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Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 01

By: flatliner



He climbed above the tree line and into the late afternoon August sunlight. The Blue Ridge lay arrayed before him like a sleeping woman under rumpled sheets. Here a jutting hip, there a soft shoulder, she was in repose after a stolen hour of lovemaking. Or so he could imagine. The fresh air and stimulation of hiking in the forest always touched the primal. His thoughts turned to elemental things. Like hunting down a frisky woman and taking her under the shadow of an ancient pine on a spongy bed of needles.

His last girlfriend called him the 'hiking hard-on'. His randyness often was obnoxious to her, sometimes not. Once they'd rutted standing up against a tree after taking shelter there in the rain. It was an exceptional act for her but he was like a dog and having once found a morsel he looked for it the same place every time. Sharon was always fending off his lusting paws and just got tired of it. Sexual romps weren't her idea of a day in the woods.

She'd been accepted to graduate school anyway and was soon back in New England. That frigid landscape suited her. Here in summertime Virginia he continued to hike, alone for now, and tried to turn his thoughts to higher things. Like his own studies. Like the migratory patterns of Red Shouldered Hawks and his indifferent grades. How was he to graduate and get a decent job without being top of the class, or, to be honest with himself, middle of the class? He loved being outdoors. He loved animals. He loved Red Shouldered Hawks, even, but he wasn't a scholar. Rather than observing and reporting on the mating habits of these beautiful creatures he'd want to be mating himself. He had a hard time staying one remove from what he was studying, using the part of his brain that labeled, catalogued and listed things. Instead he found himself wanting to be one with them.

It was a handicap to his academic career. Perhaps he should take a couple of years off and go back to school when he could be more mature about it. But he knew that if he quit he'd never come back. Whatever advantage his degree was going to be in finding a job he was going to have to focus on finishing and take a grab at the first rung of some kind of career ladder. That was what was expected of him, anyway.

Being up in the clean air and bright light of the mountains helped to clarify his thoughts. Or if not that, then his feelings. He got depressed thinking about his situation back on the grounds of the University, but from the perspective of a mountaintop it was almost impossible not to feel elation. He looked to the west over the Shenandoah Valley and beyond to the Alleghenies. As on many late summer afternoons he could see thunderheads building on the horizon. By the evening they'd be towering over this ridge, lightning and rain likely. He turned his course down off the exposed, rocky spine of the mountain toward the side trail that, according to the map, wound down past some waterfalls in the cooler, damp shade of the oak forest below.

He walked down, feeling the rubberiness in his legs, and dropped deeper into the cavern of the trees. Here it was still and quiet. He could hear his blood pulsing in his ears and beyond that the occasional bird chatter. The wind high above did not disturb the silence down here. Occasionally his trained ear heard a hawk keening as it glided northward far above him, catching the thermals coming off the ridge top. As the trail angled closer to a small stream running through a crease in the mountain he could hear the gentle gurgling of the water in the granite boulders of its bed. 

He began to smell that particular aroma of loam and dampness. There was something intensely female about it. Deep green moss burst in soft, round pillows in and around the rocks. The rotting trunks of long fallen trees were draped in moss and fiddlehead ferns stretched their slim green stalks upward toward the filtered light, slowly unfolding their tight-wound heads. Life dug its tendrils deep into the Earth and exploded in slow motion toward the sun. The vitality of it stirred him. It never ceased to inspire awe in him, nor horniness. He wanted to celebrate by stripping and running naked in the wonder of it. The impulse was very strong.

But he felt silly doing that alone. A little too self-conscious to burst out in a spontaneous happy dance and a communion with the fecund mother Earth. He was horny enough to find knotholes appealing but, though he might be a tree-hugger, he was not a tree-fucker. On the other hand if there were someone special to get naked with, that would certainly be an entirely different matter. He was uncomfortable in his aloneness only for lack of physical companionship. Mostly, a bad day in the mountains was better than any good day at school. Trying not to disturb the cathedral of the trees he kept on down into the shadows. Let the wild things go about as if he was one of them. As he wished it could be.

After about a mile the stream was strong enough to have some volume and the grade began to level out. The steep sides of the draw cast shadows across the streambed and his path. But that was welcome on a steamy afternoon in August. He had no need to wear the t-shirt he'd removed and tied around his head as he climbed the east side of the ridge that morning. He soon found a campsite on an elevated area where others had leveled a tent spot and dug a fire pit. He'd be safe here if the stream rose from the expected thunderstorm. 

Pitching the 2-man tent and tossing his rolled up sleeping bag inside was a simple matter and he quickly had his camp ready for the night. He traveled light. What little food he'd brought he pulled up into a nearby tree to keep it out of the paws of the black bears. He gathered some dry wood and filled two plastic garbage bags for later. If he didn't use them, he'd leave them for the next campers. He liked to leave a campsite better than he found it.

Now he needed to find that waterfall and take a dip to clean off the sweat and dirt of the trail. In shorts and Teva sandals and with his t-shirt tied around his head he followed the trail past an elbow in the stream where house-sized boulders shouldered the water into a narrow ravine. Picking his way on slick stones he crossed the freshening stream. He heard the drumming of the waterfall before he could see it, climbing around a jumble of rocks and downed trees. The trail nearly disappeared as it wound through the deadfall that the stream had piled up on the rocks at the top of the falls.

Easing his legs over a last rock and looking down he was brought to an abrupt stop. Below him in the deep green pool were two women, naked as the day they were born, paddling languidly in the cool water. Obviously they hadn't seen or heard him. Yet. He pulled back out of sight, both embarrassed and excited. What to do? 

He could just go back to his tent. No way. He could shout to get their attention. But maybe that would scare them. Surely they didn't expect someone to walk up on them. They might think he was dangerous. It could be awkward at least and a lawsuit at worst. He didn't really have enough information to form a decision. Clearly he should gather more facts before taking action. 

So he slowly eased himself up to the edge of the rocks and peeked over again, lying prone to minimize his exposure. Dappled sunlight fell onto the scene below. Within the circle of stones that edged the pool the two women floated like autumn leaves. They both had bright red hair that fanned out in the water around them and reached nearly to their round white asses. One moved to the side and pulled herself up on a rock. The other continued to doggy paddle. They seemed to be talking but he couldn't hear them. He noticed their clothes piled neatly a bit further away. Off in that same direction the trail seemed to resume its path down the mountain. 

He couldn't see any gear but maybe they had a camp, like his, safely away from the water. At this height it was difficult to see the women clearly but from what he could see they were young and shapely, full in the right places, pinched in others. The seated one threw her head back laughing and he saw her dark-tipped breasts bounce. The other rolled in the water and revealed a thick red bush at the 'v' of her scissoring legs. They had tan lines that showed they didn't get out in the sun much; at least not in bathing suits. The tan stopped just above their knees and elbows. The rest of them was bright white. They seemed perfectly at ease, like dryads in an English Oak wood.

He, however, was lying on a boner.

Which only complicated his situation. He certainly wouldn't come tripping into their pool party with a bulge in his shorts. Resting his chin on his crossed arms he gave the issue more thought. He tried to gather more information, but the women, besides being naked and beautiful and lolling deliciously in the pool, yielded up little in the way of additional facts. He supposed if he were more intelligent or perceptive he might deduce more from the evidence. Maybe they were students, too. Could be sisters. Could be through-hikers on the Appalachian Trail. Could be hookers on vacation! 

As the afternoon waned a shaft of sun cut across the mouth of the defile and fell on a flat rock just downstream from the pool. Both women moved to it and lay on their backs in the sunlight. He could see now that they weren't exactly alike though they both shared the bright red hair at head and crotch. One was a little thinner and taller than the other. This information did not noticeably advance his decision-making. The taller one had her arm thrown across her eyes and he imagined he could see the water drops glistening in her pubic thatch as her leg splayed out to the side. Was her pussy smiling at him? 

He turned his gaze to the other. She was pointing right at him. Her mouth was open; she was yelling! She poked her companion and brought her attention to him. Damn! Caught! Both women quickly covered themselves and leapt up. They ran haltingly across the rocks toward their clothes. He jumped back but took a quick look again. One was shaking her fist at him and clearly yelling something although he still could not hear.

Embarrassed, he hightailed it back to his tent. He was sorry he'd spoiled their sunbathing. He was sorry he hadn't thought of a way to meet them before pissing them off. He was sorry he couldn't just watch them naked for the rest of the day.

Sure they'd be hightailing it down the mountain he made his way back toward the tent as the approaching evening darkened the sky. Reaching the ford of the creek he stopped to get cleaner. He stripped out of his shorts and sandals, waded into the cool water and gingerly dug his toes into the gritty sand between the rocks. After soaking and wringing his t-shirt he used it to wash himself. It felt good to have the moving water lapping against his tired thighs and to scrub off the grime of the hike. He sluiced his chest, rubbed down each of his arms and used the t-shirt to clean his back. He relaxed as the water ran down over his tired muscles, dripping from his close-cropped hair. It was a pleasure to be naked and clean. Thoughts of the two wood nymphs kept him half-hard.

He was standing with his right arm stretched over his head, his left pulling the t-shirt low across his back when he heard a woman's voice behind him.

"Hold it right there!"

He turned slowly to his left toward the voice. Over his shoulder he saw a redheaded woman approaching with a rifle. Aimed at his back. A few paces behind her another woman stood with a branch held like a bat at her shoulder. What the fuck!? His first reaction was of disbelief. His second, fear. He held the stretched t-shirt as he carefully turned.

"You alone?" the woman asked. Her eyes were narrowed, her breathing fast. She was scared, too. It wouldn't do to make any sudden moves.

"Yes, ma'am, " He said, reverting to a nearly forgotten politeness. He noticed that she and the other one were wearing shorts and t-shirts that accounted for the tan lines he'd seen before. And good hiking shoes. An interesting detail to notice when someone is pointing a gun at you, he thought. 

"You get your jollies watching naked women bathing?"

The obvious answer was, "Well, hell, yes." But he considered that an impolitic reply under the circumstances and so decided abject apology his best strategy. It worked with other women most of the time anyway. Why not now?

"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to scare you. I was walking down to swim myself and didn't want to disturb you. I couldn't decide what to do. I was just about to go back to camp when you caught, er, noticed me watching." He could see he'd at least sounded normal to her. 

"Annie, go check his camp." The one with the gun, the shorter one, pointed with the barrel toward his tent on the high ground. Annie forded the creek 50 yards above him and, wielding her club, cautiously circled his tent. As he and the gun toting woman stood waiting a distant rumble of thunder underscored the tension. 

"Looks like a one-man camp up here," shouted Annie. She returned on the trail and now he stood in the buff between the two thoroughly at a loss. The women were clearly eyeballing him as he stood there dripping. He slowly lowered his arms and brought the t-shirt around to cover his privates. 

"Keep your arms up, Lumberjack," the shorter one said, grinning. "Check his pants for ID, Annie."

She crept down and pulled his shorts from the rock he'd spread them on, ripped the Velcro at the rear pocket and rifled his wallet. Another roll of thunder sounded, closer this time.

"Jackson Elliot. Student ID. University of Virginia." Annie looked questioningly at the gun-toter, who was slowly lowering the rifle as her eyes traveled down his body. She didn't seem shy about looking at him in the nude. As he was thinking about the shoe being on the other foot, she said, "Jackson? They call you Jack? I pegged him right, callin' him Lumberjack, huh, Annie? How's it feel to be gawked at, Lumberjack?"

Just then the rain started, a staccato beat on the leaves far above at first, but then suddenly a cold shower. Lightning flashed and thunder followed loud and fast. The storm he'd seen earlier was on them. Their tableau was ruined as each reacted to the drenching. Annie looked to the other one for direction and Jack grabbed his pants. He hauled himself out of the stream and, hopping awkwardly, got his shorts on. 

The women were rapidly getting bedraggled in the rain. The steaming August afternoon was turning chilly in the air forced down by the thunderstorm. The stream had been a welcome respite from the heat but the cold pounding of the rain was soaking their clothes.

"You stand still!" the short one yelled, but Jack turned and started up the trail.

"I'm going in the tent. I'm harmless to you and there's no sense in standing here getting wetter." Soon they wouldn't be anything but drenched anyway but his reaction to the situation was to run for cover even if it was just a nylon tent. 

He scrambled up the slope to the tent, tried to wipe his feet and dove in the mosquito-netting door of the tent. He turned to zip it and looked into the barrel of the rifle. 

"Move back, Jack," shorty growled. The two wet women pushed into the tent dragging red Virginia clay with them. 

"The gun is not necessary," Jack said, jammed into the low end of the tiny tent while the women struggled to sort out their arms and legs and keep him on the defensive. It was comical. Like a game of Twister, but with bullets. Then the gun went off, blowing a neat hole in the sidewall of the tent just inches from Annie's head. All three froze, both women with a look of horror, Jack cringing, thinking he'd been shot.

