©2004 by Sara H - All rights reserved. Posting elsewhere
only by explicit permission of the author.
But mostly, this story is written for the woman from whom my pseudonym comes... one who has nurtured me and my creativity, accepted and supported my sexuality, who has been steadfast through my instabilities and crises, and who has never wavered in her love and affection. Sara, you have my eternal love and affection, and my wishes and prayers that your journey onward from here is as beautiful and good as the soul eternity now welcomes.
- Sara
It wouldn't be too much longer, and she'd be at Aunt Martha's, drinking down a hot cup of coffee, trying to get out of telling her mom's sister all the family gossip. She'd be polite, but she was really tired, and the long conversations that were bound to happen could wait until morning.
It had been some years since she'd seen her aunt, and she wasn't sure what to expect. Martha had been a bit of as "wild child" in her youth, and Brenda's mom didn't talk about her much, and when she did, she never failed to refer to her sister as "a heathen thing." But Brenda remembered the flowing dresses and billowy blouses that Martha had worn, and how she'd looked like the exact representation of what Brenda imagined when she thought of the word "hippy".
Earth Mother. Flower Child.
Anyway, she couldn't pass though West Virginia without stopping in. And besides, she felt kinship beyond being Martha's niece. Both were rebels in their own way, and both sat on the uncomfortable edge of being family outcasts.
She pressed the shift lever into gear and headed down into the darker shades of the valley. As she did, she felt the air growing cooler, and could smell the end of summer coming. That's what she loved about riding her bike... it was more like being in the passing scenery than just watching it from behind the glass of a windshield.
After another forty-five minutes, she saw the white and red mailbox and the gravel road her aunt had described when Brenda called to ask if she could stop by. That narrow, worn road would lead to Martha's little, worn house in the hills. She turned off the highway and carefully navigated the motorcycle over the winding, rocky road - more of a rutted path, really. The trees seemed to form an arch over her, almost reaching down to touch her. The cool air added to the effect, making her shiver as she rode.
Finally, she saw the small farmhouse, lights shining through yellow shades, the porch light on, just as Aunt Martha had promised. She pulled up next to a battered pickup truck that looked to have been white before time and weather had taken their toll. With some amusement, she noticed that the emblem was missing from the front - there were a couple of small holes in the hood where it had once been. She could have taken a huge black stamp with the words "OLD FARM TRUCK" and used in on the doors and hood... like the twilight scenery, it was as typical as it was beautiful. Generic rust.
She stepped up onto the porch, and was about to knock, but the door pulled open before she could even lift her hand.
"Brenda!" said Aunt Martha, smiling widely as she showed herself. "I was beginning to get worried you were lost! I'm so glad you're here!" she said, pushing open the screen door and waving away the moths hovering there.
"Hi, Aunt Martha," said Brenda. She realized that she almost felt coy, like the little girl she'd been when she'd first met her older relative so many years ago.
"Come on in, girl," said Martha, still beaming. "I know you're cold after riding. I used to have a 'cycle myself, before I figured I was pushing the odds towards having a wreck."
"Cold and tired," she answered, smiling back and feeling much more at ease. Even though she knew her aunt had a reputation, she didn't know much else, and she never knew what reactions her own peculiar passions would bring. Discovering Aunt Martha was once into motorcycles wasn't surprising, but it was a relief just the same.
Brenda stepped through the door as Aunt Martha took her arm, expecting the musty odor of old paper and old houses. Instead, she was greeted with Jasmine incense and the heady aroma of baking bread. The intensity of it made her swoon, and she felt her balance waver a bit.
As they got into the living room, Aunt Martha turned, took a step back, looked over the tops of her glasses and said, "Well, let me see what my sister raised up." Giving her niece a quick once or twice over, she pronounced, "My, you've turned into quite a lovely young lady!"
Brenda blushed. "Maybe you'd better use your glasses, Aunt Martha..."
"Nonsense. And you're old enough now to dispense with formalities I never liked in the first place. Just call me Martha. If you don't, I'll start calling you Niece Brenda."
"Okay... Martha," said Brenda, smirking. Martha was just as unconventional as she'd remembered.
"Much better. Now come on in and tell me all about everything that's going on. I have some hot coffee ready for you, and I won't take no for an answer!"
