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beard was trimmed. His coat long. And when his pale blue eyes met Ruthie's, she flinched.

Her mother stepped forward and spoke to him in a low voice. Ruthie couldn't hear what was said, but she saw Abner's eyes slide down her body, slow and deliberate. He didn't smile. He just nodded once.

Her mother turned to her and hugged her tightly. "You listen to him, Ruthie. Do everything he says. Be a good girl." Then she whispered, "Don't talk back. Don't make trouble. Just... obey."

Before Ruthie could answer, she was gone—walking down the path without looking back, disappearing into the evening mist.

Chief Abner finally spoke. "I suppose I have no choice," he said, flat and cold. "Come inside."

The inside of the house was clean, but cold. No warmth. No life. Just rules.

"You'll take the room to the left," he said. "Mine's the right." Ruthie nodded. "Dinner is at seven. Don't be late. I'll explain the house expectations then." He didn't wait for a response. He just walked away.

Ruthie stepped into her room. It smelled of dust and something faintly wooden. A single bed, a plain dresser, a small mirror. No pictures. No warmth. She placed her things by the bed and sat down, feeling a knot in her stomach. She didn't know what it was. Fear, maybe. Or something... else.

She didn't unpack. She just sat there. Outside her window, the sun was beginning to set.

Chapter 2 - House Rules At exactly 7PM, Ruthie found herself standing by the long wooden table.

The kitchen was quiet—too quiet. No soft clatter of pots. No humming from a mother's lips. No laughter from her stepfather, who used to tap the table with his fingers and make the oil lamp flicker with his breath.

Now, there was only order. And silence.

Two plates. One cup. One jug of water. All perfectly placed.

Chief Abner was already seated—straight-backed, hands folded, his knife and fork untouched, but his eyes sharp and unreadable as they slowly lifted to meet hers.

Ruthie lowered her gaze quickly and sat down across from him.

She began to eat quietly, keeping her elbows off the table, keeping her knees together, just like she was taught. The food was plain—boiled potatoes and a slice of salted meat—but the tension in the room made it feel like chewing gravel.

Then, he spoke, mid-bite. His voice was calm. Cold. And entirely in control.

"In this house, I run things with order."

Ruthie's fork paused just above her plate.

"You will wake at dawn. Milk the cows. Clean the barn. Sweep the house. You will not complain. You will not question."

She nodded slowly, mouth dry.

He didn't look at her when he continued. He just cut into his meat, as if he were reciting scripture.

"You will speak only when spoken to. You will wear modest clothing at all times. You will keep to your space."

A pause.

"I expect you to show respect to me—and to your own body."

That line made her look up.

Her soft green eyes blinked once, confused.

What did he mean by that?

But he didn't let her ask.

"I don't tolerate laziness. I don't tolerate filth. And I don't tolerate sluts."

The word hit like a whip across her back.

Ruthie stiffened. Her cheeks burned. The heat shot from her neck to her chest and into her thighs, tightening her stomach with a strange tension.

"I—I'm not..." she stammered.

Her voice was barely audible, but it cracked under pressure.

Chief Abner finally met her eyes, and when he did, she couldn't look away. His stare was piercing. Not angry. Not loud. Just... final.

"Keep it that way."

Then he returned to his food, cutting slowly, chewing without sound.

The rest of the meal passed in a thick silence.

Ruthie kept her eyes on her plate. Her hands trembled slightly. The way he'd said it... sluts. Like the word meant something more here. Something dangerous. Something punishable.

She barely touched the potatoes after that.

That night, Ruthie lay stiff in bed.

The lamp beside her flickered with low oil, casting trembling shadows across the cracked walls of the room. She clutched the blanket tightly to her chest, fully clothed, her headscarf still loosely tied.

Outside, the wind whistled between the trees, brushing against the window like soft fingers. Inside, the house was quiet... but not peacefully so.

It was the silence of something waiting.

She turned onto her side. Her dress clung to her thighs with sweat. Her nipples—firm beneath her nightclothes—rubbed lightly against the rough linen of her top. She tried to ignore it.

Then she heard it.

A footstep.

Slow. Measured. Deliberate. Just across the hall.

Her breath caught. She stared at the door, unmoving.

Creeeeak.

A door opened—soft and slow, like someone trying not to be heard.

And then... silence again.

Her fingers clutched the blanket tighter, pulling it up to her chin even though the room was warm. She wasn't cold. But something made her shiver.

Her heart was thudding in her chest now—a slow, deep thump like warning drums. She listened, barely daring to breathe.

Nothing.

But she knew he was there. Maybe standing in the hall. Maybe listening at her door.

Watching.

Judging.

Wanting.

She turned to the wall, trying to squeeze her legs tighter together. Her body felt strange, heavy, and too aware.

In that house, every word, every rule, every glance across the dinner table was a thread in the web Chief Abner was weaving around her.

He'd been hard for her the moment she walked in.

And tomorrow morning, when she would sit beside him to learn how to milk the cows—he'd teach her with a calm voice and a patient smile.

But what he really wanted...

...was to train her hands for something far more obscene.

Chapter 3 - First Strokes The sky was barely lit when Ruthie heard the knock.

It wasn't loud. Just two dull thuds against the wood. But her eyes flew open, her heart already racing. She threw on her dress over her shift, fumbled with the buttons, and wrapped her hair quickly, hands still trembling from the night before.

She opened her door to find Chief Abner already waiting. He said nothing. Just turned, coat swaying behind him, and walked outside.

He stood by the barn, arms crossed, boots planted wide.

The early light cut across his face, shadowing the deep lines around his mouth. His eyes dipped down her body for just a moment before turning toward the cow pen.

"You'll start with the milking," he said, handing her a small tin. "Oil your hands."

She blinked. "Oil?"