"Oh, God, Annie!" cried the other woman, dropping the rifle. Jack snatched it up and lunging between them threw it as far as he could out into the rain. He fell back and the two women launched into an embrace, bent over in the small space. They sobbed in each other's arms. Jack slowly unclenched and felt his breathing slow to something like normal. The rain slowed outside as the rumble of thunder receded. 

After a few minutes of mumbling into each other's red hair the women, too, relaxed. Annie started to laugh. 

"You didn't need to ruin the rifle. There was only the one bullet," she said, panting. 

"Well, the rifle was totally unnecessary and now you've shot up my tent. And covered the floor with mud." In his reaction to being shot at Jack was not entirely able to form a cogent argument. This didn't happen to him every day. 

The shorter one said, holding out her hand, "OK, let's call it even. We've all had a good scare and we're soggy as drowned kittens. I'm sorry. My name is Cheryl."

They shook hands. Tentatively, as could be expected under the circumstances. But the tension was clearing. The discomfort of their situation was becoming the paramount issue. Three strangers who'd caught each other in the buff, soaked by the cold rain, nearly shot, now trapped in a fragile tent in a thunderstorm as night quickly fell. They could hear the stream roaring nearby. It had become a torrent in the rain.

Jack, coming back to his senses, noticed the effect the cold rain had on their t-shirts. Rock hard nipples, for one. Goosebumps on their arms, too. Printed on Annie's nicely stretched shirt was; Equestrians Do It In Leather. He was beginning to shiver sitting there cross-legged in only his shorts.

Cheryl craned her neck at the door of the tent. "It looks like we're not crossing that creek any time soon, Annie. It's halfway up to the tent now. Likely to get higher."

Jack did a mental inventory of his supplies, most of which were up in the pack in the tree. "We're going to need a fire, but the rain's got to let up first. I've got a flashlight I can give you to get you down to your camp."

"We don't have a camp. We rode our horses up to the falls for the day," said Annie. "I'm worried about Gantry. He's my gelding."

"Gantry and Mudge'll be OK, Annie. They were tied high enough. Anyway, if they get loose they know the way home. We're not going to go stumbling around those falls tonight with or without a flashlight. We're going to need to stay here." She looked apologetically at Jack. Though he noticed her eyes tended to wander over his chest and lower as she talked.

He caught her eye and saw something unfamiliar there. Something knowing and hungry, amused and assured. The woman who recklessly used a rifle but didn't run from a perceived threat was looking at him appraisingly. The possibilities were beginning to dawn on him, too. There was a stirring in his groin. His shorts were developing a tent of their own. Cheryl, clearly was not unaware of this. She smiled. Annie looked back and forth between the two. They all were only inches apart in the tent. 

"I'm getting really cold," she said through gritted teeth, hugging her suggestively sloganed chest.

As the light failed, Jack cleared his throat and moved to crawl out the door. Rubbing past them he was keenly aware of their earlier nakedness. And his own.

The rain had mostly passed. He stood under the dripping from the trees and looked up. He could just see a deep blue sky beyond the black netting of the trees. Night was falling. The summer heat was seeping back in to the air. Tree frogs and cicadas began to fill the night with love song.

He pulled down the pack and used the matches to start a fire with the wood he'd bagged earlier. Jack passed the flashlight into the tent. He could see the women's silhouettes and hear them talking while he worked. He caught a giggle or two. After a few minutes of fanning and strategic blowing he had a good blaze going. He dragged some larger deadwood close to dry while the fire built.

Soon the women crawled out into the light of the fire. "Ooo, that feels good, LumberJack," said Cheryl, "This boy's got some boy scout skills!"


Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 01



"You want to be careful who you call 'boy', ma'am." Jack said, turning toward her at the fire, his skin glowing golden. He felt comfortable enough to try a little joke. See if he could discomfort her.

"I noticed you have a damn nice all-over tan, Jack. I should have realized..." breathed the short redhead. "Are you black?"

"My dad was black, my mom was white. I'm mistaken for both. I'm used to it."

"Like Obama, then," said Annie. "I voted for him!"

"I don't talk politics or religion, or race for that matter, with anyone but my closest friends, ladies." He was beginning to feel almost normal again. Despite the strangeness of the last hour it was as if they were starting over in getting to know each other. He'd had this familiar conversation many times with new women friends. 

"Well, you've built a good fire here, Jack." Said Cheryl as she reached to the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up over her head. "We'd better put it to use." Annie took her cue from Cheryl and stripped down the same, following with her hiking boots and shorts, too. They draped the wet clothes over the nearby brush to dry. Jack guessed they no longer saw him as a threat. It looked like the 'conversation' would be non-verbal. Jack realized Cheryl was not going to lose her cool again. And neither was he. He'd meet her halfway. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted. 

The dancing fire turned the women pink. Their flame red hair began to dry and spread in clouds around their heads as they stood near the heat and turned slowly to warm all sides. He was reminded of the Dryads of earlier in the day. The differences in their bodies were masked in the light of the fire. He noticed for the first time the cascade of freckles that lay across the women's faces and ran down across their breasts. Two pink, hot and soft females slowly spun as on a rotisserie by his fire, getting baked. Well, his mouth watered. He might as well shuck off his own shorts, too, as that was all he had on anyway. 

He hung the shorts on a bush and moved close to the fire. Its heat was like hands on his body, was like breath, like tongues. He watched them watching him and his pole rose. He was not embarrassed this time. They were not afraid. The women offered themselves to him, dancing. He embraced Cheryl first, gently turning her in front of the fire. As she passed before him eclipsing the flames he suddenly felt cold. He pressed his stiff member against the soft, warm flesh of her buttocks and wound his arms around her, pulling in tight. Her felt her breath fill her chest, pushing her full breasts against his encircling arms. 

Across the fire Annie watched, her eyes sparkling. She moved slowly now stroking her own body then spreading her arms toward the sky and throwing back her head. Jack saw her white breasts taut and offered to the fire. He watched her as he moved his hands across Cheryl's round belly and tenderly trailed his fingertips along her pointed hipbones. From there he tickled them down the crease at each side of her mons, slowly teasing toward the copse of red fur there. She pressed back into him and reached up to run her fingers in his short curly hair, groaning.

He held Annie's eyes as he caressed Cheryl, bringing whimpers from the shorter woman's throat. Annie's mouth parted. She ran her hands along her own pelvis and slowly down the 'v', mimicking his hands on Cheryl. It was like watching themselves in a mirror lit up in chiaroscuro by the fire. Jack nuzzled at Cheryl's neck, breathing hard into her hair, biting at her ear. Her soft ass pressing against his pole was heavenly. He couldn't resist thrusting against her. She thrust back.

Cheryl turned in his arms, bringing her mouth up for an open, wet kiss. Her eyes closed, she ran her hands across his chest, squeezed his thick arms. Jack's boner poked into her fire-warmed belly. She reached down, grasped him and pressed him lower. He felt a greater heat, a wet heat, as she clamped him between her legs. 

She drew his tongue into her mouth then and his knees went weak. He snorted, sucked in air laced with the earthy perfume of her hair. It smelled of sunlight and cool mountain water. And woman. He crushed her body to his chest, felt the berries of her nipples squash against him, imagined their juices running down his torso. She was rolling her hips side to side as she rode his pole. He strained upward as she ground on him, firmly in the saddle. The fire's heat bathed the head of his cock poking from between her strong legs.

Then he felt a touch on the underside of his cock, fingers stroking him. He cracked his lust-lidded eyes and saw Annie had moved up behind Cheryl. She was squeezing her own breast as she explored their dark, wet place. She smeared the juices there, both Cheryl's and Jack's eager drippings. Annie looked askance at him, smiling. Jack could hardly stand it. His legs quivered. His breaths were quick and short. The women must know what they were doing to him, that his explosion wouldn't be long in coming.

Cheryl whimpered into the kiss and shook all over. She gasped for air, grinning. Their teeth grated together and she briefly went limp. Jack caught her. She hung in his arms and astraddle his cock, breathing hard.

Cheryl broke the kiss and began to slide down, kissing his chin, his collarbones, his broad chest. She spun her tongue once or twice around each nipple. Then lapped slowly along the washboard of his stomach, dragging her nails down his side and around to his ass. She was soon on her knees. As Jack looked down she wrapped her fingers around his brown cock and smiled. Then she gave one gentle lick of the tip.

She purred. Cheryl opened wide and slowly took him in her mouth, just taking the head, sliding her tongue across the bottom, stroking that so sensitive spot with apparent experience. 

Jack took Annie by the hair and pulled her to him, crushing her red full lips to his. With his other hand he cupped a glowing white breast, pinching the hard nipple between his fingers. Annie pressed her hand against his chest and leaned into his kisses.

Cheryl dug her nails into his butt cheeks and pulled him into her mouth. The heat of her throat alternated with the heat of the fire on his shaft. Jack neared the unbearable pitch of ecstasy. He couldn't hold the kiss with Annie. He was breathing in great gusts, dizzy. He leaned on Annie for support as his legs trembled. And Cheryl kept on dragging him into the fiery tunnel of her mouth.

Annie looked down and said, "Mom, I want a turn."

Mom? Jesus! Fucking! Christ! 

He came like a freight train, bucking into the woman's mouth hard, throwing ropes of seed wildly when his cock popped out. Cheryl grabbed his swinging pole and stroked it, squeezing firmly. He splattered her face. She gobbled him up for another mouthful as his spurting diminished. Slowly he spent himself and fell back onto the pine needles, the dark snake draped across his hip drooling. The fire shone up his bronze legs, licking his testicles. He took a long time catching his breath. 

"Aww, mom," Annie pouted. "You said I could have a turn."

Still on her knees, wiping the semen from her face, Cheryl assured her, "You will, honey. We'll be keeping each other warm in that tent all night long. I told you we needed to get his first shot out of the way, didn't I? You're next. Saddle up!"



Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 02



This story is the second of a three part series. Each story examines the experience from the viewpoint of one of the three characters. Although not essential, I think you will enjoy them better if you read this one after reading the first story in the series because there is a plot spoiler in this segment. And as always, comments are welcome. Thanks for reading.

*

The horses stumbled over the stones at the streamside. Both hers and mine were tiring in the August heat. Annie seemed to be in her usual absent-minded state and didn't notice Gantry needed a rest.

"Honey, it's time for a break. Let's water the horses here and walk on up to the falls," I called.

"OK, mom," Annie turned to look back at me, her red hair flashing in the sun. My daughter carried my genes almost exclusively it seemed. At least in looks. Her dreamy distractedness came from her father, The Senator.

After dismounting Mudge I took the kit with our lunch and the rifle and waited while Annie led the horses to the water. The two chestnut geldings drank companionably, swinging their tails and complacently flicking bugs from their ears. The creek was strong here downstream from the pools. We would need to climb the rocks for a bit before we could go swimming.

When they were satisfied Annie led the horses up into the shady woods where she slipped them each an apple and tied them to trees head to tail so they could switch each other's flies. Without speaking we began our short hike to the falls.

I'd arranged this day together before Annie went back to college so we could have a heart-to-heart. She'd let on that she was having troubles but it was hard to tell. She was always so introverted I couldn't be sure what was going on with her even though I was her mom and she was so much like me. But I am an extrovert and couldn't innately understand what made her tick, as much as I longed to.

I so wanted her to be a self-possessed woman and this late teen time was so critical. I wouldn't fail as a mother or a woman. She was my only child and my spitting image. I owed her what I know about life, about men especially. I suspected her problem was with men. She was smart and her grades were good. What else could it be?

When we got to the falls we gladly and quickly stripped off our shorts and t-shirts and shimmied down into the cool water. It was just like so many summers past. Since she was a small child we had come up here for a long day together and we always went skinny-dipping. It was very private. But her life since she'd started college had broader horizons and our opportunities to come to the falls were much fewer.

Looking at her was like looking in a mirror. The frizzy red hair, thin boned wrists and ankles, a dust of freckles across our faces and running down across our breasts. Both of us were fit, lightly muscled from all the horse work and shit shoveling. Paddling in the water I could see her trimmed bush glowing red and the bright white flesh of her belly and firm, scissoring thighs. Our pale Scotts-Irish-Viking complexions were only relieved by the freckles and our nipples, quick to pucker in the cold water. Mine were a bit darker, my breasts a little softer and smaller. She was an 'innie', I was an 'outie'.

It felt so good to float free in the water, letting it caress my body, lift me up, especially after the long hot ride up the hollow. The vista spread before us revealed rank after rank of forested mountainside expanding out into the Shenandoah Valley where just visible in the hot afternoon haze lay our farm, the property I'd married into when The Senator took me as his bride. Farther off over the Alleghenies thunderheads were forming like they did most summer afternoons.

