Message-ID: <23735asstr$956041804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <l03130300b520b0748497@[205.147.151.123]>
From: TheEditor <grobert@idt.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Sex-Crazed Stallion
Date: Tue, 18 Apr 2000 03:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/23735>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, apuleius, gill-bates, IceAltar
<1st attachment, "Sex-Crazed_Stallion" begin>
WARNING:
This story is fiction, and should be treated as such.
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY,
and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an
adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do not read any further.
I am NOT the author. I don't have the talent to write these
stories. We can only be ... "TheEditor" and Associates.
Sex-Crazed Stallion
By Author Unknown
Chapter 1
His hands trembled slightly. Yet his appearance was one of
outward calm, a methodical thoroughness that obliterated emotional
reactions.
There was no room here for the indistinct grey region of
emotions, of moods, of feelings.
No. Here, there could be only precision. Calm, detached
precision.
Magnificence cloaked in the simplicity of scientific
accuracy.
A magnificence he alone could attain.
They had expelled him from their midst. Now, he would
return, triumphant.
It would be he to whom they came, pads in hand, bubbling over
with questions, with pleas for guidance, pleas for his forgiveness
...
Maybe, he would grant it. Maybe.
But he would have no need for them now. He had learned to do
without them, they had proclaimed him expendable and now it would
be his privilege to return the favor.
He noticed the slight trembling still in his hands, his
wrists, as he dipped the pipette into the clear liquid, then
carefully, ever so carefully let it empty into the small glass
dish. He flicked a button and a bright light shot through the
dish, while at the same time, a previously blank screen flickered,
cleared and slowly came to focus.
The object was hazy still, a kind of patchwork worm seen
through blurry eyes. That's how it looked. Ah, but that
patchwork ... that would be his ticket back. It would make the
world stand up and take notice. It would make the name of Lucus
Simpson once more not just one of the leading names in medical
science, it would make him the leading name. He would rule.
A slow turn of a dial on the console in front of him
sharpened the image to the point that separate segments became
noticeable ... links in a chain, pieces in a puzzle, fragments of
a text ...
It was a molecule A living reproducing molecule. Some would
say it was the essence of life itself. A chromosome. Messenger
of life. The ordering structure of heredity.
But a chromosome like no other on earth. One that he and he
alone had created. True, it was still a small scale operation.
But the major line had been crossed. Ahead lay difficulties in
logistics, but the fundamental problem had been solved. The
answer came finally to focus before his eager eyes.
A living chromosome, forced to accept and duplicate genes of
a wholly different species. A mutant. A life form never before
conceived.
Sure, there was work going on all over the world; using
bacterium, splicing in this genes to fool the organism into
duplicating insulin here, interferon there, maybe a few illegal
drugs now and again ... the possibilities were endless.
But the fools. They'd strapped themselves into a straight
jacket. Would you ask a neurosurgeon to work wearing boxing
gloves? Never!
Yet, the entire industry had done exactly that, by declaring
human manipulation off limits.
He shivered every time he thought of those vast international
cartels with their virtually unlimited resources playing around
with microbes while the true work of their calling gathered dust
on the pages of obscure publications and texts.
But for himself.
Man was the laboratory.
Man was the experiment.
Man, was the product.
Like Nietzche, he believed that man was something to be
transcended. He, Lucus Simpson, would be the bridge. The human
race would forever and for all time sing praise to his foresight,
his knowledge, his daring, his genius ...
There was so much left to be done. Still such a long road
ahead, he felt constantly weighed down by the task. Yet his heart
was light. And his mind clear. Quite clear.
This simple chromosome was but a start. There would come an
embryo. Then more, each with a greater and greater blend of
genes, a fuller and more equal mix until he could predict with
accuracy which traits from which species would appear in the
mutant. His pulse quickened at the thought of it. No longer
would we need to rely on unstable population pools for the human
resources so necessary to the growth of the system as a whole.
Now, people could be bred specifically for the tasks
required. Qualities envied in other species could be matched with
the superior intellect of man producing unimagined benefits. It
was so obvious as to be painful. A tool so awesome surely must
have applications never yet conceived.
And as long as his fellow scientists ignored the path of the
future, it would be up to him, Lucus Simpson to lead the way.
He looked back at the chromosome. Not alive, yet vital,
vibrant, filled with possibilities, able somehow, by an
incomprehensible blend of physics, biology and sheer magic to
duplicate itself exactly, atom for atom, molecule for molecule,
gene for gene.
A human chromosome. With a few stray genes added in. Taken
from the blood cells of a horse.
It would develop no further. But others would follow. The
tests would become more and more complex. But the first and most
crucial stage had at last been reached, and banished from his own
kind, he had been forced to develop the capability and the
technology all on his own.
He had succeeded. He would continue to succeed. Nothing
would stop him now.
* * *
It was some time later that Lucus Simpson emerged from the
depths of his laboratory.
From the living room came the sounds of Chopin. His daughter
Sherry paused in her practicing as she heard her father shuffling
down the hallway to his room.
She sighed. He would be about due again. It had been almost
a week. And it was her turn this time. Carrie had taken the last
two sessions and had let her know in no uncertain terms that she
wasn't going to go again until Sherry had taken her turn.
Dear little Carrie. She was so headstrong. Of course,
Sherry could easily understand her sister's reluctance to indulge
their father's strange little quirks, but he was so weary from his
work these days, and he had been spending so much time down there.
It seemed a simple thing to ease his burden, however slightly.
True, he did get a little rough at times, but that was only when
he took too much of the drug. Usually he was docile as a lamb,
putty in her hands.
He seldom took them both at once anymore. Probably a general
lessening of his stamina.
But he could still be a wild man when the feeling grabbed
him.
For years, they had been his only release. They had served
his needs, they had been his ... his women. Sherry was old enough
to understand. She had been six when their mother left. That was
after the bad time, the time of reporters and newspaper articles
and police and investigations and inquiries and an entire collage
of images and recollections that she simply filed away in her mind
as BEFORE. Now, it was AFTER, and had been for years. Almost as
long as she could remember, and certainly longer than Carrie could
remember.
He had taken them away. He had run, taking them with him,
into hiding. The years had been hard, awkward, at times
dangerous, but he had managed to keep them alive and safe and
clothed and fed, and now they had this beautiful house in the
wilderness that she had grown so to love. It seemed at times that
there could be nothing to interfere with the idyllic life their
father had carved out for them. Nothing, except that unexplained
stubborn streak in Carrie. Sherry had noticed it long ago, though
she doubted her father was aware of it yet.
But Carrie was becoming restless. She was becoming
dissatisfied. She was starting to wonder about the rest of the
world. She was asking questions.
"How do other people eat, daddy? Do they grow all their food
like we do?"
And their father would patiently explain about the evil of
cities and civilization and of other people and she would listen
but Sherry could see that she really didn't hear.
But most dangerous, she was beginning to wonder about other
men. And why there were none around. Or any people. Their
father had seen to their education. He had instructed them well
in the way's of civilized society. He didn't want them to feel
like they were prisoners here. He wanted it to be their choice.
He wanted them to realize that there was only evil and pain and
suffering beyond the safety of the Eden he had created for them in
the mountain wilderness.
Where else could one breathe clean air, catch fish in an
unpolluted lake, fish without chemicals, fish from water you can
swim in. These questions and hundreds more he would patiently
confront Carrie with, but she was still unconvinced.
It saddened Sherry, because she knew that at the final point,
their father would never permit them to leave. He had learned to
need them. To depend on them. They would sign his death warrant
should they leave. Sherry knew that. She had almost, in her own
way, made peace with the fact. It was a beautiful place to live.
And it was so easy, so simple, so undemanding an existence ...
She heard him coming down the hall again, his gait a little
less steady.
When he came into the room, she could tell by the slightly
out-of-focus stare in his eyes that he had taken the drug. She
had no idea what drug. Once, he'd confessed that it was some kind
of extract from a mushroom, varied according to his own special
formula. He claimed to have bacteria in petri dishes working
overtime to produce the stuff. Sometimes she worried about him,
worried that maybe he was taking too much of it.
But the poor dear, it was the only real recreation that he
enjoyed. And it seemed to be the only way he could arouse himself
...
"Come to me my dear," he said in the characteristically thick
voice of his drug induced euphoria.
"Would you like me to finish this Chopin Etude, Daddy?" she
asked, knowing that he would show no interest.
As expected, he simply shook his head and held out his hand.
She rose from the piano bench, carefully folded her music and
stacked it in a neat pile, then she turned to face her father.
It was easy to understand how someone, male in particular,
would find her an appealing sight. That this male happened also
to be her father could perhaps be forgiven in light of the fact
that until recently, the young woman standing before him had been
the one and only woman to cross paths with Lucus Simpson for close
to ten years now. In the early years when it had been necessary
to rely on his considerable intellectual powers merely to avoid
detection, it had often been necessary to exist right in the midst
of the very people who would have screeched for his capture in the
shrill tones of hysteria so typical of the general uncomprehending
populace.
Hide where they'd least expect it!
And he'd done it with his usual success.
Except he knew that there would be less and less safety for
them. Eventually, whether or not by design, something would slip.
He was, after all, no fool. He knew the law of averages, he could
calculate odds. A chance meeting (remember, according to chain-
letter enthusiasts we're never further than five people through a
chain of acquaintance from anyone else in the country), some
connection of links totally beyond the powers of prediction, and
it would be over.
At its peak, his case had been a national story, and when one
spoke of the peak, one spoke actually of three separate events,
spaced apart by six weeks or so, that assured Lucus Simpson of
initiation into that select circle of the near-famous, the
nefarious and the infamous whose names trigger a spark of
recognition in most of the populace. And if the trigger's sharp
enough, it can even conjure up details of the case itself.
Would they remember?
He wondered.
There certainly was enough to remember.
SIMPSON THE BABY-RAPER
Says fearful wife
Headlines of a similar nature filled the hinterlands and the
cities, with enough follow-up reports on national news to keep him
up nights worrying about that one stray fool who'd actually
remember ...
And he'd had no doubt that somewhere, someday they would
meet. No matter that there had never been a single shred of
evidence against him that would stand for a moment on its own
support in a court of law. No!
Never mind the fact that not a single eyewitness raised a
voice against him.
Ignore his record of brilliance, of dedicated service to his
profession, the long list of credits, his awesome credentials.
Who among the mad mob could recall any of those?
But the lurid details ... the pictures of those poor children
... The anguished cries of heartbroken mothers ... The
circumstantial evidence ...
He knew there was no shortage of morbid ghouls spread across
the entire land who soaked up precisely such facts as a way of
life almost, trying to season the bland stew of their own dull
existence with the blood and sweat wrung pitilessly from the pages
of magazines, tabloids, non-fiction thrillers ...
He had no stomach for it, and knew that ultimately the final
disappearance would be necessary.
It had happened, precisely for the same reasons that he had
managed to slip away unnoticed in the first place.
There were still a few, a very select few Who believed in
him, who knew of him, of his work, who even now were ready to lend
whatever assistance they could manage.
No, Lucus Simpson was not without friends.
But he was without human contact. He had planned it that
way, structuring his life so that it became a closed box, a sealed
jar, a self sustaining system.
Their terrarium needed no attention now:
There were no outsiders.
No one to recall old nightmares.
No one to betray, no one to lie.
No men to prey upon the two jewels of his daughters, no one
to soil the perfect life he had fashioned.
He had kept them pure. He had kept them unsoiled.
He had kept them for himself.
Since she'd been aware of her body, Sherry had regularly been
called upon to ease her father's tensions.
"I'm tense, daughter, yes, I'm tense indeed. Ease the
tension in my loins girl, come to you father and ease my pain."
He would whisper it to her in her sleep, he would call to her
in the afternoon from the porch as she played in the yard, he
would read to her at night and at the close reach his arms out to
her: in short, she was at his command whenever he felt need of
her.
It wasn't a conscious decision on his part.
It simply evolved into the custom.
Tradition starts with a single act.
The act had been placing her small hands on his swollen cock,
letting her squeeze it, pull on it, jerk it until the fountain of
white jism spurted forth and coated her arms, her chest just
beginning to blossom with breasts.
She stared wide-eyed.
"What happened? What did I do to you Daddy? Are you
bleeding?"
She was petrified.
"Easy little girl, easy," he'd laughed, gently, calming her
as only he could.
The bond, forged almost at the moment of her awakening
awareness was never something grafted onto her from the outside.
It was from the start something interior, something organically
fused to her own developing personality, something that was
innately her.
By the time she had sufficient analytical powers to try and
make some sense of the situation, objectivity was beyond her.
It was a bond that could be questioned, liked, disliked,
approved of or disapproved of, but never broken.
She was a part of him.
And it was a bond she accepted in the center of her soul with
welcoming pleasure.
The ritual was always the same, although lately he had begun
taking more and more of the mysterious drug that he prepared in
his laboratory.
"Purely by accident, purely as a result of tripping and
stumbling into some previously unsuspected part of my mind, I have
invented the first genuinely authentic aphrodisiac!!"
Sherry remembered well the day he had proclaimed that
discovery, and remembered as well the first test of the substance.
It was then that he discovered the psychedelic properties as
well.
Mild, but nonetheless real.
Once a week, he would treat himself to an excursion, and
always accompanied by one of his daughters. In the past year,
their sexual tasks had slowly merged with his drug experiences so
that now, they knew that they would usually be called upon to
assist. Which meant that as soon as their father's brain cleared
enough from the first rush, he would develop a massive hard-on
which would take most of the night to wear away.
Though she doubted Lucus was aware of it to any degree,
Sherry knew without a doubt that she enjoyed the sessions far more
than her sister Carrie.
Carrie's awakening years had come at a point when Lucus was
still quite virile and Sherry was sufficiently matured that their
sessions were both involved and frequent. As a result, Carrie was
not brought into their special relationship until later in her
life than Sherry.
She had never evolved into her father's instrument to the
extent that Sherry had.
Which was fine with Sherry, because even though she may not
exactly look forward to their fucking sessions, she never failed
to find them exciting once she was involved in one.
Lucus was just standing watching her. She was beautiful.
Long brown hair that hung straight to her waist in a thick
cascading mane (Carrie's hair was as thick and long, but much
curlier and a brilliant summer blonde in hue) ... breasts as full
and ripe as the honeydew melons they grew in their greenhouse ...
beautiful long slender legs with perfectly curving thighs ...
He would sometimes simply watch her asking her finally to
remove perhaps her shirt, her pants, sit in front of him dressed
perhaps only in her panties ...
Lucus made certain that his daughters had the proper apparel
when he so desired it.
His favorites were the flimsy crotchless panties that split
right over those juicy pink slits, so hot, so heavy with musk, so
inviting ...
He could never control himself when he stood in front of his
daughters. Either of them could reduce him to jelly.
He stood now, transfixed and Sherry slowly unraveled herself
from the dress she wore. It was a wrap-around style (he made
certain they had access to moderately current fashions), a loose
fitting piece of cloth that gently molded itself to the delicious
curves of her young body, not glued itself to her, but simply
suggesting the shape of that pliant flesh beneath.
She was his release. The safety valve that kept him sane,
sane to continue his work, sane to keep them protected ... and
yes, sane enough to stay his hand in those awful early morning
hours, when the urge would creep onto his soul like a black fog.
When the pressure in his temples would flare, press outward
against the inside of his skull, when he could think only of one
thing, the small tender bodies, their warmth, their innocence,
their need OH GOD their fierce overwhelming need--!!
And he would wake from a soiled sleep.
He would call for his Sherry and she would be there, and as
he would gently stroke her smooth young skin, running his fingers
over her face, her slender throat, her soft breasts, down into the
wet folds of her youthful pussy, he would forget, he would block
the past from his mind, he would return to the present, to his new
life ... to his new destiny ...
He wanted her now. So gracefully she moved! Like smoke,
only with structure, coherence.
She turned to him now, nipples flaming a deep crimson against
the backdrop of the two dark eyes of her aureole.
Her breasts were perfectly round, perfectly tight, firm and
taut so that they merely rippled when she moved.
It never ceased to amaze him the way those two huge globes of
flesh could simply hang there exactly in place and simply ripple.
It never struck him as being short of miraculous.
He reached for her now, saw her weave her way through the
space that separated them, approaching, coming closer, closer,
closer ...
Her lips were on his mouth, her hands on his body, reaching
between his legs, cupping his balls through his trousers,
squeezing. Them gently, more firmly, hard--!
He let out a gasp of pleasure mixed with pain. That too was
perfect. She knew exactly what he liked, what he wanted. They
thought as if with one mind.
She unzipped his trousers and as they slid down his legs she
circled the suddenly exposed head of his cock with her thumb and
forefinger, forming a ring only slightly larger in diameter than
the head of his swollen shaft.
She slowly started to slide the ring up and down, focusing
mainly on the bottom ridge of his glans at the point where it
flares then curves sharply back into the main shaft. He loved it
there, claiming it to be the most sensitive part of a man's cock.
She stroked with these miniature strokes for as long as it
took him to start drooling from the tiny mouth-like opening at the
center of his cock.
As soon as the first clear droplet appeared, she began to rub
it into the deepening purple colored head, enjoying the sound of
his throaty moans as she did so.
Again stroking his cock, back and forth, back and forth until
again a crystal droplet appeared, oozing slowly out and down.
This time, she lowered her body just enough for her breasts
to hang down on either side of his prick.
She took one in her hands and guided the hard red nipple to
the collected liquid.
Cock against nipple, the friction of each spreading through
both their bodies.
Sherry felt a tingling in the deepest portions of her cunt,
felt her body gather itself for an explosion of orgasmic fury,
still distant but unmistakable even in its earliest stages.
She spread his juice all over her nipple, her aureole, down
between her breasts ...
Then she squeezed both fleshy mounds against his cock burying
it in the folds of her thick breasts. She squeezed hard into him,
felt his hips begin to move in and out against her in response and
then start to get faster.
But she wanted to make sure that wouldn't come too fast. On
the drug, he was able to come several times without getting soft,
but it was still best for them both if she could stretch it out a
little.
Which sometimes could mean hours!
She got down on her knees and began to feed the stiff piece
of meat before her straight into her mouth. All the way in, till
it pressed against the back of her throat, her hungry throat that
had swallowed enough of her father's cum over the years to fill a
bath tub ... her sweet hot throat that waited for this next load
to come shooting out of his cock, splash against her tonsils and
slowly slither down the pink walls, down her throat into her
stomach.
But again, Sherry was only building him up. Tension,
release. That was the key.
Play with him, get him hot, fill his balls, wait till he's
just about to blow his entire load, then pull back, leave him
hanging, frustrated, unfulfilled ...
Until the process starts up again, this time taking him just
a little bit further, leaving him dangling from an even higher
position.
Tension.
Release.
Tension.
Release.
Except that as each pause builds upon the tension that
proceeded it, they too merely contribute to the gathering pressure
in his balls, his cock, his thighs.
Until at last, there is no line left to cross. He is
standing directly on it. Poised right at the brink of orgasm, yet
still, somehow, not coming.
That was her style with Lucus, one she had never wavered
from. She'd learned to read her father, to interpret his body
language, his non-verbal cues, the noises he made. She knew when
he was going to come and she knew at any moment exactly how much
it would take to make him spill over.
And always, she could withhold just that last tiny bit, keep
him in limbo with a cock so hard it could cleave a diamond and
oozing so much juice that she would feel almost that he had come
in her mouth after all, so much of it did she have to lick off.
But yet, not coming. Still with the tortured balls, filled
to bursting.
It was an agony for him, one that he gladly endured, but the
strain was obvious from his face.
He could only remain standing for a short while. Once the
session got under way seriously the only thing he could do was to
lay back and let her do whatever she desired.
And to be sure, Sherry got a lot out of giving her father
sex. She got sex for herself, for one thing, and that was
something that she had long since learned to value greatly.
But she also got the satisfaction of knowing that she was
helping a great man resume his position of greatness in the world.
About her father's past, the past she was too young to
remember, she knew virtually nothing.
She knew only, at the moment anyway, that her pussy was
beginning to ache badly for the feeling of that hard cock in her
mouth. She wanted it to be in her pussy.
She wanted to be fucking him. Sometimes she would let him
lick her cunt, leave her pussy suspended above his lips for what
seemed like an eternity while his tongue and lips and teeth gladly
wandered each minute part of her pink flesh.
But not tonight. Tonight she wished only to be fucked.
