Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Runaway Author: TheSpringg
Title: Runaway 01
Part: Chapter 01
Summary: Harrison has an encounter with a runaway at a highway rest stop
Keywords: teen, no sex yet
Runaway is a short story set in the world of The Line of Magdalene
series, though it is not a sequel to "Chrysalis Music" or "Road Trip" and
can be read as a standalone story.
   This is a work of complete fiction and fantasy.  The characters are all
imaginary and bear no relation to any persons living or dead.
   Feel free to write and offer constructive criticism and/or
encouragement. I improve through you suggestions and I am motivated by your
encouragement.  (TheSpringg at yahoo dot com)
   NOTE: The author retains copyright to this work of fiction.  You may
link to this story from non-commercial or free sites, but you may not copy
or use it for any commercial purpose.  If the reader has tender
sensitivities relating to explicit descriptions of sexual behavior in
literature, please read no further.
Additional Chapters will be posted here:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/TheSpringg/Runaway
   Comments and constructive criticism may be left here:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/TheSpringg/www/
   ---
   Chapter 1 "Stop it!" She snapped angrily and pushed my hand away from
the hem of her skirt and glared at me.
   Nervously she shifted from foot to foot as she stood in front of me in
the confined space of my RV.  I reached out again for the hem of her skirt
and she smacked it away.
   "Okay, you do it." I said calmly.
   "Do what??" she inquired angrily.
   I reached out again to lift the hem of her skirt.
   "You want me to pull my skirt up?" she snapped again.  "Hell no!"
   "I'm not going to hurt you...  " I looked from her to the RV door at the
sound of motorcycles revving their engines outside and reached out again.
   She pushed my hand back and tugged on the hem of her skirt, to hold it
down.  Tears started welling in her eyes again and following the dark
tracks of the makeup smears made by the rivers of tears she had been crying
when I had found her at the rest stop on I-95.  She looked at me
pleadingly.
   "I won't hurt you." I repeated, looking pointedly at the door and back
to her.
   She looked over her shoulder and listened to the motorcycles for a
second.
   "You're just like them.  You're going to rape me." She cried.
   "No, I am not like them.  I am only one person - they're a rough looking
crew, and I am not going to rape you.  I promise." I said calmly and
reached out again.
   She pushed my hand away again, but this time it was slowly and less
forcefully.  She was looking at me.  It was clear she was thinking -
processing the events of the evening.
   I had found her sitting alone at a picnic table crying at the rest area.
I had watched her from a distance, not getting out of my RV.  It seemed she
was alone and that became obvious when my RV was the only vehicle remaining
in the rest area and she was still there.  I had approached her and we'd
talked briefly.  She was waiting for a friend to pick her up.  She'd been
waiting day and nobody had come.  No call, no text message and no answers
when she called.  She was alone.  I offered her a ride back to Woodbridge
where she said she lived, but she refused, so I returned to the RV to eat.
The microwave had just finished when I heard a roar of motorcycles outside,
and almost immediately there had been a knock at the door.  I had admitted
her wordlessly.  She had shed her bulky over coat accepted my invitation to
share the small pizza, but refused the coke because I didn't have diet. 
She drank water instead.
   I had watched her carefully.  She was slender to the point of skinny. 
She was wearing canvas top tennis shoes, like the ones I'd had as a kid -
Keds or did they call the Chucks?  Her legs were bare up the hem of her
short faded demin skirt.  On top she had a hooded sweatshirt that zipped
down the front.  She appeared to be 18 or slightly older.  It was hard to
tell with the streaked make-up.  The eyeliner was particularly black and
heavily applied around her striking blue eyes.  Her hair was dyed two tone,
with an outer layer of black over blonde, and was well over her shoulders,
longer in the back than the front.  I wasn't sure, the ragged cut looked
like it might be a style, on the other hand she might have done it herself
with big, dull scissors.  From my point of view and decade of age
difference, it seemed that she went to great lengths not to appear pretty.
   She hadn't even eaten a whole slice of pizza, when she picked up the
plate and put the remainder in the trash.  She had turned her back and
washed the plate in the sink right opposite me.  It was when she had put
the plate in the rack and turned to face me that I had reached out
impulsively to lift the hem of her skirt.  It wasn't something I would
normally have done, but I was curious about this girl.
   Now she was glowering silently at me, but she hadn't moved.  She could
have sat down.  I wasn't blocking her way.  I knew that the sounds of the
motorcyclists outside were keeping her inside, but she didn't sit down
either.  I reach out one last time and she pushed my hand away.
   "No." was all she said.