"You want it to glide easy," he said, voice flat. "Use enough or it'll be messy."

She hesitated, then dipped her fingers into the thick, slick oil. It coated her skin, warm and slippery. She rubbed it between her palms, the sound of it wet and slow, already making her cheeks flush.

"Get down," he ordered, pointing to the stool.

She knelt beside the cow, dress pulled around her knees, and reached for the thick, swollen teat. It felt heavy and warm in her palm.

"Wrap your hand around it. Firm grip. Then stroke down. Tighten as you pull."

She obeyed.

Her oiled hand squeezed slowly, her fingers wrapping around the base, gliding downward in a long stroke. A thick squirt of milk burst from the tip into the bucket below. She gasped.

"Good," Abner murmured behind her. "Nice and tight. That's it. Stroke it like that."

She kept going, her grip steady, her pace rhythmic. Milk sprayed with each stroke, slick and loud, echoing inside the pail. Her hands glided up and down, knuckles tightening around the soft warmth, fingers curling with practiced tension.

"You're a natural," he said, and she could hear the heat in his voice now. "Those hands were made for this."

His eyes locked on the way her slick fingers glided up and down the thick teat, rhythm steady and tight—his cock twitched hard in his pants, aching at the thought of those same hands wrapped around something much filthier.

She didn't respond—but she felt it. The way he was watching. The way her own breath started to catch every time she squeezed.

Her lips parted. Her cheeks burned. Something warm pulsed between her thighs.

"Good enough," he said finally. "Now clean the barn."

She nodded and reached for the broom. But the moment she started sweeping, her dress caught under her feet. She stumbled twice, tried to hold it up with one hand, but the fabric just clung tighter to her legs, wrapping her movements in frustration.

She looked up. Abner hadn't moved. He was just watching.

"I can't... I'll figure it out, Step Grandpa," she muttered, her voice small, unsure—trying to hide her frustration, trying not to displease him.

"No," he said simply. "Take it off."

She froze. "My dress?"

"You've got underthings on, don't you?" His eyes never left her. "You're alone here. I'm just your old step grandpa. You want to get the job done, don't you?"

Her throat dried. Her fingers trembled. But the logic in his voice left no room to argue.

She unfastened the buttons slowly. One by one. The fabric slid off her shoulders, fell around her feet.

Her underdress clung to her like a second skin. Sweat from the morning work stuck the thin cotton to her chest—her nipples poking clearly through, tight and pointed. Her curves were no longer hidden. Her waist dipped in softly, leading to wide hips, and a plump, perfectly round ass that jiggled with every step.

When she bent to sweep, the cotton stretched across her ass, sinking into the crease, outlining the shape of it all. And every time she knelt, her inner thighs spread just enough for him to see the dip between her legs. There was no hiding it. That sweet, untouched pussy pressed tight behind damp fabric.

Abner said nothing.

He stood at the door, silent and still, eyes glued to every move she made.

Ruthie didn't look at him again. But she could feel it. The weight of his stare. The way her body reacted to it. Her nipples were hard. Her pussy was throbbing. She didn't understand it—only that she felt... warm. Exposed. Wet.

When she finished, panting softly, strands of hair stuck to her face, he finally spoke.

"You stink of sweat," he said, voice low. "Go wash. Use the cabin. And don't rush it. I don't tolerate filth."

She picked up her dress and walked across the yard, bare feet silent on the dirt path, the air clinging to her damp skin.

The cabin was small, old, barely wide enough to stand in—but it had a water barrel, a basin, and a thin curtain on one side. What Ruthie didn't know was that the cabin wall was adjacent to Abner's bedroom—and that a narrow knot-hole in the wood gave a perfect view.

She undressed slowly, peeling the wet cotton from her skin.

Her tits bounced free, soft and perky, nipples flushed pink from the heat. Her body was lean and tight, not from vanity, but from honest work and clean living. Her pussy was bare, soft, untouched, lips tight and pink, begging to be opened.

She bent to pour water into the basin, and her ass cheeks spread slightly, glistening with water and sweat.

In the other room, Chief Abner stood in the shadows—watching through the hole, stroking his huge cock slowly. It was long, thick, dark and veined, the head already leaking.

"Fuck..." he whispered. "She doesn't even know what that mouth, those hands, that sweet pussy are made for."

His hand moved faster as he watched her cup water to her chest, the liquid dripping down the valley between her tits, over her belly, sliding along her hips, down her thighs. She turned, and he caught a perfect glimpse of her dripping cunt, folds tight and pulsing, clit peeking out like a desperate little bud.

He grunted softly, fist tightening.

She bent again, her back arched naturally, ass rising, legs parting. He nearly groaned.

"Fuck," he mutters. "That sweet pussy's going to be mine."

But he didn't finish.

He pulled his hand back before the orgasm could rip through him. Not yet. Not until he had her on her knees, stroking him the way she stroked that cow.

Ruthie dried off, slipping into her nightdress, unaware of what had just happened inches away.

But as she walked back toward the house, her body still tingling, she felt something. A shift. A hunger she couldn't name.

She didn't know yet... But she was already being trained.

Not just to obey... But to serve.

Chapter 4 - Purity Inspections Dinner was quiet.

Ruthie sat across from Chief Abner, head lowered, hands folded politely in her lap between bites of dry cornbread. The only sounds were the dull clinks of fork against plate and the occasional creak of the wooden floor as the house settled around them. But the tension between them was louder than words—thicker than the air.

Abner's voice broke the silence, low and deliberate.

"Is there a boy?"

Ruthie blinked. "A... boy?"

"A special one," he clarified, slowly slicing his meat. "Someone waiting for you out there?"

Her cheeks flushed. "There was... I guess. A boy named Tom."

"You guess?"

She hesitated. "We liked each other. That's all."

His fork paused mid-air. Then came the second question—sharper, heavier.

