hair and mopping the sweat from the back of her neck every few miles, but neither of them dared say a word about the oppressive July heat to Trea’s father who was already in a worse mood than usual.
Every bump along Highway 51 jarred her bottom in clockwork rhythm as the tires bounced over the deteriorating seams of the Indiana state route between Trea’s uncle’s house and their home in north-central Cass County. The seventeen year-old girl wanted the long ride to be over, but even though she didn’t know exactly where they were in relation to home, she knew they still had a long way to go. She picked up the grocery bag full of clothes her aunt had given her and looked through it again, paying closer attention to the hand-me-downs that her cousin no longer wanted after leaving home to go to Holy Cross College half-way across the state. Her cousin Brenda was almost exactly her size, so this was just the latest donation of clothes she had inherited from her slightly older cousin. Trea had hoped to see Brenda at the annual Tyden family re-union, but Brenda had gotten a summer job in South Bend working at a Dairy Queen with some friends from college, and had an excuse not to show up at the tiresome yearly family event.
Trea and Brenda used to spend summers together when they were in sixth, seventh, and eighth grade, but Trea’s father had complained about the cost of another mouth to feed when it was their turn to host Brenda over the summer after Trea started high school, so they had not seen each other very much for a couple of years. Trea pulled out a pretty bra from the bottom of the bag and was surprised by two things: first that it was a sexy VS bra with lacy trim. She hadn’t expected her aunt to let Brenda buy such an expensive brassiere, and second, that Brenda’s boobs were now that size! Brenda had always been small-breasted when they were in junior high. She must have had a growth-spurt in the past two years.
“Shit!" her father exclaimed out of the blue.
it, Bob?" her mother replied.
“Why didn’t you remind me to ask Jake for that come-along he borrowed from me last summer?" he fumed.
“Bob, you’ve never needed it. Is it that important?"
“Its the principle of the thing. He’s had it for over a year!" The frequency of the road bumps noticeably increased every time her father was upset about something, as his foot bore down harder on the accelerator. In a minute her mom would nervously press her foot into the floor-mat and place her hand on the dashboard as her anxiety increased, and her father would then look over at her, irritated further by the implied criticism of his lead-foot driving.
“Will you relax?" he snapped, impatiently. The car slowed down to just over the speed-limit again.
Trea rolled her eyes and looked off to the side of the road as the endless flatness of northern Indiana rolled by. She glanced down at the bra again and slid over to the side of the back seat behind her father so he couldn’t see her in the rear-view mirror. She reached under her shirt and pulled her arms out of her bra straps and slid her old, worn-out bra down around her waist, un-hooked it, and yanked it out from under her shirt. She was going to put on her cousin’s lacy bra before her mom found it in the bag of clothes and claimed it for herself. She arched her back forward off the car-seat and hooked the newer bra around her waist, but before she hiked it up around her boobs, she reached under her shirt and wiped the sweat from the under-sides of her breasts and wiped her damp hands off on her shorts.
She looked down and saw the raisins of her nipples poking up through the cotton-knit shirt and admired her own chest before pulling the bra up and around her. At the re-union she had caught one of her uncle's friends staring at her breasts more than once, and finally resorted to crossing her arms over her chest to keep him from ogling at her. But after she had done so a couple of times, she found herself missing the attention, and deliberately threw out her 34-C chest to see if he would stare at them again. He did, of course. He had put his plate down on the picnic table directly across from where she sat, squeezing in between two of her younger cousins for the vantage point, or so she guessed.
The car had slowed down, passing through another small town and the tree-shaded streets were a welcome relief to the hot sun streaming in her window. After passing rows of old Victorian houses for several blocks, she saw three cute boys on bicycles staring at her from a driveway ahead as she leaned both arms on the window-sill. As they got closer, she reached down on the seat and grabbed her old, worn-out bra and threw it at them as their car rolled past them. She looked over her shoulder quickly to see if her dad had seen her do it, and then poked her head out the window to see if any of the boys had caught it.
She saw all three of them tangled up in their falling bicycles as they all tried to grab her bra where it had landed in the grass. They were whooping and waving at her as her father slowed down to stop at a light. She suddenly realized they might try to ride after the car to catch up to her at the stop-light, and she ducked down in the back seat praying the light would turn green before they could get there. If they did, and her mother had found out what she had done, she would be in big trouble! Mercifully, the car pulled off into the intersection and she turned around quickly to look out the rear window, but the boys were still half-way down the block passing her bra back and forth between them.
The car rolled along through several blocks of downtown businesses and near the end she saw a tattoo parlor in the first floor of an old three-story building with the letters IOOF and the number 267 cut into the keystone over one of window arches on the top floor. She wondered what they stood for and almost asked her father, but decided not to. There were two darkly tanned men in sleeveless shirts talking in front of the store, and she could see their tattoos covering their arms. She tried to make out what the designs were, but couldn’t see them clearly enough. She had a couple of classmates who had gotten tramp-stamps on their lower backs and she wanted one someday too, but could never decide what kind of design she would like permanently inked onto her backside.
