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Chapter 2: Doc Roberts

An open window revealed a cool, still night with just a hint of deep blue on the horizon. The chirping of crickets and toads broke the silence, yet lulled with hypnotic rhythm. Cool air slowly descended into the bedroom of one Beatrice Annabelle Gehrt bringing gentle relief from the dry, wheat field heat of one more Kansas summer day come to a close. Nothing was cool, however, in Bea's bed.

Bea, the eldest of four farmer's daughters, blessed with pale, creamy skin, golden locks of hair, and a bosom to make even Doc Roberts blush, (oh but he was never in his usual hurry when Bea was the patient, never indeed), lay perspiring in her night blouse, head shifting to and fro, eyes shut tight, legs apart, lower lip in the grip of perfect teeth. Her fingers attempted in vain to bring an encore to her first sexual experience of her life. A real, live, terrifying...exciting...Indian brave actually kissed her private girl area. French kissed, in fact, or something very close to it, after sneaking up on her afternoon bath in the barn.

The kissing...the burning fire of her nether...the aching of her breasts...the overwhelming explosion of senses when she...when she...when she just exploded all over his face. His oily, sunburned, savage mouth lapped up her spilled nectar. That's it...feel his tongue flicking up and down...pushing on her swollen pink clit...

Bea gasped in bed, her writhing body shaking as her young pussy came for the second time that day, soaking her sheets, making her hand slick with her own hot juices. Sleep at last.

The next morning, young, buxom Bea, eldest daughter of two hard-working, prairie farmer parents became scared. Her abdomen hurt and head ached like it usually did for a few days each month, but, unlike every other month, she'd just been touched by an Indian savage. Not just touched...tasted...penetrated. This made her very nervous. She'd seen Papa breeding his horses and watched, mesmerized, as the stallion's big horse cock drove into the mare's tail again and again. Then, come Spring, a little foal was born. Did that Indian make a baby inside me?

Bea's mom knocked on her bedroom door.

"Come in."

"Beatrice Annabelle Gehrt, what on God's earth are you still doing in bed? And my heavens, but you look positively feverish!" Mrs. Gerht walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the back of her hand to Bea's forehead. "You're all sweaty. I'm going to ask Charlie, (the traveling milk