Side by side we lay in the pool at the base of the falls with our elbows on the rocks, keeping our bodies afloat with gentle kicks of our legs. I put my head in close to hers so we could talk over the sound of the cool crashing water. The sense of privacy in our little mountain Eden was exquisite. Annie floated there looking far away, as she often did. What went on in her head?

Time for the heart-to-heart talk I'd been bursting to have since she came home for summer break.

"Annie, want to tell me what's bothering you?" I asked, putting my arm round her shoulder.

"Oh, nothing," she responded, vaguely.

"Come on, honey, I know there's something. You've been moodier this week than I've seen you in a long time."

"Really, mom, nothing." She seemed resolute. But I was her mother. I needed to know what I could do to help her. And if it was boy trouble, as I suspected, I was well qualified to assist. Eighteen years of marriage to her politician father had given me a solid education in the vagaries, proclivities and stupidities of men. I had him wrapped around my little finger.

"When I was your age...."

"No! Don't tell me about when you were my age!" she said angrily, shaking off my arm. "I know you were right there in the thick of women's liberation. You blazed a trail for all of us. Yada, Yada, Yada."

"Ouch, sweety," I said, reaching to put my hand on her arm. "I just don't like to see you suffer needlessly. If you can benefit from my experience, I want to share it. I fought on the barricades of the sexual revolution and I've got the war wounds to prove it. I'd like to spare you that pain."

"I've heard this all before. I can find my own way, thanks anyway." She turned away, still pouting.

"I can save you some heartache..."

We just lay in the water for a while. I gave her time to cool down, knowing we'd get past this and down to her real issues. She could not resist her mama's love.

She turned to me, "I don't see how you can talk about being all liberated if you don't work. Daddy keeps you at the farm, puts you on stage for his election campaigns, trots you out to do fundraising, and then sends you home. And all you do there is mess with the horses."

"Well it's a little more complex than that, darling. We have the luxury of being a wealthy family and don't forget what put you through private school. And what pays your way at Hollins. When I went there I was a charity case and had to work, too." Now I was getting angry.

"So why don't you work now, MS Betty Friedan?" She sure knew how to push my buttons.

"You think raising show horses isn't a career, or hard work? Just because I enjoy it doesn't make it easy. Your English major isn't exactly a ticket to a good independent career." I could give as good as I got. I'd counseled her to go into business or law; She'd rather write stories. She had notebooks full of them in tiny script that she showed to no one.

And I'd struck a nerve.

"I don't have any idea what to do!" she wailed.

"About what?"

"Anything!"

"Can you be more specific? Your major? Your love life?" I was fishing, looking for that opening that would get her to spill more than tears.

"Nobody likes me at school."

"Surely someone..."

"NO! Not even Sarah, who says she's my friend. We've been roommates all first year and I thought she could be trusted, but she can't be. Not at all." Annie put her head in her arms and cried.

I hugged her again, my breast pushed up against her arm like when I cuddled her as a child and dried her tears. Now my baby needed me and my maternal drive stirred. This was what I needed.

'Sweety, tell me what's wrong. Please?"

"There's this boy." Aha! I knew it had to do with a man. They're at the root of every heartache. Can't live with 'em or without 'em.

"Did he hurt you?" My first instinct; protect my child.

"No, I can take care of myself, I guess. He's sweet, but pretty stupid. Dumb bastard."

"That's it, darling, let it out. Most men are dumb bastards."

"You don't even know him! Don't call him a bastard," she paused, thinking. "Sarah's a bitch, though."

I could sense where she was going. "Did Sarah...."

"I caught them screwing in our room right after exams." She burst into tears again.

"Well that really hurts. She is a bitch. Proper Hollins girls do not steal their roommates boyfriends."

"He's not my boyfriend, Sarah is...I mean, Sarah's my 'lover'."

She suddenly looked defiant, though a little scared. She stuck out her chin and said, "Don't look so shocked. Hollins is a women's college. You know what goes on. Just like it did in your time, I'm sure."

I was stunned. I should have seen this coming. Annie and Sarah spent a lot of time together, I knew. But not like that, I thought. And I knew Annie wasn't a virgin. I'd dragged that story out of her in high school. And made sure the boy stayed out of her life after that, too.

"So she's a dyke. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Give me a moment to adjust to the idea." Wow, it was going to take a little recalibration to absorb that information. My daughter corrupted by some bull dyke lesbian bitch. Just like Annie to be influenced by a stronger personality.

Suddenly Annie's body felt very warm against mine. I became acutely aware of her nakedness. I had found a new, deeper layer to my child. My love for her, my compassion for her heartbreak rang like a bell in me. I knew I could help her through this.

"Honey," I said, quietly, "I should have counseled you about this before you went off to Hollins. I knew a lot of the girls there were lesbians. Yes, in my time it was common, too. A safe place, in fact, to explore that aspect of one's sexuality. To, um, experiment." I looked for understanding in her eyes. It was growing there.

"You mean, you...." She gasped.

"Yes, I had a lesbian tryst there in my second year." I trembled to reveal that about myself. I'd never even told my husband.

"Shit, mom."

"Yes, I feel like a Shit Mom for not anticipating this problem."

"No, you're a great mom. I just mean, Wow, I never imagined that." She was looking at me with love in her own eyes now. Not angry at me anymore.

"Well, it was brief. Then I met your father and found I liked men better. Besides he was rich, handsome and going places. I was the poor farmgirl who snatched, no pun intended, one of the most eligible young men in Virginia. I rode him to a place in society and never looked back." Well, I'd never exactly described my marriage that way. I surprised myself.

"So you're happy with Dad?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Well, I'm not sure if I like women or men best yet, either. I mean, I've tried both now but the guys are so clumsy and quick and girls are easier to get to know. Both emotionally and biblically." She laughed at her own joke. I felt the ripple of her laughter along the length of her body as she floated against me in the water. It was endearingly typical of a young woman to think she knew it all based on so little experience.

Oh, God, this was going to be an interesting conversation. I sorely wanted to be a support to my only girl child. My maternal instincts flared bright. It was like taking my own youthful self in hand and guiding her to better choices. Truthfully, I wasn't entirely happy with her father and the life we'd had. What politician's wife can be truly happy? He has the mistress of his career and usually a real mistress as well drawn by the aphrodisiac of his power. I could live with it in exchange for wealth and comfort and a chance to give my daughter every opportunity I had not had. It seemed a good bargain most of the time.

"Maybe it's good not to limit yourself when you are young," I ventured.

"You're not upset?"

"No, sweety, no. I know how hard it is to choose a lover. In my time we didn't have 'friends with benefits'. We were either angels or sluts. We fought to change that."

"I guess I should thank you," she said and gave me a little kiss on the forehead.

"We had to marry them. That is, marry men, as expected, and then fix them as we went along. No playing house for us. At least, not with a man from a family like your father's with too much old money and reputation to protect. Politicians with national ambitions, as you well know, have to have a squeaky-clean public life."

"I've seen how hard it has been for you to be a Senator's wife." She looked sympathetic, not scolding. But I thought I heard a note of sarcasm. Or a button just was pushed.

"It was a good compromise."

"I don't want to compromise, mom." She had that idealist glow to her eyes. I could see her spirit rise up. I knew she would get hurt, but I would try to soften the blow. What else could a mother do?

"Sorry, darling, but life is about compromises. It's better to think of them as choices and to make as wise a choice as you can when you're forced to."

She looked skeptical. "That's good-sounding bullshit, mom. You don't think you'd be happier with someone else, a different life?"

"Everybody wonders about a different life." I was on the defensive now.

"You mean like one without a philandering, posturing, brown-nosing politician?"

"How can you talk about your father like that!? I know you love him." I'd never heard Annie talk that way. She and her father were very close.

"But I love you, too, mom and I see how you have to suck it up. You've been doing that for years. I think you escape to the horses. And to being a mom."

"I've done well at that, I think, don't you?" It's pathetic when parent needs affirmation from their child. I'd just fallen into that pit of remorse I try so hard to avoid. What if these eighteen years had been a waste of time? My secret fear.

"You're a great mom. I think I need just a little less of one right now..."

My heart broke. My baby didn't need me. I'd been smothering her. Too much mom. Now it was my turn to cry. I hid my face in her shoulder.

Annie stroked my hair, pulled me close. Our breasts touched. I felt her hard nipples rake across mine and became confused. Self-pity and electricity both shot through me.

"No!" I pushed her away. I couldn't look in her eyes. What just happened?

I gathered myself. This was supposed to be me helping her. To help her into womanhood. I could do that for her. That was my purpose.

"You were talking about your troubles. What's your father and I got to do with it?" I tried to change the subject. To get it off of me and that spark that just passed between us.

"Well, you're my example, mom. How could I not be comparing my love life to yours?"

"Fair enough, I know that. But you see a loving couple in your parents, don't you?" I had tried to be a good model. To show her how to negotiate in a relationship so that it was not one-sided. To show her that even a married woman had power. Not like my own poor mother. "I've done much better than grandma."

"Yes, you've done better than grandma, whose drunken husband beat her and kept her barefoot and pregnant until he died an angry alcoholic loser in the gutter in Richmond, leaving her and four skinny young'uns to fend for themselves," she rattled off the litany of my sad childhood. It sounded like a bad script. Perhaps I'd used it too often.

"Yes, I did better than grandma. And made her last years a blessing, I might add." I was proud I'd been able to use my husband's money to get my own mama out of poverty. "That was part of the 'compromise' I made when I married your father."

"You've done OK, but have you done all you can with your own talents? Did you, will I, have to trade off my dreams to fit myself into my husband's life?"

"I'm surprised you have to ask that in this, the 21st century. You have more choices than I had. Our wealth and position give you that, don't forget."

"I think you had more choices than you thought. Or at least you do now." What was she suggesting? That I divorce her father and start over?

"Like what?" I asked.

"Francois Mitterand's mistress came to his funeral. With his real wife and kids. Nobody said a word."

"This isn't France, it's Virginia, sweetheart. We are in the land of Falwell and Robertson, remember."

"Dad has a woman on the side, why don't you have a man?" The impertinent little snot! She shouldn't know about that. I thought I'd protected her from the ugly little necessities of powerful men.

"Why don't I have a man on the side?" I blurted incredulously, laughing. "Oh, sweetheart you don't know what you're talking about."

"You could hide it better than him and it would only be fair. Besides, your sex sounds boring. Just as boring as you make your life out to be in those stupid campaign ads."

Holy shit, my little girl was showing some nerve. Where did this dynamo come from. Under that introverted wallflower was a radical thinker. Suddenly I was proud of her again.

"Boring? What makes you think our sex is boring?"

"I heard you through the wall."

"Your bedroom is in the other wing of the house!"

"Well, I was curious when I was little." Now she looked a little sheepish. Maybe she'd just revealed more than she meant to. She looked like she expected to be punished for it.

"Oh, sweetheart, oh, dear. Now I feel especially uncomfortable. I don't think we should talk about that. Shame on you for spying on us!" My voice didn't carry the conviction of my words.

"Did you want me to learn it 'on the street' as they say?"

"But I explained about the birds and bees when you were twelve."

"Well, I read a book on tennis, too, but that didn't mean I had any idea how to play."

"And did listening through the wall help any?"

Now she looked uncomfortable herself. Her eyes drifted toward the trees. "I peeked, too. Sorry."

"Annie!" I didn't know what to say. An image of her at the keyhole while The Senator bounced away happily on top of me played in my head. Actually, our lovemaking was pretty boring. She couldn't have seen much. The missionary position was about all in the way of sex as her father cared to practice. Furthermore if I didn't save the 'special' treats for birthdays and father's day how could I keep him under reasonable control? He'd want blowjobs every time if I gave away the goodies too often. Truthfully, he usually came fast and went right to sleep. But he was dependable. Part of the compromise.

"I guess today is True Confessions day. I bet you never even saw us naked. Your dad prefers to stay under the covers. He was brought up by prudes and I couldn't break him of that, though God knows I tried." Now I was skirting into dangerous territory. But maybe I could use my experience to help Annie. "You know it doesn't have to be boring, don't you?"

"Duh, the internet...?"

"Dear, I try not to think of you watching porn. Those poor exploited women." MILFs and self-described cum queens was not what the women's movement had been about. Not in my day.

"You settled for too little, mom. You know the sexual revolution wasn't just about power in the workplace, but also power in the bedroom. My women's studies class opened my eyes to that."

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, young lady. I used the power of my body and my intellect to wed and keep a man who has made our lives unimaginably better that it could have been otherwise. You are a spoiled brat." It was hard to hear the judgment of the child I'd sacrificed for. She had no idea.

"Its just that I can see so much more potential in you, mom!"

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"

"You're still young and good looking. Haven't you ever wanted something other than just the one dull man in your bed? Even just a one-night stand?"