Brenda rolled her eyes as she followed Martha to the kitchen, grateful for the coffee, and dreading the gossip.
Sure, she still remembered being disgraced and harassed out of the poor, rural county when her sexual preferences became known... still remembered the pastor's wife spitting on her when no one was watching. And she remembered how Cindy Johnson, Simone's first and only lover up to that time, had killed herself thanks to the good people of Rogers Falls and their "compassionate" helping of shame and ridicule. She knew that Cindy alone was responsible for her choice to end her own life, although when it had happened, Simone was devastated.
Over time, life away from the cloistered atmosphere of the Appalachian valley she called home had given her new direction and new appetites. She was still a "lay-yez-be-in wummun", but had since become more militant in her views. And she'd discovered a hunger for directing things to match her own vision of how they should be.
This hunger mixed with her interest in psychology, which had been a direct result of dealing with Cindy's death. Added to her interest in science, research and revenge, it had all formed into something new, deep inside of her... it was impossible to tell where one aspect ended and another began.
Simone was as insane as she was brilliant.
She listened to the sixty-cycle hum of the psychoactive circuits as The Behemoth warmed up. It would be several more minutes before it was ready to discharge its payload into the cool night. She was nervous... although the power drain was negligible, the Polyspectral Transducers created an unintended by-product in the form of an asynchronous electromagnetic wave, one that needed constant monitoring. She'd forced the turbines offline at the local power plant once already.
During a test, as the wave spread out, it had begun to travel along high voltage power lines, and the synchronizers that controlled the generators at the power plant interpreted the wave as a malfunction and tripped the built-in safeties. If it happened again, it was almost certain that an investigation would follow, with the inevitable outcome of the authorities finding her remote facility.
She passed the time trying to think up a name for the thing - Asynchronous Polyspectral Brainwave and Thought Pattern Modification Transducer just didn't have much of a ring to it. She'd always called it "The Behemoth", and sometimes "The Antichrist" when she was frustrated with her progress, but both seemed a little heavy-handed for what the thing actually did.
She tried to think up catchy acronyms to pass the time. LESBIAN - Looped Electronic Sapphic Behavior Indoctrination And Naturalization unit... SAPPHO - Sophisticated Asynchronous Polyspectral Perverse Homosexual Originator device... HILLARY - Hyper-Indoctrination to Lesbian Love - Are we Ready Yet box... but nothing seemed to really hit the mark.
Someday she'd think of something.
In the meantime, the indicators were now showing green across the board. It was time to play with the locals. Or have the locals start to play with each other.
Or both.
Already there'd been questions about load and capacity, and the local government had come down hard. They'd been able to get the power back on by buying power from other regions, but getting the turbines back on line took hours and cost outrageous amounts of money due to the emergency crews that had to be called in to handle the restart.
As always, the problem was moving across the board a few lights at a time. It was about to reach the distribution office itself, and she wondered if she'd see anything.
She didn't have to wait long for an answer. The dimmed incandescent lights of the large room flared and then adjusted. The effect was strange, and created a kind of sickening change in perspective as if room were getting longer and taller... as if it had been pulled outward like taffy. She felt dizzy and sick for a moment, and then it was gone. She looked around and swallowed, getting a sense of normalcy again.
She glanced upward at the display wall again, and did a double-take. The indicators were all green. She pulled up a display on her monitor and studied it for a moment. There was still something going on, but the system had been able to compensate this time, and nothing was going to happen. Still, someone needed to figure out what was going on.
She reached over to the alarm button, but pulled her hand back. If she woke people up for a false alarm, she'd get skewered by the General Manager. And if something bad was happening, she wouldn't be leaving the station for days, and would be lucky to get any sleep at all. And while she might have had some duty to report deviations in the system, the lights had turned green again.
She hesitated for another moment, but a sense of peace about the situation - about everything, really - crept through her mind. She could feel it growing... a kind of faith that everything was going to be fine. It wasn't specific, but rather a kind of gentle assurance that all was right with the world. She laughed a bit at the mystical feeling of it. Night work, alone on watch, could do these things.
