All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
BOSTON BOUND continues the adventures of Clementine McFee, which were first chronicled in TAKING CLEMENTINE. The year is 1937. The tale begins when Clementine leaves home, escorted by the intrepid Royce Engel, Esq., of the Denver law firm, Greene, Lester and Quill (GLQ) long under retainer by her father, Mitch McFee. Clementine’s universe, since she was born to her mother and sister, Daphne McFee, on June 3, 1919, has been the immediate environs of the family homestead, The Cavern Mine, somewhere in the mountainous backwoods of the Colorado Rockies.
The Tale Begins:
Royce Engel saddled his gelding, Dodger, and shortened the stirrups. Although Clementine had long legs, she was still five inches shorter than his own 6′ 1″ height. He lowered the first fender, stepped around Dodger’s nose to adjust the other side and spotted Clementine, lantern swinging and hips swaying, entering the aisle of the lean-to barn. Shadows played off the rails and beams. Her fresh face and ruby lips shone in the pale flaxen aura of her hair and the lamplight. As she approached, Engel openly admired, over the saddle, the 18-year old girl’s full breasts, undulating freely beneath the bodice of her green-and-white seersucker sundress. A long white Angora wool shawl draped across her otherwise bare shoulders.
“Good Morning,” Royce called quietly with an open smile. “All set for a full day?” He quickly slotted the stirrup strap’s stud into its new hole, slid the retainer and dropped the fender before moving to Dodger’s other side with a passing pat on the horse’s neck.
Clementine set her lantern beside his on a nearby barrel and hurried to hug her newest tutor and lover. “Can’t wait!” She said, breathlessly, before giving Royce a wet smooch. Pulling back from the kiss, she added, “But I still don’t understand how we can POSSIBLY get to Denver tonight… Poppa is always gone at least five days when he goes in for supplies and such.” She frowned as she tried to sort out the logistics.
Engel was glad to hold her warm, nubile body close against himself, and not just as a ward against the slight early morning chill. Her firm mounds, pressed to his pectorals, encouraged his cock. He felt her heart beat in his own chest. He reflexively rubbed her bare arms beneath her wrap, then cupped her tight bottom, pulling her snugly to his crotch. Looking into Clementine’s clear, steely gray eyes, Royce answered, “Well, your Poppa has to take Charlie and Dutch with him all the way and then bring them back loaded.” He raised his right hand and stroked Clementine’s hair away from her furrowed brow. “We will have a truck waiting for us.”
“What’s a ‘truck’?” Clementine answered, shimmying her bosom softly on Royce’s flannel shirt. “And why would it be faster than a horse and a mule?”
Royce pushed his hand over Clementine’s long hair, back down her spine to her buttocks and massaged circles on both cheeks. “Wait until you see it,” he said, feeling his throat tighten along with his jeans. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” He paused and added, “Speaking of surprises, it feels like you have drawers on under your dress.” He gently pinched her bottom through the seersucker and pulled back a second layer of cloth underneath the wrinkled fabric.
“Mmmmm,” Clementine murmured, as a zing shot through her tummy and tingled her teen pussy. “Momma suggested a long ride would be more comfortable if I wore bloomers.” She laughed, “I can take them off, if you’d druther.” She nuzzled Royce’s neck and squirmed her pelvis against his evidenced pleasure at her closeness.
“That’s a great idea,” Royce began…
“Which…” Clementine interrupted with a giggle, “wearin’ them or takin’ them off?”
“Both!” Royce replied, hiking the girl’s dress to her stomach and driving his hands into the loosely tied waistband of her billowing knickers. Clementine withdrew her hands from Royce’s back and tugged the drawstring bow below her navel. Her drawers cascaded down her legs and pooled on her boots. Dodger snorted and shifted behind Royce. Engel picked Clementine up in his arms and walked forward. She bent her knees and plucked her bloomers from her feet as he danced her toward the tack room.
Clementine threw her arms around Royce’s neck. She gathered him in her shawl while clutching her underwear in her hands and clinging fast to his hips with her bare thighs. “Hooray!” She crowed, “Is that all we’re takin’ off?” She craned her neck and kissed Royce before he could answer.
Crossing the threshold of the tack room door, Royce bent and laid Clementine down on the cot against the wall, below the high vented window. “We’ll see…” he answered as the kiss broke and his young parcel fell backward, laughing. He squatted, straddling the canvas and pine-frame bed, and hoisted Clementine’s hips to his face as he hunched over her.