"You ever been touched by a boy?"

She looked up, startled. "I... what?"

"Touched. Kissed. Rubbed. Poked." "You said there was a boy—Tom."

Her heart dropped.

"Y-yes. But only once. Just kissing. That's all."

She swallowed hard. "My mother knew about it. We never did anything sinful."

He put down his fork.

"A kiss leads to wandering hands. And wandering hands make whores out of clean girls."

She looked away, her cheeks burning. That word again.

"From now on," he continued calmly, "you'll prove your purity."

Her eyes darted back up, wide.

"What...?"

He leaned back slightly in his chair, voice calm but heavy with weight.

"I have a reputation to uphold in this community, Ruthie. I'm the elder. The example. The standard. What would they say if I allowed impurity under my own roof?" "If a girl like you... a girl with a past outside the fence... was allowed to do as she pleased, untested, unproven?" "No. That won't do."

He set his fork down with a slow clink.

"From now on, I will need to ensure that you remain pure. Regularly. Personally."

His eyes locked onto hers, his tone dropping lower.

"No panties at night. Dress lifted. Legs open. I need to check on that little pussy of yours... to see if it's still tight and untouched. That's my responsibility as your guardian now."

Ruthie blinked. Her throat clenched.

"I—I don't understand—"

"You don't need to understand. You need to obey."

She remembered her mother's last words before leaving her at the mercy of Chief Abner—"Do everything he says. Be a good girl." The weight of that instruction pressed down on her chest like a hand.

"I need to be sure," he added. "This is a respectable home. I don't allow filth under my roof."

She couldn't speak. She just nodded. Slowly. Obediently.

That night, Ruthie lay on her bed with the lantern flickering low.

Her undergarments had been folded and placed in the dresser. Her thighs were bare, her dress hiked up around her hips. She lay there, breathing slow and shallow, her pussy already tingling with heat, even though she tried not to think about it.

She had to obey. She had nowhere else to go. Her mother had made that clear before leaving—"Just be a good girl, Ruthie. Do what he says." The words echoed in her head like a command. This would be over quick, she told herself. Just an inspection. Just another rule. She could endure it... if she stayed quiet, still, and good.

She heard his steps. Firm. Measured.

Click.

The door opened.

Chief Abner entered and shut it behind him. He walked to the foot of her bed, eyes dragging over her legs, her hips, the smooth skin exposed beneath the bunched-up dress.

"Open your legs."

She hesitated—just a second—then spread her thighs. Slowly. Shamefully.

Her smooth pink pussy glistened faintly in the lantern light. The lips were soft, slightly parted, glistening with a wet sheen she couldn't explain.

He pulled a chair beside the bed and sat. Slowly.

"Good girl."

His voice was quiet. Almost reverent. As if he were about to perform a sacred ritual.

Abner's cock twitched hard in his pants the moment he saw it—that sweet little pussy, soft and pink, glistening slightly with her natural heat. Her lips were smooth, tight, tucked in like a secret begging to be opened. He stared for a moment longer than he should've, drinking in the sight like a starving man. This was it. He was one step closer. Closer to owning what no one else had touched. Closer to claiming what had been hidden beneath those modest dresses for years. So pure. So fuckable. His cock pulsated, aching against the fabric, throbbing with the thought of how easily he could tear that innocence apart. But not yet. Tonight was just for looking.

His fingers touched her inner thighs first—rough fingertips on soft, trembling skin. Then, with two fingers, he gently parted her folds, spreading her pussy open until her tight little slit was completely exposed.

"Still closed," he muttered. "Tight... untouched..."

He ran a finger down her slit, grazing her tiny pink clit, then flicked it—once, twice.

Ruthie's hips twitched.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Mmhm," Abner grunted. "So damn sensitive."

He pushed her folds further apart, staring at the tiny pink hole barely peeking through, slick and untouched.

"You're wet," he said plainly. "You feel that?"

Ruthie shook her head. But her body betrayed her. Her slit pulsed under his stare, a thin stream of clear fluid slipping out and trailing down her ass.

That pussy's telling the truth, he thought, eyes locked on the way her slit glistened and twitched under his gaze. It's begging to be eaten... fucked... claimed. He held back a smirk. Soon, girl. You'll have it. Every inch.

She looked away, face on fire. But she didn't stop him. She didn't say no.

He stood and cracked his knuckles.

"Now turn around."

She blinked. "W-what?"

"Turn over. Face down. On your knees. Arch your back. I want to check the other hole."

"What? Why?" Ruthie asked, her voice trembling.

"Don't play dumb," Abner snapped. "I know very well what you young people do nowadays to fool the world into believing you're still pure."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Turn!"

She rolled onto her belly, then pushed up onto her knees. She pulled her dress up to her back.

Her ass was round and firm, two perfect cheeks lifted high, parting slowly as she adjusted her stance. Between them, her puckered little asshole was tight, pink, and twitching.

Abner groaned softly.

"Fuck... look at that little hole. Still shut tight."

He spat lightly on his fingers and rubbed them together.

Then he pressed one against her asshole.

"Push out," he said.

She obeyed, and the tip of his finger slipped in.

"Mmm. There we go." "Now squeeze it."

She did. Her asshole tightened around him like a fist.

"That's good. Keep squeezing. I need to know if this hole's still mine to protect."

He slid in a bit deeper, two knuckles, then pulled out slowly—her tight ring clinging to him the whole way.

He wiped his fingers and stood behind her, just watching her quivering, gaping hole slowly close back up.

"Still tight," he whispered. "Still pure."

He stepped back.

Ruthie lowered herself slowly, breath shaky, legs trembling.

He didn't say goodnight.

He just turned toward the door and said,

"Same time tomorrow. Be ready."

Click. The door closed.