   "Okay." I replied.  "then you do it."
   She shifted her weight, her eyes darted to the left and then back to me.
Slowly, silently she lifted her skirt.  Her legs were shaved smooth all the
way to her crotch, which was covered in low-cut pink cotton panties.  I was
surprised.  Pink didn't seem to be her color.  She let the hem fall and I
reached out, but she lifted it again before I could say anything.  I could
see that her pubic area was bare.  I looked up at her.
   "Shaved or waxed?" I asked.
   She looked confused at first but her voice squeaked quietly, "Shaved."
   I nodded in approval and reached for the zipper of the hooded
sweatshirt. She let the hem of her skirt drop and warded off my hand.
   "Okay..  " I paused looking at her.  "You do it."
   "No!" She protested.  "Why are you doing this to me?"
   "I want to see what you look like." I said reaching for her zipper
again. She pushed my hand away, but stayed rooted to the floor in front of
me.
   "You do it." I said in the voice I had used when when giving unambiguous
orders in the executive suite before my retirement.
   Her hand went to the zipper and pulled it down halfway.  She stopped and
looked at me perplexed by her own reflexive action.  I nodded toward the
zipper with a look that said, "Finish what you started," and the zipper
went down all the way, letting the black sweatshirt fall open.  Underneath
was a pink form fitting tank top, a matching pink for her panties, with
thin shoulder straps.  Again, I was surprised, pink didn't match her
persona.  What do they call it?  Goth?  It was obvious that she wore no
bra, almost completely revealing her firm breasts.  They must have been a C
cup, and seemed to defy gravity in the perky way they pointed up.
   "I trusted you!" she said plaintively.
   "You came here to escape.  I believe you declined my offer of a ride
earlier...  You can put your sweatshirt over there" I replied, indicating
the corner of the bed where she had put her coat.  She struggled with her
obvious anger and resentment, but she pulled the sweatshirt off and placed
it on folded it before placing it on the bed, as ordered.
   "You're a perv!" she accused.  "You're old enough to be my dad."
   "I am probably older than your dad." I stated as a fact.
   "So why are you doing this to me?"
   "I am not doing anything to you.  You are doing something for me." I
replied.  "Take off your skirt and then sit down."
   "This is just wrong!" She protested.
   "Why isn't it wrong for me to do something for you, but wrong for you to
do something for me?" I asked.
   She looked at me dumbfounded.  I could see anger growing.  She wanted to
lash out.  I looked very conspicuously at that door and then back to her.
Conveniently the motorcycles' engines started to rev up at that moment. 
Her eyes darted to her sweatshirt and jacket on the bed, then over to the
door on the other side of the RV.  Then back at me.  I smiled.
   "You bastard." she stated, but her hands released the snaps on the short
jeans skirt and she unzipped it.  She only hesitated a moment, giving me a
deadly glare and lowered the skirt to step out of it.  Again she folded it
neatly and placed it on top of her sweatshirt.  She stood for a brief
second in front of me, wearing nothing but her pink tank top and panties.
Her flat belly was exposed from her belly button to the top of her panties.
She turned to move to the seat on the other side of the table but I
restrained her with a touch on the elbow.  She turned to face me
aggressively.
   "What now?" She snapped.
   I just looked at her a moment.  The taut legs with well defined muscles.
She played some sport.  The tendons in her thighs, under soft velvet skin,
were tight where they connect to her pelvis at her crotch.  She was too
thin for my taste, but she was definitely well formed.  I waved her to the
seat.
   She sat down with a thump and glared.
   "Why are all guys pervs?" she asked accusingly.  "Hmmm?"
   "What do you mean by perverts?" I asked innocently.
   "You only think about sex.  You see a girl and you want to fuck her."
She replied harshly.
   "And you don't think about sex?  When you put the make up on?  You don't
do that to attract someone's attention?  When you put on your pink undies?
That's just for you?  And when you shave your pubic area....  Just for the
thrill of the risk of nicking yourself?" I laughed.  "I don't think so. 
You think about sex too."
   She blushed slightly.
   "But...  Oh My God!  Nobody's ever known that I do that before.  I did
it for ...  Oh hell, I just did it yesterday the first time.  Okay?" She
stuttered.  "Can't you just leave me alone?"
   I could hear the motorcycles moving out of the rest stop.  I moved the
curtains aside and peered out.
   "I could leave you alone." I replied over my shoulder.  "Would you like
that?"
   She glared at me.  I don't think she had realized that the motorcycles
were preparing to depart.  "Just tell me.  Why are you doing this to me?"