Clementine Fulya Escort squeaked with anticipation and then squealed with delight as Royce’s lips pursed against her proffered pussy. Still crushing her drawers in her right fist, she closed her thighs around Engel’s ears and pulled his head down, sealing him to her cunt and bathing them both with her abundant lubricating flow. “Nyyyaannnh” she moaned when his tongue tip dipped into her hungry os and his nose flattened her peeking clit. She came with a squirt and a gasp, tossing her head, closing her eyes tight and squeezing Royce’s temples as her orgasm seized her.
Behind them, Clementine’s father, Mitch McFee, stood in the doorway. He licked his lips and scratched the swollen cock within the crotch of his jeans while he watched and listened to his youngest daughter writhe in joy beneath his attorney’s avid mouth. When she had calmed down and lay panting, with her eyes still shut, he stepped into the tack room.
“Ahem!” Mitch coughed, “When you said you wanted to ‘get an early start,’ Royce, I was thinkin’ you meant on the trail!” He laughed as the surprised young man jerked his head away from Clementine’s gleaming twat and faced him, quickly wiping his chin and cheeks. His daughter raised up, propping herself on her elbows while she tried, unsuccessfully, to pull her dress hem down and swiftly cover her agitated pudenda.
“Uhm, good morning, Mitch,” Royce stammered, standing and finishing Clementine’s work by smoothing her dress below her now modestly closed knees. “Yes, Dodger’s saddled and ready. Morris is finishing his grain and then we can saddle him up.”
“Poppa!” Clementine exclaimed, while the men were talking, “What are you DOIN’? How long have you BEEN there?”
“Well, good,” Mitch said, shaking Royce’s shoulder with a friendly grip. “I’ll go get Charlie set up, then.” He turned to the door as he said over his shoulder to his nonplussed daughter, “I just got here, Darlin’. I’m goin’ with you to the trailhead. Royce is givin’ me Dodger and Morris, so I’ll bring back the whole remuda.” He grinned and added, “Thanks again, Royce. I don’t know how long old Charlie’s gonna live, but he’ll have a better life with two more friends to help with his lighter work and keep him company.”
“You’re more than welcome, Mitch,” Royce said. “It’s a benefit for me, too.” He clapped the departing older man on his back. “It’s one less thing to take care of before Clementine and I head east.”
Mitch walked down the aisle, past Dodger, to the loafing area where his Belgian draft-horse, Charlie, stood working on his hay. Dutch, McFee’s donkey, brayed his greeting as Mitch approached. “Not this time, li’l buddy,” Mitch said, opening the gate and passing through. “But don’t be upset. Charlie and I will be back sometime tomorrow.” He slipped a halter over the great horse’s head and led him out, carefully latching the gate behind, then hitched him to a post and began currying his flanks.
Back in the tack room, Clementine closed the door with a booted toe and tugged on Royce’s belt. “Poppa always takes a good while to groom Charlie before a trip,” she cooed, as her fingers flew. “My drawers are still off and my cunny’s still slippery… Is your thing hard?” She shoved her right hand into Royce’s jeans and shorts and answered her own question. “Ooooh! YES!” She giggled. “C’mon, Royce! Put it in me! I want to FEEL you INSIDE!” She pushed his pants down and pulled him to her as she fell, once again, backward and spread eagled onto the cot, which was still warm from her earlier thrashing.
Royce glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, even as Clementine’s hands guided his turgid cock to its target. “Hyunh!” he grunted as he pushed home. “Huhnn,” he groaned as he pulled back. Her tight young pussy grabbed and sucked his dick, urging him to return, push deeper and stay longer. He smiled when he heard Clementine sigh and then shorten her breathing with each thrusting cycle.
“Hyunh!… Huhnn!” He huffed.
“Mmmeh! Nyaahh!” She whimpered.
Once more Clementine’s crisis arrived. She locked her shod ankles around Engel’s lurching thighs and curled her torso up, pressing her covered tits to his shirt, clinging to his neck and biting into his shoulder. Royce felt his nuts tighten and his bag shrink as he swung his hips and banged his package against Clementine’s hams. “HYUNH!” He aspirated in a mighty exhalation, clasping her fast to his groin and sending his seed on an exciting, but futile, hunt for an egg to fertilize. They froze in their clinch as their panting breath normalized. Clementine unclamped her jaw from Royce’s hard shoulder and kissed his soft mouth with her pliant lips. “Mmmm, that was SO nice,” she purred. “Thank you.”
Just then there was a knock on the door. Mitch called out, “You all about ready? It’s six hours, best time, off the mountain. We ought to be gettin’ Fulya Escort Bayan goin’!”