Chapter 5 - Her Body's Betrayal Abner closed the door behind him, fingers still sticky with Ruthie's heat.

He didn't speak. Didn't sigh. Just stood there for a moment in the dark, the scent of her still clinging to his skin. Sweet. Clean. Barely opened.

His cock was rock hard, pulsing inside his pants like it was begging to be freed. He unfastened his belt, unzipped, and let it out—thick, veiny, and already leaking. He brought his fingers to his nose, inhaled deeply, then wrapped his fist around his shaft and started jerking off slow and heavy, imagining that tight little pussy still spread wide open for him on the bed.

"She twitched when I touched her clit..." "That little asshole squeezed like it was begging to be filled..."

He grunted low in his throat as his strokes quickened. And when he came, he came hard—ropes of hot cum splattering across the wooden floor, his balls tight, his mind spinning with the thought of Ruthie moaning into her pillow, not even knowing why she was wet.

The days followed a rhythm. A dark, private rhythm no one else saw.

Mornings were silent orders. Ruthie would rise at dawn, dress quietly, and step into the cold air to find Abner already waiting.

She milked the cows, her oiled hands stroking up and down the teats—the same way she remembered stroking them that first day, the way he watched her. Her fingers moved with practiced ease now, and every time the warm milk squirted into the bucket, she felt her thighs clench just slightly, her cheeks flush. She tried not to notice... but she did.

Then the barn. Her dress always came off now. It wasn't a command anymore. It was part of the job. She swept, scrubbed, bent and stretched—her undergarments damp with sweat and something else. She could feel him watching her. And she didn't tell him to stop.

Nights were ritual. She would undress in silence. Slide her panties off and place them in the dresser. Lie on the bed with her dress around her waist. Legs spread. Pussy exposed. Just as he asked.

And every night, Abner came.

He said nothing when he entered. Just pulled up a chair beside the bed and stared.

He'd reach between her legs with rough fingers and part her pussy slowly, dragging his fingers through the slick pink folds, watching them glisten under the lamplight.

Her clit was always swollen now. Always ready. Always pulsing.

And he knew it.

He flicked it. Just once at first. She gasped. Hips twitching.

Then again. A circle. A tap. A press.

Her legs trembled.

"Is it... good, Step Grandpa?" she whispered, barely able to hold the question in—part shame, part need, part desperate hope that she was doing something right.

"Good girl," he muttered.

She never answered. She just stared at the ceiling, lips parted, breathing hard.

But her body responded every time.

During the day, Ruthie felt it. A weight in her lower belly. A constant pressure. A need.

She started drifting during chores. Her thoughts would wander. She'd remember the way his finger pressed against her clit, the way he spoke low and dark—"spread wider... that's it... squeeze for me."

Sometimes, she'd feel the broom handle in her hand and her thighs would press together without her realizing.

She couldn't stop it.

At night, before he came in, she found herself laying on the bed early, dress already pulled up. Her pussy would throb quietly—a low, constant ache.

And when his fingers slid across her folds, when he flicked her clit and whispered "so obedient", she felt something build.

Something hot. Something shameful. Abner had added it to the routine.

After her pussy inspection, he'd nod once and say: "Turn over."

And she would.

She'd get on all fours, arch her back, her round ass lifting into the air. Her cheeks parting slowly, revealing that tight little asshole, twitching from the exposure.

He'd spit on his fingers, then rub slow circles around the rim. Her body always reacted. Always clenched.

Then the finger would press in—not fast, but deep enough to feel. One knuckle. Then two.

"Squeeze me," he'd command.

And she would. Her ass clamping around him, her pussy dripping onto the sheets.

He watched her change. Watched her body go from still and stiff to warm and responsive.

Her nipples stayed hard now. Her pussy opened easier. Her asshole no longer flinched—it squeezed him tighter.

He saw the way her hips lifted a little higher when he entered the room. He saw the way her thighs trembled before he even touched her.

"That's right, girl," he thought. "You're mine. You don't even know it yet." "But your pussy knows. That cunt's learning to beg without a word."

Chapter 7 - The Boy and the Mistake The morning felt different.

The silence in the house was heavier than usual. Step Grandpa had left at dawn—something about a meeting with the council elders. His absence lingered like a shadow, not comforting, but unsettling. Ruthie moved through her chores with a strange mixture of relief and tension. She didn't know why, but without his quiet authority watching her every move, she felt more exposed—not less.

By the time she was in the barn, her muscles were already warmed from milking. She was in her usual work attire now: dress set aside, in nothing but her thin undergarments, sweat collecting on the small of her back. The morning sun was creeping in through the wooden slats of the barn wall, casting strips of gold across the dust and hay. Her cotton shift clung to her curves—her tits bouncing slightly with each motion, the fabric riding up around her ass each time she bent to sweep. She was used to being watched by now, used to Step Grandpa's silent presence and the feel of his eyes on her. Today, he wasn't there.

She didn't hear the barn door open at first. The creaking sound barely registered before a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

"Ruthie?"

She turned fast, heart jumping, and froze.

"Tom?"

He stepped inside, hesitant but drawn forward like a moth to flame. His eyes drank her in—her damp chest rising and falling, her bare legs, the way her thin shift hugged her body in all the right places. He hadn't seen her in weeks, not since her mother had gone back to the city.

"You can't be here," she said quickly, trying to grab her dress, trying to remember the rules. "If Step Grandpa finds you—"

"He's not here," Tom cut in, stepping closer. "I saw him ride out early. I just wanted to see you. Just for a second."

His eyes locked onto her chest, then lower. She could see his breathing quicken, his cheeks flush.

"You've... changed," he said quietly.

Ruthie's heart pounded. She felt frozen—but not from fear. From something worse. Something wanting. Her body, already aching from days of secret inspections and teasing fingers, was far too ready to betray her again.