She asked.  "You want to fuck me?  Well you can't."
   "Did I say anything about sex?  I have just asked to see you.  I
suspected you had a beautiful body, and you do."
   She blushed again.
   "You made me strip for you!"
   "You haven't stripped and I haven't made you do it.  You took off your
sweatshirt and skirt because I asked you to." I replied
   "Oh?  And if I hadn't?  What would you have done?  Put me out with the
motorcycle gang to get raped?  Some choice!" She bitched.
   "You have choices.  You always have choices.  I asked you to do
something for me, and you did.  Thank you."
   She glared back at me.  I smiled and sat back in my chair.
   "Stand up and come over here." I said in a gentle but firm voice.  She
glared at me and I tilted my head to listen to the last of the motorcycles
as they pulled out.
   "Stand up." I said flatly and she continued to glare.
   "And if I don't?" She asked.  I remained silent and simply smiled at
her. "I can leave?"
   "I have never asked you to stay or to leave..."
   "Shit!' She blurted out.  "You old fucker!  You're taking advantage of
me!"
   Again I said nothing.
   "Damn you bastard!  You get me in here and then you take advantage of
me!" She swore angrily and stayed seated opposite me.
   "You know that you came in willingly.  You can stay or leave anytime. 
It was your choice and it still is." I replied calmly.
   She glared.
   "I haven't harmed you and I assure you that I never will.  Now, please
stand here." I said, indicating the spot where she had been standing
previously.
   "Why?  So you can strip me naked?"
   "I do not intend to strip you." I responded.  "Now come stand here.  "
   She was crying once again.  The streaked make-up looked truly awful.  I
stood, went to the sink and moistened a couple of paper towels.  Handing
them to her, she looked puzzled.
   "No makeup is better than having it smeared down you face with tears."
   She looked at the towels and paused.  Finally she took them and wiped
her face carefully.
   "Let me see." I said, and she looked down at the table and then up at
me. I reached across the table and gently laid the back of my outstretched
fingers against her cheek.  She turned her head into my touch in response.
My hand moved under her chin and she lifted her head.  When I lightly
pressed the back of my finger to the side of her chin she tilted her head
as I studied her face.  She was younger than I had previously thought -
sixteen at most.  I caught her looking at me appraisingly.
   "Make up hides a lot..." I mused.  "Some women have things on their
faces to hide.  You don't."
   She looked puzzled.
   Withdrawing my hand, I silently indicated the spot in front of me.  She
glared at me but stood and circled around the table, stepping before me. 
She stood with one arm across her breasts and her other hand concealing her
public area.  I reached up for the spaghetti thin strap of her tank top. 
She pushed my hand away as I had expected.
   "Okay, you do it." I said.
   "Where have I heard that before?" she asked sarcastically.
   "And what was the outcome last time?  You took off your sweatshirt and
skirt." I commented.  "It's not like I ripped your clothes off you..."
   "You made me take my skirt off!" She scowled at me.
   "I didn't make you do anything, but let's just stop arguing about it." I
smile benignly.
   She gave me a nasty, glowering look, and shifted her weight from one
foot to the other.  I reached for the strap of her tank top again.
   "Hell no!" She pushed my hand away and crossed both her arms over her
chest.  "You said you just wanted to look at me..."
   "And I still do." I just looked at her clothes and jacket on the corner
of the bed, and then to the door across the RV.  I looked back at her.
   "You know, I never got your name." I said.  "I'm Harrison, not Harry,
just Harrison.  Harrison Sutter."
   "Jackie," She whispered holding one arm across her chest and raising the
other hand to her hair.  I watched her stand there twisting long strands of
her hair around her finger, releasing the curl and then repeating the
twisting.
   "Jackie." I mused, and then with finality "Jackie, you know what I
want."
   I reached one last time for a strap of her tank top, and she brushed my
hand away, but her hand also pushed the strap off her shoulder.  It fell
down to her elbow, but the tight tank top stayed up.  She was shaking. 
Tears were flowing again.  I motioned to her right breast.  She looked down
at the strap hanging at her elbow.  She moved to push it back up but
stopped when I shook my head.  I looked pointedly at her breast and then to
the door.  She looked down at her breasts and then defiantly at me.  As she
glared, her hand betrayed her intention to resist and pulled the thin
fabric of the tank top down exposing her right breast.  It was perfectly
formed, rounded and firm, topped with a small pink nipple surrounded by a
pale, smooth areola - full, firm C cup.  She shivered and I could see the
goose pimples raise over the bare skin and her nipple harden to a small
knot.  She looked at me blankly.