“Just comin’ Poppa!” Clementine replied, suppressing a laugh.
Eight hours later, Mitch on Charlie, Clementine on Dodger, and Royce on Morris, broke out of the mixed conifers into a broad alpine meadow abutting a wide track. Looking east through the clearing, the city of Denver spread below them, an impressive sight, already home to over a quarter of a million souls. Royce pointed up the road and said, “The truck is parked about a mile up the mountain from here.”
“Perfect,” responded Mitch. “I’ll bring the animals back here and camp for the night. Plenty of sweet grass for them and the river runs just yonder.”
Clementine remained at a loss for the meaning of ‘truck’ but continued to wait patiently to see one. The troop soon arrived at the designated spot but there was nothing unusual apparent. Royce dismounted and handed Morris’ reins to Mitch. “Probably unnecessary,” he said with a wry grin, “but I piled a bunch of brush up for camouflage. Let’s see if I remember the landmark!” He laughed and walked 50 paces further along the broad way before he stopped.
To Clementine’s amazement, as Royce pulled away cut branches of dogwood, aspen and young maple, a strange and wondrous shiny red-and-black wagon of peculiar design began to be revealed. At least, in that it had four wheels, it looked like the farm wagon Mitch had built, but there seemed to be no visible yoke for a horse and the wheels were definitely odd.
After the vehicle was uncovered, Royce waved. Mitch and Clementine dismounted and tied the horses and mule off to a nearby clump of bushes, which soon became fodder for the bored and hungry animals. Walking over to Royce, Mitch let out a low whistle of admiration.
“This is a 1936 International 1 1/2 ton flatbed truck converted to a two-horse van. Isn’t it a beaut?” Royce asked rhetorically, running a gloved hand lightly along the swooping black front fender. “I rented it from the rancher who sold me Dodger and Morris,” he continued, pointing to the painted ‘Double-T R Ranch, Golden, Colo.’ painted in silver on the deep dark red doors of the truck cab. “Old Mr. Rogers was a little concerned about letting me have it, but he allowed the brand new Plymouth sedan I was driving would be sufficient collateral.” Royce chuckled. “Still, I imagine, after a month and a day, he’s probably getting nervous again.”
Mitch was nodding along as Royce told the story, while Clementine walked around the truck with her mouth a-gape. When she got back to the men she asked, “You say it’s a two-horse van, but I don’t see anyplace to harness even ONE horse… How does this wagon move?”
Mitch and Royce laughed, but not meanly, at Clementine’s consternation. “Let me show you,” Royce said, guiding the innocent to the back of the truck. He opened the tailgate and pulled down a wide wooden ramp. “The horses go inside the box of the van. They RIDE, they don’t haul.” Clementine was about to protest when he held up a finger, indicating she should hold her thought. Then he led her to the front and opened the hood. “THAT is what ‘makes the wagon move’, Clementine,” he said, pointing to an incomprehensible jumble of cast metal and wires. “While you have been growing up at your Poppa’s mine, the rest of the world has been growing up in a very different way… this is a six-cylinder in-line internal combustion engine, but you don’t need to know all of that… You’ll find out what it’s like when we drive to Golden and swap it for my car.” He kissed her perplexed mouth. “Trust me… and be ready for a whole new world!”
Clementine liked the kiss. “I do trust you, Royce,” she said with a quiet uncertainty, “but, I’m a little scared.” She hugged him and laid her face on his chest. “Please say you’ll keep me safe and teach me about… about… Oh! I’m just so…” Her voice dwindled, then failed. She shook as she clung to him.
Royce, embracing the near panic-stricken teen, looked over her shoulder at Mitch who was giving him a helpless ‘Good Luck!’ shrug and facial expression. “There, now, Clementine,” Royce said, softly crooning as he gently patted her shoulder blades and rubbed the small of her back. “That’s EXACTLY why we are going to be spending so much time together. We’re going to have fun and learn lots of new things and everything will be great.”
Clementine raised her head and smiled. Her eyes glistened, but no tears presented themselves beyond her lashes. Pushing away from Royce, she turned and went to her father. “Thank you, Poppa,” she said, hugging him and scratching her nails along the back of his work shirt. “I’ll make you proud, I promise! Tell Momma I love her, but don’t tell her I cried… PLEASE.” She lifted her head and gave Mitch a very undaughterly kiss, which he returned in a similarly fervent and unpaternal, though brief, Escort Fulya fashion.