She'd long ago learned that her father was glad to trust her
judgment. Whatever she felt like doing, that's what he felt like
doing.
It was a very convenient relationship.
She slowly slid her body around, letting her breasts drag
across his body and then the head of his cock was at the lips of
her pussy, lips spread and parted by the angle of her thighs as
they straddled his waist, but spread also from the sheer force of
her mounting passion.
It was at her, moving at her, in her, sliding through her.
Deep.
Deeper still.
Down, down, all the way to the bottom of her cunt. All the
way into the back of her cunt wall. She gasped, for no matter how
often he rammed his swollen cock into her, the feeling of a cock
first entering you still carries echoes of the first time a cock
ever entered you.
It was like rediscovering what your pussy was really supposed
to feel like, as if in those dull moments when the rest of the
world intrudes and you aren't fucking, you somehow forget it's
purpose.
But she always remembered.
Now, he began to slide it in and out, her thick juices
providing perfect lubrication.
In and out, faster and faster, he began fucking her like it
was the first time he had ever fucked, like it would be the last
time he would ever fuck.
Fucking her the way he always fucked her, with passion and
desperation.
Harder. Harsher. Hips slamming against hips, sweat
mingling, her breasts crushing down on his body beneath her ...
She came, five times, ten, a dozen ... she had no idea. She
knew only that this was why she kept it up, why she found finally,
nothing wrong with her relationship with her father.
The bottom line was that she couldn't live without these
massive jolts of orgasm that left her body limp every single time
they made love.
Again and again his cock crashed into her, splitting her cunt
in two, splitting her body in two, driving orgasm after orgasm
from her ravaged pussy.
At last, she felt him come. She always knew when he was
coming, because he started to plunge his cock in and out of her a
lot faster, and suddenly the friction eased up as wad after wad of
thick white cum shot from his prick.
And then, surprisingly, he was still.
Could it be that he wanted no more tonight?
It seemed so, because he simply rolled off of her after
gaining his breath and held her hand for long moments of silence.
Then he started to stroke her hair, but she thought that he seemed
... almost distracted.
Something must be on his mind, she thought, after he gave her
a kiss and strode from the room. Perhaps his work is going well,
she thought. She hoped so.
Chapter 2
The breeze blowing through the open window brushed over her
bare nipples. It was cool but not yet with the biting chill that
would signal the true onset of winter. For now, it was still
comfortably in the dying gasps of summer, or, to be more exact,
Indian summer. A month ago there had been a sharp cold spell and
she had feared the warm weather gone till spring.
But now, even with the leaves the brilliant shades of red,
orange, purple and yellow like giant dollops of paint dripped on
the mountainsides, she could still enjoy the countryside as she
liked best.
The breeze blew a little harder, rustling the window shade
which was pulled a few inches below the base of the open window.
It was a light sound, but during the night she had somehow unwound
herself from her covers and had been shivering slightly through
her dreams for the past hour. The added sound of the shade was
enough to finally arouse her.
Carrie Simpson sat up the way she did everything, all at once
with a sudden jerking motion, fully alert and at attention.
She was as striking a girl as her sister, smaller of body,
blonde where Sherry was a brunette, but with the same full
breasts, the same lithe supple form.
She yawned once, shook her head to clear it of the last
remaining traces of slumber and was on her feet with a single
graceful hop, into her shorts and shirt, and checking to see that
her bedroom door was still locked, she was out her window and onto
the damp grass outside. Her bare feet left a chain of oblong
smudges in the coating of dew that she knew would vanish with the
first rays of the sun. But now in the grey half-light of false
dawn they stretched back from dancing figure as it raced down the
slope of the yard towards the woods, the only proof that life
stirred in the mountain retreat.
She had no need really to be so furtive and clandestine. It
was simply part of her nature. She was a private girl, one who
kept the major portion of herself hidden from the rest of the
world, choosing instead to serve portions of herself to others as
she saw fit. She understood the first rule of the theater: leave
them wanting a little more. She also understood the mind of the
poker player and knew instinctively the value of keeping your true
self hidden.
Strange, that one kept sheltered and secluded from the world
and from other people could have such a worldly outlook, but Lucus
Simpson had done right by his daughters, at least in terms of
preparing them for maturity. Why, is anybody's guess, because
Sherry's secret conviction that he never intended for them to
leave their shelter was probably correct. Still, he must have
realized that he would not live forever. And in the meantime, if
he was successful in keeping them with him, he would obviously
want minds as aware and as sharp and knowledgeable as his own.
In Carrie, he had molded a mind that was perhaps too much
aware. Too sharp.
She was, unlike her sister, her own person and no one else's.
She respected her father, even loved him and allowed herself to go
along with his desires, but that intimate bonding that had so
affected Sherry had never taken hold with her. At the center of
her soul burned the conviction that what she did with her father
was wrong, that ultimately she would have to escape, flee their
hermetically sealed box and break out into the world beyond, a
world that till now had filtered to her only through books and her
father's lectures, both of which were available in abundance.
Her feet skipped lightly over the rough terrain, the bottoms
turned slowly thick and hard by endless summers of climbing up and
down the mountainous landscape, of racing through the limitless
forests, of wading through the rocky stream beds with their frigid
crystal waters ... she was a child of a natural environment. It
was perhaps the greatest gift her father had given her and she was
so much at one with the land around her that she probably wasn't
even quite conscious of it.
She knew only that her solitude was the most precious thing
she had. She sought it out often.
Particularly in the past several months. That was the reason
for the locked door. Let them think she slept late. By the time
she returned, her father would be in the laboratory cooking up God
knows what and Sherry would be blissfully involved with whatever
satisfied her.
No one would notice her returning, and if they did, no one
would question her.
Life in the house, to be honest, was boring. How Sherry
could spend day after day, week after week, year after year
mindlessly catering to the quirky whims of an old man rapidly
going senile was totally beyond her ability to fathom.
Well, maybe that wasn't fair ... Lucus was sharp as a razor
... something about him just didn't go down quite right, and she
couldn't have said what it was ... she only knew that as she grew
older, the calm complacency of her older sister seemed to be more
and more an act worthy of loathing ... was it his eyes, the way he
would look at her sometimes when she would go to him, stand before
him naked, waiting for his wishes to become apparent?
That strange distant stare, flavored at times with ... was it
hatred? That's how it struck her, so much so at times that when
he would reach out his hand to her, start to stroke her breasts,
run his fingers over her neck, her shoulders, her face, and she
would actually have to beat down an impulse to scream out, to pull
away, to run--!
But from what?
She had no idea. She still lacked the distance necessary for
true objectivity. Their situation, their isolation were still
givens in her life, like the color of the sky, breathing, dawn and
dusk ...
But the seeds, sown probably at birth or perhaps before,
taken root from her earliest years of awareness, were now
beginning to sprout, to grow, to bear fruit ...
So far, her rebellion expressed itself only in the act which
now preoccupied her.
Dancing through the woods, she seemed from a distance to be
perhaps a doe, maybe even a fawn, so perfectly did she melt
through the trees, the underbrush, the foliage. As she ran, she
had no conscious goal. The running was an end in itself.
To be alone!
To be a part of a world so much more vast, so much older and
expansive ... that was her desire.
Coming to a clearing, she climbed a rock and standing at the
top, she stripped. Naked, captured in the first ray of sun
cutting a yellow swath across the tops of the trees, she might
have been a wood nymph, the very embodiment of whatever spirit
ruled the forest.
Her stance was defiant. Arms akimbo, legs spread, long waves
of thick hair washing down her shoulders, her back, dipping down
to the two rounded cheeks of her tanned buttocks.
Her sister's body had long ago been given to Lucus Simpson.
She knew it, knew how Sherry secretly craved the touch of her
father's lips on her breasts, the feel of his fingers probing into
her, the grinding crush of his cock as it split her ...
Carrie's body was her own. She derived no pleasure from what
her father did to her. None. She was, again, the actress, the
theatrical persona, giving just exactly what her audience paid
for, no more, no less.
Only in the isolation of the wilderness could she truly feel
her own life's pulse throbbing throughout her veins, rippling
beneath the taut surface of her skin.
Here, atop this rock, she felt the heat of arousal, as surely
as she felt the heat of the sun, climbing higher now in the sky.
She stroked her long legs, let her fingers glide over the
hairless skin. It had always been Lucus' wish that they maintain
their bodies in a truly feminine manner. No unshaven legs for his
daughters, no hairy armpits. It was something that was very
important to him and Carrie could understand. She like the sleek
feel of her body, the almost frictionless way her hands glided
over her flesh, up the insides of her thighs, higher, higher, all
the way to the already dripping lips of her young pussy.
The feeling of her body's juice oozing through her fingers
was possibly her greatest pleasure. She never failed to be amazed
at the depths of feeling her body was capable of and she never
hesitated to drive it as far as she possibly could.
She lay back on the top of the rock, her body sloping
downward along the curve of its surface. She spread her legs,
pulled them up towards her at the knees, and touching her
fingertip to her hot clitoris, began the slow steady manipulations
that would propel her through orgasm after violent orgasm.
The crisp air, the crystalline clarity of the sky, the near
silence of the breeze slipping through the trees with a whispered
SHHHHHH! ... all these blended with the glowing nugget of hot coal
between her legs, its heat spreading outward taking in more and
more of her body until she felt herself to be on fire, felt the
entire surface of her skin to be aflame, engulfing her, devouring
her, consuming her ...
She cried out when she came. From a distance, one would have
heard perhaps what might have been the distant cry of a falcon,
would have seen, had they even noticed, the inert form of a
goddess. She made almost no movement at all. The torrent was
within her, ripping her apart, searing her brain. Outwardly,
there was just the simple flickering of her fingertip back and
forth relentlessly against her clitoris. Orgasm after orgasm tore
through her, cries welled up from her throat, her eyes closed ...
she was transported, she merged with the wilderness, for a moment
felt time as it was experienced by a tree, a rock, a mountain,
felt herself changing like a season changes, felt time come
crashing to a halt.
But only for a brief instant.
She returned, as she always did, and spent long moments
simply lying motionless in the sun, legs splayed across the
surface of the massive rock, breasts jutting straight upward like
two mountains themselves, hair flowing in every direction,
scattered as the wind, brilliant as the sun itself.
She felt at peace. Completely at peace. She was aware of
her body, her mind and her soul. She was content with who she
was.
But she was restless. She stood up, looked down the long
slope of the mountain across the ravine to the next and the next,
all splotched with the fiery hues of the dying year, all a
tapestry of change, of alteration, of death and renewal.
There were changes building in her, still hovering just past
her conscious thoughts. But she felt them the way animals in the
forest feel an approaching storm when the sky is still cloudless.
She knew something was there. She wished only that she might
discern something of its shape, describe its form ...
She looked at the sun. It would be nearly seven o'clock.
Time was abundant.
She slid down the face of the rock, gathered her clothes, and
carrying them in her arms, trotted off in the direction of the
stream. Perhaps it was a bit chilly still, especially in the
shade; nonetheless, nothing could surpass the shattering jolt of
that first plunge into the icy water, that nerve searing blast of
heatless energy. Her senses were finely tuned. They needed
stimulation.
Carrie's solitude was not quite as complete as she believed.
Others stirred on this early morning, though they moved as
strangers through the woods.
Had she gone perhaps a half-mile further, instead of turning
down towards the stream for a swim, she would very soon have
encountered the spiced wooden scent of coffee wafting through the
trees like a scented mist. And she would have heard the sound of
metal clanging together, smelled bacon cooking, perhaps even heard
the sizzle and sputter as it fried in the pan.
But most alien, she would have heard voices. Strange voices.
Voices never before heard in these woods. Male voices.
Belonging to one Johnny Talbert and his companion Rod
Barrett. They sat at the camp fire watching their breakfast cook
through bleary eyes.
"I'm telling You Rod, I don't think I can take much more of
this. I'm getting to fucking old!"
Rod just chuckled to himself as he poured a dark stream of
coffee into his cup, sipped it, wincing from the heat, then sipped
it some more.
"You say that every year; and you've said it ever since we
started coming up here. Now why don't you just drink your coffee
and wait till you wake up a little bit before you go making
sweeping decisions like that. You'll only regret it later on
anyway."
Johnny grumbled and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
"That's another thing. Who the fuck can be expected to shave
with cold water? It's barbaric!"
"What are you talking about? Shaving's barbaric anyway!
Hell, if you weren't supposed to have hair on your face it
wouldn't start growing. That's what I say."
He ran his fingers through a thick beard tinted generously
with deep flashes of red.
Johnny looked at him sourly.
"Yeah, well, something like that could get caught in a branch
or something. You want me to start calling you Absolom?"
"Aw, shut up! Here, have some coffee."
The bacon turned a darker and darker shade of brownish red,
and when it seemed to be just about done, Rod dipped into his
backpack and pulled out a small carton wrapped in two towels.
Inside were six eggs, each wrapped in paper towels to cushion
them.
"See there, you sorry hound? You laughed at me, but I told
you it would be worth it. Save the freeze dried shit for later.
On that first morning, there won't be anything at all to compare
to a real breakfast of real eggs and bacon."
Johnny's face still wore a scowl that seemed to be
permanently etched into his skin, but his eyes perked up with
renewed interest.
"Here, pour me some coffee, will you?" he asked Rod.
"Pour it yourself, asshole; Can't you see there's serious
business taking place here?"
He very carefully cracked each egg till it was circled with a
jagged ring of fractures, then delicately pried each half apart,
splitting the small sac beneath the shell and let the egg fall
with a plop into the bacon grease.
"I hate broken yolks. Nothing fucks up breakfast worse than
a broken yolk."
Johnny looked at him like he was mad.
"What's it matter? An egg's an egg. What if you scrambled
the fuckers?"
Rod stared at him like he was the most uncouth asshole that
ever lived.
"Well Godfuckindamnit, I ain't scrambling the damn things,
and if you're so indifferent about the whole thing, you get the
broken yolk if I fuck up.
"The hell you say. I don't want a broken yolk."
"Asshole," muttered Rod continuing the painstaking process of
starting the day out right.
And it was important too. This was the first day of their
annual backpacking excursion into the wilderness. They'd begun
the tradition eleven years ago, each year choosing a different
area to explore. Usually they would spend two weeks in the wilds,
leaving jobs, friends and all the burdens of civilization far
behind.
Both were divorced now, but when they had been married, these
trips had been a problem, so much so that they even brought their
wives along one year.
Never again. Rod, in fact, traced the break-up of his
marriage directly to that ill fated trip. He thought of it now
and began to laugh.
"What's so damn funny," Johnny asked, still feeling like the
world had something against him.
"Oh, it's real hard for me to get up in the morning and fix
breakfast like this without thinking about dear old Louise."
Johnny thought about it for a second and started to laugh
too.
"Yeah, that was too bad. Ah, women don't belong up here.
It's too damn rugged for 'em."
"No, Louise had a liking for the wilderness. She just didn't
like bears."
"That bastard sure took a liking to her though, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but it was the flood that really did her in."
"That's for sure. Mabel didn't get along too good after that
either."
Rod thought back on the ill-fated venture. "Probably not
having any clothes left when the rescue crews finally caught up
with us didn't help either," he mused.
"Yeah. She did kind of shy away from the TV cameras."
They both started to laugh hard at the recollection. Johnny
stood up and cracked his vertebrae, stretched and exhaled deeply.
His breath puffed into a small cloud and dispersed into the
morning. Then he winced.
"Goddamn! I swear to God, I'll never get used to sleeping on
the fucking ground."
He rubbed the small of his back in obvious agony.
Rod regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and contempt.
"I just might leave your sorry ass home next time after all.
Listen you sorry clown, we've got fifteen miles to cover today if
we're gonna sleep on top of Kingman's Dome, and I'm going to be
sorely pissed if you can't make it."
"Hey, I'll make it. I'll make it. I'm just getting too old
for this garbage, that's all."
"You're thirty years old! How the hell can that be too old?
I'm thirty two! What's that make me? Crippled?!"
Johnny threw a pine cone at him to shut him up and wandered
down to the creek to splash water in his eyes, maybe wake himself
up.
And to think, he muttered to himself, I could have been
putting a couple of six-packs on ice right now giving Cheryl, or
maybe Charlene, or what the fuck maybe both of them a call on the
phone to come over and watch the game with me and then ...
But he didn't mean it. The day was young and just as soon as
he could figure out a way to wake up and make his joints stop
hurting, he'd be ready enough to get out in it. If only they had
a couple of women with them. That's all. Didn't seem like too
much to ask. Just a couple of nice sweet women who'd do nothing
but fuck their eyes out. Yeah! He warmed to the idea as he
splashed the cold water over his face.
Oh well. Like Rod said. What didn't get packed they'd damn
sure do without. He looked around, took in a deep breath and for
no reason at all other than the fact that he felt utterly alone in
the world, he let out a mighty roar. The sound bounced off the
surrounding mountains, returning again and again in diminishing
echoes till at last, there was again stark, naked silence. No
question about it. They weren't going to find any women up here
waiting for them.
* * *
Carrie stood at the clearing leaning over the wooden fence.
Out in the field she saw him.
In the brilliance of the early morning sun he stood
motionless, a statue sculpted from black onyx, polished by the
wind and rain, separated out of our own time, defining a space all
his own.
She put two fingers to her mouth and let out a shrill
whistle.
Suddenly, he was fluid with motion.
The mighty head turned towards her and with an imperial
shake, he broke at once into a rapid trot spilling over to a slow
gallop as he made straight for her.
He came up to where she leaned against the fence, nuzzled his
face against her hand and neighed softly.
She had no name for him feeling somehow that would preserve
the magic she felt in his presence.
That was the word for it. Magic. She knew nothing of his
true owners, only that their landowning were extensive. Her
father never spoke of them. They were forbidden to ask, and the
idea of any exploratory contact was such a taboo that not even
Carrie in her rebellious independence would seriously challenge
her father on such a serious issue. Yet.
But the magnificent stallion before her represented the first
chinks in the wall he'd constructed around her life, the first
steps outward, away, seeking a world of her own.
She'd discovered him five months ago. She'd begun to wander
further and further and further from their sanctuary, seeking to
uncover more and more of the world that had been denied her,
moving, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps by design in the direction
of the taboo lands, where the possibility of human contact might
actually present itself.
Instead, this meadow, this steed had appeared.
The first day she felt an attraction she could scarcely focus
her mind upon, much less verbalize.
She'd hopped the fence immediately, in awe of such a beast.
The very first time she'd seen a horse. It somehow came to
symbolize the vast quantity of other experiences that had also
been kept from her.
Through some instinctive communication system that functioned
beneath the filter of language and mind, she understood how to
ride him, how to control him, and he accepted her from the first.
A graceful spring and she was up, arms wrapped around his
neck, knees digging into his powerful ribs, and they were off
across the meadow. It never occurred to her that he belonged to
someone else and that they might object. She simply did what she
felt like doing.
She returned. And returned again. The animal became the
focus of her life, yet she still was almost unaware of the fact,
as she was unaware of so much about her still developing
personality.
But her excursions into the wilderness now usually ended
here, in this meadow astride this horse.
The feeling as she rode him was electric. The communion
between their bodies was a real, tangible sensation.
It was ...
But there were no words in her vocabulary to describe
precisely what it was. She knew only that when they rode, she
soared, she flew, she transcended herself.
She petted him softly, talking a kind of baby talk to him.
He was gentle. That something so huge and powerful could be so
gentle always left her stunned.
And then, dropping the clothing that she had carried from the
stream, she mounted him, naked, alive, tense and trembling. They
would ride. She would soar. And again, she would feel the
strength of his body pass into her own, feel the energy of his
gait transformed into power in her own body, energy, sensation ...
Sensation like nothing she could possibly experience from
anyone else or anything else.
Her legs spread down either side of his large frame. The
bumps along the ridge of his spinal column passed directly beneath
her, right along the opened wet slit of her pussy. She felt his
body against hers, felt herself growing wet as she gave the first
tentative squeeze of her knees into his sides.
He began to move. The vibrations started like a slow
cadence, building with each step. She felt him. She felt
herself. She felt alive!
Faster now, faster, racing with the wind ... They reached the
other side of the meadow, and he instinctively slowed down as they
approached the fence. She paused, trying to decide what to do.
Then, she turned him back around the way they had just come,
kicked him into a full gallop and held him to it, even as the
fence loomed closer and closer ...
