But now you're eighteen years old. It's your last year! You'd lost interest in getting stoned or screwing around too much with girls. You're actually ...terrified- you have to figure out some kind of career here in about two years. That's not a lot of time. Worse, it'll cost you and your parents money.You'd done your best though... there's a college one state over that has a sociology scholarship for you, not that you care for the subject. You'll just milk it however you can while you figure. I don't want to be interrupted, by anything."Mike started the car, and drove out of the parking lot, inland, toward the scrub and palmetto groves. After they left the built up area of the city, there were fewer and fewer cars, as Mike turned onto smaller, and smaller roads. The final road dead-ended, at a small grove of palms, and banana trees. Mike turned off the engine, and turned to Maggie:"This ought to be remote enough. I don't even know, if I can find my way out of here. There's enough. "Oh, the one on Saturday?" she asked, remembering her drunken actions, how she had almost let herself be used by two of the boys there in an attempt to erase the memory of that hellish night two weeks before. She turned to her father and smiled. "Pretty lame" He appeared to hesitate, looking at his daughter for a short time before he spoke. "And what about the one two weeks ago?" Emily turned to face her father, and the color drained from her face. "I - I didn't-" "So it was you" he said. Millie gasped as her bare ass sank into the thick, tickling lawn. Pete placed his hand on her hairy mound, and the strongest blast yet went through her.But her mind kept shrieking against the outrage. Her sense of degradation was joined by a mind-boggling fear. She had never believed a man could rape her; she would always be able to keep her legs together and fight him off, she had assumed. But she was no longer certain of her ability to resist. Something was working inside her to make her give.