“I will, Darlin’, I absolutely will,” he breathed, surprised by his sudden hoarseness and constricted throat. He broke with her abruptly and strode to the horses, without looking back. Clementine watched wistfully and sighed as he mounted Charlie and led Dodger and Morris back along the track toward the meadow they had crossed earlier.
Royce stepped up behind Clementine and wrapped her in his arms. When she inhaled and sighed he kissed the top of her head, said “Let’s go,” and turned her toward the International. Two and a half hours, and thirty miles, later they had jounced and jostled their way off the mountain and approached the Double-T R Ranch. Clementine’s head swirled with an overload of information she had thus far received. Royce, himself, was amazed by their non-stop question and answer session as they drove. “How much simpler for me to go back in time than for her to leap forward,” he repeatedly remarked to himself, with each new inquiry. The McFee’s 19th century rural life-style seemed much further removed from the 20th century he was introducing to this young woman, than the fifty miles distance between The Cavern Mine and Denver .
Old Mr. Rogers was working a mustang in a round split-rail arena when he saw his horse van pull into the yard. He climbed through the fence and walked, in an oddly hobbled gait, toward the truck. A gap-toothed smile broke across his leathery face when he saw Royce help Clementine down from the cab. She flashed a tender knee under the hem of her loosely flapping dress as her boots touched the running board.
“Howdy, Mr. Engel!” Rogers called. “Delivered ’em safe and sound, I reckon?” He asked, referring to the horse and mule Royce had purchased for the trek and assuming, correctly, they were not being returned with the rented truck.
“Yes, Mr. Rogers,” Engel confirmed. “They performed admirably for me and their new owner was quite pleased to get them.” He glanced around the property. “My car in the shed?” He asked, assumptively.
“Yep,” Rogers answered, “Just like you left it.” He could not stop his eyes from shifting to Clementine. She was a rare beauty and he greatly wondered how Engel had come across her in the 32 days he had been gone, supposedly horse-camping with an old friend. “She may be a friend,” Rogers mused, “But she sure as shootin’ ain’t ‘old’!”
Clementine was yet too naive to mind his ogling. Mitch, and Royce, too, for that matter, were quite open in their admiration of her physique. She supposed it was both natural and proper, although she found it strange that such a very old man could make her fidget and feel fluttery inside just by looking.
Royce broke into Rogers’ thoughts just as a mixed-breed hound of some sort trotted around the corner of the nearby house and woofed his way to his master. “Do you have a phone, Mr. Rogers?” Engel asked, “If so, I’d like to make a call to Denver. Glad to pay for it,” he quickly added.
The dog touched the crusty jeans of the bandy-legged cowboy and then veered suddenly to sniff Clementine’s ankles. His tail wagged rapidly. “Sure do, Mr. Engel,” the codger answered, “Go on in the house. It’s right there in the parlor.” Then he turned his attention back to the young woman and his dog. “Rascal likes you better’n ary a jack rabbit, that’s for sure,” he observed, eyes twinkling as he watched Clementine kneel in the dust and pet the hound’s head. Her seersucker sundress’ neckline fell away from her just enough to give him a direct line of sight to her youthful creamy bosom tops. Rogers step forward a half foot and improved the view. He sucked in his breath and silently studied Clementine’s revealed pink-brown pebbly areolae and plump nubbins perched on her proud breasts.
“He’s a nice dog,” Clementine complimented, as she babbled nonsense to the hound and rubbed him from ears to tail. After a while, she looked up from Rascal and grinned at his master. Rogers was disappointed by her head movement, which pulled her neckline back to her chest, removing her exposed tits from direct observation. Clementine’s eyes fell on the old cowpoke’s crotch. “My goodness!” She exclaimed to herself, “His penis is fat and bulgy, just like Poppa’s and Royce’s!” She caught herself wondering what it would feel like in her hands, her mouth, her pussy. “Stop that!” She chided herself, as her nipples pushed themselves erect and her cunny moistened in her drawers. “Think of something else!” She looked back to Rascal and scratched his ears with renewed vigor, driving the image of the old-timer’s wrinkled dick from her mind’s eye.
Just then, Royce returned and announced, “Thanks, Mr. Rogers, I got through alright and we’re all set to go.” He extended his left arm and assisted Clementine to her feet. “Come on, Clementine,” he said, “Next stop: Denver.”
The rancher led them to the outbuilding where Engel’s sedan had been stored, watched them drive away and then leaned, in the musty darkness, against the closed door. His gnarled arthritic fingers fumbled with his button-fly as he hastened to stroke himself while the memory of Clementine was still fresh.