She'd been alone ever since the cutbacks of '02, and her co-worker had been replaced with a little box with a big red button on top that she had to push every thirty minutes to assure those in charge that someone was watching the system. If she didn't press it, Security would show up to find out what was wrong. She'd written out the laid-off worker's name, Andi, on a sticky-note and taped it to the side of the box. Now, everyone called the thing "Andi".
As for Donna, she knew that the routine wasn't about monitoring her safety or well-being. It was about keeping the lights on. She didn't mind, really - it was typical of most corporations, and if nothing else, power companies were corporations. "Never mind the girl with the heart-attack on the floor, what about the grid?"
It didn't matter. She liked the time alone. The time with no one else around. The isolation. The desert of night.
Besides, every few hours Francine would come by, which was just enough to break up the monotony. Francine, the night guard who was just a tad overweight, with wide hips and breasts that stretched her uniform shirt tight. God, that had to be uncomfortable.
Amazing breasts. Donna smiled and let out a small, sweet laugh. She wondered if they had the classic shape, or were more conical, like her own. She licked her lips without realizing it. She wondered if they were more or less sensitive.
She reached up and ran a finger around her own nipple and shivered as it hardened and sent a familiar tendril of pleasure into her brain. It was stronger than usual. God, it had been so long. "Francine is probably lonely, too," came the voice in her mind.
She might have thought it strange to have such a thought, but after all, it was the voice she'd always heard when she was thinking. It was her own voice, her own... desire.
She shifted her weight in her chair and sighed as the movement of her thighs showed her that her vagina was thinking right along with her, leaking out the essence of her unexpected - and unexpectedly welcome - need.
Worried for a moment that she might actually be getting her pants wet, she reached down to check. As her hand touched her crotch it sent a blast of pleasure through her, and she began to rub herself right through her clothes, an unintended consequence of her caution. Guilt and pleasure combined inside and erupted from her lungs in a long, soft moan.
She began to writhe, the display board forgotten, as the swell of lust and thoughts of Francine danced a rite of seduction in her head. Her eyes closed and her hands, moving in ways far more instinctive than reasoned, pleasured her as she had never been pleasured before.
She didn't hear the door as it opened, nor did she see the pair of eyes that watched her and then closed, opening again, now shining with the same lust that was shining in hers.
She jumped and nearly screamed as a pair of hands touched her knees, eyes springing wide open. Francine! She was caught!
Color rose to Donna's cheeks in embarrassment, until she had the courage to look directly into the face of the woman who'd caught her in the act of self-pleasure. A face that was on a head that was on the shoulders of a woman kneeling in front of her, watching with undisguised lust.
The tongue moved. The lips whispered. "Donna... god, Donna... let me..."
No more words were needed. Donna pulled Francine upward and along her body, gasping as the guard's huge breasts crushed her own, kissing her deeply, tongues suddenly dancing to a tune older than history. The scent of their arousal mixed and filled the air, invading her senses as she gave in to her lust.
And while there was the tiniest part of Donna that knew that before tonight, lust of this nature and strength would have been shocking at best, it no longer mattered. It was here now, and it was a part of her, and she was a part of it.
And she knew that Francine was feeling exactly the same thing.
How nice it would be if they could become closer, somehow.
As she walked to the front door, she noticed that the front room, where they normally sat playing cards, was empty. She walked in and listened for some sound to guide her. It wasn't unusual for them to find something else to do if any of them were late, so when she heard noises from the basement, she smiled and headed for the door at the back end of the house.
As she turned the corner to head down the steps, she stopped again. There was the strangest sound coming from below, like a swarm of angry bees. She called out, "Ver? Stacy? Deb?"
There was no answer. She started down the steps, more curious than frightened. When she finally got to where she could see past the partial wall and underneath the remaining soffit, her jaw dropped in shock at the scene laid out before her.
Or rather, at the women laid out before her.
They were arranged in a loose circle, nude, making love. No, not making love, exactly. They were... fucking. The word ran through her head, coating her thoughts like slick, evil honey. Fuck-king. Fuuuuucking.
Vibrators moved up and down the length of hot, wet slits as her friends writhed on the carpeted floor, the sound almost drowning out the moans as their bodies bucked in response to the obscene pleasuring.