"Of course I did. And I did, too." Oops, now I'd slipped up.

"You did?! When?" She looked positively delighted to hear her mom was an unfaithful wife. How could she wish that on the father she loved so much?

I chuckled, "Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I did have it on with the stableman a couple of times." It was actually for several years,but...




Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 02



"Hah, a roll in the hay! Mom, that makes me so glad. You are not all hot air about liberation after all." She was beaming.

"So, you see your mom isn't such a compromiser, Annie." I wasn't about to tell her about all my assignations. In fact my current lover's identity would probably really impress her, but still this was not the example I was trying to present to her. Or rather it was too soon to reveal so much about myself. I didn't want to undermine my own authority.

"You know, the libido is a powerful drive. I have a strong one, maybe stronger than most. It gave me the ambition to capture your father and build the horse business. Every once in a while it drove me to find satisfaction elsewhere." Wow, I'd never confessed that to anyone. She was the one to look proud, now.

"Which stableman was it, mom, Larry? Or John, the tall, rangy one? I used to masturbate thinking of him down in the barn without his shirt on." She was looking dreamy again.

"I think I should leave that to your imagination, sweety. I don't want you masturbating to images of the two of us together." Oh, dear, that wouldn't do. I could see John's face as I rode him all those summers ago, stealing an hour on a blanket in the hayloft. It actually was a roll in the hay. "Wait, John was stableman when you were thirteen. You were masturbating then?"

"You don't remember giving me the book when you told me about the birds and the bees? I clearly remember you confiding to me that 'playing with my girl parts' if I felt like it was OK."

"I'd forgotten about the book. Did it help?"

"About as much as the book on tennis." We laughed together at that, our bodies jostling together again. It was a kind of liberation to unburden myself to her, to confess and show her some of what I'd kept only to myself all those years and to know more about her desires.

"So you have a healthy sex drive, too, I guess..." A mom wants to know her daughter is 'normal' and, if not, to try to fix it. My libido and my maternal drives were both especially strong and struggling with each other now.

"Yes, I think I got that from you too, mom. I have a hard time keeping my mind on my studies sometimes. And it was real easy to fall in love with Sarah, the bitch. I mean, it just sort of happened. We were always together in our dorm room and getting naked and one thing sort of led to another. It was kind of like leaving a bag of potato chips open on the counter."

"You are your mother's daughter. You know, you don't fight the libido, you manage it, you turn it to your advantage. Maybe that's the lesson you haven't learned. Perhaps you can go to school and take Sarah back from that boy. Or take him from her? You can use your power without being ruled by it."

She looked far away, the gears clearly turning in her mind.

"That's more than enough lecture for today, mom. I'm exhausted from thinking about all of this." She gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek and another brief tingling hug then eased herself out onto the rocks.

I lolled in the water for a while thinking about all that we'd just learned about each other. It stunned me and puzzled me and excited me all at the same time. I was a proud mom and a relieved one. It was good to open up.

Soon I crawled out, too, and lay on the rock beside her, letting the late afternoon sun dry me. It made me drowsy and I had a little reverie about Annie. I could see her in Sarah's embrace; imagine their loving, caring nights. I was glad for her and also angry that she'd been betrayed. I was stung and hurting in empathy for my daughter. I so wanted to reach into Annie's life and straighten the way for her.

Seeing her lying there exposed on the rock I remembered my own eighteen-year-old self and the fear and excitement of my first sexual experiences. I recalled the clumsy fumbling in the back of cars; in the locked dorm room; trying to live the liberated life in one of the most straight-laced schools in the state. Then when I'd gotten pregnant and had the brilliant idea of convincing The Senator the child was his...

Gazing up at the falls above us I noticed something out of place. Looking closely, I saw a face resolve itself from the shadows and the rocks. Someone was watching! A man!

I pointed and shouted, "Get your clothes, Annie. There's some asshole up on the rocks watching us." We bolted for our shorts and shirts, slithering across the rocks. The face slipped away.

"We can't let this guy get away with this. Come on!" All that liberation talk brought back the old outrage. I might have laughed it off otherwise and just set off for the farm. Instead, grabbing the rifle, I led the way up the trail. Annie got her walking stick and followed like a good girl.

I broke a serious sweat climbing the switchbacks. I was so intent on catching this guy I hardly checked to see if Annie was keeping up. The crash of the falls drowned out all other sounds. I would get this guy and let him know that women wouldn't stand for this kind of treatment. We are not objects for a man's sexual perusal and consumption. Not without a prior understanding, anyway. The power situation needed to be equalized. I was determined that he would not have the advantage over us.   

Topping the cliff I trotted down the trail until I came around a bend and stopped short. There in the cool stream, in water up to mid thigh, stood a living statue of David, his back to me; the David of Michelangelo in a pose so like the original that I stopped in my tracks. This David wasn't carved in marble, though, but in mahogany. His right arm was raised; his torso torqued a bit to the left and his dark skin shone with water. His round, bunched butt with its muscled concavities drew my eye. "Nice ass," I couldn't help but think.

The libido kicked in, in spite of my anger. Annie came up behind me and stopped, too, staring.

I gathered myself again, raised the rifle and shouted, "Hold it right there!"

He turned slowly and I saw the lean tautness of his abs and below, hanging nearly to the water, a limb of quite pleasant proportions. Dragging my eyes upward with concerted effort I looked at his face. He was scared. He froze, taking in my daughter and I and especially the rifle. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be chased after spying on us. Typical male arrogance.

"You alone?" I asked. It looked like he was. He looked young and strong and fresh, and bewildered.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said.

Yes, Ma'am? What kind of smarmy suckup language was this?

"You get your jollies watching naked women bathing?" I kept the pressure on. Best to keep him off his balance. See how he answered that one.

He paused, clearly thinking up a good answer. What we got was a plausible explanation and an apology. He didn't want to scare us, he said. Was about to leave us alone when we caught him looking. Not too bad a comeback. He had some smarts to be passive. Like a dog he should roll on his back, I thought, and expose himself, be subservient, This didn't look as bad as I had imagined. The germ of an idea sprouted in the back of my mind.

"Annie, go check his camp." I pointed with the gun to his tent. She circled upstream. Smart girl. Thunder rumbled far away.

"Looks like a one-man camp up here," she called back shortly. I watched the boy relax a little. He didn't shrivel under my scrutiny, I noted approvingly. He did try to cover himself. Oh no, we couldn't have him hiding that beautiful thing. It was a nice piece of lumber he was carrying. He seemed to know it, too. Typical male arrogance.

"Keep your arms up, Lumberjack," I smiled, challenging. "Check his pants for ID, Annie."

She crept down and pulled his shorts from the rock he'd spread them on, ripped the Velcro at the rear pocket and rifled his wallet. Another roll of thunder sounded, closer this time.

"Jackson Elliot. Student ID. University of Virginia." Annie looked at me blankly. I did a quick inventory of our unwelcome guest. Not a bad looking boy. I'd met her father when he and his law school buddies took a road trip to Hollins back in the day. I had a strange sense of deja-vu or maybe sensed a chance for a do-over of sorts. Maybe I could make this a teachable moment for Annie.

"Jackson? They call you Jack? I pegged him right, calling him Lumberjack, huh, Annie? How's it feel to be gawked at, Lumberjack?"

Just then the rain poured down and made the idea of my standing there pointing a gun at this lonely hiker seem ridiculous. It was cold and coming down hard, suddenly soaking us through. The boy grabbed his pants from Annie, pogo'ed his legs into them and ran up toward the tent.

"You stand still!" I wasn't going to shoot him, of course. Never was. But he was getting out of control.

"I'm going in the tent. I'm harmless to you and there's no point in standing here getting wetter," he yelled. A sensible argument, actually.

I started after him, grabbed Annie by the arm and slipped up the muddy trail.

He dove in the tent just before us. The sudden rain and the thought of him getting away frazzled me. I did something I would never have imagined myself doing. I poked the rifle in his face and said, "Move back, Jack."

We piled into the tent with him, dripping. It was cramped; we were bent and tangled, trying to keep him on the defensive. I'm not sure what my purpose was at that point. Was it to get dry? To punish the young voyeur? Create a lesson for Annie? To be the huntress? I was not in control myself and just acting on impulse.

"The gun is not necessary," he said angrily.

Still off balance in the little tent I turned, trying to sit cross-legged.

The gun went off with an ear-numbing bang and we all froze. Beside my daughter's wide-eyed face there was a small hole blown in the tent. I'd nearly killed her!

"Oh, God, Annie!" Shocked at my own carelessness, I dropped the rifle. Jack grabbed it, forced his way between us and threw it out into the rain. As he withdrew into the tent again Annie and I fell into each other's arms, bawling in fright and relief.

It took some time to calm down. All three of us were scared and confused. I held Annie as she trembled and the rain thudded against the thin tent. Without a gun I realized I would need to use other feminine powers to keep us safe and in control. It was just as well. I was not good with a gun; I was good with my 'feminine powers'.

Annie gradually regained her composure and her heaving sobs turned to laughter. She looked up at Jack.

"You didn't need to ruin the rifle. There was only the one bullet," she chuckled. The girl still seemed to be in some other world than this one. In Jack I saw a stud waiting to be broken. I'm not sure what she saw. She was hard to read.

Jack sat there in just his shorts, shivering a bit. I took pity on him, poor boy.

I held out my hand, "OK, let's call it even. We've all had a good scare and we're drenched as drowned kittens. I'm sorry. My name is Cheryl."

We shook hands, though tentatively, as could be expected under the circumstances. But the tension was clearing. The chilly discomfort of our situation was becoming the paramount issue. Three strangers who'd caught each other in the buff, soaked by the cold rain, nearly shot, now trapped in a fragile tent in a thunderstorm as night quickly fell. I could hear the stream roaring nearby. It had become a torrent in the downpour.

Jack, coming back to his senses, noticed the effect the cold rain had on our t-shirts. Rock hard nipples, for one. Goosebumps on our arms, too. Printed on Annie's nicely stretched shirt was; 'Equestrians Do It In Leather'. I could see that piqued his interest, cold though he was.

I craned my neck at the door of the tent. "It looks like we're not crossing that creek any time soon, Annie. It's halfway up to the tent now. Likely to get higher." Actually, the plan that had implanted itself in my unconscious now wormed itself into my thoughts. This high water played right into my hands. This could be a teachable moment for Annie. I could still be a good mom.

Jack said, "We're going to need a fire, but the rain's got to let up first. I've got a flashlight I can give you to get you down to your camp."

"We don't have a camp. We rode our horses up to the falls for the day," said Annie. "I'm worried about Gantry. He's my gelding."

"Gantry and Mudge'll be OK, Annie. They were tied high enough. Anyway, if they get loose they know the way home. We're not going to go stumbling around those falls tonight with or without a flashlight. We're going to need to stay here." I looked apologetically, coyly at Jack. Though he noticed that my eyes tended to wander over his chest and lower as I talked.

That little germ of an idea had sprouted and was sending up strong green shoots. I appraised him, as I hadn't done with a man for years. He sat, a brown Adonis in nothing but his shorts, those shorts covering a thing of great beauty. My eyes caressed him. He knew I knew what he looked like naked. I stared pointedly at his shorts and the tent that had risen there. I smiled. Annie looked back and forth between us two. Only inches apart in the tent, the air began to fill with a faint aroma of arousal.

The rain was slackening.

"I'm getting really cold," Annie said through gritted teeth. Our hair and clothes were still sopping.

As the light failed, Jack cleared his throat and moved to crawl out the door saying he needed to start the fire. Good idea. We would be needing it. Especially if my plan came to fruition.

While he worked on the fire I took Annie into my confidence.

"What do you think of Jack?" I asked, making clear with my eyes what I meant.

"Oh! You mean do I like the way he looks?"

"Didn't you see the pole in his tent, nudge, nudge, wink, wink? Don't you want to have sex with him?"

"Mom! That's kind of personal, don't you think?" I'd pushed her a bit farther than she was ready to go, maybe, but I needed to be the one steering events tonight.

"Not after our talk earlier, little girl. When your horse throws you, you need to get back up in the saddle."

Annie looked in my eyes and saw how serious I was about this. She giggled, "You don't want me to have sex with Jack? Right here? Where would you go?"

"Oh I intend to be right in here with you..." I surprised even myself with that declaration. But I could see she needed lessons and, like she said, a hands-on demonstration was much better than a book. My plan was to show her how to take and keep control of a man. And her libido.

"Wait! You want to watch me have sex? Eww, I'm not too sure about that, mom."

"Listen, you need some remedial schooling and I know what's needed here. I used to change your diapers, so don't be feeling too self-conscious about that. I can show you how it's done." My boldness made me even more excited. My shivering was part cold, part anticipation.

"Wh, what do you mean 'show me how it's done'?" she pulled away, looking at me a bit alarmed and, if my instincts were right, a bit intrigued.