She stepped back, but her spine met the haystack behind her. Nowhere else to go.

"Tom, please... we can't—"

But the words dissolved when he kissed her.

His lips crashed against hers, hot and desperate, and her mouth opened almost without thinking. She moaned into his kiss, her hands clutching at his arms, her body lighting up like dry straw to a flame. The heat she'd been holding in, the pressure that had built up night after night of spreading her legs for Step Grandpa's fingers—it all poured out at once.

Tom pressed her back against the hay, his hands on her waist, then sliding around to grab her ass through the shift. Ruthie whimpered as he pulled her hips against his, his cock pressing hard through his trousers. She felt it, a small buldge. Her whole body throbbed in response.

His hand slid down her stomach, fingers trembling, and slipped under her panties. Ruthie gasped.

"Tom..." she breathed, half protest, half pleading.

His fingers found her slit—already slick, already hot. He groaned softly into her mouth as he rubbed her clit in slow, eager circles. It wasn't careful. It wasn't trained. It was messy, greedy, too fast—but Fuck, it felt good. So much better than it should have.

Her hips rolled without permission, grinding into his palm. The wave started building fast. Her toes curled. Her moans deepened. Her body didn't care that it was wrong.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

And he didn't.

But then it happened.

Without warning, without thought, Tom's finger pushed lower—and shoved inside her.

It was too quick. Too hard. Too deep.

Pain shot through her pelvis like a white-hot bolt. She gasped, then screamed.

"AHH—Tom! Stop!"

But it was too late. She felt it tear. A sudden, violent stretch followed by a burning ache.

She shoved him back, staggering away, one hand clutching between her thighs. Her breathing was sharp and panicked. Her pussy throbbed—but not with pleasure. With pain.

She looked down. A small line of blood was trickling down her inner thigh, smeared against her slick skin.

"What did you do?" she cried, eyes wide with horror.

Tom looked just as stunned. He held his hand up—slick, stained with her fluids and that telltale streak of red.

"I—I don't know. I thought you were ready... I didn't mean to—"

"You ruined me!"

Her voice cracked as the words left her lips. Tears welled in her eyes. Her knees almost buckled.

She thought to herself, Step Grandpa will know... he'll know I'm not...

Tom backed up, stumbling.

"I didn't mean to hurt you—please, I'm sorry—"

"Go. Please. Just go..." Her voice dropped into a broken whisper.

He ran. Just like that. Out the barn. Gone.

She stood alone, trembling, sweat cooling on her skin. Her pussy felt raw. Stretched. Wet with everything she didn't want to feel right now.

She sat on the edge of the haystack, legs trembling, and used a cloth to wipe herself. But the blood didn't disappear from her thoughts.

She wasn't "intact" anymore.

And she knew—Step Grandpa would know.

That night, she couldn't eat. She sat at the table, eyes fixed on her plate, hands cold, skin burning with guilt. She didn't look up once. Not when Step Grandpa stared at her with those quiet, searching eyes. Not when he cleared his throat. Not even when he asked if anything was wrong.

She just shook her head and said, "No, sir."

But her hands were shaking under the table.

In her room, she lay on the bed, legs open, dress lifted, just like always. But this time, she was terrified.

Her pussy was clean, wiped, but tender. Her body still remembered the stretch. The pain. The shame. She stared at the ceiling, tears in her eyes, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for the moment he'd find out.

And when she heard the footsteps... and the soft creak of the doorknob...

Her heart nearly stopped.

Chapter 8 - Obedience Must Be Taught

The oil lamp flickered dimly in the corner of the room, casting shadows that danced over Ruthie's trembling body. The bed creaked beneath her as she lay still, legs parted, her dress hiked to her waist in the usual display. Her thighs were damp with nervous sweat, her heart thudding so loud she swore it would echo through the floorboards.

Every night had followed this pattern. Every night she'd offered herself to Chief Abner, her obedience stripped down to skin and submission. But tonight felt different—tainted. The shame of what happened in the barn still burned under her skin. Her pussy was sore, her mind cluttered, and no matter how hard she'd scrubbed, she couldn't wash away the truth.

He would know.

She thought about hiding. About lying.

But that was pointless. Abner always saw everything.

She lay there hoping that maybe tonight he wouldn't come. Maybe he'd forget. Maybe he'd let her sleep. Her body was sore, her nerves frayed, and the guilt was clawing through her chest like a trapped animal. If he skipped the inspection, she could breathe, she could hold on to the lie just a little longer. But deep down, beneath the fear, beneath the trembling... she knew better. He never skipped. He always came.

And when the door creaked open and his heavy boots stepped into the room, she felt it—the shift. The storm.

He didn't say a word at first. Just stood there in the doorway, breathing quietly.

Then he stepped forward and knelt between her legs like always, lifting her dress higher to expose her soft, pink slit. His calloused hands parted her thighs, thumbs spreading her pussy lips open like he'd done so many times before.

But this time... he froze.

The silence was unbearable.

Ruthie lay there, lips parted, staring at the ceiling as the weight of his gaze bore down on her cunt like judgment itself.

Then his voice dropped, deep and sharp. Not calm. Not patient. Not like before.

"You're not pure anymore."

Three words. Cold. Measured. Furious.

Ruthie jerked her head up, panic flashing across her face.

"It—it was just a finger," she stammered. "He didn't go all the way—just once—I didn't mean—"

Abner's eyes rose to meet hers, and for the first time, they weren't calculating or controlled. They were blazing.

"You let some fucking boy play with what I was protecting? You let that little bastard stick his dirty hands in my pussy?"

She gasped at the word—my—but she didn't speak.

He grabbed her thighs harder now, fingers digging into her flesh.

"After everything I did—everything I taught you—you give that cunt away like it's nothing? You think I wouldn't find out?"