With one mighty spring he flew over it.
They were out!
She felt suddenly a freedom she'd never before known.
She didn't even think about where she was going. It didn't
matter.
She wanted to ride, to fly, to escape. She wanted to take
her steed and vanish, never to return again!
Chapter 3
"Holy shit! Would you look at that."
"How the fuck can I look, I can't even hold on!"
Rod looked back at Johnny, who was balanced precariously on a
small ledge.
"What the hell are we doing climbing up this damn thing
anyway for? I thought you wanted to make Kingman's Dome by dark!"
"All right, all right, we'll head back. I just wanted to see
what there was to see."
"Well, if you'd move out of the damn way and let me up there,
I might get an idea for myself."
"Well, be careful you stupid klutz. There's not a whole lot
of room up here."
They had decided to detour and climb a chimney rock. It had
taken the better part of an hour and now, perched atop what seemed
to Johnny to be the highest place in the world, the view was
without a doubt breathtaking. But scary. The top was no more
than five or six feet square except that it wasn't square at all
but rather sloped. At a fairly steep angle.
"Oh Lord, I think I'm gonna be sick," moaned Johnny as soon
as he scrambled up next to Rod.
"Well make damn sure you're down wind from me if you do."
"No fucking sympathy, that's your problem You know I'm scared
of heights."
"Then what the hell are you doing up here?"
"Well now you see the confusion that's been going on in my
brain for the past hour."
Rod just looked at his friend with bemused exasperation.
Then he looked back at the sight that had first caught his
attention.
"Look over there."
He pointed about halfway down the mountain slope that they'd
slept on the previous night.
A faint stream of smoke could be seen drifting through the
trees, and the dim outlines of a house.
"Someone lives over there. That surprises me. This is
supposed to be absolute wilderness."
"That's not those people the ranger was telling us about, is
it?"
"Nah, those were some people from the DuPont family. Come up
here for the summer. But they're way the fuck back over that
way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction. He looked back
at the smoke.
"Now who the hell do you think could be living up here, and
be so secluded that no one would know about it?"
Johnny looked at him like he was crazy.
"Hell, anyone. Look around you. Do you see any roads? Do
you see any phone wires? Do you see anything but mountains and
trees for miles and miles. No one would find you up here."
"Yeah," Rod replied, thoughtfully. "And I'll bet that if you
did stumble onto someone up here, and no one else did know about
them ... well maybe they might have a reason for wanting to stay
out of sight."
"Rod old buddy, this is the vacation, remember? You were
supposed to have left your job behind, remember. You're just a
backwoods country boy come home, remember? You aren't a newsman,
you don't have a camera crew with you, you don't have any
deadlines to meet for the six o'clock report, and if something
does happen, someone else is going to get the scoop. That's the
price you pay for getting away from it all. Except it's not
supposed to be a price. You follow?"
He wasn't sure that he did.
He thought about it a moment.
And then he answered.
"All right, all right. I'm just curious, that's all. That
ranger seemed to know the area pretty good ... if he didn't know
about someone who was up here, it just seemed like maybe there was
a reason."
"Maybe he was getting paid to forget," said Johnny, rapidly
losing interest in the conversation. He'd just realized that they
were going to have to climb back down the same impossible rocks
they'd just climbed up.
"There, see what I mean? Even you're doing it."
"Doing what."
"Trying to figure out a reason why someone would be up here
in such seclusion."
"What reason? Be sensible, will you? What's wrong with
wanting privacy? It's people like you that give news reporters a
bad name. You don't look for stories, you try to force people
into stories."
"All right, we've had this argument before."
"Yeah, I know. But if you're going to deal with fiction, you
ought to be like me and just deal with fiction."
Rod gave him a sour look.
"Besides, you'd make more money."
"Yeah, but at least I'm performing a public service. What
about you? Hell, you don't even sign your real name to your
stuff."
"Don't need to. The checks have the right name on them."
Rod gave him another sour look.
"Besides, Bart McAdams sounds like a cowboy writer."
"Yeah ... who were you for your spy series?"
"Brent Holbrook. Good establishment CIA type of name."
"Um hmmm. Well, I'll tell you what. Whatever your fucking
name is, you're going to have to climb back down this thing, and
we might as well get started."
Johnny groaned, looked down and groaned again.
"I told you, asshole, don't ever look down!"
* * *
Lucus Simpson sipped coffee on the back porch, sighed, wished
for a moment that his career enabled him to get out into the open
more often. The weather up here was so beautiful. Down in his
laboratory it made no difference whether or not there was a
tornado or a hurricane or sunshine. He saw none of it.
Every so often though, he liked to just sit out here, put the
work aside, relax, forget.
Sherry came to the door.
"Do you want your breakfast now Dad?"
"Yes, I'll have some eggs, I think."
Dear Sherry. She took such good care of him, tending to all
his needs.
Strange. It wasn't like Carrie to sleep so late. Usually
she was around by now, tending to one thing or another.
He looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. Yes, it wasn't like
her.
He stood up and walked back into the kitchen.
"Anything wrong Dad?" asked Sherry.
"Have you seen your sister up yet?"
"No, I guess she's sleeping late today."
Sherry seemed unconcerned. Was he worrying too much?
Perhaps. But there was something that he'd felt growing in his
younger daughter, something almost ... he didn't want to use the
word malignant, and so he forced the thought from his mind. But
the fears were there. There was a stranger at times behind her
eyes, someone who was far different from the person he'd strove so
hard to create, an alien, a flawed alien. It worried him.
Actually it filled him with a dread. She couldn't be flawed. He
couldn't take it. It couldn't be. Not after Sherry had developed
to such gem-like perfection. He couldn't tolerate flaws. Flaws
were the bane of the race. They had to be stamped out-!
He caught himself, realized that he was giving in to the old
feelings, the ones he had run away from, the ones his wife had
turned on him for, the ones he could never permit himself to
think.
Only his daughter could bring such feelings out of him. Only
one he loved with such total dedication could fill him with such
rage for falling short of his expectations.
And yet, the truth was, she did exactly that. Somehow, he
knew that he had failed in her development. He had allowed for
uncertainty, for randomness. He had allowed her to develop a
will.
The horror!
It was still a fledgling, an embryo ...
But he could see it, even though he tried not to. It was in
her eyes. She was ... well, she was somewhere else. Not like
Sherry. She was like her mother.
He prayed to God that it wouldn't be so, that somehow he had
been paranoid, had read signs that weren't there, had interpreted
actions that didn't exist.
Perhaps. He wondered at times if the drug was warping his
perception of reality. But no, that was impossible. He kept too
close a watch on himself, tested himself too often. His vision
was as clear as it had been twenty years ago ...
He tried the doorknob to Carrie's room. It was locked. Did
she always sleep with her door locked? That in itself was
unsettling. For what was she trying to keep out, if it wasn't he
himself?
But a darker thought struck him. What if she wasn't there at
all? What if ...
Sherry's voice calling to him broke his thoughts.
"Breakfast's ready, Dad."
He looked back at the door. He knocked. "Carrie? Are you
all right?" he called.
There was no response.
He knocked again, harder this time.
"Carrie! Are you in there?"
Sherry heard him and appeared in the hallway.
"Is something wrong?"
"I don't know. Either she's sick or she's not in there. But
the door's locked.
"Get me a screwdriver."
Sherry wasn't sure how she felt. She'd suspected for a long
time that Carrie was drifting away ... she'd closed her eyes to
it. But now ...
"Dad, what if she is gone? It doesn't mean anything. She
just likes to be on her own."
But Lucus wasn't to be put off. He'd felt a confrontation
brewing for some time and suddenly he felt it to be at hand.
He went into his room and returned with a screwdriver and
began to pick at the lock.
Then they heard a noise inside the room. The door knob
turned and there stood Carrie a blanket wrapped around her,
seemingly rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"What's wrong?" she yawned.
Lucus seemed momentarily deflated by her unexpected
appearance. She rubbed her eyes, yawned again and gave each in
turn a bleary eyed look.
"Is there something wrong, Daddy?" she asked innocently.
"I wondered if you were all right, that's all. It's not like
you to sleep so late."
"I know, I guess I'm just being lazy. I'll be getting up
pretty soon. I've got some chores to tend to."
"That's right," he agreed. "Have you checked the chemicals
in the greenhouse yet?"
"No," she answered, yawning again and turning away, "but I'll
do that first thing."
"You might think about gathering the eggs while you're at
it."
"I will," she said, characteristic adolescent annoyance
creeping into her voice.
Well, I'm sorry for all the fuss," he apologized. "I suppose
there's no harm in sleeping in a little late, is there?"
He gave her a small chuckle, trying to sound casual and
unconcerned, but Sherry could see a pinched strain at the corners
of his eyes, an intensity that somehow recalled ominous thoughts,
resurrected images from a long dead past ...
What little she remembered of her father's history she'd
managed to block from her thoughts. Only now, in moments of
tension, when for one reason or another Lucus would suddenly feel
the fragile bonds lashing the planks of his makeshift work
together start to fray and unravel ...
She knew the clues, assimilated them instinctively and knew
when to spring to his defense.
As he gave Carrie one last uncertain look, turned and
shuffled back down the hallway, Sherry reached out to her sister
and ran her fingers through her hair.
"It's still damp. Funny, if you've been asleep, when did you
get a chance for a shower?"
"Oh, leave me alone. I didn't do anything wrong."
"If that's the case, why be so deceitful about it? Why sneak
off?"
"Who says I did anything?" Her brow wrinkled in defiance.
"Calm down, calm down. There's nothing wrong. That's the
whole point. The only thing wrong is that you act like you've got
something to hide."
Carrie looked at her with a stone face that revealed nothing.
"Where do you go in the mornings?"
"I don't go anywhere."
"Carrie, it's all right. You just have to understand Father,
and I don't think you're making much of an effort. He has ...
fears."
"About what?"
Sherry was lost for words. One of the issues she allowed
herself to overlook was precisely that question. What was it that
haunted their father?
More to the point would have been to question why their life
was structured as it was at all, but neither girl was really able
to view that question as an issue separate from the life they took
for granted.
"You're all sweaty," Sherry observed. "You really should
take a shower. I don't know what you've been doing, but you
smell."
Carrie turned away, ending the conversation as far as she was
concerned.
But Sherry was plainly worried. There was a balance being
threatened here in what way she could not quiet say, but it left
her with a dimly perceived feeling of dread.
"Carrie, you have to go along with Dad. You can't shut him
out the way you do. He needs you."
Carrie said nothing, but her frown thickened.
Finally, the words that had been building for months were at
last given voice.
"But I have my own life to live."
Sherry said nothing, but the dread in her seemed to turn to a
black syrup in her stomach. She wasn't able to say why, but she
felt the familiarity of her world being to come apart with those
words. They frightened her, primarily because the showed her how
far apart she and her sister had grown.
"Carrie, you're going to hurt him. You can't do that."
"Oh, he's just got you eating out of the palm of his hand.
You're blind--!
Sherry reacted without thinking. Carrie was doing the
unthinkable. She was speaking out against their father. From her
earliest years, he had been the pillar of strength, the standard
for good and evil, the one who determined the rules and went about
seeing that they were obeyed. Carrie's words bordered on
blasphemy.
She slapped Carrie on the cheek. It wasn't hard, but the
shock was still hard and impersonal as iron.
"I think I'll get a shower now. Thanks for your opinion."
She closed the door and listened for Sherry's footsteps down the
hallway, which she soon heard.
She clenched her fist and pounded it into the palm of her
other hand.
She felt a slowly increasing rage inside her. What business
was it of theirs anyway? She would do what she wanted!
It had been so fantastic. There was no way they could take
that away from her, nor could they deprive her of it in the
future. She too had felt the touch of desperation in her father's
voice, had noticed just then and in the past also how he would
suddenly seem to simply fall apart over no reason. Become morose,
depressed, silent.
She simply had learned to ignore it, but now it seemed as
though there was a new note of urgency being added. She didn't
like it.
Not at all!
How could she?
How could the trivial day to day problems in the life of this
house possibly compare to what she had felt this morning?
She opened her door again and after checking to make certain
that there was no one lurking in a dark corner she got a towel
from the closet and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
Sherry had been right. She did smell. Of him.
His sweat, and the scent of his body lingered on her thighs,
on her stomach where she had leaned against his powerful neck, on
her breasts where she had pressed herself into him ...
Truly they had flown. He might have been a giant condor come
to take her to another land entirely, so magical had the feeling
been.
She had ridden him down to the creek, and then followed the
bank away in a direction that she had never before taken, a
direction that led away from their house and their world.
And they had flown.
Halfway down the slope they had come to another broad opened
space, this time without a fence, with no restraining limits at
all, and she had let him open up to a full gallop, hooves pounding
into the earth like thunder, sending shock waves of energy
rippling through her body.
Her legs were spread wide to wrap around his bulk. And she
felt her body opening between her legs, felt the soft flesh of her
cunt rubbing up and down on his back, his smooth coat like velvet
against her clitoris, the vibrations of his body like a jackhammer
pounding into her pussy again and again with every driving step.
As she stepped into the shower and began to wash the traces
of his body off her own, she knew that in a way she could never
remove mark he had made on her.
She had become transformed, she had felt herself transcending
the world that she found herself a prisoner in, felt herself rise
above it, experience for the first time in her life, something
new.
She had driven him to his limits, digging her body into his,
racing back and forth across the field, coming in insane orgasmic
bursts again and again.
The lips of her pussy were spread wide as she rubbed herself
over him, as she spread her juice into his shiny coat.
Lathering the soap in the washcloth she thought of the lather
he had worked up in her, how her pussy had felt whipped to a froth
as together they thundered over the untouched land.
She was part of that land, had become more than simply a
bored little girl. She had felt a purpose suddenly awaken in her,
and though it was still unfocused, lacking direction, remaining
simply a wordless feeling inside her guts, she felt for the first
time truly alive. The peace and tranquillity she had always felt
from getting away, being alone were now replaced by an urgency of
her own, one that she couldn't have explained, but which was
visible enough to fill her father with dread.
And always, it came back to herself and her body. Her deeply
held conviction that her body belonged to her and nobody else.
And the pleasure her body was capable of given and experiencing
was hers too. Hers to do with as she pleased.
She rubbed the soapy cloth over her breasts and allowed the
rough textured material to stimulate her nipples. They grew hard,
turning to small fleshy stones at the tips of her aureole.
She pulled the washcloth between her legs and felt her
clitoris tingle in response. Slowly, washing the inside of each
thigh, down to her feet, back up again to her flat smooth stomach,
behind her back, through the crack between her buttocks, up again
to her breasts, she slowly turned her entire body into a single
erogenous zone, a single organ of arousal, response bubbling up
from every single point along the surface of her skin.
She was in love with her body. She loved to touch it, to
feel it respond. She never tired of it.
She turned the water on harder and adjusted the shower jet so
that it shot out in a single fierce stream, which she aimed at her
breasts, allowing the fine droplets to shoot like soft bullets at
her, penetrating her body with sensation, pushing her state of
arousal higher and higher.
She was leaning against the wall of the shower stall now, her
firm breasts perfect targets for the jet of water. As her nipples
sizzled beneath the blast, her fingers sought out the soft opening
between her legs and entered the pliant flesh, spreading the
already parted lips further, entering with first one, then two,
and finally three fingers, pushing apart the membranes and moist
walls to make room. It was like a torch had been ignited inside
her.
She had been well initiated into the possibilities of what
her pussy was capable of by her father's cock, and whether she
liked him or not, he had shown her what her body was able to do.
But the mere contraction of muscles in her abdomen was not
the same as ... as this utter pleasure.
For more than a year now, after every evening spent with her
father's cock in her, with his lips on her breasts, on her clit,
his tongue licking her pussy, digging into her asshole, she would
retire to the privacy of her room, and repeat the lessons just
learned.
But she knew how to make her body tingle and shiver, knew
exactly how to touch herself, how to wring the last ounce of
pleasure from every pore, from every square centimeter of her
skin.
Now her fingers were pressing against her clitoris from
inside her pussy, pushing into the underside, shooting electricity
through every nerve, up through her breasts, swelling from the
continuing blast of hot water beating against them, back down to
her legs, muscles tensing, growing taut, convulsing over into
spasms beyond her control.
Her entire body slowly slipped past the line of her conscious
control, and still she drove herself upward, ripping her fingers
through her pussy till she thought her arm would drop off from
exhaustion.
And beneath it all, giving to all her movements and
manipulations the unifying counterpoint of a rhythmic pulse, her
memory of her flight through the wilderness on the back of a magic
steed, the steady pounding of his hooves matching the pounding of
the jet of hot water against her breasts, the persistent in and
out thrusts of her hand through her cunt ... It was he finally,
who pushed her over, just as he had done when she rode him.
Again her brain fell apart, her thoughts turned to ribbons of
smoke scattered by the wind rippling through her blonde hair and
once more, in her mind, she was on him, mounting him, feeling the
strength in his muscles, the power and absolute perfection of his
body, the unity between them ...
Her orgasm dropped her to the floor of the stall, and she lay
there for a good while, breathing shallow breaths as water spilled
down on top of her. She was as in a dream, and felt no desire to
awaken.
Filling her thoughts now, overpowering all else, she saw his
mane waving like a thousand tiny pennants in the wind, saw his
thick brush of a tail flying straight out behind him, saw the
earth splatter as each hoof bit into the ground ...
She wanted him. In some unconscious form, the thought took
shape. She wanted him, and she knew that she would find a way.
She was tired of being a mere sexual servant. She wanted
something that was all her own. She would have it!
Chapter 4
"I'm telling you, this fucking ledge was bigger when we were
climbing up it!"
Johnny Talbert was suddenly no longer kidding about being
scared of heights. From where he stood, which was on about five
inches of none-to-solid looking rock, he had very good reason to
be scared.
It was like he'd explained to Rod the night before over the
campfire.
"It's not the idea of being up high in and of itself that
gets me nervous, but I keep having this problem with gravity."
Right now, he felt gravity tugging persistently at his heels
and it was really getting him into a state.
"I don't know how many times I have to tell you, don't look
down."
"Well how the fuck am I going to see where I'm putting my
feet!?"
"You don't think about it, you just do it."
Rod stood on much firmer ground, having just crossed the ten
or fifteen feet of questionable ledge that now had Johnny so
worried.
"Are you sure this is the way we climbed up?"
"Will you stop talking and just come on. Look, even if you
do fall, you probably won't be killed. We're almost down."
"Yeah, but we're not down yet and that's a nasty fall."
"You aren't going to fall. Do you hear me? You aren't going
to fall."
"All right, all right, just leave me alone. I'll make this
in my own way."
He closed his eyes for a second and took a couple of deep
breaths, thought about all the good things he'd done in his life,
took a moment to regret some of the things he'd never gotten
around to doing, then realizing that the time for fun and games
was over, he stepped out onto the ledge ... and felt it hold him
securely.
"Very good, very good," coaxed Rod, not without a touch of
sarcasm. This sort of thing always happened and even though
Johnny was half bullshit, half of him was genuinely afraid of
climbing like this. Nonetheless, he kept plugging away, and thus
far none of his fears had come to pass.
He took a careful step, then another, found himself halfway
across the distance that had separated the two of them, found his
confidence growing as he got closer and closer ...
Suddenly he screamed. The rock gave way, just a small
portion of it, but enough to throw him off balance.
Rod stared, dumbstruck, so shocked that his friend's imagined
scenario was actually coming to life that the brief moment when he
might have reached out his hand to give some support passed.
Johnny teetered crazily on the ledge for a second or two more, and
then, hands grasping futilely at the air, he toppled over the
side.
"Johnny!" Rod screamed, but it was too late. He stared in
horror as his friend plummeted about ten feet through the air,
then met with the side of the chimney rock as it sloped outward
towards the ground. Rod could see that Johnny's leg hit the rock
at a weird angle and twisted underneath him in a manner that no
human bone should have been forced to endure. Johnny let out
another scream and started to slide down the slope of the rock,
coming to rest finally against a section jutting out about six
feet from the main wall of the rock. A trail of small pebbles,
dirt, larger rocks and sand followed, collecting in a small drift
against his back. He didn't move.
It had taken perhaps ten seconds, if that long. It had
seemed like years to Rod, watching it unfold as if in slow motion.
Every minute fragment of the scene was already indelibly burned
into his brain. He searched now for a foothold to climb down. He
refused to consider the possibilities. All he knew was that
Johnny still hadn't moved.