Her mother would be horrified if she did it, so she never asked her if she could have one. She wished her parents weren’t so strict with her. As she looked back at the two men, she noticed the upper floors of the old building appeared to be empty and deserted. Boxes were piled up behind the dirty windows, which had neither curtains nor blinds. She wondered how long they’d been sitting there, abandoned and unused. What was behind those dark, old windows, and did anyone ever go up there? She imagined endless lonely nights passing year after year with no one ever entering those old high-ceiling rooms upstairs, as dust drifted through late-afternoon sunbeams slanting in through the tall windows facing the street.
She pictured in her mind those two tattooed men dragging her by the arms up a darkened stairwell to the upper floor of that old building. She vividly imagined her feet tripping and catching over torn rubber treads up the dusty stairs. At the top they would throw her down on an old, stained mattress, surrounded by piles of junk, ripping her clothes off of her while she submissively kneeled and allowed herself to be stripped naked. No one would know what they were doing to her, hidden behind those century-old brick walls. They would take turns, one watching while the other ravaged her, or possibly both taking her at the same time.
her father shouted. “Where’s your head at?!"
Trea startled to her senses and realized her father had been talking to her. She also realized her pussy-lips were slippery and soaking wet. She looked down to see if a wet-spot had soaked through her shorts, while her father repeated himself.
“Mr. Turner wants you to go over to his office when we get home. He called this morning and has some work he needs done before his office opens Monday morning."
Chad Turner was her father’s insurance agent. He had offered her a job after school hours and part-time during the summer filing insurance policies after scanning them into his office computer. She had worked in his office for several months and her dad always stressed the importance of being able to hold a job and stick with it no matter what. Her dad always called him Mister
Turner to impress upon Trea the importance of treating her elders with respect, but in his office he always wanted Trea to call him Chad.
He paid her well enough for filing and office work, but she was trying to get a job at Prestle’s Diner, because she’d heard how much the waitresses made in tips. Sherry Hundley had been hired instead. Sherry beat her out of every opportunity Trea had ever aspired to. She was prettier, more popular, and came from a better family. Trea knew she would never be as popular as she wanted to be as long as Sherry Hundley was always one step ahead of her.
Did you hear what I said?" her dad barked.
Trea slunk down in the backseat and sulked. She thought about the fantasy her father had interrupted and wondered why she had so many wild sexual fantasies. Was she perverted? Sick? She sat with her legs folded under her and her ankles crossed, feeling with her hand to see if her shorts had soaked through yet.
She closed her eyes and felt the car descending down a gentle grade. The sun was lowering in the sky and the air seemed less oppressively hot. She sleepily thought of Brenda and how her breasts were now filling Brenda’s bra, and her pussy became even wetter. The car slowed to a stop, then inched forward and stopped again. She heard her dad’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel impatiently, then opened her eyes hazily and saw her mom’s head turned to look out the window.
She looked out to see what she was looking at, and they were straddling a railroad crossing with cars ahead of them and behind them. She saw the railroad tracks curving out of sight less than half a mile down the rail-bed, and she realized her mom was worried about the bright headlamp of a train appearing around the curve coming toward them. Trea looked down the tracks in the other direction as her dad cursed the traffic and shouted: “Move!"
Down the tracks to her left were two teen-aged girls, each walking barefoot down their respective rail with their arms reaching across the ties holding hands and steadying each other as they balanced their footing. They were the sexiest girls Trea had ever seen. All they were wearing were skimpy bikinis, and as she watched their half-exposed bubble-asses wiggling as they walked down the tracks away from her, she noticed they were hopping together with every fourth step, as if they were counting off their footsteps in a dance. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.
Trea was entranced by their long, silky hair swaying with the swing of their hips and bouncing with every hop. Their long legs were perfect. Everything about them was perfect, except the bottoms of their feet which were filthy with the grease from the tracks. She felt her pussy tingling with the thrill of what she was watching. All she wanted was to follow those girls, catch up to them and join them. The only other girl she had ever had a sexual experience with was her best friend, and what they had done together seemed so innocent compared to what Trea wanted to do with these girls.
She could only imagine what their breasts might look like, bouncing with every fourth step. Trea pulled her hair up off her neck with her fist and swished it back and forth to cool off. The car slowly pulled forward off the tracks and Trea strained to watch the girls until they were obscured by the trees as they left the crossing behind. Trea wished she knew why she had these intensely sexual feelings all the time. She masturbated every day now.
She looked forward to moments when her parents weren’t around. She wanted to do things she knew were bad but she didn’t think she was a bad girl. Her pussy burned hot and wet for the rest of the ride home, as she kept thinking about those two girls. Was she a lesbian? She had never had intercourse with a boy, but she knew she would someday. She had done other things. Her father would kill her if he knew!
(c) 2011 Bethany Frasier
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/first-time/batrea-part-1.aspx">Batrea (Part 1)</a>