Terror-stricken, she called out, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" God! He had to call me three times!

She ran… hard, barely able to see in the darkness, stumbling once or twice and cursing her rotten luck. The fright in her was real. Mickey demanded absolute obedience of his mamas, and any breaches of his iron discipline were dealt with, instantly… harshly.

Arriving out of breath at his sleeping bag, where Mickey sat glowering, angrily, Terry flung herself down on her knees before him, her tiny pixie-face distraught, frightened blue eyes already pleading for a mercy she knew he wouldn't dispense. She brushed disheveled strands of lustrous auburn hair away from her face and trembled, "Here I… am… Mickey…!"

"Where the hell you been?"

"Up there… on the hill… but I-I… didn't hear you!" she defended, hoping he would soften… perhaps allow her this one trespass against his rigid rules.

"Who was up there with you?"

"Peeper…" she admitted, truthfully, knowing that she could not tell Mickey any more than that. God! I-I can't tell him Peeper wouldn't let me go! She didn't want to be the cause of an open rift between the two men; there was already enough animosity between them.

"Peeper? Christ!" The black-bearded leader was silent for a moment. Peeper Martin needed to learn a few things. There wasn't any doubt about it, but he'd have to take care of Martin, tomorrow. Right now, his mama would get her little lesson in obedience before he fucked her.

"All right… get those God damned rags off! I want you bare-assed naked!"

Mickey watched her, avidly, his eyes burning with lewd desire and a grim satisfaction, as she hastened to obey him.

Sitting back on the sleeping bag, she pulled off her heavy boots and thick socks, then standing up, she unbuckled the wide belt, opened the fly of her boys' jeans and stripped them down over the soft, white columns of her tapering thighs and the long, svelte curve of her calves.