Half climbing, half sliding, he was at his friend's side in a
matter of seconds.
"Johnny, Johnny! Are you all right?"
He was afraid to move him, even to pull his shoulder around
to get a look at his face.
In his mind, he flipped back through the pages of every first
aid manual he'd ever read. What was the first thing to do?
Well first, you don't move him in case there's some injury to
the neck or spine. But then, what? He looked closely at the
angle Johnny's neck made with the line of his shoulders. Not too
acute. Well, that was good.
He touched him on his side, and called his name again.
Johnny moaned.
"Hot damn. I knew you weren't dead."
His body stirred, as if moving in quickly hardening cement
and he let out a groan of pain.
"My leg," he murmured. "It feels real strange. I think it's
broken."
"Ok, just hang on. How does the rest of you feel? Can you
feel your body?"
"I don't know," he said, his voice scarcely audible. "Where
is it?"
"Asshole," Rod muttered. "Tell me, can you feel this?"
He began to probe with his fingers, first along Johnny's
arms, then down his back and legs. Each time his fingers made
contact, Johnny's face contorted into a grimace of pain.
"Well, that's encouraging. I think it's safe to turn you
around. Here, I'm going to roll you over. Be careful of your
leg."
"You be careful of it dammit!!"
Rod slipped his hands underneath Johnny's armpits, lifted him
up as easily as he could and slowly turned him over on his back,
at the same time trying to pull him away from the barrier that had
broken his fall, pull him backwards to let his leg stretch out
straight.
That was a mistake, as Johnny's agonized shriek of pain
affirmed very fast.
"No, God no, it hurts!!"
"Well look," said Rod, still supporting him by his shoulders,
"I've got to get you where I can look at that leg. If it's broken
bad, I'll have to set it."
Johnny's eyes got wide with panic. "You don't know what
you're doing. You'll kill me you fool."
"Keep it up and I'll leave your worthless ass right up here
so the buzzards can pluck your carcass clean. So don't give me
any shit."
He let Johnny settle back onto the ground. He noticed the
color draining from his cheeks, his lips were slowly turning the
color of chalk, and he was beginning to shiver.
"Fuck, you're going into shock."
"No, I'm all right. My leg's just hurting pretty bad," he
said thickly.
Rod looked at him just a moment longer, feeling more and more
helpless all the time.
Finally, he knew he had to act.
"Look, I've got to do something with that leg. I have to see
how bad it is. Do you think you can get out of your pants."
"Are you crazy? Look how the damn thing's twisted. Oh shit,
it's really starting to hurt real bad."
"All right, just keep your cool. I'm going down further to
look for something to use as splints."
Johnny said nothing. It took about fifteen minutes to locate
to branches that were sufficiently straight and of suitable
length, and by the time Rod got back, Johnny was looking pretty
groggy.
"Johnny my boy, I hate to say it, but this is going to hurt
pretty bad."
Johnny gave a resigned wave of his hand.
"Come on, at least get out of this back pack. We can use it
as a pillow."
He finally had him as comfortable as possible. He took a
deep breath, closed his eyes, counted to ten, realized that he
really didn't know too much about how to set a leg, but he had
seen it done. The trick was to get the pieces in some kind of
alignment. The catch was, when the two broken ends touched,
Johnny would go out of his skull. Too bad he couldn't have passed
out.
Best get it over with quick. Rod grabbed Johnny's ankle and
started to pull back, hard. Johnny screamed again predictably,
but suddenly Rod felt something sort of go pop, and the leg
straightened out, almost looking normal again. Johnny lay against
the backpack, shivering, unable to talk or do anything except
shake in pain.
Then Rod lashed the branches to the leg as tightly as he
could, managing to fashion a fairly sturdy support. The leg
wouldn't bend, at least not very much, unless it was really
forced.
Now, the trick would be to get Johnny off the rock, and to
someplace where he might rest, without forcing that leg to bend.
It didn't seem too likely a prospect.
"I don't know what we're going to do man. You can't move.
That's obvious. We're fucking stuck."
"What about that house we saw?" suggested Johnny. "There was
someone there. We saw smoke, right?"
"Yeah ... I guess it was about three miles off. I guess. I
really can't tell distance from that high up."
Johnny was making an effort to be light hearted, but beads of
sweat dotted his brow, and he couldn't talk without labored
breathing. It was obvious that he was in pain.
"Look, I don't want to be pushy or anything, but I sure as
hell can't stay up here for very long. They'll probably have a
phone or something."
"What are you talking about? It's been fifty miles since we
saw a telephone line. Not since we were driving up here."
"Well then you come up with a better idea!! Look man, I'm
hurting, you understand?"
"All right, all right, you made your point."
Rod hopped up, dug into his back pack and pulled out a bottle
of whiskey. Johnny's face looked like he had seen the Lord Jesus
himself.
"Praise God and pass me that bitch!" he said, showing the
first signs that his damage wasn't permanent.
"I brought this along thinking we might need it."
"You have foresight my man, I doff my hat."
"You don't have a hat."
"I know. I have a hurt. Give me that."
He reached for the bottle and downed a big gulp.
"Hey, easy, you're still going to have to get out of here
under your own power you know?"
"Shut up. I'm in pain. Wasn't there someplace you had to
be?"
Realizing there was nothing else he could do, Rod hurried
down the remaining slope, first making sure that he had his
directions straight. Once on the forest floor, he'd just have to
follow his nose, and it would certainly help matters if he had it
pointed in the right direction in the first place.
As he hiked on, he noticed that the sun was starting to get
lower in the sky, easing on into the afternoon. Fortunately, it
was warming up still these days ... that was good. He'd have
hated to leave Johnny up there in the freezing cold, as foul as he
already was.
Shit, he thought. Really fucks up a good trip. That was too
bad too, because they both spent a couple of months planning these
excursions. One of the main objectives of their research was to
locate areas that were unquestionably primitive. No human life of
any sort. How fortunate that they just happened to be near what
might have been the only living beings for miles around.
He wondered again who would live here, in such seclusion that
not even the rangers knew about them. What if they value their
privacy so much they do me in, he wondered. What if they refuse
to help. What if--!
He heard something. It was ... it was a galloping horse!
What the fuck?! And if his ears were any judge, it was getting
closer and coming right towards him. Coming, it seemed, right
through the trees.
Rod looked for a trail, for there had to be one for a horse
to be galloping that fast, but all he could see was dense
underbrush and tall pines growing so close together there couldn't
possibly be room for a horse to open up.
He listened again, heard the sound of the pounding hooves
getting closer, closer ... he saw it!
Through the trees, a swiftly moving shape, tearing through
the woods, from where he was standing, tearing through what seemed
to be the same dense forest undergrowth he was struggling to get
through.
He saw it only for a second, it was there and then it was
gone. He shouted, loud, shouted again even louder, but whoever it
had been riding it didn't hear, or at least didn't slow down a
bit.
Was he dreaming? No, it couldn't be. But it certainly had
looked like ... Well, he had seen long blonde hair. That much he
was certain of. A girl! But ... well, he couldn't be sure, but
whatever she'd been wearing certainly had been heavy on the flesh
tones. As a matter of fact ... but no, that was impossible.
Wasn't it.
He reached the trail, which was invisible until you were
right on top of it, and started to trot off in the direction that
he'd seen the horse and rider disappear.
Had she really been riding that horse through the forest
naked? Was he dreaming? Maybe he was the one who had fallen
instead of Johnny, and this was the start of a long bout of
hallucinations and delirium.
Then again, maybe his eyes had seen what they thought they'd
seen, which was a fucking vision riding naked and bareback through
the forest! Stranger things had happened, and he'd known that for
years, yes indeed, in fact, he'd covered some of the stories
himself. After ten years as a news reporter, he was ready to
believe just about anything.
Still ... it did strain the imagination just a little bit.
He was aware that it would soon be late in the afternoon, and
if he wanted to be able to even find Johnny again, he was going to
have to make better time than he was making now. Damn! If only
he'd been about a minute earlier, he could have flagged that
fucking horse.
He was trotting now. The trail sloped slowly downward and it
required little exertion. Even so, he had to admit that he still
wasn't all that well oriented as to exactly which direction he was
supposed to be going in. Best to just keep the sun at about a
forty-five degree angle to his left shoulder ... allowing, of
course for the fact that it was steadily sinking. And the day was
waning.
He stopped, shocked. The forest ended. It was like someone
had taken a huge blade and with one smooth swipe, felled every
tree in sight.
That, however, was the least amazing sight that greeted his
eyes.
For in the center of the field stood the horse he'd just seen
racing through the forest. And his eyes hadn't deceived him. She
stood in front of the animal, hands stroking his face, talking to
him, rubbing her face against his ... she was naked.
And she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid
eyes on. Most immediately striking was her hair. It flowed down
her back like a waterfall lit by the first rays of dawn, reaching
halfway down the tight round cheeks of her incredibly cute ass.
Then she turned so that her front was visible to him. His
breath was taken away by the sight. Perfectly smooth flat belly,
hips curving seductively into slim thighs, thick patch of silken
blonde pubic hair ... and breasts you'd kill to get your hands on.
Rod couldn't recall seeing breasts that were so big and at the
same time so tight and firm, jutting straight out from her body at
nearly a 90 degree angle.
But what finally held him captivated was the way she was
acting towards the animal in front of her. It was almost as
though she were seducing the thing.
To be sure, it was a magnificent steed, with all the style
and form of the finest show horse. But there was something in the
way she held herself close to it, actually rubbing her body
against it, rubbing in a decidedly lewd manner ...
She hopped up on his back with a single motion. He was still
stunned by her appearance. A woman like that could fuel wet dream
for years, he thought.
Then it started. She leaned forward, pressing her body
against him, starting a slow rolling movement with her hips
against his back, rubbing herself against him ... rubbing her
pussy into him. That's the only explanation he could think of.
She was masturbating herself against the horse, and now she had
him break into a slow trot, and the rolling movement of her hips
matched the rhythm of his gait perfectly.
She was making love to a fucking horse! What a waste. He
wanted to call out to her, but was afraid now that she'd gotten
into this thing with the horse, it would prove too embarrassing
for her. And he needed this horse. No doubt about it. He had to
play this right, because vision or not, Johnny was still back on
that damn rock with a hurt leg and probably drunk out of his skull
by now, which meant that he'd be feeling no pain but he'd also be
vulnerable as hell and totally helpless once night fell.
She was really getting herself off now and he could actually
hear her soft moans on the clear air. She pressed her breasts
into the back of his high neck and crushed her hips and her pussy
against his back, kicking him all the while into a faster and
faster gait, finally spilling into a full gallop, circling the
field again and again, each time coming closer and closer to where
he stood hiding and watching in fascination.
He got a good look at her face that last time she passed by
him, and what he was saw the face of a woman in utter ecstasy.
She seemed to be aware of herself and the animal she was riding,
and that was about it. Nothing else seemed to exist for her.
Faster and faster she drove him, harder and harder until,
even from across the field, it was obvious that she was being
shaken to the center of her bones by a orgasm he'd have given
anything to have taken part in.
She gripped the horse's neck and dug her knees into his sides
and finally, confused by the lack of coherence in her signals, the
animal just trotted to a halt, waiting while she spent herself on
him, writhing like a puppet on a string.
Rod was amazed. He had no idea how long he'd been watching
her, so caught up in the entire experience was he. She was
gorgeous. She was also weird. But she could also be Johnny's
salvation.
But how to approach her?
She was getting down now ... no, she wasn't after all. She
was simply turning around on his back, leaning her back against
the slope of the horse's neck, looking quite relaxed and
comfortable, legs spread ...
She began to finger herself.
No, thought Rod, this was too much. He couldn't stand to
watch this beautiful woman go through another orgasm. It was
torture. He was suddenly aware of how hard his cock had gotten,
and while he watched her, he had no choice but to pull it out and
start to stroke it. His balls had filled during her first
performance and there was no way he could last through a second
without letting off a little steam.
He wondered, should he approach her? No, that would just
scare her off. Best keep it safe.
She had her finger at her clitoris now, he could see her body
squirming beneath her hand, writhing against the back of the
passive steed she had just ridden to orgasm.
Suddenly, Rod felt his balls explode, and wad after wad of
thick white cum spurted from the head of his cock.
Well, that felt better, though not half as good as if he'd
been shooting into that sweet pussy.
Damn, he thought, was she going to make herself come forever.
At this rate he'd never get a chance to approach her.
But finally she seemed to be momentarily satiated. He saw
her body visibly sag back into the contours of the horse's back as
the post-orgasmic bliss struck her.
No doubt about it, thought Rod, this was an extremely sexual
woman. He wanted more than anything to get his hands on her, to
lock his lips around those pert red nipples, dip his fingers into
that juicy sex pot of a pussy between her legs,.
But, he told himself, he mustn't forget what was at stake
here. After all, Johnny was still back there, and needed help.
As a matter of fact, he needed to quit watching this show,
delicious though it may be and get on with the business at hand,
which was somehow talking this sweet young lady out of her
fantasies and into giving him a hand with his wounded friend.
But he didn't want to scare her, perhaps so bad that she'd
just ride off and leave him totally stranded.
He looked around. It was still in the middle of the
afternoon, enough time to make it to the house he'd seen from the
top of the chimney-rock, but probably not enough to make it back
to Johnny, assuming they would even help him. For that matter,
this lady here might even live there.
Well, he had to do something. He slipped his still drooling
cock back in his pants, zipped the fly and then took a hesitant
step out of the bushes into the clearing.
"Hello!" he called out.
She jerked upright at once, looked around her with a shocked
look on her face and when she saw Rod standing at the edge of the
field, she froze.
The breeze was all that moved, that and the pattern it traced
through her flowing hair as it whipped the golden locks about her
shoulders.
Her body though, was like stone. Rod had no idea how long
she stayed in that one position, but he was starting to feel
awkward.
Finally he started to walk towards her, holding his hands out
in a gesture of friendliness.
"I need your help." he called across the field to her. "My
friend's got a broken leg. He needs a doctor. Can you help me?"
What amazed him most was that she exhibited no embarrassment
at being caught not only totally naked but masturbating herself
the way she had been doing. In fact, she seemed to have no
reaction at all that he could see as being normal. She simply
watched as he approached, looking at him almost the way a child
might look at pictures of exotic animals in an encyclopedia.
He was almost to the spot where she waited now. She still
had made no response whatsoever, but as he got closer and closer,
her head sort of cocked to one side in a curious gesture ... as if
she'd just realized what he was. Now, thought Rod, if only I knew
what that was.
"Who are you," she finally asked. She was sitting over the
side of the horse, both legs extending down. Rod could look
straight up at her into her wet pussy. It was quite difficult to
avoid staring at it instead of her face, although her face
warranted considerable attention also. Rod felt almost like he
was in a dream.
"Rod Barrett, at your service," he said, extending his hand.
She ignored it.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice drained of
all expression.
"Well, like I said, I'm up here with my friend and we were
climbing that chimney rock about a mile back over that way, when
the dumb bastard slipped and broke the hell out of his leg. He's
back up there now, and Miss, he's in real bad pain. I'd surely
appreciate it if you could give me a hand. Maybe--"
"My father's a doctor. He can fix your friend's leg."
Rod couldn't believe what he'd heard.
"You must live in that house we saw over that way," he said
pointing in the general direction.
"Yes. But my father won't like you being here. I can tell
you right now. He won't like it at all."
"Why not. We don't want to intrude or anything, but
seriously Miss, we need help bad. We're in pretty foul shape."
Suddenly she allowed the faint trace of a grin to dance
across her lips.
"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with helping
people who are in trouble. I'll help you if I can, but you have
to tell me what you need."
Oh, please don't say something like that to me, thought Rod.
He was still looking right into her open slit, and it was driving
him more and more crazy. And beyond that, moving up the smooth
line of her body were two of the nicest, firmest breasts he'd ever
seen, much closer to perfection from close up than when he'd first
seen her from across the field.
"Well, I suppose we could lash together some sort of
stretcher and have the horse pull him. That might work."
She suddenly looked concerned.
"I don't think that would work."
"Why not. What's the problem?"
"Nothing. I just don't want my father to see me riding him.
It's sort of a secret."
Rod was confused but decided not to press it right then.
Obviously, there was no other way they were going to get Johnny
nearly three miles if they didn't use the animal. One thing was
getting clear though. Whoever this girl's father was, he must be
some kind of strange character. But no matter. She'd said he was
a doctor, and that was enough. Once they got Johnny to him he
couldn't refuse to help him. They wouldn't be staying long enough
to get in the way, although it hadn't yet occurred to Rod just how
they'd get back down out of the wilderness with Johnny immobile.
But, first things first.
"Well, can we at least go back up there and maybe bring him
down? If you don't want to take us up to your house on that
thing, maybe we can work something out, but honestly Miss, there
really isn't anything else we can do if you won't help us. I'll
be honest with you, I never expected to find anyone out here at
all. You're really our only hope."
"All right," she said a little reluctantly, "let's ride up
there. But first I have to get my clothes on."
It was the first indication she'd made that she was even
aware that she was naked and Rod was amazed at the casual offhand
way that she mentioned it. As if there was nothing particularly
out of the ordinary about being in front of a total stranger
without any clothes on.
She swung her leg around so that she was astride him again.
"Can you ride on back?" she asked, reaching her hand down to
help Rod up.
He made it, after two unsuccessful attempts which caused her
to chuckle under her breath. Rod gritted his teeth and tried
again, this time managing to stay up while he climbed over.
"Hold on," she told him, and as he slipped his hands around
her tight stomach they were off, back down the trail he'd first
seen her riding, through the woods, stopping finally beside a
brisk stream. Her clothes were folded neatly on a dry rock. She
hopped down and was in them and back on the horse in seconds.
Suddenly, just before kicking the horse in the sides to take
off, she turned around and faced Rod.
"Do you like looking at me?"
He felt his cheeks blushing. Shit, he thought, he wasn't
expecting such a frontal assault.
He stammered and stuttered for a second or two and finally
asked her why she thought that.
"Because you couldn't stop staring at me."
He said nothing for a second. His hands were back around her
stomach and he could feel the bottom curve of her breasts resting
against them. She was almost too much to take.
"You're very beautiful. Yes; I do like to look at you."
She turned around again, smiled a dazzling smile and then
they were off at a gallop.
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the bottom of the rock.
Soon the horse could climb no further.
"Wait here," Rod told her. "I'll see if I can get him down."
"Let me go with you. You'll need help, won't you?"
"Could be. Won't he run away?"
"I don't think so." She looked back at the horse and stroked
his face. An unquestionable bond existed between them, one that
Rod wasn't too sure he wanted to examine in great depth.
"Why did you say you're father wouldn't want you to be riding
him?"
"He'd be jealous, I guess."
That enigmatic answer shut Rod up for a moment. There was
obviously something out of sorts here and he'd just keep his mouth
shut until he had things figured out a little better.
"By the way, I'm Carrie."
"Well, glad to meet you, Carrie. I don't know what I'd have
done if I hadn't stumbled on you out there."
"You surprised me."
"Yeah ... well, I guess I can understand that. I was afraid
you'd just ride off and leave me there.
"Why would I have done that? I wanted to get a look at you.
We've never had anyone up here before."
So, his original guess hadn't been far off. They were
secluded. That she could toss such a statement off without any
concept of how out of the ordinary the situation was told him that
there was a very strange father raising this girl.
"Do you have a mother?"
"No. I've never had a mother."
Rod decided that he'd keep his mouth shut. If he was going
to find out anything, he'd do it by viewing the situation with his
own eyes. Carrie didn't seem to want to talk too much, and the
things she did say were just too confusing.
"Hey, Johnny!" Rod called out after a few minutes.
They heard a garbled noise and following it, they found
Johnny where Rod had left him, in virtually the same position,
with the bottle of whiskey nearly empty.
"My hat's off to you, sir. You made excellent time. It
can't have been more than a week since I last laid eyes upon you."
He was plastered. Probably best. That leg was probably
hurting and swollen by now.
"That's right buddy, we're going to get you out of here in a
jiffy."
Johnny noticed Carrie.
"And who, may I ask, is that beautiful young woman with you.
Rod my friend, have you been holding out on me. Did you pack her
without telling me? You aren't going to try and tell me you found
her out in the woods, are you?"