She whimpered, throat tight, but she didn't resist. Her body already knew its place. Already knew he was right.

Still—her voice cracked out of her like a broken supplication.

"Step Grandpa... it wasn't like that. It wasn't... we didn't... I didn't give it to him—he just—his hand slipped. It was just a finger. Just once. I didn't want it to happen..."

Her breath caught. Her hands trembled as she tried to explain, but the words spilled out messily, helplessly.

"I told him to stop... I told him to go. We didn't do anything else. I swear, I didn't want—"

But Abner cut her off with a glare so sharp it made her breath stop.

He stood over her now, eyes dark, shoulders tight, rage humming off him like a storm about to break.

"You think I care what your slut mouth says now?" he snapped.

"You spread those legs. You let that boy put his finger inside my property. And now you come here, laid out like a whore in heat, crying for forgiveness?"

She froze—frozen by the word: whore.

"Don't lie to me with that sweet little voice," he growled, stepping closer. "I kept that pussy pure. I kept it clean. Tight. And now you stink of someone else's fingers."

He shoved her knees apart with a rough grip, forcing her thighs wide open until her glistening pussy was fully exposed to the lantern light. Her swollen lips, flushed from guilt and lingering arousal, pulsed softly—still tight, still pink, still looking untouched.

Chief Abner stared, his jaw tight, eyes burning.

"You say he only put a finger inside?"

Ruthie's eyes widened. For a moment—just a moment—she saw a glimpse of hope. Maybe he'd believe her. Maybe it wasn't too late.

"Yes," she whispered quickly. "Yes... just the tip of his finger. I swear it wasn't more than that."

But Abner didn't answer.

He just kept staring at her pussy—watching the way it twitched under his gaze. The way her wet slit parted slightly with every breath, betraying her nerves and her heat. His cock throbbed in his pants, a heavy pulse of hunger stirring low in his gut.

"Then let me confirm if it was really a finger."

His tone dropped lower. Cruel. Final.

"I'll confirm what he ruined."

He didn't wait for permission.

He buried his face between her legs, tongue plunging into her slit with a growl, like a beast claiming what was his. His tongue lapped at her pussy with a fury she hadn't felt before—rough, sloppy, punishing. He devoured her like he was angry at her wetness, like her moans were a betrayal.

"W-what... what are you doing?" Ruthie gasped, her hands flying to his head, trying to push him away, her voice trembling with confusion and panic. But the moment his tongue dragged across her clit again—hot, thick, relentless—her arms weakened, her thighs twitched, and her hips lifted instinctively toward his mouth. Her fingers curled into the sheets. Her body screamed yes even as her mind still whispered no. And then, without thinking, she opened her legs wider—submitting not with words, but with flesh—as his tongue pushed deeper, claiming her completely.

His mouth worked her clit in circles, flicks, firm pressure that sent jolts down her spine. Every stroke of his tongue stoked the shame inside her, but it only made her wetter.

"F-fuck... Step Grandpa... oh Yes..." she moaned, her voice cracking.

He didn't stop. He spread her pussy wider with both hands, tongue pressing flat against her soaked slit, dragging slow and deep.

Her back arched. Her thighs shook. Her eyes rolled back.

The first orgasm hit her like a punch to the gut—violent, raw, unstoppable. Her body seized up, her pussy gushing against his mouth as she cried out, legs trembling uncontrollably.

"Ahh—Step Grandpa—yes—yes!"

She was still cumming when he pulled back, beard dripping, his eyes locked on her ruined cunt.

"You think you're a slut now?" he growled. "You haven't even tasted the word yet."

Before she could catch her breath, he flipped her over. Her face hit the mattress, her ass up in the air, completely exposed. She barely had time to gasp before his hands were on her again—spreading her cheeks wide, revealing the tight pink star of her asshole.

"You gave your pussy away like it was nothing," he hissed. "Fine. Then let's see if the other hole is still pure."

She gasped into the sheets, wide-eyed. "Wait—Step Grandpa—I don't—"

He growled behind her, then placed both hands firmly on her ass—gripping her soft cheeks and spreading them apart until her tight, untouched little hole was on full display. The light from the lantern caught it perfectly—pink, clenched, twitching, still pure. He stared for a moment, savoring the sight, before leaning in and spitting directly onto the center of her asshole, letting the slick warmth drip down and glisten along the crack.

"Let's see if this one's still clean," he muttered darkly.

Then, still holding her wide open, he undid his belt and yanked down his pants, revealing what he'd been holding back all night—a thick, veiny beast of a cock, dark and pulsing with need. The shaft was heavy and angry-looking, veins coiled like ropes, and the swollen head was fat and slick with precum. It hung low, thick as her wrist, twitching with every heartbeat, practically dripping with the promise of filth.

With one hand still spreading her open, he guided the massive, slick head down between her cheeks, rubbing it slowly against her puckered hole—smearing precum and spit all over her tight ring. And then, without warning, he pressed forward—the blunt crown of his cock pushing against her asshole, slow, steady, and relentlessly deepening, forcing her to stretch for the first time, whether her body was ready or not.

She screamed—not in fear, not in pain—but from the raw, brutal stretch that made her whole body tremble.

"It's so big... it's not your finger—what is this thing?!" she gasped, her voice shaking as her asshole stretched wide around his thick cock, her body trembling with shock and filthy pleasure.

"It's obedience, girl," he growled, pushing deeper into her tight asshole. "It's me teaching you your place. And you'll learn to love it—every inch of my huge cock stretching you open like the filthy little thing you are."

He pushed deeper, inch by inch, forcing her to stretch around his thick shaft, until his entire cock was buried in her ass—balls pressed against her, her cheeks split wide. Her asshole clung to him, tight and trembling, the snug ring gripping every vein and ridge like it didn't want to let go.