"I want to show you how to take a man and make him your partner, not just someone who uses you and leaves you wanting more."

"You're going to have sex with him, too? I'm not sure I want to see that..." She seemed to be considering it, though. Her eyes began to drift into that dreamy space of hers. I could see her weighing the possibility.

"Think of it this way. We look so much alike that you can imagine it's you. It will be like you're watching yourself on TV or YouTube or whatever you kids watch." Now that was turning me on. What a creative organ the brain is when stimulated with hormones.

"So I'm going to watch you screw a black boy and pretend I'm watching myself?"

"Better yet, pretend it's you making love to Obama! I know you've thought of it. What healthy American woman hasn't?" I played my trump card and I could see the light of lust-fired inspiration in her eyes.

"Well, I guess...you think Jack would do it?" She breathed. Clearly she was nearly convinced.

"Are you kidding? He's a young, strapping man. You saw his boner, didn't you? Trust me, we've got the bit in his mouth and we're going to lead him where we want. This is something you need to know how to do. I'm only sorry I didn't teach you earlier."

She was shivering, too, and I wasn't sure if it was with excitement or cold, but like me, I expect it was both. I was determined to take care of her and fulfill my mother's obligations tonight.

"Listen," I whispered, "I'm going to get him ready for you. Just follow my lead. Remember, if it helps, imagine I'm you. Watch and learn."

We crawled out of the tent into the light of the fire. The rain had ceased, thank God.

"Ooo, that feels good, LumberJack," I said, "This boy's got some Boy Scout skills!"

"You want to be careful who you call 'boy', ma'am." Jack said, turning toward me at the fire, his skin glowing golden.

"I noticed you have a damn nice all-over tan, Jack. I should have realized..." I breathed, looking again at the chocolate skin rippling over his muscles. "Are you black?"

"My dad was black, my mom was white. I'm mistaken for both. I'm used to it."

"Like Obama, then," said Annie, bouncing on her toes. "I voted for him!"

I thought , "Don't let your father know that, child." That would upset him as much as what we were about to do. Oh, this was working out better than I'd planned.

"Well, you've built a good fire here, Jack, let's put it to good use," I said and, without needless preamble, reached to strip off.

First, I peeled the t-shirt. My boobs swayed and I felt his eyes on them as the fire blazed the chill out of my skin, turning me pink. Next, I peeled off the shorts and that fire did feel good on my soggy bush. I turned to warm my backside and watched Annie follow my lead in pulling off her clothes. Jack's eyes darted between the two of us as he stood there in his tented shorts looking perplexed. I moved quickly so he wouldn't have time to react, to keep him off balance and me in control.   

We put our clothes on the bushes and turned to bask in the firelight. It felt so good to get crisped after the chilling of the rain and the moment of terror in the tent. I began to relax and my old reliable libido lit under the front burner, so to speak. Just running my eyes over Jack got the kettle whistling. I wanted to taste his mahogany skin, run my fingers through his hair, slide my nipples across his bulging pects.

Annie had seen me naked for all her life but never had she seen me having sex. So she could hear her father and I through the wall now and then, so what? This was entirely different. The lengths I went to to be a good mother. Tonight, I would be the willing sacrifice to her growing womanhood.

And she seemed to be getting in the spirit of things. She stood there naked and dancing before the fire like me, looking either blank or seductive as she spun, I wasn't sure. Anyway she was following my instructions and my lead. She danced facing the fire and raised her arms to the dark sky, an offering to the night gods, or to the virile young man, or both.

The memory of her nipples as they raked my breasts earlier in the pool shot through me, causing a shiver. My body pulled me toward the young man, and my mind stirred to the memory of my excitement at my daughter's touch. It was a twisted cord of growing desire that stretched between my head and my groin. Soon it would snap and we'd both be changed.

Confronted with two suddenly naked and desiring women, Jack wasn't slow on the up-take. He dropped his shorts and that woody limb swung free. Both Annie and I were drawn to it. She wasn't freaking out about this. Good. I recognized that the power of the libido was strong in her as it was in me. She was clearly my daughter. 'You don't fight the libido, you manage it'. I'd show her how.




Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 02



After a twirl in front of the flames I let Jack take me in his arms from behind. His cock and my fire-warmed buttocks nested together well as he wrapped his arms around me, crushing my breasts. Very good. I drew a deep ragged breath as need boiled in me. The telltale quiver between my legs had begun. The twisted cord of lust pulled sharply, urgently in my pussy. I felt warm in the light of the fire but also felt heated from the inside out, from my melting feminine core where the juices began to flow.

Jack ran his hands down and cupped my belly, pressing his cock along the channel of my spine while he bit gently at my ear. I pressed back in a rather unnecessary invitation. Obviously this had gone far enough that he knew we were going 'all the way'. Did the kids still use that phrase?

Releasing my breasts to the warmth of the fire, he ran his fingers gently over the sharp edge of my hipbones, teasing me. I watched Annie mirroring his motions on her own body, seeming to drift, eyes half closed. She was doing an excellent job of seduction. I was proud. Jack ran his hands slowly toward my pubes and Annie's did the same on her own.

I turned to kiss him with a hungry mouth, then ran my eager hands over his chest, his arms, feeling the solidness of him and the sheen of sweat that made him glisten like polished teak. I let myself fall into the moment with half my mind on the lesson I was giving and the other on the pleasure I was getting, keeping my balance. Displaying myself as an object lesson for my own daughter triggered something unexpected in me. I climbed toward my bliss.

I thought, "OK, watch this, young lady. See how it's done." Pride swelled in me as well as longing. I reached down, pushed Jack's pole between my legs and straddled him, got in the saddle and rode him. I was hot and wet down there already. He groaned and his kisses grew greedier. His arms encircled me again as I trapped his cock between my thighs. I felt his length protruding out behind me toward the fire.

I had a goal for Annie and I would get her there. But the journey is the destination. My need for pleasure was being met and I'd see that Jack got his due as well. But me first. That's my idea of sexual equality.

I rocked my hips as I straddled him on tiptoe, letting his hardness rub my vagina. I squeezed my legs and crushed him against my clit, sending bolts of white heat through me. Our kisses grew violent.

Suddenly, a hand stroked between my legs and Jack gasped. There was Annie beside me, touching the organ pulsing at my opening, smearing our juices. I was so grateful to her for her courage, for her willingness to follow me into her new future. It was that feeling of pride and of broken taboos as much as being crushed in the arms of a young, black man that brought on my peak.

My daughter's delicate fingers stroked between my thighs, brushed my swollen pussy lips, touched me at my most intimate place. That cord of desire unraveled and my mind, which had quailed at the thought of sex in front of my child, went spinning off into a void. I let my libido have control for a few delirious moments as I rocked in the saddle, riding Jack to my orgasm.

I bit Jack's lip in my abandon as the shock of climax made me limp. He turned and pulled Annie by the hair into a shuddering kiss as I dangled in his strong arms, straddling his cock. He was breathing hard and shaking. I knew he was mine, and he was close. "Now for the coup de grace," I thought.

I dropped quickly to my knees, kissing him on the way down. Collarbone...nipples... abs. I grabbed his hard ass for a good squeeze then wrapped my fingers around his cock, that beautifully grained limb. It smelled of me. And it was juicy, glinting in the firelight, dripping with his desire and mine. I smiled up at him and took a lick.

Then I spread my lips and slid them over the crown. I held him there and licked, tasting the two of us. Annie watched, eagerly, as my mouth stretched, devouring him. I wanted her to see a strong woman in control. Sexual Jiu Jitsu is what it was, 'the way of yielding'. I feigned weakness to turn my opponent's power back on him. He thought he was fucking my mouth; I was fucking with his head, feeding his ego. I was wearing the spurs.

Jack was leaning on Annie now, barely able to stand and taking deep noisy breaths. We were a team, Annie and I, taking this man for our pleasure and giving in equal measure. One more moment and he would shoot, then we'd have him for the night.

I reached around to his ass and pulled him deep into my mouth, backed off and quickly pulled him in again. He let out a ragged moan as he shook on his wobbling legs.

Annie said, "Mom, I want a turn."

Perfect. He exploded with a powerful thrust into my mouth, gushing up a thick wad of spunk. He fell back and his black cock swung loose. Out of the dark wood a stream of white shot across my face, then another. I grabbed him again and got my mouth over his flailing, spurting organ. I sucked him until he dropped away exhausted, stumbling back and onto the ground. That beautiful shiny, black cock lay across his hip, drooling.

The fire shone up his bronze legs, licking his testicles. He took a long time catching his breath. He would think he'd fallen in shit and come up smelling like roses.

"Aww, mom," Annie pouted. "You said I could have a turn."

Still on my knees, wiping the semen from my face, I assured her, "You will, honey. We'll be keeping each other warm in that tent all night long. I told you we needed to get his first shot out of the way, didn't I? I'm going to throw some more wood on the fire. You spread that sleeping bag out in the tent. Wipe out the mud that we dragged in there first. We're going to get you saddled up here next."

Jack stared at us with bemusement. I'm sure he couldn't believe what was happening to him. He watched us both as he lay there recovering, a dumb grin on his face. Just like a man to have his brains shut down when he got his rocks off.

I stoked the fire. Annie took her t-shirt and knelt on all fours at the tent door cleaning the floor. Her round white ass swayed in the air, the pink petals of her pussy glistening in the firelight. The flashlight threw the shadow of her swaying breasts against the wall of the tent. Soon she had the dirt out and the sleeping bag arranged. She also had Jack's undivided attention. His cock stirred again.

Now the lesson would really begin. From Annie's whining about not getting a turn I could tell, as I already knew, that she hadn't mastered her libido. My earlier diagnosis seemed correct. She was a slave to her sex drive and so gave up too much too soon. What I hoped to show her was that a tactical blowjob like the one I had just delivered could be, not a defeat, but the first battle in a campaign of sexual liberation. Liberation through ejaculation, let's call it.

I knelt by Jack's head and whispered, "I'm betting you are a smart young man and not given to ungentlemanly behavior. But remember, even if there is a black man in the white house this is Virginia and the testimony of two white women still trumps a black man's in court. So let's just enjoy ourselves here tonight." I trailed a fingernail along the length of his pecker. "You do what I say and nobody gets hurt, OK?"

A look of brief outrage mixed with lust and followed by resignation crossed his face. I'd made him an offer he couldn't refuse. What would it hurt him to be a follower rather than a leader, to be ridden rather than a rider? And it put him right where I wanted him. Right were I could use him as a teaching aid.

I stood, reached for his hand and helped him to his feet. My inner thighs were wet with my own excitement. His cock wagged, half hard. I felt a hollowness in my crotch that was exactly his shape and it called out for him. But I could wait a little longer. We paused a moment to admire Annie's rump as it glowed, moonlike, in the firelight.

I led him to the tent.



Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 03



This story is the third of a multi-part series. Each story examines the experience from the viewpoint of a different character. Although not essential, I think you will enjoy them better if you read this one after reading the first and second stories in the series because there is a plot spoiler in this segment. And as always, comments are very welcome. Thanks for reading.





"My mom is totally fucked up. Totally. Fucked. Up!"

Dr. Marc Scarpelli was glad to hear it. Finally, after two sessions of stony silence, his patient was beginning to break down. "Why do you say that, Annie?"

"She put me in here for no good reason, for one."

"I was told you were found several miles from your home wandering naked down a dirt road in a dissociative state. Your mother thought it was caused by drug use." Would she confirm or deny?

"I don't take a lot of drugs." The girl looked at the floor as she said this. Evasive, he observed, but not a complete denial. The light beach robe she wore, monogrammed with overlapping Cs, was belted tightly. Her arms were crossed over her breasts. On her feet hung lime-green flip-flops. The rigid posture was to be expected.

"I know it's hard to be here against your will, Annie. I want to get you out as soon as possible, but I would like to understand what happened that got you to the treatment center." Dr Scarpelli had no reasonable expectation that he could earn her trust without patience. Most spoiled children of the wealthy were armored against it and he was her father's age, a likely vector of transference of the emotions of her childhood. Thus, he reasoned, it would be a very delicate dance he would lead to help her find her psychological injury. Not that he really relished the process. One rich brat is much like the last and he'd seen hundreds of them.

"I don't know why the fuck I'm here, I said. " She pouted and fell silent again.

As he waited, silent himself, providing an uncomfortable void for her to fill, his thoughts drifted to the notes in his lap that he was writing for the blurb the publisher had asked him to provide to his employer's latest book, "My Good Fortune: How Wealth Will Make Me a Better Person". What a crock of shit. Providing discreet psychological services to the rich and famous involved some bizarre marketing. But he couldn't disappoint. It was the charm and persuasiveness of his boss, Dr. Taylor Sandridge, that kept him in Mercedes and Ferragamo. Being on staff at Crosswinds Center had its perks, but he was beginning to suspect his actual skill as a psychotherapist was less clinically sound that he liked to think. He hadn't published in the 15 years since graduate school.