Carrie laughed and stared at Johnny in open wonderment. In
fact, Rod had noticed that she seemed to be in awe of both of
them, as if she couldn't quite believe she was actually talking to
them.
It took a long time, but together they managed to carry
Johnny back down to where the horse still waited. He gave his
head a joyous shake when he saw Carrie approaching and Rod
realized that he'd never have run off and left her.
She knew what she was doing in the woods. Within half an
hour they'd managed to find branches the right size to tie
together a crude stretcher that would support Johnny's weight.
The two main branches extended up along either side of the horse
she managed to tie a rough harness with the rope that was left.
Soon they were slowly moving back down the trail towards her
house. Johnny was complaining behind them about the lousy shock
absorbers. He had quickly drained the rest of the whiskey as soon
as he'd realized what they had in store for him, so Rod wasn't
worried about him being in too much pain, although the possibility
that he might fall off bothered him.
"So what do you want to do about your father?" Rod asked
after they'd ridden for about ten minutes. "Will he really be mad
if he sees you riding up on this horse? What's the matter, is he
afraid you might get hurt riding him?"
"I don't know what my father's afraid of, to be honest with
you."
She sound distant again, like there was a whole lot she just
didn't even want to get into. Rod was going to take the hint,
when she continued.
"To be honest with you, it's me coming up with you two that's
going to make him mad."
"Yeah? Why?"
"He doesn't want us to be exposed to anyone from the
outside."
"Outside? What do you mean?"
"You know, the rest of the world. He says it's evil and
corrupt and that it just isn't safe."
"I see."
No doubt about it, the old man was a kook. Rod started to
feel a little nervous.
"What's a doctor do up here? There can't be very many
patients."
"There aren't any patients. There isn't anybody. At all."
"No one?"
She turned around and looked at him.
"That's why I looked so surprised in the meadow when you
first saw me. You're the first person I've ever seen besides my
family. Ever."
Rod couldn't believe it. Her father had literally kept her
isolated from the world. Yet, she seemed so ... normal wasn't
quite the word. After all, he couldn't forget the circumstances
under which he'd first encountered her. But still, she had a
genuine feel for what normal behavior was about. It was hard to
believe she'd developed in total isolation.
"Who else is in your family?"
"My sister. Her name is Sherry."
"And why does your father keep you up here."
She waited a long time before answering, and when she did,
Rod had the feeling that the question had never really occurred to
her before, at least not in such a straight forward simple
statement.
She answered slowly.
"I ... don't know ..."
Chapter 5
Lucus Simpson ran his hands in unison along his daughter's
bare back. His head had a sharp stabbing pain racing through it.
He felt the beating of his heart, the throbbing of his blood as it
pounded in his ears.
His scene with Carrie had disturbed him greatly, had thrown
him totally out of synch with himself.
He had tried to work in the lab, but couldn't keep his mind
on what he was doing. The experiments were entering a new phase,
a very crucial phase. He was preparing to impregnate a mouse with
an embryo that had been fertilized in a test tube, in itself
nothing spectacular. What was special was the embryo that he was
developing. It was a fusion. Two zygotes each the fertilized
product of separate sets of parents had been fused into a single
embryo. If it lived, the stage would be set for future fusions,
fusions of a decidedly more bizarre and unnatural variety.
But he hadn't dared to attempt the delicate process of
inserting the tiny blob of life into the selected mother. His
hands were trembling more often now. The tension was beginning to
take its toll. He felt restless. He felt ... He felt the old
urges churning closer and closer to the surface. For twenty
years, he had through the sheer power of his mind, the same power
that enabled him to vanish, to evade all those seeking him, this
awesome intellect had managed to beat down its darker side, its
nightmarish alter ego ... But now, the demons chained so long were
struggling once more for their freedom. In his dreams he could
hear them, could hear the soft metallic clank of locks being
sprung, of cell doors slowly creaking open, could hear their
furtive footsteps through the corridors of his brain as they
searched for their own form of daylight, of freedom ...
He knew that he could not control them this time. The effort
to change himself, to beat them back had succeeded for twenty
years. He had watched his daughters grow to womanhood through
those long years, and had managed to translate his demented
desires into a simple satisfying of his sexual needs. They had
kept him sane.
At least, Sherry had. But now Carrie threatened his very
being. She threatened him with the one thing he could not
tolerate ... exposure. She, by her very reluctance to live the
life he had programmed for her, stood as an obstacle in his path.
She was his daughter. He had endured years of isolation for them.
He had suffered for them. He loved them. But no one, not even
one of his own could threaten to interrupt his work again. It
couldn't happen. It must not happen!
It wouldn't happen!
And now, she was gone again. She had left without a word.
He had stood at the window and watched her leave.
Why should he be frightened? What was wrong with her wanting
to be off by herself?.
They were, of course, questions that had no answers, at least
none that would have fitted into Lucus Simpson's scheme of things.
For he had, over the years, painted himself into a corner, so to
speak, by hinging his life and his sanity on the two women who
formed the focus of his existence, and now, discovering that they
weren't both the perfect image he'd tried to fashion, he had no
resources left with which to improvise an alternative solution.
It was forward, keeping to the same course however ill advised, or
it was oblivion. Destruction. Ruin.
And so his work was left in the freezer of his laboratory,
and his mind was distracted by his overwhelming needs ...
It almost was no longer enough. He could feel it, in his
balls, in his hands, in his brain.
The beautiful supple body bent willingly before him, so ready
to answer his every request was reaching nonetheless his limits.
He ran his fingers down the crack of her ass and felt her
lean backwards into him. He was at her anus, pressing into her
with his finger, opening her body, entering her, violating her and
she gladly accepted him.
Stretching her, wider and wider, rubbing her juices back from
the pink wet slit between her legs, back between her smooth
buttocks, up into the brown ring of muscle, he kept it up until
the opening was smooth and oily.
He dropped a blob of saliva onto his fingers and started to
work the liquid onto the head of his swollen cock. Again, and
again until the head and upper shaft were slippery from his
spittle, then back into her asshole, inserting one then two
fingers, rubbing them in and out, in and out until he felt the
muscles finally start to relax, felt the hole open wider and
wider, felt her whole body settle forward as she prepared to
receive him.
He placed his cock at her anus.
The opening was still far too small to make entry easy, but
he was in a heat of tension and lust. He needed this, needed it
in precisely this way, needed to feel her body closing around his
throbbing prick, needed to feel her shudder from the pressure of
his entry.
Down, down into her, thrusting with one mighty jab of his
hips. She cried out.
But she might have been crying to an empty room. He hurt her
when he did this, hurt her knowingly, willingly. He enjoyed it,
wanted it, needed it, somehow, needed to hurt her.
More and more he seemed to need to work out fantasies of
violence on her body, needed to feel himself triumph over her
helplessness.
He needed to feel the stretching of her body, needed to hear
her cry, not from ecstasy but from agony.
He wanted most of all, to force a blending of the two in her
mind, to feel that he had gained total control, not only of her
will, for that had been his all along, but also of her reflexes,
of her instincts, of the very foundation of her being.
He wanted to reduce her to an instrument of release.
He was well on his way.
She knew that there was nothing to be done about it, that she
had been selected for a peculiar role in life and would never
question it. He needed her. He needed her body for reasons that
she could only dimly perceive and never hope to understand, but
that was enough for her.
He was her reason for existing. Never had she actually
spoken the thought to herself in exactly those words, but it
didn't matter. At a more fundamental level, they both knew it and
neither questioned it.
He thrust his cock into her ass, like a spear cleaving a
melon. Her cheeks quivered as the rest of her body shook from the
pain of the onslaught.
Out, in, out, in. He slowly, deliberately increased his
speed, holding himself back to milk the absolute extremes from the
experience.
He felt himself grow harder with each scream torn from her
throat. He felt his blood race, his heart pound, felt his skin
almost crawling across his body from excitement.
And he remembered!
Yes!
Somewhere, in some small room at the very center of his mind,
there existed in all their full lifelike horror, the memories ...
Ignored but never truly forgotten. Overcome, but not banished.
Always they had been there, always, forever, as long as he could
remember waiting, calmly, patiently till they could be called up.
Lately, they had been appearing at times other than his
deepest dreams.
During the day, at night before sleeping ... and especially
times like now, when his dominance asserted itself, when his
daughter's body was spread and opened to him, opened to his
attacking cock, his twisted mind.
He remembered.
The darkened rooms the sleeping bodies.
In the hallways, he would prowl, a creature of the night
disguised as one of their saviours.
A creature of torture clothed in the robes of a bearer of
life.
One by one, the cases grew. And his split mind fought with
itself with each new attack. During the day he was at the front
of the investigations.
But at night, he was an animal seeking to satisfy its hunger,
its thirst, its need ...
He remembered. With each shudder wracking his daughter's
body, he remembered other bodies, smaller, softer, more helpless.
He remembered how easy they had been, how trusting, how
utterly delicious!
He remembered their eyes, opening always at the last instant
in wide horror as they realized what was about to befall them,
their sweet tiny mouths, struggling beneath his powerful hands to
utter a single cry for help, release a single scream of pain and
agony ...
He remembered. More and more, he was remembering, bringing
the demons back to the surface. The night was settling once more
in his brain. The darkness was enveloping him, choking him,
dragging him back into the slime from which he had so laboriously
crawled so long ago.
Devolution. That's what was taking place inside him. He was
regressing. Should it overtake him, he knew he would be helpless.
Oh GOD! he thought, he didn't want it to take him again, the
thirst, the hunger, the need ...
His need to feel their soft bodies as his fingers squeezed
relentlessly into the flesh, as he dug into them, seeking them out
with his fingers, his cock ...
He knew that this time, the hunger would run rampant; would
consume not only those around him but he himself. There would be
only ashes where once there had been a brilliant mind.
It frightened him, and so to stave off the approaching doom,
he thrust his throbbing cock once more into her, felt her squirm
in pain, heard her cries grow more and more intense.
It wasn't enough!
He needed more!
He raised his hand, and for the first time in his life, he
struck Sherry's body. Hard.
She collapsed, both from the pain and from the shock.
"Oh, Dad, that hurt! Please, why are you doing this?"
He heard her, a voice in the fog, a shape in the night
without form.
He slapped her again, firmly on her buttocks and he could
feel the force of his assault as it penetrated her body, could
feel it in his embedded cock.
And again he struck her, on the side of her buttocks this
time, leaving a deep red mark from his hand.
She was confused, was in pain, but she did not struggle. It
was her role to serve. She would not question it.
But somewhere inside her, a flicker of doubt sparked to life,
a small glowing ember, unnoticed as the fallen ash from a
cigarette onto the mattress just before sleep can go unnoticed.
But there was something in her father that was malignant, and
it seemed to be growing. As his blows fell, she endured them in
silence. This was not like him. This was not what she wanted.
This was something that she would not be able to take for the rest
of her life. Something would have to change.
Chapter 6
Lucus Simpson stood on his porch, a feeling of unexpected
calm settling onto him like the dusk spreading over the lawn.
He watched the strange procession emerge from the woods, and
though he knew nothing of whatever the specific facts would turn
out to be, fingers reach up from the dark mists of his past and
caressed him with their familiar touch of malice.
Again and again this scene had played itself through his
dreams, with variations but leading always to this exact point,
this moment surrounding him now ...
Their self contained world had been broken. They had been,
until now, a singular entity, like a cell, all life functions
reduced to their simplest form, existing purely for the continuity
of their survival.
A cell. One that had at last been invaded. Lucus had no
delusions about the figures crossing his lawn, his daughter among
them. They were a virus, an infection that had to be attacked at
once, destroyed before the damage compounded itself.
The question in his mind was whether or not he at last had
the strength. For too long he had played the game of lying to
himself, of pretending that the reality he had invented was his
only reality. He knew now, that whatever else transpired, he
could never again permit himself the luxury of forgetting the past
... his senses must remain finely tuned always ...
He'd seen Carrie leave again. After lunch, as soon as she
thought he had returned to his work. Their confrontation had
simply widened the gulf between them, irritated an already open
wound. What was he to think of her now? How could he still treat
her as one of his own? She had betrayed him, in innocence
perhaps, but it was she who had broken the seal of their
existence, who had shown the invading disease the way in.
He felt the muscles in his stomach grow tense. Yet the calm
stayed with him, clearing his thoughts, amplifying the power of
his logic, his reasoning, his whole mind. He would meet this
challenge. He would remain intact. He would survive.
* * *
Rod sipped his cup of coffee, letting the warm liquid slosh
around his throat, savoring the perfect taste of a freshly perked
pot. It was a taste he'd prepared himself to do without for the
next two weeks. Packets of instant were to have been all that he
and Johnny had available. Well, he thought, plans change. They
sure as fuck did.
"The leg should be all right, in time," said Dr. Simpson
entering the living room. Rod tried to find some clue to the girl
in her father's face. There was nothing. A face bleached of all
emotion. Calm, professional, polite even ... but no human warmth.
No sense that he had any interest in them as people at all.
Only a detached scientific curiosity. There was something
about him, a sense of a hidden dimension, an unseen depth to the
man that Rod could not quite define for himself, yet it lingered,
that feeling that somewhere, somehow, he was familiar ...
"How long before he can travel on it?" Rod asked the man.
"That is a good question. One, I fear, that has no answer
that I find pleasing."
"And why is that, Dr.?"
Rod felt strong animosity in the man's words, in spite of the
easy, almost casual way in which they were spoken.
"I would prefer that you had never entered our world. I say
this not with malice, but as a simple statement of fact. I have,
through my own free will, chosen to withdraw from your world. My
daughters and I function quite nicely here. We have had no need
for contact with the rest of the world. To put it frankly, you
are trespassers. Invaders, if you will."
"But I am a man of medicine, your friend is hurt, I of course
shall observe the oath I took when I was first initiated into my
select fraternity. But I do not wish your company and I shall
look forward eagerly to the moment when you are able to depart."
He spoke this whole time in a voice that was almost friendly,
almost casual, but far enough off to show the whole speech as a
rather bad act. The man scared Rod, and he couldn't even say why.
"I assure you, Dr. Simpson, we had no desire to stumble into
your life. As a matter of fact, when Johnny and I take these
trips up here into the mountains, if we go the whole two weeks
without seeing a bloody soul, that suits us just fine. We'll be
only to glad to get out of your hair. When do you suppose that
might be?"
"Well, I could radio for a helicopter to lift him out, were
it absolutely essential, which it isn't. There's a chance that
the leg would be hurt worse by the vibrations of the flight.
Perhaps in a week ... till then, of course, you shall be our
guests. My daughters and I will do everything we possibly can to
make your stay a comfortable one."
He turned to Carrie who had been sitting wordlessly on the
couch for the whole conversation. Then he looked over at Sherry,
standing in the doorway.
"Girls, why don't you tend to dinner? I have a few things
I'd like to discuss with Mr. Barrett alone."
A momentary flicker of annoyance crossed Carrie's features,
while it was simply resignation that showed on Sherry's face. Rod
caught both reactions. After a moment the girls left the room.
"Mr. Barrett," said Lucus when they were alone, "let me be
blunt. I treasure my daughters greatly. They are my single joy
in life. Aside from my work. You see, I am engaged in delicate
research here, such that I must cleanse my life of all
distractions.
"My daughters make it possible for me to exist with a measure
of comfort and pleasure added to what would otherwise be a very
sterile life."
He paused a moment, almost as if he felt all this an
unnecessary annoyance, having to deal with this topic at all.
"Unfortunately, the secluded nature of our world has resulted
in a certain innocence when it comes to my daughters' awareness of
the world, of the kind of mature adult life taken for granted in
your world. I would appreciate it if you took that into
consideration during whatever limited contact you may have with
them in the next few days. I would of course prefer such contact
to be kept to the barest minimum. As I said, we shall make you
comfortable. We will not make you welcome."
Rod nodded. He doubted that any statement was desired or
needed. The old man had laid his cards on the table and there
really wasn't much else to say.
"I assume we understand each other?"
Well, maybe a small statement ...
"Dr. Simpson (where had he heard that name before!), I assure
you, you have nothing to worry about."
Lucus gave him a single nod of his head.
"I know," he said, rose and left the room. Well, what the
fuck! thought Rod, finishing the rest of his coffee. If that
wasn't the strangest damn thing he'd ever encountered.
What the hell was that old buzzard's problem anyway? Every
sensor in Rod's brain was tingling. Every warning buzzer and bell
was screaming, the console of his brain was a mass of red warning
lights.
Face it, he told himself, the man simply didn't appear
rational. No way! The way his eyes would keep darting to your
shoulder like you had a parrot sitting there or something, then
quick jump back to see if you were still looking at him and
quickly darting away again when he saw that you were.
The way his fingers kept weaving in and out of each other
with a steady rhythm, and his left foot kept tapping at a tempo
totally unrelated to his fingers. There was a lot of tension in
the man. More than he could bare to let come to the surface.
He looked around the room in which he found himself.
Surprisingly comfortable, yet lacking anything that suggested
contact with the outside world, at least as it had developed
within recent memory.
There was, of course, no television. But also missing were
magazines of any sort and newspapers ... nor were there any
gadgets to speak of ... it was a very simple looking lifestyle
that resulted in this room.
He walked over to the bookshelves. Pulling several books a
random he saw that there were none with copyrights more recent
than twenty or twenty-five years ago.
He hadn't been kidding when he said that they lived an
isolated existence. It was a house that time had passed by. A
moment frozen, and the old man saw he and Johnny as a serious
threat ... what had he called them ... invaders. Christ! What
the hell had they stumbled onto?
"Would you like some more coffee," a female voice asked
behind him.
He turned and saw the older sister standing in the doorway,
watching him with a neutral expression.
"Certainly. It tastes pretty good after that instant crap we
were drinking over the campfire."
She smiled thinly as she picked up his cup and carried it
into the next room.
OK, thought Rod, if that's the way you want it, that's OK, by
me. Don't want to go upsetting anyone's apple cart, do we?
She returned with his coffee.
"We'll be eating dinner around six-thirty. Father likes it
early so he can get work done in the evening. Perhaps you'd like
to rest till then?"
"Oh, no that's all right. I'll tell you what though, I sure
could use a shower. I feel like a real grit after being out in
the wilds like that. It's OK if you know you're going to stay
there, but around folks as refined as you all, I'd sort of like to
get cleaned up."
Again a thin, polite smile, a nod of acknowledgment and she
led him to the bathroom, showed him where the towels were, and
then showed him where he would be staying.
"Father has an extra cot that I'll put in here. It should be
satisfactory."
Rod thanked her, but she made no response. Damn! he thought,
and so beautiful too. Somehow though, he doubted her capable of
the scene he'd witnessed today in the fields. What an incredible
difference for them being sisters. About the only similarity was
the delicious shape of their bodies.
Rod had to admit he was in a dither. Everything he'd
encountered so far told him that there was something as screwy as
could possibly he going on here, and he really didn't want to
explore too much. Keep away from the bushes, you avoid snake
bites. That was one of the little axioms he'd always carried with
him when he went into the wilderness and it seemed apt here.
But his reporter's instincts were alerted. Why, why, why,
did that crazy senile old doctor seem so ... not exactly familiar.
More like someone he'd once heard of ...
He thought about it. Assuming he'd taken off into the
mountains around twenty years ago ... hell, Rod would have been
eight, maybe ten or twelve at the very oldest. Not surprising
that the bells weren't ringing too clearly.
Still, they were ringing. Lucus Simpson was somebody, and he
was hiding out. It was as simple as that. There was absolutely
no reason to suspect that to be the case. Nonetheless, Rod would
have bet his job on it. Whether or not what he was hiding out
from was anything serious, that was another question. But there
was no doubt he considered it serious. Serious enough to be
nervous when they'd walked up to his back doorstep. Serious
enough to try to keep the entire world away for almost two decades
...
Face it, that was fucking off the wall. The amazing thing
wasn't that he'd tried, but that he'd succeeded. It hardly seemed
possible. How did they eat. How did they survive?
Chapter 7
Carrie sat at her window and watched the land rolling away go
slowly to shadows, fade, and vanish in the soft greying air. Her
mind was pure turmoil. She'd spent the entire afternoon in a
daze, as if a dream had stretched past waking, lasting in her mind
after reentering the real world.
He had seen her! He had watched her?
The idea sent small blades of ice slicing through her.
He had watched as she rode him, rode her steed, watched as
she melted into that massive back.
