Bob Wallace

Filmed with dogs

CHAPTER ONE

Charlotte Dayton's beautifully sculptured face turned into a scowl as her car coughed again, sputtered, and died.

"Damn it!" She looked at the gas gauge for the tenth time. It registered the same three quarters of a tank. She pumped the pedal and turned the key in the ignition. The motor whined and refused to start.

"Balls," Charlotte muttered, giving up. She opened the door and climbed out of the car, glancing around. "Damn, why did I listen to George? Taking this stupid shortcut!" She talked to the wind as it tousled her thick red-hair.

Reaching inside the car for the latch, she unlocked the hood. She hauled the hood up with a grunt and peered inside.

She shook her head and straightened up. As she stood with hands on her hips, her eyes scanning the deserted area, she spotted a large house about a quarter of a mile down the road.

"Shit! It's the last time I listen to you, George," she said, annoyed, as if he were there. Her face grim with determination, she trudged down the road to the lone house. After a phone call, she would be on her way… again. In no time.

She stumbled up the path to the house, her high heels catching in the pebbles. She groaned, walking uneasily up the narrow path, her well-rounded ass swinging in the tight-fitting designer jeans. She reached the crest of the path, her soft tits rising and falling underneath her sweater as she caught her breath.

Knocking on the large old fashioned door, she relaxed. Things could be worse, it could be night, and this God-forsaken house could have been ten miles down the road. The door creaked open.

"Yes?" A tall statuesque blonde appeared, her voice deep and sultry. Her wide blue eyes quickly took inventory of Charlotte's lush petite figure.

Charlotte caught the glancing appraisal and immediately sensed the erotic aura that surrounded the tall beautiful blonde. "My car broke down," Charlotte began. "Could I use your phone to call a gas station?"