"According to your mother the pants you weren't wearing had a few Poppers, some Ludes and a couple of Yellow Jackets in a baggie in the pocket. She's concerned for you."

Annie sat up straight, knees tight together, looked him fiercely in the eye and said, "Fuck my mother!"

He'd seen her mother, of course. She was the wife of Virginia Senator Clarke and was a public figure herself, at least during political campaigns. She was a well-known society grande dame; a patronness of good causes and damned good looking. He would consider fucking her if it wasn't extremely unprofessional. As a trained therapist he could allow himself those thoughts without guilt; he knew he wouldn't act on them. Mother and daughter looked remarkably alike, he was surprised to learn when Annie was first shown into his office on Monday afternoon for her fist silent session. He'd observed her closely as she sat clenched on the couch opposite him, fuming at her confinement.

She flashed the same bright red hair and scattering of freckles that her mother had, and the same green eyes. Her figure was trim, her skin clear as he'd come to expect of the children of the wealthy. He'd read of her mother's success in the horse world and wondered if Annie's fitness was real or artificial; was she fit from actual work or from gym-rat workouts, from incipient anorexia or bulimia? Her fingernails, short and square-cut, suggested the former. Wearing the center's regulation robe prevented him assessing any character traits from her clothing. He found that a handicap. He looked closely at her for clues, nonetheless.

"And fuck you, too!" her outburst brought him back to the present and snapped his gaze from her toned calves to her green and angry eyes. He shouldn't let his mind wander like that. He was making the job harder for himself.

"Can you tell me about the drugs, Annie? The ones you don't take much of."

"I don't have to explain anything to you. My mother hired you to make sure I don't embarrass her or The Senator. I'll just wait until she decides she's spent too much on your fucking 'treatment' and lets me go back to school." She stared at the floor again, tears welling in her eyes, like a sullen child rather than the 18-year-old college girl that she was. This kind of regression was a good thing. It gave him some leverage.

"That's true, Annie," he said gently, leaning forward, "you don't have to explain anything to me. And your mom could make the decision to send you back to school irrespective of your progress here."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye while he waited, a practiced, benign smile on his lips. Now was the time to be the understanding, compassionate father. "Let the transference begin!" he thought.

"What does your father think of all of this?" he asked, a look of concern on his face.

She sniffled, "He probably doesn't even know where I am..."

"That's a sad thought. I suppose he's always very busy in Washington, isn't he?"

"My god-damned mother probably hasn't even told him, yet." She wiped her nose on the bathrobe sleeve. Marc pulled a tissue from the always-present box and held it out to her. Evening sun gave the room an orange glow, which he couldn't help but notice nicely complemented her pale complexion, especially the freckles. He was a sucker for freckles.

Holding the tissue to her nose she said, "Mom just wants to clean this mess up quietly before bothering him with it. She's very protective of his career."

"How do you feel about that?"

She snorted, ""How do you feel about that?" What is this, therapy 101? She's right. It's nothing anyway, so I'm just as glad he doesn't know."

"I think I would feel sad. If I were a father I'd want to know if my daughter were in trouble." 

At this she burst into tears again, huddled in the corner of the couch. Marc stood, set down his notepad and moved to sit beside her. She stiffened as he put one strong, fatherly arm around her and said, "Annie, I know you're hurting. I know you don't trust me and you are angry at the world right now. I can also see that there is more to this situation than your mother suspects. Think of it this way: she's paying the Center for damage control. Fair enough. But I'm here to help you. I don't care who is paying whom for what. I'm your doctor. What you say to me is confidential. Why don't you get everything you can out of this on your mother's dime?"

Slowly, her sobs quieted. But she kept her face in her hands. He hoped she was considering his offer. As he waited the first notes of Boccherini's Minuetto Con Grazia began playing, marking the end of the session. He gently disengaged with Annie and returned to his chair.

"Annie, what is said between us is protected by the shield of Doctor-patient confidentiality. I won't be saying anything to your mother or father unless you OK it. It's my work to help you feel better and that is only between me and you."

The girl slowly rose from the couch and without looking at him walked from the room. She closed the door with a click behind her and he was left to wonder if she'd take him up on it. A staff nurse would be waiting outside to make sure she got safely back to her room. 

She was his last client of the day. He scribbled some quick notes and locked his pad in the desk drawer, visited the adjoining bathroom to pee then and also left the consultation room. One reason he'd languished professionally here at Crosswinds was the sweet location, another perk of working for the wealthy. The center was hidden on one of the most private enclaves of the families of power and privilege on the East Coast. Figure Eight Island, off the coast of North Carolina, was accessible only by a private drawbridge and even though multi-million dollar beach houses lined its exquisitely manicured dunes cheek-by-jowl the place was almost always nearly empty. Dr. Sandridge had set up shop in a large stucco and weathered wood structure that any normal person would consider a mansion and very discreetly treated his clientele right in their own back yard.

So Doctor Marc Scarpelli lived like a playboy earning a very comfortable living by the sand and the waves while just sitting on his ass listening to the complaints of an endless string of whining plutocrats and their progeny. Money didn't buy sanity; it actually allowed the rich to keep it at bay longer. And Freud was right. The treatment didn't work if the client didn't pay for it. These folks were paying plenty so they really thought they were getting world-class treatment. They were rich, not smart.

Passing through the staff wing he poked his head in the office of the old, gay research assistant for an update on Annie's background. Crosswinds kept ahead of its clients by having world-class dossiers on them made up as quickly as possible after intake. For some, they had documentation even before they were admitted – it was a valuable overhead investment. Many celebrities were so prominently in the news that it wasn't too hard to predict that they would show up at Crosswinds as their personal lives so publicly disintegrated.

Coleman, the researcher, was a professional fanboy (aging but fabulous!) and so his interest in all things in the celebrity sphere made him very good at his job. He clearly loved it as he gathered as much public and private information on the clientele as possible. Marc asked with confidence for the file on The Senators' family.

"Right here, Dr. Scarpelli," smiled Coleman primly, slipping the folder over his desk. He spent his days ferreting in a windowless room where, pale and mole-like, he burrowed happily into other people's lives even while the surf and sun sparkled outside. Scarpelli knew he didn't have a partner and so understood that other people's lives substituted for his own quite well. His life was a fantasy of glamour and acclaim, wealth and comfort lived out in a box.

Even his taste in wall art revealed the escapist nature of his existence. A Thomas Kinkade painting of a mill by a pond in a wood hung behind him. 

"Coleman, I'm all for gay marriage, but there really ought to be a law against Thomas Kinkade," he teased. Waving the file he asked, "Any problems with this one?" 

"I think you'll find the mother's history particularly interesting..." suggested Coleman, carefully modulating his avid interest and his nominal professional detachment. It was clear he loved digging up dirt. 

Marc left with a nod to the researcher and, putting the folder in his briefcase, stepped out into the late evening dimness. The sun had just set and the arc of the sky blazed with orange, violet and red tinged clouds. In the shadows the heat of the day had just begun to seep out of thick air now stirred by the offshore breeze. 

He hopped in his C-class convertible and rolled over the bridge, down the marsh-lined causeway and past the security booth for a nightcap. On the drive into Wilmington on 17, passing the squalid tourist areas with their litter of gas stations, miniature golf courses, motels, tattoo parlors, pawn shops and surfboard-decorated restaurants shouting out in neon, he thought again about Annie.

Normally he would put his work out of this mind when leaving Crosswinds but something about the damaged girl tugged at him. Perhaps his compassion was roused by the thought that she could be his own daughter. Or maybe, knowing the loathsome conservative views of her Senator father, he had more sympathy. At any rate her image and that of her intriguing mother made equations in his head as he pulled up to the Rusty Nail and went into its dark embrace for a beer and some decent live jazz. In a backwater like this he had to get his cultural needs met where he could and he'd become a regular. He was guilty of trading a few stories of his clients for a free drink or two or some female company. He considered it a minor compensation for the stresses of his job – a healthy adjustment.

Contrary to his usual habit of getting quietly drunk he read the Clarke file over a couple of beers. What he learned gave him ideas. Some of them were highly unprofessional.

The next morning brought another blue-skied and breezy day to Crosswinds. Most clients at the center, so exclusive that it only accommodated six at one time, spent the morning in educational sessions one-on-one with staff selected to address their specific needs. For Annie it was drug-awareness talks with a recovering addict-turned-therapist followed by exercise and several hours of lying on the sand, her minder nearby. The food was every bit as exclusive as she was accustomed to; French-trained chefs prepared all three meals. This was not a boot camp, but meant to be a familiar and safe haven. On the surface it was just like a vacation except for her enforced residence at the Center and the interminable sessions with Dr. Scarpelli.

She dreaded her meetings with him. She missed the depressants, too. You'd think lying on the beach surrounded by vacation homes would allow her to forget about the world, but for her the real world was creeping steadily and menacingly back in. She couldn't remember what had happened the prior weekend before she'd found herself wrapped in a blanket in the back of a Virginia State Police sedan speeding south on I-95.

She recalled riding Gantry up the trail behind her mother in the morning sun, dreading what would likely be a day of forced intimacy. She knew her mom had a heart-to-heart talk planned before she went back to Hollins and she hated the idea. The Ludes were meant to make it bearable.

There was a big blank between that scene and the backseat of the cruiser on Sunday night. It scared her. If she let her mind drift toward that missing time she caught flashes of a young black man with no shirt on who looked, bizarrely, like President Obama. That couldn't be real, could it? OK, she voted for, even secretly campaigned for, Obama so probably she'd had some kind of drug trip or something. 

Her fear of knowing and terror of not knowing kept her stuck. She just wanted to go home or someplace safer. But as the week slipped by in infuriatingly boring drug education lectures, phony group confession sessions and aimless waiting she realized that no place was safer. She couldn't face her mom without knowing what happened. She was about to crawl out of her skin.

When she had awoken in the cruiser she had heard her mother in the front seat talking to the trooper driving but couldn't make out what was said. It was clear she was in trouble and mother was furious. 

Her mother looked relieved but no less angry when she said she couldn't remember the last 36 hours but then she'd dragged her to this laughably phony drug treatment place and left her here. Mother gave her a smothering hug and a kiss on the forehead before tearing off with the trooper to do damage control back home. Annie understood she was in deep shit and to keep her mouth shut at the risk of destroying her mother's life. Bad publicity was the boogey man and public shame was the death he would inflict on the family. Her mother's fears had become her own.

Her mother's last words to her on leaving were, "Do not say anything to anyone about what happened Saturday night, no matter what." The fierce intensity in her eyes was the scariest thing she'd ever seen.

Dr Scarpelli's argument began to make sense to her as she curled in the pain of her uncertainty. She was half afraid but half eager to open up to him in today's session. Annie needed to know just what she was in trouble for.

"My mom is overbearing and demanding and never wrong and manipulative as hell. I wish I had some sisters and brothers for her to dissipate it all on but I'm her only one, so... I thought going to college would get me out of her orbit, but hell no!" Five minutes into the session she'd looked into his kind eyes and it had all begun spilling out. This is what he'd been waiting for.

First came the resentment and anger of an over-protected child, then the tears and fears and vulnerability. He sat across from her letting her drain the wound, gently encouraging her to begin to process years of what was essentially stunted growth. Her mother had made a bonsai of her. Annie was twisted by the force of her mother's personality. Not an unusual story, really. She used the drugs to hide herself, to give herself a sanctuary, was his assessment. 

He thought it was a shame that he would not be able to help her all the way through her awakening. Such was the nature of treatment at Crosswinds. They applied very expensive bandaids here.

Still, he felt great compassion for the girl. She was relaxed now and slumped on the couch, still talking, although more subdued. 

"So, you were riding your horses up the mountain behind your farm?" he probed.

The girl went quiet. She stared into the middle-distance as if seeing the scene. "We were hot and we were riding to the pools. She was going to grill me about everything. She thinks I'm unhappy when I don't talk to her. She doesn't understand why our conversations are so pointless. I spend all my time evading her until she wears me down. I lie to satisfy her. I told her I was a lesbian and she loved it!"

"I know it's hard to love someone and loathe them at the same time. Its normal, Annie," He'd walked many an adolescent through this minefield.

She continued, "We were skinny-dipping and talking about my "love life". It's none of her fucking business, the fucking whore. She fucks the stablemen, you know?" Now they were getting somewhere. He could list the complexes. Although his own lizard brain was engaged imagining the mother in flagrante dilecto with a sweaty farmworker he let those thoughts run on a separate track. He wasn't one to repress, though he was trained not to express. At least not with a patient.

"You skinny-dip with your mom?" he couldn't help but ask. It was clinically important information.