He had seen her do things she could not possibly have done
unless she'd been sure that she was completely alone. But how
could she have expected anyone to be there?
Her father was right.
The man was an invader. He had entered a space meant solely
for her. He had violated her!
Why then, why, why, why did she feel so charged from it?
She felt his eyes once more on her body, almost as hot as the
breath of the horse she made love to ... penetrating eyes, probing
eyes ...
He hadn't taken those eyes off her from the first. Through
the afternoon, even to the conversation with her father in the
living room, he'd stolen glances as often as he possibly could
without seeming obvious.
And every single time his gaze brushed across her body, she
felt it as if physical contact were being made. Her breasts
tingled, her nipples had grown hard, two small tiny buds of
passion glowing at the tips of her breasts, each minute increasing
the power of the sensations they sent rippling back through her
body.
She thought again of the field, the mighty stallion with his
mane flaring in the wind, of his powerful body, the amazing force
that he could transfer to her own thighs, crotch, stomach ... like
a storm, thunder and lightning included, a sudden unexpected
summer storm that builds from the nothingness of a clear sky,
taking you without a moment's warning, taking you fully, wholly,
totally ...
How then, to describe this strange? who suddenly appeared in
the midst of her life?
How to explain something that your entire life had trained
you to avoid?
Perhaps it was the circumstances of their meeting ... she
didn't know. But in her mind, whatever forces the black stallion
and the tryst between them had unleashed had already become fused
in some way with this bearded stranger who called himself Rod,
this wild man of a creature, this fierce looking man with eyes
that on close inspection showed themselves to be remarkably clear,
soft and kind.
She saw him in her thoughts now, was thinking of him even as
she slid her hands under the waist of her jeans, loosened the snap
and zipper and began to rub the moist silken material covering the
pink folds of her cunt, the dark patch of her pubic hair, the
ruby-tipped point of her clitoris peeking out from the center of
her bush.
She felt her body yielding to a complex of images.
She saw the fiery eyes of the stallion like flares in the
night, felt the explosive force of his muscles in contact with her
spread legs, relived once more the sensation of her pussy being
rubbed wide open by the vibrations of his body, felt her juice
oozing from her, coating him, even as she was coating her fingers
now.
And she saw it, there between his legs, a vastly different
sort of rod ... she'd tried to position herself, tried to imagine
how she could possibly get it into her ... she'd known all along
that she would eventually have to try, that it was somehow meant
for her, would try to open her body fully, let her violation be
total ...
It had filled her dreams. It filled her fantasies now, as
two, then three fingers began to work through the soft mushy swamp
of her aroused pussy.
She spread her lips by flaring her fingers inside her, spread
the circular opening beneath the outer membranes, felt her
fingertips pressing into the inner walls, wringing more and more
juice from her lust drenched flesh with every digging plunge of
her fingers ...
She felt her body shudder. Is that how it would feel, to
have her stallion's cock in her? How different from her father's
cock? How much more painful, how much more satisfying?
She had seen it, looked longingly at it ... she'd even
touched it, but that had sent a shudder of concern through the
beast. She understood. She'd be protective of something so
valuable herself.
Over and over and over again her fingers first pressed deeply
into her sopping pussy then rushed out and up through her wet slit
to where her clitoris ached for attention, and down after five or
six hard passes at the tiny tongue-like bud of nerves, back down
into her yearning cunt.
But she knew that nothing would equal one second of what she
could feel with 'him' in her, with his cock splitting her wide
open.
As she pressed herself on and on towards orgasm, higher and
higher, she began to see it playing before her mind's eye, the
drama of the two of them, saw how it might actually take place,
saw her suspended form beneath that huge frame, those vast curving
ribs, saw her legs spread wide, pulling the red wet target open,
saw it getting closer, closer, meeting her--!
She cried out in the midst of the first of several violent
spasms of orgasm. She doubled up on her bed, every, muscle
quivering from the sudden release of tension.
But she was scarcely touched.
The bottomless pit of her desire had only begun to exert its
influence on her. For as much as she dreamed of completing what
had been started with her shadowy beast, another image intruded,
more and more as her body reached higher and higher levels of
arousal.
It was the stranger. She would have found him fascinating
even had the link of her passion not existed. He was the first
person she'd ever seen outside of the family. Ever!
Was that as strange as it was starting to seem to her? How
abnormal a life did she really lead?
These questions and a flood of others like them were starting
to buzz in her head like a background of static and dissonance
slowly raising in volume until they now threatened to overwhelm
her conscious thoughts.
More and more she was becoming convinced that there was no
other alternative for her but to somehow escape her father's
grasp. Until she'd looked down from her horse and seen the
handsome stranger, there had been no way that she could imagine it
happening. Now, possibilities loomed everywhere, like fresh fruit
waiting to be plucked from a tree. If only she could find a way
to reach them ... way to reach them ...
She drove herself to another orgasm. The image of the
stallion flying through the night was replaced by the rugged face
of Rod Barrett. He seemed to be ... normal. That was it. That
was the difference between her father and the newcomer. She
wondered if his friend was the same way. It had been impossible
to tell what he was like this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow. If her
father wouldn't try to keep them separated, he sounded like that's
exactly what he had in mind.
Well, she'd show him a thing or two. She'd already managed
to do pretty much whatever she wanted, without him knowing. She
had no doubts that she could continue. Harder now, harder into
her dripping pussy, spreading her lips, pressing in and out.
With her other hand she started to rub at her nipples,
pressed the flat of her palm hard into the soft mounds of flesh,
harder and harder and harder.
In her mind now, there were two objects of her passions, two
focal points for her vision. She felt at the mercy of tidal
forces within her never before recognized, forces that threatened
now to rip her apart.
Her orgasm, when it hit her was violent. All muscles went
spastic, her face contorted into a grimace of agonized lust, her
breathing was choked off.
Again and again she stabbed her stiff extended fingers
between her legs, drawing every drop of juice and every tingle of
sensation from her cunt. She wanted more. She knew exactly where
to find it. What remained to be answered was how to attain it.
* * *
Sherry opened the door and looked in on the sleeping form
with his tightly bandaged leg raised on a stack of pillows.
Traction had been called for but lacking the facilities, her
father had improvised admirably.
She walked in and stood by the side of his bed. He was like
a sleeping ... why did she want to think of 'prince'? Besides, in
that fairy tale, it had been a sleeping princess who awaited the
kiss of the prince.
Sherry was, in her own way as confused by the sudden addition
of these strangers into their lives as was her sister. An entire
lifetime kept separate from everything this sleeping man
represented ... she felt like she should fear him, treat him with
the respect she might show a rabid raccoon but she could find
those feelings nowhere inside her. Instead there was a curiosity
coupled with the compassion one normally felt for the wounded and
hurt.
But what else? That was what was bothering her. A feeling
of excitement, a feeling of heightened awareness, a feeling that
her life had just rounded some heretofore unexpected corner and
suddenly an entirely new and unexplored street loomed ahead. Did
she have the courage to walk it? Was she even capable of fully
understanding all the implications of the question?
She doubted it. She knew only that something had sprung to
flame inside her body and her mind as soon as these two men walked
out of the woods with her sister. Something that she as yet had
no words for, but which throbbed beneath her skin like a hot
torrent about to burst through a leaky dam of her isolation.
Suddenly the man's eyes opened. She was fascinated by his
face, by the fact that she knew exactly what he was, knew exactly
what she was to expect and yet really hadn't the slightest idea
what was really at stake here. She was conscious only of the fact
that her eyes were glued to his face, to the curve of lines along
his lips, his chin, his eyes, the shape of his nose.
"Well Ma'am," he said in a friendly drawl, "Howdy do?"
His voice was so friendly, so ... natural. Not at all like
her father's stiff manner.
"I reckon it must have been your daddy patched me up like
this."
He looked down at the tight wrapping that kept the two
splints and his leg immobile.
Sherry was confused. This wasn't at all the threatening
encounter her father had warned them it would be. He'd always
told her that someday, intruders, invaders would enter their land,
their sanctuary. She'd listened in terror as he described the
world slowly reaching out and contaminating them. It was
something that had been more implied than discussed, the horror,
the effects. He'd never actually spelled out the final scene, but
whatever images he'd called up inside her, there seemed to be no
relationship between those childhood memories and the scene in
which she found herself now.
Contamination.
It seemed so alien, much more so than the man in front of
her.
She smiled back at Johnny, sensing many things, none of them
remotely resembling contamination.
"My name's Sherry," she told him, offering her hand.
"Johnny Talbert," he answered, taking her hand, sitting up
for a second and kissing it. Sherry was thrilled.
"Does your leg hurt very bad?"
"Well, now that you mention it, yeah, it does hurt pretty
bad. You dad wouldn't happen to have any pain killer stuck up on
a shelf somewhere, would he?"
"I don't know, she said uncertainly. She wasn't sure just
what her father had planned for these two, but something told her
that it wouldn't necessarily be in their best interests.
"Well, I guess I'll ask him when he looks in on me again.
Did he say how long it would be before I could get up and move
around?"
"Well, since he doesn't have anything to make a cast out of,
you're going to have to just lay there for at least a week. He
said then that he might be able to make something that would hold
you till you could get to a hospital."
Johnny nodded, then frowned in pain.
"Ooooo, that's a nasty headache. Lord, was I drunk or what?
Guess it kept me from going out of my head, though it feels like I
might have done just that anyway."
He rubbed his forehead, and even though Sherry's experience
didn't cover hangovers she understood that discomfort was a large
part of the bargain.
"You just take it easy. I'll be right back with something
that should make you feel better."
She quickly went into the kitchen, filled a hot water bottle
with ice cubes and took it back to him.
Johnny's face lit up when he saw what she had.
"Ah, you're an angel for sure," he sighed as she set the ice
onto his tortured head and he felt the cooling fingers shoot into
his brain.
"Whiskey's a good pain killer but Lord, does it ever make you
pay later."
His eyes closed and he looked like he just wanted to go back
to sleep.
Sherry couldn't quite understand why she was so reluctant to
leave. It wasn't just her motherly instincts rising to the fore.
Not quite. There was something else at work here and she sensed
that it was related quite closely to whatever part of her had been
functioning whenever she gave herself to her father ... similar,
but far more enhanced.
She was aroused and it felt strange simply because whatever
her father had managed to make her feel, there had been a missing
dimension to her concept of sex.
Up to now.
Somehow, she felt that this stranger with his eyes closed in
front of her could fill the gap.
He opened his eyes again and looked at her with curiosity.
"Would you like me to wash you?" she offered all at once.
He arched his eyebrows.
"Wash me? How do you mean?"
"Well, you can't take a bath or wash yourself all alone, can
you? Surely you must want to clean up a little."
Johnny stuck his nose under one of his armpits and coughed.
"Damn! That'd gag a maggot. OK, I see what you mean. If
you're up for sponging me off, I think I could get into that.
She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then pulled the covers
down. Her father had already removed his pants when he'd worked
on his leg. She stared at his limp cock with open fascination.
"What's the matter, haven't you ever seen one of those
before?" he asked, certain that in their seclusion, there'd been
no opportunity for her to lose her virginity, or even understand
how it might be accomplished. She surprised him.
"Oh of course. I've seen one many times. It's just that my
father's looks very different than yours."
"Yeah? Well, I guess they're like fingerprints. Everybody's
is unique, I guess.
His naked body didn't raise the first flicker of
embarrassment in her and she was surprised therefore to find that
he seemed to feel a little awkward.
"Does this bother you?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Oh, well, kind of, I guess ... I don't always have a
beautiful woman offering to give me a sponge bath like this."
"Well how else are you going to keep yourself clean and
healthy?" she asked, surprising herself at how easily she slipped
into the nurse role. It was all very confusing to her and in the
back of her mind was the knowledge that her father would be quite
upset if he knew what she was doing. But her father was safely
secluded in his laboratory once again, and there was no one else
to care or know.
She thought back to the awkwardness at the dinner table
earlier in the evening. Scarcely a word had been spoken that
wasn't crisp, clipped and polite. But the tension had been thick,
thick as mud after the rain in spring. She felt it like
electricity in the air between them all.
Her father never once took his gaze from Rod. Although he'd
managed to keep the hatred out of his voice Sherry could sense it
seething beneath every flicker of his eyebrows, every movement of
facial muscles.
Carrie on the other hand seemed to be lost in her own world
and could hardly care about what was passing between the rest of
them. Occasionally she would glance at Rod, but the expressions
that crossed her face had been too complex for Sherry to analyze
to any degree.
And then there had been Rod himself. Whatever conversation
there had been he had initiated. Questions about their way of
life Lucus had passed off with a disinterested grunt and left to
his daughters to answer.
But he would cough to show his displeasure if they went into
too much detail.
Carrie had offered to show Rod the greenhouse where all their
food was grown, the farm where the animals were kept; that almost
had prompted a response from Lucus but he let it pass.
Rod kept his eyes glued to Carrie the entire evening. When
Lucus asked her about the horse, a totally indecipherable look had
flickered in his eyes and she wondered anew just what it was that
kept her sister so preoccupied when she went off alone.
"I just started to ride him, that's all," she answered, her
voice a bored monotone.
"I saw her riding. She looks like she's done it all her
life."
Yes, there was something happening beneath the surface here,
and that as much as anything else had caused Sherry to be a little
more open with herself concerning her own curiosity about the
injured man in the other room.
That very man now lay naked in front of her and as she
carefully rubbed his body with a damp cloth and warm water, his
cock started to stiffen.
"Um, sorry about that," said Johnny, looking uncomfortable
all of a sudden.
"What are you sorry about?" she asked, letting the cloth fall
over his cock.
"Oh, sometimes it just has a mind of its own," he answered,
looking first at his cock, then at her.
She just watched him with an amused grin and wrapped her
fingers around the shaft. She knew how much pleasure her father's
cock was capable of giving him. This stranger should be no
different.
The second she touched it, Johnny's eyes grew wide, he shut
up and just kept staring at her. She said nothing, simply began
stroking it up and down, steadily squeezing the hard shaft of
flesh tighter and tighter, feeling the thing become even stiffer
in her grip.
Tighter, harder, faster. Steadily, deliberately, she
increased the pressure and the tension and to her surprise he
started to moan almost at once.
"Ummm ..." he said in a dreamy voice, "you really are an
angel aren't you?"
The pack of ice was wobbling on his forehead as her jerks
became more intense.
"This won't hurt your headache, will it?"
Johnny was quick to assure her that even though it did make
his head hurt a little too much, he'd gladly endure the suffering.
It was, after all, for a worthy cause.
Again she jerked on his cock and again he moaned, only this
time, she felt beneath her fingers a rapid fluttering movement as
the muscle at the base of his cock started to go into its spastic
convulsions, squeezing hard against the small reservoir that held
his come, propelling it like a war cannon shot down the length of
his sex-tube where it burst from the head and landed with a plop
all over Sherry's hand.
More bursts followed at once. He was bucking his hips up
into the air with every contraction and each wad that shot from
the purple colored head brought a loud moan of pleasure from his
throat.
"Oh baby, that's wonderful, fantastic oh yeah don't stop," he
was moaning as he spit white come from his cock.
Sherry was surprised at first. Having experienced the orgasm
of no other man besides her father, who was always so ... sedate,
reserved ... she wasn't prepared for this out pouring of
enthusiasm.
"Be careful," she warned him. "You're going to hurt your
leg."
But Johnny seemed preoccupied more with his cock, and was
getting ready to try and figure out some way to fuck this suddenly
unexpected apparition. It would not be easy, and her old man
wouldn't like it ... but who cared? Every time he looked up at
those lush round breasts hanging off her, he was filled with a
sense of awe. She was almost perfect in her appearance, and for
reasons that he didn't even come close to understanding she seemed
to have developed a sudden and extreme attraction to him.
That suited him just fine.
Now, if he could only figure out a safe, sane way to have her
climb aboard, and then fuck the ever loving shit out of her ...
* * *
Rod felt restless. He'd looked in on Johnny a few minutes
ago and Johnny had breathlessly related the tale of the hand job
from nowhere that he'd gotten earlier in the evening.
Never had he seen a more blatant case of sexual repression,
social repression, emotional, physical, mental repression ... face
it, these poor girls were repressed. One way or another, they
were going to have to be pulled away from their father. He could
see that now, and he could also see that it was going to result in
a very severe confrontation.
Well, it couldn't be helped. The girls were almost at the
point of being consciously willing. Not yet, for the influence of
the long years of isolation with their father had developed a
strong mental block to any concept of actually getting out,
breaking away.
But the signs were as obvious as billboards plastered along
the roadside. Hell, Sherry was the reserved sedate one, and
Johnny said she'd just about torn his damn cock off!
And as for Carrie ... well, that little honeyslit was already
well along the road to thinking for herself and taking her own
life into her own hands. It was simply, where she was concerned
anyway, a question of options, and awareness of same. You might
feel dissatisfied with your life as it had developed, but until
you were able to conceive of real alternatives, that
dissatisfaction would remain just that ... a feeling of
restlessness, unhappiness that would have no focus, nothing to
bind together the diffuse threads of ennui.
How could she possibly have any sense of options? Christ!
The girl had never known anything other than this wilderness.
Having an educated father capable of passing on his education to
his daughters had been a plus, of course; but the lack of human
companionship outside the tight closed unit they had developed
into could only limit drastically any concept in her mind of other
possibilities. She might want to get out, but having no idea what
was out there, she really couldn't know fully what it meant.
He would have to educate her. He would have to somehow get
past her father and spend time with her.
It shouldn't be too hard; she was looking at him all through
dinner. Or maybe he'd been staring so hard at her, that whenever
she did happen to glance at him, he was aware of it immediately.
But no, there was chemistry at work here. They had both
already been poured into passion's beaker, were already coming to
a boil. The final reaction awaited only a catalyst of some sort.
But what?
He had to think of something, because he doubted he have very
many opportunities to get her alone away from her father's
watchful eyes, and they had only a week or so before he would find
a way to get them but of his hair for good.
He walked to the window and looked out. A full moon hung
between the peaks of two distant mountains. Over the entire
landscape, the white frosting of moonlight glazed the tops of the
trees rolling up and down the slopes, illuminating the contours
just enough to remind him how truly perfect this area was, how
utterly untouched the land had managed to remain.
As untouched as Lucus Simpson's two daughters.
(SIMPSON!! ... DAUGHTERS!!!)
The bells were ringing louder in his head. What was the
story behind that queer old goat? Why did the fact of his two
daughters stand out so strongly ...?
It was maddening not to be able to put his finger on it,
especially when it had hovered just out of reach, out of sight and
out of mind the whole day, his efforts to call up any clue
notwithstanding.
But his daughters were untouched.
Weren't they? Johnny had said that Sherry jerked him off
like a pro in a massage parlor and then had given him head with
such a sure touch that he'd come again almost at once.
Now where do you suppose she'd found a cock to practice on?
There'd only been one for years and years. Which made the old man
all the more sinister in Rod's eyes. Could he really have been
subjecting his daughters to sexual abuses, throughout their
childhoods.
That he now contemplated performing similar acts with Carrie
struck him as being not at all out of the ordinary. For her
father to do it however ... that was sick, and if anything
justified intervening in the situation that was it.
Oh, face it, he told himself, any excuse would do. The
bottom line was unchanged from what it had been the moment Rod had
walked upon the field and seen her riding majestically, defiantly,
erotically, passionately ...
He wanted her. He would have her.
Just then, a sudden movement caught his attention. Had he
seen anything at all? Or were his eyes just playing ... no!
There it was again. Someone was moving through the shadows of the
yard, and he had a good idea who it might be.
As he watched, he saw a figure pass through a patch of
moonlight and saw the reflection of the cold light off warm golden
strands of waist-length blonde hair.
It was Carrie!
Where was she going?
Rod had a good idea about the answer to that question. He
also was getting a few other ideas. Hell, if she could sneak out,
without the old man knowing, so could he.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get that girl alone.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than that girl!
Nothing!!
* * *
He sat, as he had for hours, before the screen, eyes fixed on
the flickering images bathed in the phosphorescent glow.
Slowly, deftly, with the touch of years of practicing, Lucus
Simpson added the chemicals that would effect the alteration. It
was simply another step in a long practiced process.
He knew the outcome in advance. It would, of course, be
successful. He had nothing but success in the lab these days.
But he was growing restless. He wanted to move on. He was
tired of rats and mice and microbes.