   "Jackie." I said simply looking at the other breast.
   Her shoulders slumped and she roughly pulled down the left side of the
tank top, revealing both breasts.  The left was as perfect as the right. 
She was still crying and her shoulders heaved and slumped over.
   "Stand up straight, and pull off the tank top, please." She dully
complied and reflexively folded the garment, before placing it with the
other clothes.  She turned and tried to stand straight, but she couldn't
stop shuddering.
   "Turn up the heat a couple of degrees" I said, pointing to the
thermostat, "and then you can sit down." she wordlessly complied.  I stood
turned to the refrigerator, retrieving milk, two mugs and spooning in a
couple of scoops of hot chocolate mix into each cup.  While the heated it
the microwave I turned, leaning against the cabinet and looked at the girl.
She was still crying and there were still streaks of makeup showing.  I
opened the bathroom door and got a wash cloth from the shelf and ran hot
water over it, squeezing out the excess.
   "Here." I said handing her the hot wash cloth.  "You didn't get it all
off..."
   The microwave dinged.  I took out the two mugs and stirred the hot
chocolate, watching her all the while.  I took the wash cloth when she set
it on the table and tossed it into the bathroom sink, turned back and
pushed a mug across the table to her.  I sat and sipped from my mug
quietly.
   "How do you feel now?" I asked.
   "What the hell do you care how I feel?" She said tonelessly.  "I feel
like a slut."
   "Why do you feel that way?" I asked.
   "As you so intelligently pointed out, I have stripped for you and you
didn't force me.  You asked and I did it.  I guess that makes me a slut,
just like..." She trailed off without finishing the thought.
   "Oh?" I asked.  "Just like what?"
   "Never mind!" she said emphatically.
   "So what happens next?" I asked.
   "You tell me to take my panties off and I do it.  I'm a slut." She was
crying yet again.
   "Hmmm..." I mused.  "Jackie.  Please stand again."
   This time she didn't hesitate.  She stood and faced me.  I reached for
the elastic of her panties.  She pushed my hand away.
   "I'm the slut.  I'll do it." She said huskily.  She pulled her panties
down.  Stepped out of them and neatly placed them on top of her other
clothes.  Her pubic area was indeed shaved bare.  I could see the smooth
slit of her pussy.  There was no protruding labia clitoral hood.  It
appeared to be the smooth bare vagina of a little girl.  She turned to sit
again.
   "Ah!" I said sharply.
   She stopped.  I patted my lap.  She looked at me in shock, but
resignation as well.  Taking the two steps to me, she knelt in front of me
and placed her hands on my knees.
   "What are you doing?" I asked.
   "You made me your slut." She was crying.  "I am going to give you what
you want." She moved her hands up my thighs.
   "You mistake my intentions." I stopped her hands, laying mine on hers.
Her hands were cold under mine.
   She looked at me puzzled.  "What do you mean?"
   "You're cold..." I asked.
   "What do you care?  You make me strip for your pleasure.  You care how I
feel?" She looked exhausted.  Her eyes were downcast and her hands still
rested high on my thighs, where I had stopped her.
   For a moment the possibilities tempted me.  She was right.  I had broken
her will to resist.  She would do whatever I asked.  I was amazed that it
had been so easy.  I had gotten her to undress, but to make her think she
was now my slut?  She would undoubtedly be tight.  I thought of that little
girl pussy that I'd just seen.  I would probably be her first.  I wondered
how well she could give a blowjob, or for that matter whether she ever had.
   "Jackie, did you see the writing on the side of my RV?" I asked while
she still knelt temptingly in front of me.
   "Huh?  What?  You mean the thing about photography?"
   "Yes, that's it.  I am a photographer.  I thought you might be beautiful
and I had to see for myself." I explained.  Now she looked pleased,
puzzled, but still pissed, so I continued.  "Get up and get that blanket
off the bed, cover yourself up.  You must be cold, then come sit here." I
pointed again to my lap.  "I'm sorry that there isn't room in the RV for
two chairs in front of the computer, but I would like to show you some of
my photographs.  Perhaps then you will understand."
   Curiosity is a powerful force.  She rose and retrieved the fleece throw
from the foot of my bed and wrapped it loosely over her shoulders.  As she
sat on my lap, I noticed that she was not trying to completely cover her
breasts.  She watched closely as I brought up my digital portfolio.  As a
flipped through photos of other beautiful and naked women, she seemed to
lose more and more of her self consciousness.  The fleece dropped open when
she reached out to stop me from clicking off a picture of my sort of
adopted daughter and lover, Erin.  She made me pause again at one of the
first photos that I had taken of Naomi, the one of her leaning forward and
drops of water forming on her nipple.  By the time she was at Nicole's
photoshoot with Naomi and Erin, the fleece had fallen from her shoulder. 