"What, you think that's sick? She's the sick one, not me." As Annie relaxed she slumped further down in the cushions, her arms lying limply at her sides. The Crosswinds beach robe slipped aside, revealing the light yellow bikini she'd been issued at intake. She filled its cups nicely...

"I think you're right, Annie, no mother should force their daughter to be naked with them. Frankly, I see the situation you are in and I'm so sorry you've had to live this way. May I explain how this looks from a therapeutic perspective?" Marc was trading trust for trust. If he let her in on his thinking she would be more likely to let him in to hers. He wanted to find out just how into the drugs she was. It was his only hope of affecting a change in her because he would tailor his treatment recommendation to her degree of addiction. He sensed he was beginning to actually care about this one.

Still staring she murmured, "Ok, whatever." Her knees had begun to part. Marc's eyes were drawn to the mound at her crotch. The yellow cotton hugged her woman parts tightly, showing a slight seam where she was naturally parted. His own pants got a little tight.

Marc cleared his throat, "Annie, in my field we study the family as a dynamic entity. That is, no person in the family behaves in isolation. What you do is affected by what each other person does. When dysfunction occurs it is not unusual for one family member to become what we call the 'identified patient', but really the entire family needs help. Do you see what I mean?"




Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 03



"You're saying I'm not the only sick one?" Her chest heaved with a sob. The freckled breastflesh strained against the bikini. Marc's pants tightened further.

"Right. In fact, I'd say you are not sick, just a victim. You are the identified patient, but I'll tell you, even though it's a little unorthodox, that your mother is definitely diagnosable. You can come out of this OK. You are young and strong and resilient." Boy was she ever young. His eyes trailed down from her breasts, along her downy belly and caught again in the V between her thighs. And he thought about how her mother looked so much like her. Skinny-dipping together. Really?

"I have to ask you a difficult question, Annie, OK? 

"OK..."

"When you were skinny-dipping? Um, when you were skinny-dipping was there any inappropriate contact?" He kept his notepad in his lap to cover his boner. His very unprofessional, very vibrant boner.

"She hugged me, but, but, no it wasn't, wasn't like that," her voice trailed off then she slumped like a rag doll and her head fell forward for a long moment. Just as abruptly she went stiff, her hands grabbed the edge of the couch cushions and her eyes shot open.

She blurted, "Oh my God, Oh my God! OH MY GOD! My mom blew a black guy. She blew a black guy! Right in front of me!" She began crying. Sinking back into the couch, legs spread, arms again limp at her side, she abandoned her body. Annie stared at the wall, slack but breathing deeply, tears on her cheeks unwiped. 

Marc saw that she'd disassociated again. It was a surprise. He'd thought the issue was only drugs. Could she be hallucinating? Lying?

"When did this happen, Annie?"

She spoke slowly and with a sense of awe. "Then. That afternoon. He saw us naked in the pool. We chased him with a rifle. We, we got rained on and got in his tent and the gun went off and we built a fire and my mom got down on her knees naked and sucked him off. He came all over her face." 

Marc was speechless. The lizard brain could see the red-haired woman in the firelight and on her knees. He imagined the thick, hard black cock sucked deep into her mouth. And even more thrilling was the image of this young girl watching, standing there as her mother fellated a stranger and took a shower of spunk on her freckled face. A face so like the girl in a trance before him. He began to tremble. No words came.

But Annie was still in that other space. She went on, "I was naked, too and we had been dancing in the firelight. He was tall and he looked like Obama and he came up behind my mom and wrapped his arms around her boobs and she liked it. She turned around and rubbed up against him like a skank. My mom, the skank... I touched myself. I touched myself. She's selfish." On the couch her hands glided slowly to her crotch. She indeed touched herself. Marc shifted in his chair as she cupped her sex in both hands and held it. Her breasts pushed up between her arms and threatened to break free.

"What, uh, what happened next?" was all he could say. 

"Mom put his dick between her legs and rode it. I saw it poke out behind. She told me to pretend she was me before or he was Obama or some shit to make we want to do it. But I already wanted to do it and she went first, the bitch. I touched his dick where it poked out behind her and I kissed him. And he kissed me back and I touched my mom's pussy lips and she came. I made her come when I touched her, I think."

Marc couldn't speak or write any notes for shaking. This was the strangest session he'd ever heard and he was believing every word. Annie just couldn't be making this up. She couldn't be that good an actor.

And in a little girl voice she went on. "Then mom got on her knees and started licking his cock. It had her juice on it. I had her juice and some of his on my fingers, too, and I put one in my mouth. And then I put one in his mouth and he yelled and I looked down and my mom had his long black boner in her hand and it shot in her mouth and his white cum was dripping from her lips. Then she pulled it out and he shot goo on her face and she was smiling really dirty. But I said, 'I want a turn' because I really did and she said my turn was next."

The ache in Marc's pants was nearly unbearable as he listened to the girl spew her story. She lay there fingering herself and rocking her hips into her hands, breathing hard and unaware of her surroundings. He wanted to jump her. But didn't. Couldn't. Couldn't do something so suicidal. 

But there was more.

"We went in the tent and it was small and we were smashed up together naked. I didn't care anymore. My mom's a whore, anyway. She's selfish. She started sucking him again! And he started licking her pussy but I was mad. 'I said I want a turn,' I said, and she moved over and I sat on his face and he licked me. So mom and I both sucked him. She held it and aimed it at my mouth. It was all shiny and veiny and big. It was big and black. I could only get the fat, soft end in my mouth. Not like my mom, the whore, who got it half way down. But his licking felt so good I could hardly think."

Marc slipped his hand under his notebook and rubbed himself. Dangerous, he knew, but she wasn't present, really, he reasoned. Her story and her body laid out like an offering was making him crazy.

"He tasted like her pussy from her rubbing it all over him and he dripped some, too. Made my mouth water. I wanted him in me. I asked my mom to let me fuck him. Don't know why I had to ask. I scooted around and lay on my side and pushed my ass at him like the way my mom did in front of the fire. I lifted my leg and mom grabbed him and helped him. He stretched me but I was really wet and he slowly went in deep. His hands covered my boobs and squeezed and it felt beautiful. So beautiful. And I wish it was just me and him but mom was there. She started licking us. I mean licking where we were together, our privates. Her tongue started on my clit and ran down my pussy lips and covered his cock as it pushed in and out. I hated her and I loved it, too. Then her pussy was in front of my face and I was crazy with lust and I thought, 'damn you, bitch, you see what you made me do?' and I put my mouth on my mom's pussy and I tasted it. It was thick and pasty and made my head spin. I was angry and I licked her real hard. I rubbed her fat clit up, down and sideways until she came again, the fucking bitch. She liked it. I couldn't win. Then I came, too and it was like touching the electric fence. I jerked hard and bit my tongue. I kicked my legs and I hope I kicked her in the head. I felt the black guy come up inside me when I clamped down on him and I blacked out, I think."

In front of Marc the girl bucked under her own hands as she made herself orgasm. The yellow bikini thrust up against her palms as she slid nearly off the couch. He was stunned, aroused and unsure what to do. He just watched as she subsided, and then just lay there. 

"Annie?" he asked. But she was still out. He quietly rose up from his chair, still hard, still shaking, and stood over her. Part of him wanted to just pull his pecker out and jerk off over the prone girl. But he was stronger than that impulse. He could wait. First thing was to manage her return to consciousness. Would she remember what she had just described or was it still buried?

Carefully he lifted her feet and turned her lengthwise on the couch. She stirred a little. Quickly he adjusted her robe, stealing one last longing look at her fine, young and vulnerable body. To think of a black cock parting her and Mrs. Senator Clarke munching her own daughter's muff nearly made him do the wrong thing. But he tied the robe and just as he was easing back into his chair the music began to play. The session was over.

Annie opened her eyes and looked confused for a moment, then guarded. "What?" she said.

"You slept a little, Annie." Marc thought ambiguity the best option. See if she would admit to what just happened. He was still hard as a spike.

"I was dreaming?...or something."

"OK, we'll discuss this some more tomorrow." He rose, keeping the notebook strategically over his pants. He gestured toward the door.

She rose gingerly and he could tell she was aware of just having had an orgasm. She looked puzzled. He hoped she didn't think he'd done something awful. He hoped she'd remember the whole incident and come back able to talk about it. For now he had to get her out of the room.

Annie walked out and he saw the nurse was waiting. "I think Annie should get some rest. Please take her to her room."

When the door shut he strode to the little bathroom, locked the door and fumbled with his belt. Shaking with urgency he unbuttoned, dropped the zipper and pulled out his red, aching boner. He didn't bother to lather up. Taking his thick, ropy organ in his right hand he began stroking. A drool of cum made him slippery. The thought of Annie head to toe with her mother on the forest floor while a young black stud plowed her from behind had him cumming almost instantly.

He leaned his head against the mirror and hearing Annie's little girl voice echoing in his head pulled his seed into the sink in long, thick streams. Panting, he subsided and slowly went limp. Out of breath and weak-kneed, he cleaned up, tucked himself back in his pants and rinsed the sink.

With his lizard brain disengaged he knew what he had to do. Doctor-patient confidentiality or not he was going to have to confront the mother. And he would have to do that face-to-face.



Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 04



Cheryl Clarke didn’t think of herself as a Senator’s wife on mornings like this when the ground fog burned slowly off the paddocks in the August dawn. She had slipped out of her empty bed at 5 to begin her day’s work, though she didn’t think of the horsey life as work, either. With the Senator in Washington, Annie safely under control at the treatment center and various brush fires of a political nature put out Cheryl was free to immerse herself completely, at least for a few hours, in what she loved the most – raising and tending award-winning show jumpers.

Walking down the gravel drive toward the barn she looked across Belle Meade’s white-fence-laced, rolling green pastures sinuously descending westward toward the Shenandoah and breathed deeply of the alfalfa scented air. This was her home. She’d made it that by the power of her intellect and “womanly persuasion” and by God she was going to enjoy it.

She heard the nickering of impatient animals and hurried into the huge, old redbrick barn, her cathedral. She was always uplifted by the deep, visceral smell that enveloped her as she entered through the wide wooden door. It was a complex odor of hay and horseshit, leather, oats and ancient oak timbers, the dirt of generations mixed with the sweat and ordure of the night. It stirred her ever-close-to-the-surface libido. She wanted to snort and paw the ground like the boxed geldings and fillies that rolled their large questioning eyes toward her. 

She made the rounds greeting each of them, rubbing her hands on their massive, powerful flanks, breathing in their so-alive aroma. She greeted them by name, not in the baby talk voice so many of her friends used and that she hated, but as equals, like business partners. She wasn’t a horse-whisperer like Morgan the farrier but a firm, stern and gentle leader of her herd -- the matriarch. Cheryl supplied food, shelter, medicine and companionship to these horses and she relished the role. If only Annie were as simple to guide, to mother, as these animals.

She pulled her red hair into a ponytail and set to work parceling out the oats.

Damn sweet Annie for going off the reservation Saturday night, she thought. Cheryl’s attempt at mothering had gone horribly wrong. What started as a maternal exercise ended with the girl out of her mind, naked and wandering alone in the woods. She’d only just managed to avert public disaster by calling in Vernon Cattrall to carry them both to the treatment center in North Carolina and put Annie out of harm’s way for the time being. Cheryl needed time to think about how to resolve Annie’s problems and now this fucking shrink, Scarpelli, had called to insist on a face-to-face meeting. That he was willing to drive the seven hours from the coast to the Shenandoah Valley meant he thought it was important. That he was coming this afternoon meant she had to think fast.

She’d been busy presenting her public face since Sunday night when she’d ridden back from Wilmington asleep in the back of Catrall’s State Police cruiser. Monday had been the planning for the Habitat for Humanity fundraiser and Tuesday she’d been pulled six different directions with consulting for the Senator’s upcoming Middle East junket. The staff at Belle Meade seemed to need her constant oversight, as well. The fundamental shift that had begun in her psyche on Saturday night in the tent had continued beneath the smooth public persona she projected. Now, while working the currycomb on Gantry’s sleek, chestnut coat the memory of that night seeped to the surface. 

As she pressed the comb firmly across the horse’s brown, taut flank an image of Jack, the young black man, standing naked in the stream flashed into her mind. Cheryl remembered how the sight inflamed her, how Adonis-like he stood dripping with water, how innocent and malleable he’d been. A teachable moment, she had thought as she and Annie talked in the tent after the rain. Then she’d let her libido take charge and led Annie into the darkness.

It seemed like a good idea at the time to go down on her knees at his feet and open her mouth to his cock, to show Annie her power. The fire had burned both inside and out, exciting her to impetuosity. Annie was certainly of her blood; she’d wanted a turn, too. Cheryl had felt so powerful, so full of love for her daughter at that peculiar moment when Jack’s horse cock coughed thick, wet streams of spunk on her face. 