He wanted to experiment on man.
He smothered a grim chuckle, even though there was no one to
hear, or see.
He knew of two perfect specimens. And how convenient!
They'd been simply delivered to him, saving him the tedious
business of trying to flush out a couple on his own. He'd known
that should this ever happen there'd be no way to avoid having his
daughters suffer some degree of contamination. That it had in
fact happened was all too evident at the supper table tonight. It
disgusted him! The way that smooth talking sonofabitch with his
bushy beard kept making eyes at Carrie, and she back at him.
You'd have thought they were high schoolers on their first
date!
Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. But he wasn't
too concerned. The contamination was not yet fatal; they were
still below the threshold.
Were he to interfere now, with the hard final brutality that
he truly would have preferred, he feared that he might lose the
girls entirely, if not in body then definitely in mind and soul.
No, perhaps he'd best play with them, let them think that he
was softening, let them mingle openly with these ... these
outsiders ... this disease that had stricken their world ... let
them think they were enjoying themselves.
And then, after a week, they could leave ... perhaps before
the girls woke up, yes, that would do it. Simple, neat,
surgically clean. Remove the malignant growth before it choked
them.
Life would return to normal. He was convinced of it. He was
certain of it.
He was depending on it.
In fact, it was threatening to become an obsession.
That was something Lucus could not allow, not even to the
extent of denying a portion of himself, a very vital portion,
denying its very existence. It was a question of role. It was
his firm grasp of that concept that allowed him to keep his hands
rock steady during the transfer of minute units, the performance
of delicate surgery, slow careful surgery, like he would perform
on those two malignant pests, carefully shaving layer after
microscopic layer from their cortex, probing deeper, ever so
deeper into the very depths of mind itself, locate at last the
chemical code by which neurons passed their information from one
to the next, how it arranged it, how intelligence itself is
generated ...
It would become his primary weapon, the major tool of his
research ... the chemical genesis of intelligence ... its control
... its enhancement ...
No, there was, at the cold immobile center of Lucus Simpson's
soul, no doubt whatsoever as to the primary role he was meant to
play, the essential face he was to wear ...
He looked to the screen.
The figure remained, as it was earlier, still a misshapen
blob, yet even now beginning to take on a crude shape ... here and
there small extensions of the primal protoplasm that one could
almost pretend, with enough concentration, were arms, legs, the
beginnings of a neck ...
For the first time, the notion of 'cross breeding' had
expanded to include the whole genus of mammals as its domain. But
need it stop there? No!
If man could be blended with lower forms, drawing on specific
superior constructions within certain systems, yet retain man's
nature, his innovation, his spontaneity ... his mind. Who could
predict? What limits might be surpassed?
Could you imagine the implications of an army of one celled
amoebae ... that were intelligent? Cells that could attack body
organizations with infantry-like precision ...
Yes, there was a lot resting on the next few hands. Lucus
felt it like a breath of ice on the surface of his skin. He heard
it with his fingernails, at the tips of each hair, at the core of
his marrow. He was alert. He was attuned to his essential
rhythms. He was ready.
Walking to the small ice-box, he opened it, selected from
among the neatly rowed bottles, each with a small white label, its
molecular structure and noted properties expertly sketched and
lettered in by Lucus' own hand, one bottle. It contained a deep
purple colored liquid. It sloshed in the bottle with a oil-like
sluggishness.
Carefully, taking in those same rock steady hands a sterile
hypodermic, he punctured the seal of the bottle, watched as the
liquid rose to nearly the halfway mark on the line gauge, added
several more increments for good measure, and set it on the silver
table. Its point gleamed in the light of the screen. Beyond the
electronic interface, the little blob watched, it too preparing
for an alteration of the very building blocks of its reality.
Lucus felt a mental bond click into place in that instant,
spanning the space, temporal and electronic between them.
Quickly tying the rubber tube tight around his arm, he found
a vein and the dart was home.
Had a living organism entered his arm and begun eating its
way through his body, it would have felt like this.
Lucus knew that for the next half hour, he would stay as he
was, inert and insane.
And then would come the craving. The blind mindless craving,
the hot flooding of his testicles with lunacy. Yes! Lunacy!
Mindlessness.
Pure primal instinct.
Lust!
There would be Sherry for that. Indeed.
And then, the long space of heightened awareness, of senses
sharpened to the point of puncturing the thin fabric of reality.
At that plateau he planned to maintain himself for the next
several days. Small maintenance doses at seven hour intervals
would keep brain waves in phase through far more complex
variations of their separate frequencies. His data was vast. He
knew exactly what was happening to him, and exactly why. Perhaps
his daughters looked upon his chemical experiments as tolerable
eccentricities. Well and good.
None of them would ever know what hit them.
Lucus Tanner looked back at the silent screen, looked a long
time in total awe ... then he began a long deep laugh, a laugh
which continued long and hard.
It was a strange laugh. There was something more there than
simple laughter. Something complex and mysterious. Something
that hinted at deep inner sadness.
Chapter 8
Rod stopped and listened. Damn! he thought. No fucking way
to see a thing!
He listened to the delicate roar of wilderness sounds of the
night, the endless variations of crickets, owls, mixed with less
definable ones, the rustles, scrapes, thuds, an occasional scamper
of miniature feet.
But nothing that could possibly tell him which way Carrie had
gone. How the hell did she find her way in this blackout?.
He stumbled over a log and landed in something mushy. As he
pulled back and started to scrape the gunk off his arm, it moved.
Yeecchhh!! Fuck! He hated the dark, he thought as he lashed
his arm around trying to shake whatever the fuck it was back to
wherever the fuck it came from.
Then he turned and was running, where, he had no idea, but he
ran.
He hated to admit it but he was really scared. For some
reason, just before he had slipped out of the screen door to
follow Carrie's swiftly disappearing shadow into the woods, he'd
almost reconsidered.
Greed's what did him in. Greed pure and simple.
Well, he thought ruefully to himself as he struggled through
a thicket of ferns, a man's gotta do what he's gotta do, but why
the hell did I have to go do this?
He was about to give up and just sit it out till dawn, when
he'd most likely get his nuts shot off by ole Doc Simpson as he
crept back inside the house just on general principles.
Then he heard it!
Closer than he would have thought too!
The muffled thunder of hooves biting into the ground at a
brisk gallop.
He'd been right!
At once his cock was hard and getting stiffer all the time
inside his pants. He thought of their first meeting, still
stunned at the sight of that wet pink slit opened in front of him,
so inviting, so innocent ...
Lord! He wanted her, wanted to have her legs wrapped around
his shoulders, wanted to be able to drop his head quickly each
time his body rose up to flick first one breast, then the other
with a rapid fire burst of his tongue, wanted to feel that young
pussy wrapping his cock in its hot sopping walls, the enclosing
warmth of her pink flesh seeping through him as though he were
merely a sponge growing satiated with her juice.
He wanted to fuck her god damned eyes out. By God!
But he still wasn't sure in the least how to best go about
it. She was by far the strangest customer he'd ever encountered.
True, her circumstances almost demanded it. Still, he had a
feeling she'd have wound up with an unpredictable kink or two if
she'd been brought up in the cleanest W.A.S.P. nest or the
scungiest ghetto. The girl was in her own little bubble, and
damned if he knew whether or not he had the guts to pop it.
But, with a deep breath, he followed his ears to the grassy
fields of pleasure.
* * *
Sherry walked on tip-toes. Even so, each board seemed to
have a special squeak they'd reserved for just this night.
But her father had remained secluded. She was glad. With
his work to occupy him, he would think less of her, which was fine
because just at this moment her mind was getting ready to meltdown
from over activity.
She didn't have the faintest idea what the flood of sensation
was that had settled into her crotch, she only knew that it was
very intimately linked with the strange man who simply by his
presence coaxed such strange behavior from her.
Taking hold of his cock had almost been like a dream. There
had been an unseen hand wrapped around her wrist. She would have
been powerless to resist no matter what her reaction. But her
utter lack of resistance left her numb.
She had taken it eagerly!
She had felt something that she could only compare to hunger,
but it was an appetite that had never asserted itself before.
It was grinding into her nerves and muscles with blinding
force now!
The door to his room loomed ahead in the dim hall. She
nearly ran the last ten steps, opened it quietly and stepped
inside.
He was lying in bed reading a dusty book from her father's
bookshelf.
When he saw her, he simply closed the book wordlessly, felt
his cock begin to stiffen and settled back into the pillows to see
what would happen.
He found out quickly.
She was at the side of his bed, wanting to reach out to him,
touch him, run her hands over his face, his chest, his cock. She
wanted to feel it stiffen beneath her fingers, wanted to stroke it
velvet surface from the swollen head to the patch of hair it rose
out of like a monolith of flesh, a totem around which her
scattered blind lust could coalesce.
But she was frightened, uncertain just how to proceed. Never
had she felt this way. It was almost as though her cunt had taken
a life of its own, one she could share in but never quite control
... it drove her now, commanded her, generated her every move.
All her thoughts were focused on the one desire to have it filled,
stuffed with that cock that she only this afternoon discovered.
He was ready, and from all outward appearances, quite
willing. As she drew back the covers, she had all the evidence
she need of that.
"I haven't been able to think of anything else. It's been
unbearable. All afternoon I've wanted to get my hands on it
again."
"Well, I've got an idea for something else you can get on it
with."
She blushed. At the same time, she felt a swelling blossom
within her breasts, an answering tremble in her thighs and a
slowly mounting flame flickering within her clitoris.
She was slippery, drenched, and as she removed her pants, she
dipped her finger into her pussy slit, let the thick juice roll
over the tip, and then she placed it at Johnny's lips. He sucked
long and hard.
"You have the sweetest tasting pussy I ever got my tongue on
darling. Which reminds me. Why don't you hop up here so I can
get my tongue on it.
She quickly straddled him and he began to unbutton her shirt.
Each time his hands moved from one button to the next and the
material there fell open, he ran his fingers over the newly
exposed flesh.
Darts of ecstasy ran back through her body.
Her breasts fell out of her shirt and he was all over her,
cupping them in his hands, pressing them into her body, then,
narrowing his fingertips to the point, he began to massage each
hard nipple, rubbing the flesh between his fingers, pressing them,
pinching them until they turned a deep crimson.
She was burning, all through her body, but finally so
fiercely in her cunt that she could take it no longer.
"Please, please. You know what I want. Please!"
"Yeah? Do I really? What's that? What do you want?" he
teased.
"Fuck me you fool! What do you think I want. Fuck me!"
She was whispering but the urgency in her words was quite
plain.
Johnny wasted no time. Lucus felt the room slowly begin to
fall into place, a cartoonist's rendering of reversed chaos,
objects flung from a whirlwind somehow, miraculously, falling into
it's precise spot. His mind, though still fragmented far beyond
any hope of personality or analytic reasoning nonetheless began
assembling still random images, restructuring the mosaic that had
been his world, would be again. But with a difference! Now he
would hear what they couldn't, see what escaped them, hear
frequencies past their stunted range ...
* * *
Elsewhere there was a similar focusing process, one with a
far different energy driving it.
In his loins, his abdomen, his groin, he felt a mounting
pressure, still at the level of mere uneasiness. Soon it would
mount to a passionate thrust of his will, at the same time
shorting out what normal social filters the brain evolved in only
the last ten thousand years or so, letting the deeper and far more
entrenched instinctive urged, the primal drives to ascend.
Soon, very soon, he would have to pay the fire in his balls
the attention it demanded.
His lust was building!
* * *
Rod stood in the shadows, wanting her more and more with each
passing second.
He would have to scale the fence soon, make his stand and let
fate work its course.
She bounced in the moonlight, her hair glowed like a cold
flame. She was a spirit, a phantom. At times he thought he could
almost see through her. She was close to becoming mystical.
She had ridden the horse until he was as supercharged as she
was. Somehow, he must have sensed the effect he had on her, must
have felt the transfer of energy from his body to hers, felt it on
the same wavelength her own brain was probably functioning at.
She was an animal in heat. Pure and simple.
The moment was now.
He jumped the fence and stood waiting for her to pass by him
on her next circle.
As she approached, he stepped out in her path, called her
name, once, loud, and hoped to God she didn't run him down like he
was just another weed. He had no doubt that the horse could do it
and never even notice.
Instead, she reared him in instantly. He was up on his hind
legs at once, neighing with a sharp edge of panic, but simply
clasping him about the neck, she not only stayed on him with ease
but she somehow calmed him down almost as fast as he had bolted.
Then she looked down at him.
"I was thinking about you just then," she said.
"I've been thinking about you ever since I first laid eyes on
you."
"Yes?"
She sounded amused.
"Why don't you come down," Rod said. He was nearly out of
his mind. He wanted to get his hands On her fast!
"I've got a better idea," she returned. "Why don't you come
up here?"
He wasn't about to argue. He jumped forward to climb up when
she held out her hand stopping him.
"Wait," she said. "Put your clothes in a pile over the fence
so you can find them again."
She's been doing this for a while, he could see.
He felt strange climbing up on a horse to try and seduce a
girl who probably had never had a man in her life (the possibility
here being taken into consideration).
But he did it. Nothing could have stopped him.
She didn't have to be told what to do with him. Johnny had
been right. These were accomplished girls.
But Carrie was a natural any way you looked at it. Her touch
was flawless, sure, and perfect.
Within seconds, she had ever nerve ending at the surface of
his skin on fire.
His cock was hard as steel and his balls felt like they were
going to explode. He reached for her breasts and with a moan she
fell into him. Rubbing them in his hands, their incredible
softness built his arousal even higher, and as he pressed his
fingers into their tender flesh he felt the first dribblings of
liquid from his cock.
He slipped a finger into her pussy, sought out the hard bud
of her clitoris and savored the sound of her moans, felt the
pressure from her hips as she rolled them against him.
Then he was pulling her up, lifting her bodily off the horse
to lower her onto his cock. At first, she didn't understand what
he was doing, but the second the head of his cock touched the
already parted lips of her drenched pussy, she started to
struggle.
"No, no," she was saying. What the fuck, though Rod,
thoroughly confused.
"What's wrong."
"I ... can't" was all he could get out of her.
"Carrie, please, don't do this to me. What's wrong?"
She studied him long and hard. Then she explained to him
about the unity she had felt riding the horse as he'd seen her
doing. She couldn't ... not with him, not with her father, who
she'd avoided for weeks, (Ah ha! thought Rod. So the old man was
sticking it to them!). She couldn't unite with anyone else ...
not until ...
Rod couldn't believe what she was asking him. She wanted to
fuck the horse! For the love of fucking Christ she wanted to fuck
the fucking horse! He realized then that no environment in the
world could account for the woman whose breasts he still fondled
to her obvious enjoyment. Whatever vein she was mining was one
uniquely her own.
But the idea was quirky enough to appeal to Rod. And face
it, he was horny as a hoot-owl.
"You really mean this, don't you?" he asked, still
disbelieving.
"Of course. And if you help me, you can have me."
"How do you mean I can have you?" Rod asked.
"I mean, I'm yours. However you want me."
"What if I asked you to leave here with me?"
She waited perhaps a half second.
"I'd go with you."
Ok, thought Rod, let's get this show on the road.
* * *
Locus found the house in darkness. Carrie's room he didn't
even bother to check. She'd be gone. The worthless whelp.
Perhaps he'd dissect her brain as well. Surely there was a
wrinkle or two there never before catalogued by anyone, anywhere.
Someone that difficult to predict was better off without their
cortex anyway.
He turned towards Sherry's room, saw that no light filtered
out under the door, opened it and found it empty. The hair on the
back of his head rose in a rush of tingling and he felt his
stomach clench.
His breathing started to come harder and harder, short choppy
breaths that cut through him like a giant blade.
Where was the bitch. Where was that sweet cunt of hers! He
needed it. He craved it!
And he knew where it was too!
Slowly he turned. Step by step he made his way down the hall
to the room where the stranger lay. How did he know, already,
what he would find; he knew, that was all. He could sense it with
his skin. They were in there, his beloved Sherry and that filth.
Certain as he was, he prayed to whatever concept of God he still
retained that he would, this one time, be wrong, that he would
find her elsewhere, waiting for him, ready for him, knowing, as
usual, when he needed her and preparing herself accordingly.
But it was not to be.
Even before he got to the door, he heard the low throaty
animal groans rising up from his daughter's throat. God! could
that be her voice? Of course, it had to be.
How to do it?
Burst in, catch them in their moment of shock, or enter
quietly, so quietly they would take no notice in the midst of
their throes of passion ... was that how he wanted to catch them?
No.
He couldn't stand it.
Instead, he softly turned the door knob, took a deep breath
and crashed the door on it hinges against the wall. The two
figures on the bed lurched violently in horror. Sherry's eyes
were wide. The man simply cried out in pain and reached for his
leg.
What he saw sickened him.
Sherry was naked, her legs straddling him about his chest
with her back towards his face. She was leaning forward, her lips
wrapped around his cock while at the same time jamming her pussy
into his face as hard as she could. The look on her face told him
everything he needed to know. He had lost her. She had tasted
the forbidden fruit, and while simply expelling her from the Eden
he'd fashioned would have appealed to his sense of symbolism, it
would have been highly impractical. He was grateful for the drug.
He needed the iced steel nerves that it would take to deal with
her as she deserved.
"Father!" Sherry cried.
Lucus stepped into the room, never once taking his eyes off
his daughter.
She quickly jumped off Johnny. His panic simply increased
the tension of his erection and it stood straight up in the air,
looking rather foolish under the circumstances.
"Deceit," said Lucus softly, almost to himself. "Deceit
rules your mind."
He sounded surprised, a little disappointed, but still in
control of himself. That was most important. Never let anyone
know you were not quite in control of yourself ...
Could he do this? Yes. There was no doubt in his mind that
he could do it. But the pounding in his cock and balls was more
than he could stand. First, he had to relieve himself.
He grabbed her by the hand and threw her to the floor. The
man in the bed made a move to sit up and Lucus calmly walked over
to him and directed a well aimed fist into the man's leg. He
turned white from the vicious rush of sharp pain grinding against
the broken ends of his bone. He let out a choked scream and
collapsed back onto the covers.
Then Lucus turned to the trembling girl on the floor, already
a stranger to his eyes. He approached, his shadow covering her.
She turned a frightened face to him. Lucus kicked her with all
his might. Hard, as hard as he could manage, aiming his shoe
right for her cheek. She screamed and fell back to the floor.
Lucus took his stiff cock out of his pants, slowly removed his
clothing and prepared to unload the growing pressure in his balls
that threatened to blow them into tiny pieces if they weren't
emptied soon.
* * *
Rod was grateful that Carrie was so light. He supported her
beneath her arms and she hardly felt like a weight at all.
The scene was amazing to him. Yet strangely enticing.
Erotic. Arousing.
Her back faced the ground, her large breasts flopped to
either side of her body.
She had her legs flared wide reaching up the underbelly of
the animal she was preparing to fuck, resting against him for
support. Ahead loomed that massive log of a cock, that horse-
prick like no prick Rod had ever seen, and certainly unlike any
that Carrie had ever encountered.
Closer and closer it loomed, seeming to grow larger and
larger with each step he took, feeding her to it like lumber to
the saw.
It was so huge. So awesome!
It was like ... well, it was like if he raped a baby. Size
ratio was about--!
Rape a baby!
Baby raper!
"The Babyraper", he thought to himself in a flash of
recollection when all the loose links and clues that had kept
flooding his mind ever since meeting Lucus Simpson fell into place
like a deck of cards in the hands of a magician.
'BABY RAPER MISSING WITH DAUGHTERS'
He saw the headline through the eyes of a ten-year old,
uncomprehended then, quickly forgotten. He also heard the name
Lucus Simpson. Television news, perhaps, maybe a dinner table
conversation. Whatever, the entire story, even with its huge gaps
flashed before him. Enough for him to realize that they were
dealing with a psychotic, if half of what they'd said about him
was true.
Of course. He was one of those names you kept hearing over
the years, never strongly enough to make an impression ... Yet
with a echo residue that could suddenly reverberate with profound
force.
He almost dropped Carrie, literally from fear. What if that
maniac had followed them? What if he was watching now, as he
assisted his daughter in what was perhaps the most bizarre thing
Rod had ever taken part in.
Suddenly, he wanted to be out, away. But the girl he held in
his arms right now could no longer be ignored. He wanted to take
her with him, no matter what the cost.