"Now," he growled, leaning over her back, voice hot against her ear, "Squeeze this cock with that tight little hole. Show me how well your ass can hold me."

Ruthie moaned, her fingers clawing into the sheets, and obeyed. Her muscles flexed, and he felt it immediately—the ring of her asshole tightening around the base of his cock, contracting with pulsing pressure like a fist milking him from the inside.

"Fuck, that's it," he hissed, groaning deep in his chest. "You're gripping me like a perfect little fuckhole."

Then he started to move.

Slow thrusts at first—grinding deep, making her feel every inch—then harder. Faster. Balls slapped against her pussy as he pounded her ass, grunting with each thrust. Ruthie was moaning uncontrollably now, her pussy soaking the sheets, dripping with her own filth.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it," he growled, slamming his cock deeper into her ass.

Ruthie's head rolled back, her voice soft and breathless, filled with a kind of sweet, desperate confusion.

"W-what's happening to me...? Why does it feel so good?" she whimpered. "It's so big... oh fuck"

Her hips began to move without her permission, pressing back into him with each thrust, her innocent moans turning into needy cries that filled the room with filth.

Her fingers dug into the mattress. Her eyes rolled. And her voice broke into shameless, desperate cries.

Her body was no longer hers. Her mind no longer questioning. There was only sensation now—raw and pounding, every inch of her asshole stretched wide around Chief Abner's cock, every thrust slamming deeper, making her feel split, stuffed, and ruined in the most exquisite way.

"Oh Yes—fuck—I can't... it's too much... I'm gonna—"

Her voice cracked as her body clenched tight, her pussy dripping uncontrollably beneath her. Her asshole gripped his cock in spasms, the ring fluttering around the thick shaft buried inside her.

"Yes... yes—I'm cumming! AGAIN!!!!" she cried out, her voice high, breathless.

Her whole body convulsed, shaking hard against the bed as the orgasm exploded through her. Her pussy pulsed, dripping wet, even untouched. Her thighs trembled, ass tightening hard around him, milking his cock like she was made to be fucked there.

"That's it," Abner growled, holding her tight, his cock twitching inside her. "Cum all over yourself, slut. That's how you learn."

And she did—again, as he drove deeper, fucking her through the climax, her cries turning to whimpers, moans, gasps—completely lost in the stretch and the filth.

He pulled out suddenly, his cock glistening with lube and filth.

"Open that mouth."

She turned over, drool already on her lips, her mouth parting obediently—but her eyes were wide, unsure, trembling with the same innocence he was about to destroy.

"I... I don't know how to do this, Step Grandpa" she whispered, her voice small, breath shaking.

Chief Abner smirked, stroking his slick, throbbing cock just inches from her face.

"You remember how you milked that cow, girl? Same thing. Wrap your hand around it first. Stroke it slow. Feel the weight. Then wrap those pretty lips around the tip... and let your instinct take over."

Ruthie nodded softly, swallowed hard, and reached out with one shaky hand. She wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft—warm, heavy, pulsing in her palm—and began to jerk it slowly, her hand gliding over the slick skin just like he taught her on that first day.

Then, nervously but curiously, she leaned in and opened her mouth, letting the fat head of his cock press against her tongue. The taste, the smell, the sheer size made her gasp—but she didn't stop. Her lips sealed around it, her tongue swirling, and soon she was sucking him just like he wanted—wet, sloppy, eager, learning how to be a good girl one inch at a time.

He shoved his cock into her throat—deep. She gagged, coughed, but kept going. Sucking harder, letting it choke her, smear her lipstick, stain her face.

"Suck it. Suck your own ass off my cock. Show me you've learned."

She moaned around it, spit dripping from her chin, eyes watering, pussy twitching from the humiliating pleasure.

He pulled out again and shoved her down flat on her back.

Two fingers slammed into her soaked pussy—deep and hard—then curled upward with purpose, pressing against that sensitive spot inside her. Chief Abner began to rub fast and rough, fingers shaking her from the inside, grinding against her g-spot like he was unlocking something buried deep within her. Ruthie cried out instantly, her moans bursting from her throat uncontrollably.

"Yes—yes—right there! Don't stop—fuck yes!" she screamed, her hips jerking wildly, her pussy clenching around his fingers as her whole body begged for release.

"Cum for me, whore."

She barely lasted a second. Her pussy squirted hard, spraying across his hand, soaking the bed. Her whole body jerked, legs flailing, her mind lost in a wave of white-hot surrender.

He loomed over her trembling, used body—her thighs still glistening, her pussy twitching from the mess he'd already made inside her mind. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her face with sweat and spit. Her eyes met his, wide and ruined, but so fucking ready.

Abner grabbed her thighs, forced them open wide again, and lined himself up. His cock—thick, soaked in her spit and ass-slick—hovered over her soaked, untouched cunt. He grunted as he rubbed the swollen head up and down her dripping slit, smearing precum and her own juices across her folds, watching her tense beneath him.

"First cock in this tight little pussy," he growled, eyes fixed on her slick entrance, his thick tip pressing right at the edge.

"Gonna stretch you open... ruin you right—turn this little cunt into a fuckhole ready to be used by every cock I choose."

Ruthie gasped when she felt the pressure—the wide crown pressing slowly into her heat, stretching her open inch by inch. Her pussy lips parted around him, tight, hot, clenching down like her body didn't want to let him in but couldn't stop itself.

Then he drove in—deep, wet, unforgiving.

"F-fuck!" she cried, her back arching, body shaking as he bottomed out inside her. "It's too big—it's so deep—Step Grandpa, oh Fuck!"

Her cunt gripped his cock like a vise, her wet walls pulsing around him, slick and snug. Every ridge, every vein throbbed inside her as he held still for a moment, buried to the base—claiming her completely.