She was mesmerized and seemingly unaware of her own nudity.
   "Could you make me look that good?" she whispered in disbelief when we
reached the last photo.
   "Jackie, now that you don't have all that makeup on, you already look
that good, and you'd look even better if you went back to your natural hair
color and had a proper hair styling."
   "Really?" she said in a little girl voice.  "Will you...  will you do a
photo thing with me?"
   "I don't think I can do a nude shoot like that, Jackie.  You're not 18
yet, are you?"
   "Yes I am!" She insisted, but when I gave her a benign but disbelieving
look, she correct herself.  "16"
   "As I thought."
   "But one of those girls not look that old." she protested.
   "You're right, but her mother approved and signed a release."
   "Oh...  My mom never would do that.  My dad wouldn't give a sh...  but
he's never sober enough to sign."
   "Well then, maybe in a couple of years?  Then you won't need
signatures."
   "Please?" She wheedled.
   "Sorry, no can do."
   She slid off my lap onto her knees and resumed that former position,
running her hands up my thighs.
   "I'll make it up to you?" she said in a husky voice.
   "Get up and get dress.  I am driving you home." I said firmly.  "Here's
my card.  Call me in two years, okay?"
   She got up sulkily but I noticed as she dressed, bent this way and
leaned that way in front of me, always trying to give me a good view of her
body.  She was most certainly and consciously teasing.
   By the time we pulled up her family's somewhat rundown rambler house in
Woodbridge, she was chatting happily - Positively bubbly.  Nothing like
that angry, freightend girl that climbed into my RV only hours previously.
   As I parked, she suddenly looked reluctant to get out.
   "Time to face the music?" I asked
   "Huh?  I ran away.  Mom will be pissed.  Totally pissed."
   "I'll come in with you."
   "NO!  Then she'll be pissed at you too."
   "Then we'll each have a half of her pissedness." I laughed and she gave
a small smile.
   When we halfway up the walkway a woman came out of the front door with a
baby on her hip - obviously the mother.  She was haggard, her hair was
hanging limply in unwashed strands, wearing a seemingly colorless dress and
a washed out apron.  She reminded me of one of those photos of poor women
from the Great Depression.
   "Where have you been you little ..." then she looked at me.  "Who the
hell are you?  and what have you been doing with my daughter.  She's still
a child...  you molester!"
   "Mom, you don't ..."
   "Get inside, I'll deal with you later." She dismissed her daughter and
focused her wrath on me.  "If you hurt my girl, am calling the police.  In
fact I have half a mind to call them right now!" and she reached in a
pocket for her cell phone.
   I was stunned to silence and before I could recover and say anything,
Jackie jumped in between us defensively.
   "No!  Mom!  He saved me." And she started into a very heavily edited
story of how somebody named Terry had dropped her at the rest stop on I-66
and someone named Andy never showed up, and then some bikers came and I
became her white knight.
   "So you were running away!" the mother's ire now redirected.
   "Mom..." she pleaded, and then shrank, defeated.  "Yes.  I'm sorry and
I'm home."
   "Get in the house.  Now!" her mother insisted.  Jackie turned to me and
gave me a quick hug.
   "Thank you, Mr.  Sutter." She said before darting into the house.
   Jackie's mother turned to me, looking appraisingly.
   "I'll apologize now." She said gruffly.  "A mother can't be too careful.
Especially with a girl like that.  She's trouble enough without Terry and
Andy and all those others she hangs out with.  I don't know what's wrong
with her."
   "Well, Ma'am, don't be too hard on her.  She's trying to find herself.
We all do at that age."
   Trying to think of a way out, a graceful exit, I handed her my card.  "I
like your daughter.  She'd be a good looking girl if she didn't try to hide
it.  So, if you ever want some portraits done.  Like family portraits, or
senior class photos, give me a call.  I'd be happy to have you come to my
studio.  Just for fun.  No obligations on your part."
   "Thank you.  It's a kind offer... but I'm not sure...  Don't take much
with charity... We'll see..." she stumbled over her words.
   "I'll be going now.  Just go easy like I said.  Ask her what's up.  She
might tell you, she was mighty talkative on the ride her!" I smile and
offered my hand to shake.
   On the drive home I suspected that I wouldn't get a call for photos and
that I had seen the last of Jackie, but at least I had seen all of her.