Rebecca Molson was the only daughter to Edwin and Olivia Molson. They owned the Molson Mercantile on Main St. in their small Kansas town. Mommy and Daddy gave her everything she wanted, and nothing she didn't, like discipline. Rebecca was spoiled rotten, and her tantrums were known throughout the town, as well as her shrill, whining voice.
But the people of this village were kindly enough toward Becky, her selfish shenanigans eliciting a pang of pity rather than anger. Also, they didn't want to be on the bad side of the Molsons, as it could get very expensive to go shopping at the only general store in town. So, most people just smiled and let her have her way, and tried to stay out of it the next time.
Becky was "helping" her daddy stock the candy shelves, while her mother was out of town visiting relatives. For every five items she put on the shelf, one went in her pocket, soon making her navy blue sailor suit bulge in the front. Her father was far too busy taking inventory to notice, and it was doubtful he would care if he did. She was daddy's little girl and she could do no wrong.
Becky was eighteen, with fair complexion and quite petite. Her honey blond curls were tied into bouncy ringlets above her ears with baby blue ribbon. She was wearing her mother's makeup, because she wasn't allowed to when her mother was home.
She had found the perfect red lipstick at the bottom of a drawer, some blue eye shadow, and some blush. Luckily, she knew what she was doing, because she looked just like a little woman now. Except for that silly navy-blue sailor suit.
"Punkin', I've got something for you," her father called from behind her.
Becky quickly stuffed more candy in her pocket, then went to investigate.
"Jeepers, new roller-skates!" She jumped up and down and hugged her father, never thanking him.
As she put them on, he told her, "You can go outside and give them a try, but make sure you're back for dinner, 'kay sugar'."
"Yes daddy, goodbye," she said as she skated out the door.
Becky had skates before, but these were new and it was sometimes hard to maneuver. "Move It, Get Out Of The Way, and Watch Were You Are Going," rolled out of her mouth as loud as the rolling of her metal skates down the long wooden sidewalk, past the library.
She saw her "friend", Emily White reading a book inside. Becky smirked to herself, and made a slow, wide turn back and clumped in noisily.
Emily was reading Treasure Island, and was fantasizing about being Long John Silver's cabin boy. She had imagined herself dressing up like a boy, and getting the job. On the first night out to sea, she showed him her true identity.
He was just about to show her another use for his wooden leg when Emily heard metal rolling nearer, then a loud SLAP on the wooden table in front of her. She knew who it was, and tried to keep reading.
"Hi, Emily," Becky mugged. "You're always readin', why don't you come out to play?" Her snotty whine could be heard on the other side of the hushed library.
Emily calmly put down her book and exhaled deeply. Then with quiet reserve raised her head up with the best smile she could come up with under extreme pressure.
"Hello Becky," she tried to look relaxed as their eyes met, and almost laughed at the spot on the tip of her nose, an angry red zit. "I'm studying for a test." Emily tried to sound excited.
Almost not hearing her, Becky interrupted, "Whatchya doin' this summer?" If she had been chewing gum, she would have popped it. She was that annoying.
"I'm going to my Aunt and Uncle's farm in the country. I'm studying so I won't be bored there. I'm taking a test there with me." This time she sounded sincere.
"Fine! I have plenty of other friends!" Both knew instantly this was not true. Becky treated most girls, or anybody else for that matter, as more of a rival than a friend. "Oooh, I hate you Emily White!" She gritted her teeth angrily and skated loudly out of the quiet library.
"I'm sorry I won't be here to play with you!" Emily called out after her, grinning with relief.
As Becky rolled away, she saw someone else to annoy. A huge older black man was stacking crates in the dead end alley behind the store. She skated clumsily towards him and hit a rock.
Becky careened out of control and headed toward the loading dock, just feet from him. When she hit the railing, her head was forced between two bars with a ringing, SCHWING!
Because her slightly overlarge ears forbade any backward movement, she tried to push harder by putting her feet against the dock. Her head slipped down as her legs went too far to be able to back up. Now she was really stuck.
"Hey, you! Come here and help me."
Miles tried his hardest not to hear her. He didn't believe in demons usually, but Becky Molson did tend get underneath one's skin with a pitchfork.
"I said help me," she sounded annoyed.
"Oh hello, Miss Becky. It sure is a pleasure to see you this fine afternoon." Miles always tried to be polite around white people. They sent him to WWI.
Hell, they did it once, they're bound to do it again soon,
he confided to himself. But the war taught him a great many things. One of them was patience.
Miles went over to see what he could do. He went behind her to consider the possibilities.
Damn, now that's an ass.
Becky's white frilled panties hugged tightly to the plumpest, tightest ass he'd ever seen. The war also taught him to love an fine ass, that was for sure.
Miles noticed the stolen candy in her pockets, but ruled out blackmail for what he was thinking about doing, because he would need her full cooperation not a begrudging one. He shook his head sadly as he dismissed the fleeting opportunity.
Within a moment of his decision, a large moving van blocked the alley. Miles heard the driver tell someone he was going to lunch, and would be back in an hour. Suddenly, Miles remembered that Mr. Molson would be too busy with inventory to come back here, for a while at least, not till checking out. Plans were a hatchin'.
He walked around to her face, with a mischievous grin, and squatted down in front of her. "Miss Becky, I'm afraid the only way out of this, is with a lot of grease. A special kind of grease I don't quite have, yet." He knew it was a bullshit line, but he also knew she was quite gullible. "Maybe if you help me get my grease, we could get you out of this fence right quick." He gave it a pull.
"What do I have to do?" She sounded like she was bending down to say that.
All Miles wanted to do was help this girl, and himself, and she lowered herself to receive his help? With the a grit of a trench man, he swallowed his backhand. She deserved to be taught a good lesson in humility. He stood up.
"Now Miss Becky, I do believe you owe me an apology, I'm trying to help you." He looked down at her, his zipper inches from her face.
Becky looked up into Miles' kindly face. His arms hung quietly at his side as if he was waiting for something important. She might be spoiled, but she eventually understood.
"I'm sorry...Miles, was it? Any help you could give me, would be greatly... appreciated." It sounded like she had never said those words before.
"Thank you, Miss Becky. It would be a pleasure to help you. Now it might hurt a bit, but there's some serious magic that has to be done." He remembered the magician that came through town a week ago, everyone was still talking about him.
"Magic?" Becky was so excited, her blond ringlets danced. "Ooh, can I be the magicians assistant? After he pulled a ring out of my ear, he let me be his assistant. Then later, he gave me a pearl necklace from his magic wand." She posed like the Queen herself.
Is she really that gullible?