"Mine now," he growled, his voice low and rough, hand gripping her jaw. "Your first cock. My big cock."

Then he began to thrust—slow at first, then pounding into her with the force of everything he'd held back for days, weeks, maybe longer.

Ruthie moaned louder with each stroke, her pussy gushing, her mind spinning, her body finally giving in as she was filled, stretched, and owned.

Chief Abner pulled out slowly, his cock soaked with her slick. He lay back against the mattress, thick shaft standing tall, twitching with hunger.

"Climb on," he growled. "Let's see if that pretty little cunt can ride."

Ruthie blinked, trembling as she crawled toward him, her body moving before her brain could catch up. She straddled him awkwardly, thighs wide over his hips, her pussy hovering just above the thick, slick length that had just ruined her. She looked down, lip trembling.

"I... I don't know how," she whispered.

Abner smirked, his hands gripping her hips tight.

"You'll learn. Grab it, line it up, and sink your greedy little hole onto it."

Her hand wrapped around the base, warm and soaked. She guided him to her entrance, the fat head kissing her folds. With his grip steadying her, she began to lower herself—slow, shaky—until the wide crown slipped inside. Her walls fluttered, squeezing around him already.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take it all. Ride your first cock like you were made for it."

She moaned loud as she sank deeper, her thighs trembling as she was filled again, inch by inch. She began to rock her hips, up and down, finding a rhythm. Her breath hitched every time his cock rubbed that sensitive spot inside her, her tits bouncing, sweat dripping from her chest.

"Yes... yes... it's so deep," she whimpered. "I can feel it everywhere..."

He guided her pace with his hands, making her grind, slow circles, deeper thrusts. Her pussy clung to him, wet and tight, until her moans turned into cries.

"I'm cumming again... I can't stop—Step Grandpa—fuck—"

She broke apart on top of him, her body shaking as another orgasm tore through her. But Abner wasn't finished.

He gripped her waist and flipped her effortlessly onto her hands and knees, ass high in the air, holes dripping.

"You've learned to ride. Now you'll learn how to be used."

He plunged back into her pussy first, slamming deep, the wet sound of skin slapping skin filling the room as he drove into her without mercy.

Ruthie screamed into the sheets, her body slick with sweat, her cunt stretched wide around his cock.

Then, without warning, he slid out—spit once, and rammed into her ass, pushing in with force. Her hole clenched tight, but welcomed him now, already used and open for him.

He began switching between her pussy and her ass, thrusting deep in both, one after the other—wet, filthy, relentless. Each hole squeezed him in a different way, each thrust making her scream louder.

"Oh Fuck—yes—fill both, Step Grandpa—use me..."

Her body convulsed with every stroke, her pussy leaking around him, her ass twitching every time he re-entered it. Orgasms rolled through her, one after another, until she didn't know where one ended and the next began.

She was drenched. Open. Fully broken in.

And she never wanted it to stop.

"You're mine now. Say it."

"I'm yours," she gasped, wrecked. "I'm your filthy girl. Your whore."

"Say it again."

"I'm your fucking whore!"

And then he came—exploding deep inside her ass, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself with a deep groan, flooding her tight hole with thick, hot cum, the heat spreading through her like a final brand of ownership.

She collapsed beneath him, her ass twitching, stretched and dripping, her pussy still fluttering from the last orgasm, her mouth open in a moan that had no end.

She wasn't Ruthie anymore.

She was his.

Broken. Tamed. Obedient.

Chapter 9 - The Council Awaits The room was thick with silence, broken only by the sound of Ruthie's ragged breathing.

She lay sprawled across the soaked mattress, limbs limp, hair plastered to her sweaty face, skin flushed and glistening. Her pussy throbbed, open and dripping, and her asshole twitched, leaking thick trails of cum that ran down her thighs and onto the stained bedsheets beneath her.

Her body had been used—completely. Fucked in every hole. Owned.

And still... she felt it. That low, lingering pulse inside her. Not just shame. Not just fear. Need.

Across the room, Chief Abner stood calm and composed, as if he'd just finished a speech, not destroyed her innocence. He zipped up his pants slowly, eyes still on her wrecked form. His cock, still semi-hard, twitched once before disappearing behind his waistband.

He walked over to her—slow, heavy steps—and knelt beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed cheek.

"You liked that," he said, voice low and calm. "Don't lie. Your body told me everything."

Ruthie's lips parted, but no sound came out. She couldn't speak. She could only breathe. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow gasps.

He dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, smearing the last traces of spit and sweat.

"You're not innocent anymore."

He stood up, grabbed his pipe from the table, and lit it with the flick of a match. Smoke curled into the air, and for a moment, everything felt calm—almost sacred. Like the room had seen something clean and unclean all at once.

Ruthie turned her face slowly to look at him. Her thighs were still spread, her holes still raw and leaking, her body used, and yet... some dark part of her already missed the feeling of him inside her.

Abner exhaled smoke, the ember of his pipe glowing orange.

"Get some sleep," he said flatly. "You'll need it."

Her heart skipped.

"Tomorrow morning," he added, pausing at the door. "You're coming with me."

She blinked.

"W-where...?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from moaning, trembling from exhaustion.

Abner didn't turn around. He just paused at the door, pipe glowing faintly in the dim light. The silence stretched.

"You have to appear before the Council of Elders," he finally said, his voice calm but laced with finality.

"You'll kneel before them and apologize for letting that little boyfriend of yours defile you." His lips curled into a knowing smile. Not warm. Not cruel. Just... inevitable.

"They're expecting you," he added, a cruel hint of satisfaction in his voice.

"And they have to hear what kind of little whore you've let yourself become." "Tomorrow, they'll see for themselves."

He didn't say more. He didn't have to.

He stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her there—legs still open, cum still leaking, heart pounding with something between terror and filthy anticipation.

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