"Now," she was moaning, wanting that massive cock to plunge
up her pussy.
"Please," she begged, and Rod pushed that last inch, making
contact, beginning the long job of trying to get that massive cock
inside her pussy.
Her concentration was phenomenal. She wanted this more than
she had ever wanted anything and now with it at hand, she was not
about to taste defeat.
"Harder, harder," she yelled, "I don't care if it hurts, push
me onto it, NOW!!!"
And Rod pushed. He couldn't believe that the cock wasn't
just splitting her in two, but amazingly, he felt her sliding onto
it, slowly inch by thick inch, as much as her cunt could possible
take.
She was gasping; crying, babbling, writhing on the post. Her
entire body was shaking, sending her breasts into a fine trembling
quiver. Rod wanted so much to get one of them into his mouth.
Soon, he told himself. Soon, when they were safe, away from the
lunatic that waited back at the house for them.
She was out of her mind. Delirious. She was babbling,
mindless incoherent words pouring out of her mouth, amid gasping
for breath.
"Oh my God it's so huge," she moaned. "Hard now," she
directed, "push me against it hard."
Rod did as she requested, beginning to slide her back and
forth as much as was possible. It took very little of the cock to
fill her pussy, but that was more than enough to reduce her to
jelly.
She was screaming constantly now, not thinking a single
thought, her entire body and mind filled with the explosive pain
of that giant cock pounding into her.
Strangely enough, the horse seemed calm and cooperative.
Perhaps the girl was right. Perhaps there was some for of bond
between them.
When she came, she came in a long fine scream ...
... a scream that was sexuality itself.
... a scream that matched her sister's exactly, although
Sherry's sounded at that moment for drastically different reasons.
"Stop," she begged, "you'll kill him!!"
She was on the floor, her face beaten and bloody, watching in
horror as Lucus tried with all his might to strangle the last life
out of the piece of slime beneath him.
"Stop, stop," screamed his daughter, finally finding the
capability in her muscles to move again, to act.
She looked frantically around the room for a weapon.
Anything. There was nothing.
Except ... as Johnny had thrashed about on the bed trying to
avoid the end Lucus had planned for him, the splints had come
loose from his leg which now lay across the bed at a sickening
angle.
She picked it up now, balanced it in her hand and brought it
down on her father's head as hard as she possibly could.
He let out a groan and fell to his knees.
Then he turned and with a snarl lunged at her. He was only
half human and by now bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man
she'd known as her father, who she'd called 'Dad'.
This was a beast, a drooling crazed beast who could only be
destroyed, never reasoned with.
Sherry swung again at him, this time catching him across the
cheek, opening the skin to a torrent of blood.
He grabbed her wrist just as she was going to bring the piece
of wood down onto his head a third time.
In a quick move, he had it out of her hand and she was
backing away from him with a look of sheer terror on her face.
"What's the matter you cunt? What's the matter? You thought
you'd beat me did you? HA! You're a fool. Just like the rest of
them. They're all fools, each and every one of them. They think
I can be beaten. Well my darling, I'm going to show you how
beaten I am."
He swung at Sherry with the wooden splint but she ducked,
jumping behind a chair.
He kicked the chair away from her and brought the splint down
hard across her back. She screamed and went down hard.
Then he was on her, pulling at her flesh, biting her, tearing
her, digging into her. He lashed out with his fists, with his
feet, his knees, elbows, teeth ... he was brutal, as brutal as
you'd expect the repressed deviant passions of twenty years to be
on their first full expression back in the real world.
She was battered beyond belief. She felt like her body was
slowly coming apart. She felt like she was being slowly stuffed
into a small suitcase, where there was less and less air, less and
less light ... she felt like she was dying.
Chapter 9
Carrie was limp in Rod's arms.
"Take me, take me take me," she continually murmured to him.
"Later Carrie. Listen to me. We have to get back to the
house at once. Do you understand what I'm saying? I think we
might be in danger."
"Danger?" she asked dreamily. "What danger? I feel safe.
Do you feel safe?"
"Carrie, this is no time for child talk. I'm serious.
There's something you don't know about your father, but I'm afraid
that he might be getting ready to do something violent."
"Why?" She seemed more interested now. "What about my
father?"
"I'm not sure, but I ..." but he could find no words to
explain his fears to her.
"Look, just trust me. I'd feel a lot safer if we were back
at the house and you were safely in your room and I was in mine.
No sense in giving your father any reason to blow his stack."
"My father is crazy."
Her words chilled him.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because, he just is."
"Tell me what you mean."
"Well ... he's just strange. I don't know ... he's the only
person I've ever known ... I just know I feel really uncomfortable
around him ... I think he's sick."
"Come on. We're going back."
"I don't want to go back. I want to stay here. You
promised."
Her pussy was still dripping from the fucking she gotten on
that horse's cock. Rod could tell that she was still in a daze
from the intensity of it.
"Carrie, I helped you. Will you still leave with me?"
She flung herself into his arms.
"Silly," she said, "I would have left with you even if you
didn't want me to. I want to get away from here. I have for a
long time. I told you that."
"All right, I want to take you with me. You need to get out
of here. There are things you don't know."
"Like what!?" she demanded, getting annoyed at his hints that
he never elaborated on.
"I told you, wait till we get back to the house. Then we'll
find out."
She gave in, they got dressed.
"Come on, we'll ride if you're in that much of a hurry to
go."
They mounted the horse and even in the darkness, she jumped
the fence and found the trail without problem.
When they got back to the house, it was dark. Rod didn't
have the faintest idea what time it was. After midnight Rod was
afraid that the sound of the hoofbeats would be heard in the
house, so he had them dismount and walk the distance up the lawn.
The darkness seemed to actually flow out of the house, like a
black mist, falling onto the lawn and spreading over it to the
woods. Rod felt engulfed by the total absence of light.
But the dark seemed to be Carrie's element and she moved
through it without fear.
They heard the sounds as soon as they opened the back door.
Thuds, and regular intervals. Sharp sounding thuds. And
groans that were more randomly spaced.
"My God, what's happening," asked Carrie.
Rod was afraid to answer.
They ran towards the sound, realized that it was coming from
the upstairs hall.
"NO! Johnny's room!" yelled Rod, racing up the stairs.
The scene that confronted him when he ran to the door was
unbelievable.
Sherry was thrown across Johnny's still body, herself seeming
to be unconscious, while Lucus beat her unmercifully with a
leather strap.
Her body was a mass of bruises, welts and bloody red stripes
where he had broken the skin. She could have been dead for all
Rod could tell.
Lucus heard him in the doorway; turned with a wild look in
his eyes and to Rod's surprise let out a growl and rushed him.
But instead of attacking, he simply pushed past him and ran down
the hallway.
Rod ran first to Johnny. He saw that there were horrible
bruises around his neck, that he appeared not to be breathing, and
that he still had not moved. Rod feared the worst.
At that moment, Sherry stirred with an agonized moan and
started to slip off the bed. As she did so, her arm snagged on
Johnny's broken leg and the weight of her body began to pull it as
she fell.
That's what it took to shock Johnny back awake. It was then
that Rod noticed the crooked twist where the bone had broken, the
lack of any splints. What the hell had gone on here, he wondered.
Johnny let out a scream.
"Oh God, it hurts, please, no more, no more, I can't take it,
I can't take it."
Rod leaned over and freed Sherry's arm and helped her to the
floor gently.
Suddenly he thought about Carrie. Her father was out there
in the house somewhere and so was she. He was obviously out of
his mind.
"Carrie!!" he yelled, "he's out there. Be careful! He's
snapped!"
He heard nothing in reply, and was just about to get up and
run out into the hall to see what was keeping Carrie, when a form
crossed the doorway.
It was Dr. Simpson, his eyes as wild as ever, standing right
in the middle of the door. In his hand was a revolver. It was
pointed, not at Rod or Johnny but at Sherry.
"Mr. Barrett, I wouldn't worry about my daughter. I assure
you, I'll worry about her. You might look to your own safety.
You see, Mr. Barrett, I have plans for you."
Rod's eyes were glued to the revolver.
"Don't worry, Mr. Barrett. You needn't worry about this
little toy. It's not for you."
He looked at Sherry's still immobile form on the floor next
to the bed, and without blinking an eye drilled three rounds into
her. Her body jerked at each shot.
Rod felt his world slipping away. It was over. They had
lost without even knowing what the stakes were until it was too
late.
"Well, are you satisfied, you maniac," he said, trying to
sound as vicious as he could.
"Please shut up Mr. Barrett."
Lucus turned his attention to Johnny, conscious now, simply
watching in fear for his life.
"Babyraper!"
Rod hissed the words and they had a startling effect.
Lucus' face went slack for just a second, and he seemed to
collapse against the door frame.
His eyes grew wide with shock.
"What did you say?" he croaked.
Rod sneered at him, looking a lot more contemptuous and
condescending than he felt.
"You think I didn't know? You think that we didn't know from
the first, when you introduced yourself? Come on, Dr. Simpson?
That was a big case."
Rod saw Carrie, her face white from shock and fear peeking
around the corner, listening. Her eyes fell on the wooden splint
that Lucus had cast aside after using it to beat Sherry.
"Come on, Dr. Simpson. How many was it they were after you
for? Six. Eight maybe ten?"
He flinched at every word, as if being physically struck.
"Babyraper. That's what they called you, wasn't it?"
"There was no evidence," screamed Lucas, all at once losing
control. Rod tensed his muscles, certain that a bullet was about
to rip through his body, maybe two or three. Maybe enough to kill
him.
But the expected shot didn't come. Lucus had somehow brought
his temper under control, though Rod could see he was right on the
line.
"You think you can shake my composure? You think you can
surprise me and gain the upper hand. You have a lot to learn, Mr.
Barrett. A lot to learn indeed."
"Well, I've already learned a lot, yessir quite a lot
indeed."
"You've learned nothing except to repeat rumors. But you
see, there is no one which whom you can confide your information
and do me damage. The daughter I loved is gone, the one who
loathes me will not come close enough to me for me to deal with
her as she should be treated, so I will have to track her down."
Carrie had by this time already snaked into the room and had
the splint in her hand. It was hard for Rod not to steal glances
at her from time to time, but he knew it would be her death
warrant if he did, so he made certain that his eyes stayed glued
to Lucus.
Carrie had the splint in her hand now, but instead of
bringing it down on top of him, she looked like she was preparing
an underhand swing.
Good luck Carrie girl. If you miss this one you won't get
another chance.
"Tell me, Dr. Simpson, what was it like, trying to slide your
cock into a small child like that? Was it as disgustingly sick as
I imagine it was?"
Lucus was beginning to sweat and his bottom lip was quivering
without pause.
"You'd better shut up now. I'm sick of listening to you." He
leveled his gun at Rod's midriff to make the point.
Rod looked over at Johnny. He hadn't made a move since Lucus
walked into the room. He looked like he was in bad shape.
Too bad about Sherry. Fine lady. Would have been great to
bring her out too. But there was still Carrie, and if he could at
all he was going to save her from this madness.
She had her own plans at the moment.
Rod kept talking to Lucus, who seemed only too glad to brag,
not about the murders themselves for he'd always maintained that
he was innocent, and he saw no reason to change his position now.
But about the escape, when every law agent in the city had been
watching him to make sure he didn't do exactly. And with two
daughters no less!
The more he talked, the more Rod got the idea that he saw his
daughters simply as a gauge to measure himself. He success at
dominating them was his measure of his own worth.
Sick!
And then Carrie was in position. Rod held his breath, still
scarcely able to avoid looking at her. She stood behind him,
hands gripping the splint tightly, her face contorted from the
urgency of the situation.
And yet, this was her father. A madman, to be sure, and
certainly not to be reasoned with. She knew that. She was a
bright lady. But Rod could imagine that the final thrust, that
last harsh act that would forever place him beyond her was a
difficult one for her. He could almost see her steeling her
reserves!
Too late! He'd glanced in her direction, for just a split
second. It was enough. Dr. Simpson pivoted on his heels in a
second, and a grin slowly crossed his features.
"So. I'll not have to track you down after all. So glad you
could join us, my daughter dearest."
He spoke with a sneer, his words dripping with contempt.
Carrie's face went white as she saw the gun aiming right at her
stomach. With his back turned, Rod was tempted to jump him, but
Lucus was too quick, swiftly moving away so that he could aim his
gun at them both.
"Over there," he told her, pointing to Rod.
"What have you done to Sherry?" she cried. "You're a
monster. You're a vicious monster. What have you done?"
"Please, don't. You're giving me a headache. It's the last
thing I need now. Just stand there next to your little friend
there, and we'll just see what's to be done about you. I must say
daughter, you've been a supreme disappointment to me. I had such
visions for you when you were younger."
"Yeah, but they all included keeping me away from the rest of
the world. I'm tired of being in a cage. I want to leave. I
want to leave with him."
Lucus chuckled.
"Well, that's going to be a little difficult. You see, he
and his friend are not going to be leaving us. Not today, not at
the end of the week. Not ever."
"You can't keep us here forever. If you kill us, there are
people who know where we are. There'll be search parties. You'll
be found out, no matter what. It's over. You're finished. Why
don't you face that fact and end the suffering now. You've
already killed one of your daughter's. Must you kill the rest of
us?"
Locus stared at Rod as he spoke, but it looked as if he
really couldn't hear what was being said. His eyes began to
wander the room, he began to waver ever so slightly on his feet.
Rod noticed this, hoped it would continue and grow worse and kept
up a steady stream of chatter, designed more to hypnotize him than
anything else.
It appeared to be working. Rod kept hammering home the
arguments for letting them go, but as he spoke, his voice assumed
more and more a lilting, melodic quality, almost a sing-song
rhythm, rises and falls spaced at regular intervals.
Lucus was hardly paying attention now. He was starting to
have difficulty staying on his feet.
Suddenly, Sherry moved. Rod noticed it, saw a flicker of
eyelids, saw her body jerk spasmodically. At first Rod had just
assumed it to be a mindless firing of nerves, a reflex, a
mimicking of life, not a sign of its presence.
But she moaned. A moan of pain, but undeniably from a living
breathing person! There was hope!
Lucus Simpson was jerked out of his trance-like state and
jerked around to face his daughter, firing two more rounds as he
did so. They buried themselves harmlessly in the wall. He stared
at Sherry's still living form in horror as she tried to raise her
head and prop herself up on an elbow, only to collapse moaning in
pain.
As he stared at her, Rod had to do some quick thinking. He
had to somehow get across the room to that madman before he took
that last bullet. Or else he had to make him fire the gun. But
how!?
Carrie provided the answer. She lunged for the piece of wood
he'd forced her to drop when he'd first discovered her presence in
the room. It still lay at her feet, and with her father's
attention momentarily diverted, she bent down, picked up the heavy
piece of wood in her hands and without even bothering to take aim
she threw it as hard as she could across the room. She evidently
knew how to throw well.
The wooden splint flew straight as a spear. Her quick
movement had once more diverted Lucus Simpson's attention, and as
he quickly turned to face this new threat, the piece of wood
caught him right in his adam's apple. He instantly started to
cough, bending over in pain.
Rod had started to sprint across the room towards him as soon
as Carrie had heaved the splint at him, and as he doubled over,
Rod felt him to be an easy target. He proved much more dangerous.
He was obviously having trouble breathing, but he still
managed to swing his arm out towards Rod when he was within range.
The revolver caught Rod right across the cheek and for a moment he
saw stars and nearly fell. Then he swung back, caught the madman
right on the chin, but it scarcely affected him.
Then, as Lucus once more lowered the revolver to Rod's
stomach, this time with no doubts about whether he was going to
use it or not, Rod truly tensed himself for the hot lead.
That is, until he saw that Carrie had managed to pick up the
wooden splint once more and sneak around behind her father in the
same position where she'd been before. This time, she was
successful.
The piece of wood flew with perfectly aimed precision up
between Lucus's legs, burying itself in his balls. All his
muscles went rigid instantly and Rod was afraid he might pull the
trigger, but then they went slack almost as quickly. He fell like
a piece of empty clothing tossed on the floor. His gun clattered
across the floor.
Rod jumped for it, but Carrie was on it first, pulling it
from his reach.
Her father was not yet done-for either, rising to his knees,
looking Carrie directly in the eyes, face white but still rigid
with determination, trying to stand.
He held out his hand.
"Give it to me, Carrie."
She backed away, the obvious conflict within her twisting her
face totally out of shape.
"Carrie, I'm your father. You can't use that against me."
He was standing up now, wobbling, the effects of the splint
in his balls not yet subsiding. But he was persuasive. Old
patterns of behavior die hard. No matter how long Carrie may have
nurtured rebellion in her mind, she had been simply his
unquestioning daughter for many years longer. She struggled with
an awesome choice at the moment, and Rod knew nothing he could do
to make it easier for her.
Lucus took a couple of steps towards his frightened daughter.
She stepped back again and found herself nearly against the wall.
Lucus began to laugh.
"You can't use it. Don't even try. Give it to me, do you
hear? Carrie, give it to me."
He was closing the gap between them. Still the girl could
only stare at him in absolute fear, paralyzed by the situation in
which she found herself.
"Stay back," she finally managed to say, but didn't sound a
bit convincing.
"No, I don't think I will," her father answered. "Now give
me the gun."
Rod was later unsure if he could even remember the sound of
the final bullet firing. He could only really remember Lucus
being literally thrown back off his feet. He fell flat on his
back, eyes still opened, a slowly growing splotch of deep red
forming over the space where his heart only moments before had
pounded wildly. He looked simply surprised.
Carrie held the gun limply in her hands, was nearly on the
verge of tears and would probably have fallen if Rod hadn't been
at her side at once, arm around her, soothing voice in her ear.
She fell against him. She began to cry. Great heaving sobs
poured from her throat shaking her body like someone jerked her on
a string.
Rod quickly led her to a chair and made her comfortable, then
ran to Sherry's side.
She was dazed, hopelessly confused and bleeding.
Carrie stared at them from across the room.
"She isn't dead yet, is she?"
"No, but she's hurt. Not nearly so bad as I'd thought. It
looks like her hand, her leg and shoulder. But no major arteries
or veins. At least it doesn't look like it."
He continued to examine Sherry's naked body until he was sure
that she was no worse than that, took a blanket from the bed and
wrapped it around her.
"We have to stop the bleeding," said Carrie, her voice still
dull and lacking expression, but at least she was thinking,
dealing with the situation.
"Do you know how?"
She nodded.
"He insisted that we know first aid. And he taught us a lot
more than most people know. He was a doctor, remember."
She worked fast, tearing sheets for bandages. "That should
hold her. For awhile. How long is it going to take us to get out
of here?"
"Your father mentioned a radio. Do you know where it's at?"
"No. He never let us see it. He never used it that I know
of, but I guess he must have once in a while. We'll have to
search the house."
Sherry started to mumble something.
"What's she saying?" asked Rod.
Carrie put her ear close to her sister's mouth. "I think
she's saying it's down in the laboratory. Come on, it's this
way."
"Wait a second," said Rod. "I want to check on Johnny."
His friend looked pale. He hadn't moved again since Sherry
had fallen off the bed. Rod tried not to look at the sickening
angle of his leg bone. He wondered if Johnny would ever be able
to walk right again.
"Johnny, wake up. Are you all right?"
Johnny made some incoherent noises, but opened his eyes and
smiled. "Shit, I told you I was too old for this shit. Next
time, I'm staying in the damn city."
Rod looked at Carrie.
"He'll live. Come on. Let's look for that radio."
They broke the lock on the laboratory and walked down the
steps. The room was still bathed in the same glow it had when
Lucus had been down there. The same blob stared silently from the
still flickering screen. Rod let out a low whistle.
"Christ, what was he doing down here?"
"He never would tell us. But there was something he mixed up
down here and he'd take it and it would make him crazy. That's
what happened tonight."
Rod looked at her. "You've been through this before?"
"Not quite as violent. But yes. All our lives."
They found the radio after a random sampling of buttons on
the console slid a small door aside on one of the cabinets. Rod
made contact with the nearest ranger station without difficulty
and soon had help racing to their rescue.
He looked at Carrie.
"You know, it's just starting for you?"
"I know. Will there be a lot of people and a lot of
questions?"
"Probably."
"Tell me about my father. What did he do?"
Rod shook his head. "Later. There'll be lots of time."
He took her hand and they ascended the stairs and went back
to wait with the others.
The End
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+