It had been a moment of hubris.

Her pride and presumption led her to cross a boundary into a country that she feared could not be returned from. She could so clearly see the sweet pink lips of her daughter’s open mouth sliding over Jack’s purple veined pole as she held it for her. They sucked him together. Then Annie turned and she’d held the black cock as the girl lifted her leg and let Cheryl guide him into her pussy. Her daughter’s wet, swollen pussy lips split right in front of her face, the fat little clit exposed as Jack slid slowly in. And she couldn’t stop herself from tasting it. 

At the moment her tongue touched her daughter’s clitoris something broke in her. She was swept along by an inner force too powerful to resist. There was nothing in the world beyond the young couple’s shiny, slippery organs and the dripping tongue she played over them. The taste of lemon, musk, sardines, salt, woodsmoke, earth, blood and metal filled her senses. Her probing tongue connected a circuit that sent a bolt of energy through her, wiped her mind and left her merely an instrument of lust, a point source of pleasure.

Then suddenly Annie was on her own pussy with ferocity. Cheryl had pressed herself onto her daughter’s hungry mouth without qualm, without fear, without shame. Annie ate her roughly, made her come with a mixture of pain and pleasure like none she’d felt before. There was a universe of joy in the small circle of their bodies as each of them crested into oblivion and for a long moment, body twisted into a muscle-tearing rictus of sensation, all went white. Time stopped. The vessel that held her being evaporated and she felt the all-oneness of religious mystics. There was no mother-daughter boundary; there was only an all-pervading intensity.

When she woke, Jack was gently snoring and Annie was gone. At that terrible moment Cheryl knew that everything had changed. She knew that the fear that had driven her all her life had always been larger than everything she’d built to protect herself. And she knew that the source of that fear, that enemy power, was within herself. What she’d done to her daughter she didn’t have the courage to admit. Yet. 

Losing Annie in the dark wood that night had clarified her mind. But on awakening in the real world she’d fallen back on her usual strategy of taking control of all around her. She’d wakened Jack and sent him packing with the fear of God in him should he ever speak of this to anyone. (She also detailed a state police detective to shadow him back on campus.) She’d rounded up the horses and tracked Annie down the mountain to find her walking aimlessly on the old logging road toward home in the dim light of Sunday morning.

A call to Catrall had them speeding down I-95 within the hour. Vernon’s discretion could be assured. He’d been her lover for three years and in her husband’s employ for ten. His loyalty to the family was unquestioned. 

Now everything was stabilized, back under her control. Cheryl had had a revelation but she did not know what to do with it. She knew she should face it, but she could not.

So she turned her thoughts away from Annie, last weekend and what was to come of it for now. For now she would get the oats, brush the coats, turn them out and rake the stalls. In short she would lose herself in her most comfortable role and let her mind gestate a plan for dealing with Annie, unconsciously, while she worked. Some folk’s best ideas came in the shower; Cheryl’s came in the barn. 

She would only have a couple of hours of undisturbed time with her charges and her chores before the farrier arrived and so she would sink deep into them. Then, renewed, she could face people again. People and the too damned complex balancing act of power, desire and trade involved in keeping them in control. She sometimes grew weary of it these days. Still, the hours she spent in joy in the barn with her horses, with the privilege of her husband’s wealth, and the security of her position in society made the manipulations worthwhile. At this late date she couldn’t imagine another way. 

That Morgan the farrier was a special relationship in her tangled web circled at the edge of her thoughts as she cleaned the stalls. Cheryl tingled with anticipation and dread as his appointment approached. He would expect the usual and she would give it in the wicked little dance they’d learned. She rationalized it as a trade of services that brought her advantages in her business but she knew there was more to it. She didn’t want to think about that part of it. For a woman of such command and power to submit to humiliation from a mere tradesman seemed to meet a need in her contrary to any she’d previously admitted to.

Granted Morgan could diagnose horse trouble better than the much more expensive veterinarian and so saved her considerable money. He was highly valued among the estates in the Virginia horse country. His reputation was exceptional, his skills rare.

It was also true that the ‘bonus’ paid kept him a faithful tradesman. But she enjoyed the one-sided episodes more than she wanted to. Notwithstanding her mantra of managing her libido rather than having her libido manage her, this ‘taking it out in trade’ disturbed her. She could rationalize all of it but lately a small voice had been whispering doubts in the corners of her head. She could almost make them out…

So her hoped-for quiet morning was unquiet as persistent, inchoate thoughts buzzed around her brain like the flies around the horseshit in the barn. She flicked them away and they buzzed right back. Cheryl made the rounds of the stalls, feeding each animal, brushing it, then turning it out into the pasture so she could clean its nightly filth. She broke a good sweat but was not as comforted as she hade hoped to be. When Morgan arrived she was tense, uncertain.

She heard the crunch of the gravel under his wheels first, then the metal clang of his truck door slamming. His boot steps sounded closer as she put up her tools in the tack room. Here all was orderly, all was still, a shrine made of saddles and silver. Morgan’s shadow blocked the morning sun as he stood in the doorway making him much more imposing than his thin 5’ frame. He’d started as a jockey and turned to blacksmithing after his body wore out. Now, at 50, he looked wizened if not wise -- a bit of a leprechaun and a bit of a wrangler in baggy canvas overalls, an oversized cowboy hat on his head.

He smiled at Cheryl but said little as she instructed him in what she thought needed to be tended to. He took her council but would make his own judgment as he examined each animal. After he walked out to the fencerow Cheryl watched with a certain trembling as he called each horse to touch, stroke, and manipulate its body. He’d said each of them “spoke” to him as he communed with them and told him what he needed to know. She sometimes felt he knew things about her she didn’t know herself. Perhaps what was about to happen could be explained by some silent power he had over women, she thought. Else why did she allow their roles to be reversed? Why did she allow him to be the exception?

So it was with some dread and a febrile anticipation that she watched him return from his time with the horses. He seemed absurdly small and childlike with his cowboy hat and bowed legs.

“What do you say, Morgan?” She stood, hands on hips, looking down at him.

“Most all are just fine this morning, Mrs. Clarke,” he offered squinting up at her, “but Gantry has a hot joint on his right foreleg and it looks like he’ll need to be re-shod soon.”

“Do you recommend a poultice on the joint?” Cheryl liked his old-timey, money saving remedies. 

“Yeah, that and rest. Gantry been rode hard recently?” He gave her a sidelong look.

It was nearly an impertinent question though it was phrased as a clinical inquiry. He was fishing for more, she feared. Morgan made the rounds of nearby stables. Had he heard rumors of the weekend incident? She’d worked hard to keep it from becoming an “Incident” but knew the local grapevine telegraph was fast and free flowing. It would be difficult to keep news of her daughter’s wandering naked down Bacon Hollow Road a secret if someone had seen her. Cheryl was determined to keep it away from the press.

“He got away from us in that thunderstorm on Saturday night. Annie and I were riding up in the cove.” That was her story. It was almost true. “He panicked and went cross country. We were most of the night trying to bring him in.”

“Right. Well, I’ll do his shoeing on Friday, then, but don’t you ride him. Keep him on the soft ground and off the gravel or the roads til then…Y’all must have got right wet Saturday, I reckon.” Was he still fishing? 

Yes, he was fishing. It was unlike Morgan to speak more than a dozen words in a breath let alone ask such a personal question, solicitous though it sounded. Time to dance, time to distract, she thought. Cheryl walked toward his trailer raising her hand to the top button of her chambray shirt. 

Morgan grinned smugly and followed. Cheryl was happy to let him think he was extorting her. 

The trailer he towed was a mobile blacksmith shop converted from an old double stall horse trailer. At the front he’d built a smithy and kept a small fire going in it as he moved from farm to farm. One could see him trailing smoke from the little metal chimney as he drove the back roads. He’d boarded up the small windows in the sides and built thick doors to secure his many tools that hung on hooks or were corralled in bins along the sides of the small space. The right side wall held a low, very solid wooden workbench with metal fittings for his smithing work. 

Cheryl opened the heavy door and felt the heat push out at her. It smelled of hot metal, scorched wood and sweat. The floor was dirty with grime and metal shards, the air inside close. She climbed in. Morgan followed. Dust swirled in the thin shafts of light that stabbed through chinks around the closed doors. She continued to unbutton her sweat-stained blouse. The coming dance of passion had been choreographed years before and they each danced their part every time. What a strange thing to have made a habit of, she thought as she sank to the floor in front of the workbench.

She let the shirt drop from her shoulders and shook it off her arms, leaving it tucked in her jeans. With a brisk movement her bra sprung loose and she shucked it onto the floor, keeping her eyes on Morgan’s all the while. Cheryl’s full, sloping breasts swung loose, the dusting of freckles sharply etched against the brilliant white skin. In the heat her dark nipples rose and beads of sweat began popping. Her hair stuck on the rough boards of the workbench at her back. Smiling at Morgan she raised her arms to each side as if to embrace him. The farrier took a leather thong wrapped it round her right wrist and tied it off to a metal ring on the bench. He stood with his boots placed on each side of her thighs where she sat in the dirt, his filthy overalls pressed within inches of her face as he fastened her left wrist like the right.

Without pause he unsnapped the lower two fasteners on the overalls and reached inside. Morgan’s dick was short and fat, already hard, and smelly, as he pulled it out. Seated in the dirt Cheryl looked directly in its weeping eye and, giving a sultry look at Morgan, opened her soft mouth and let him plunge it in. It fit. With her nose mashed into his overalls he drove it all the way to her molars.

He wasn’t gentle. Morgan grasped the edge of the bench and banged her head against the wood with each brutal thrust, breathing hard and fast. It wouldn’t take him long and that was a mercy. Cheryl never let anyone else have this total domination of her but when she allowed it here, to Morgan, it had inflamed her like no other lovemaking, at least until last Saturday. To be helpless, to be beaten was somehow ‘right’, somehow ‘good’. Perhaps because it was restricted to this one debased act out of the many she could accept it.

Her pussy ached. She wanted to touch herself, to grind herself against the iron tools just out of reach. She wanted to howl but her mouth was full of thick, red cock. Cheryl’s mind turned to stallions. It helped. She saw the animals rampant, stamping the ground, their penises extending from their sheaths and glistening as the stallions, impatient to mount, whinnied sharply. They fought, kicking out, rearing up, their long naked cocks swinging.

Cheryl’s hands clenched. So did her pussy. Liquid heat dripped as she squirmed where she sat. In her imagination the dominant stallion had driven off all challengers and turned to a mare in heat. The skittish mare coiled her tail up over her back and thrust her haunches out. The stallion rose up, dropped his forelegs on her back, his pole of meat quivering and blindly swung toward the mare’s wet opening. Tip struck flesh and the mare startled, the stallion bellowed and bucked. Both animals shrieked. 

Chery’s mouth filled with cum. Morgan held his cock deep and forced her back against the bench with his jerking body. White foam bubbled and fell from her lips onto her freckled chest. Morgan backed up a step, grabbed his wet prick as it slipped free and stroked it. He watched, face red, veins at his temples pulsing as he came again and again in streams over her breasts. He heaved and shot and slowly wilted, curling in on himself, panting, leaning on the bench over her. Cheryl held his eye, swallowed the spunk in her mouth, her passion only mounting, unsated.

Then, in his one redemptive but insidiously vicious act, Morgan knelt astraddle her hips and began to lick his jism from her body. He tormented her by slowly caressing her flesh with his tongue as he cleaned her up. Where the cum dripped from her left nipple he lapped and sucked. As it ran in a thin rivulet mixed with sweat between her breasts he made a long slow path from her navel to her collarbone. Carefully and with perverse gentleness he kissed away the mess he’d made, kneeling in supplication to the bound woman, his employer. He never touched her with his rough hands though her skin cried out for it. Cheryl’s need rose with each touch of his tongue. But it was part of the dance that she never did get relief. It was her punishment.

When he was done he slowly stood and put his tool away, snapped the overalls and turned from her while she slumped there sweating. The sun cutting through the darkness when he opened the door hurt her eyes. She hung, Christ-like, in her bonds. He slammed the door and she heard him crunch along the gravel to the truck. Cheryl twisted and pulled and loosened her right arm, then the left. It was part of the game that she wasn’t completely helpless, couldn’t ever really get loose if she wanted to. It was part of the game that he humiliate her as much as she wanted. 

She hurried to button the gritty blouse over her sticky body and jump from the back of the trailer before he pulled away. She left the bra for him in the dirt.

Cheryl watched from the drive in the bright August sun feeling small and ferociously horny as the farrier’s rig drove out of sight trailing a plume of road dust. She stood straight in dusty jeans, her blouse plastered to her loose breasts, the course fabric only inciting the burning in her nipples, the grasping in her crotch. 

In more ways than she realized she was ready for Dr. Scarpelli.