As her eyes glued themselves to the orgy in front of her, she wondered where the vibrators had come from. Purses? Did Ver have a collection? But before she could be distracted by her curiosity, it no longer mattered - any sense of logic and reason was melting away in the blistering heat.
Something about the scene before her fell into place like a piece of a puzzle whose existence had never even been guessed. It was what had been missing in her life up to this moment, with Edward, with her friends, in the world. It was beautiful beyond anything she could have imagined.
Women fucking women. And then, desire slipped like a sliver of smooth glass covered in oil into the deepest recesses of her mind. She wanted... needed... to fuck them and be fucked. It called to her like a siren from deep inside her core, from the most basic part of her nature.
Like the Voice of God.
She moaned and tore herself out of her clothes and walked over to Ver, and kissed her shoulder. Ver turned over, saw her, and pulled her into a kiss filled with more passion and lust than Mary had ever known. She moaned her response directly into the lungs of her new-found lover. And then, the vibrators quieted, were set aside, and as Stacy made room, Mary slid down Ver's body licking and tonguing the hot, sensitive flesh, until her nose and mouth were filled with the scent of Ver's hot, wet pussy.
She felt Stacy's tongue tease her thighs and she threw her legs wide, even as her own tongue plunged into Ver and then up, teasing the hard, blistery clit offered her, licking... and swirling... suckling... nibbling...
And as all four women pushed each other closer and closer to their inevitable consummation, their shared climax of wanton abandon and bliss, there was no other world, and no other place to be.
Mary had found treasure, buried in her best friend's cunt.
Like so many things, the reality of conversing with Martha was not nearly as oppressive as Brenda had imagined. In fact, just the opposite was true. Martha had a gift for listening - really listening - and it had almost been intimidating. For the first time, someone actually was absorbing all her words. Most people she knew only listened until they thought they knew what she was saying, followed by fidgeting with impatience as they waited to say something else.
But Martha would listen, and each time Brenda finished, her words would hang in the air, as if Martha was savoring their very essence, relishing each vibration, each manipulation of lips, tongue, and breath... like a lover...
Brenda shivered as the thought occurred to her in such an odd way, but didn't retreat. It was too appropriate a choice of words to dismiss.
As she thought back, she tried to remember all she had said, but it was all a jumble, now that she had slept. It didn't really matter. After just a small amount of time with her aunt, Brenda realized there was nothing that she couldn't say, no story she shouldn't tell.
For some people, like her overly-protective mother, it was uncomfortable. But Brenda loved the chance to be completely open, and she loved Martha for giving her that chance.
The aroma of fresh, brewing coffee and bacon mixed with the crisp air and warm sun of the morning, and she pulled herself out of bed, drawn to the kitchen like a moth to a flame.
When she got to a kitchen, she plopped down in the nearest chair and looked over at Martha, who was standing at the counter, in the bright morning sun. The bright, golden light created something almost artistic - an odd cross between Norman Rockwell and Vermeer, as she stirred something very slowly, deep in thought.
Brenda was struck by the sensuous movement, like a soft caress. She imagined the flavor of whatever Martha was creating being pulled out of dormancy, brought to life by the Martha's talent and skill.
She sniffed the air, and under the coffee and bacon, she could smell the herbs and spices that had become part of the fabric of the walls, the wood... an aroma that existed despite anything else that happened in this kitchen. As she watched the wooden spoon go around and around, she could see why kitchens were universally popular gathering places. They were casual, open, and yet were a place where primal nature could meet refined grace, creating an explosion of the senses, irresistible as they were pleasurable.
Almost as an afterthought, Brenda realized she was getting turned on. Wet. The strangeness of her arousal didn't stop it, but made it stronger as her eyes focused on the slightly moving hips of her aunt, moving back and forth, like a subtle, native fertility dance.
"Sleep well, Bren?" asked Martha, without turning around.
The voice was like heady wine on Brenda's ears... musical, heavy, earthy. She realized with more acceptance than shock that she wanted Martha. Wanted to make love to her. Wanted to hear her screams of pleasure.
She wanted to taste Martha's flesh.
"Brenda?" asked Martha, turning around.
"Y-yes," answered Brenda. "Very well."
"Good. I'm making up some pancakes, if you want them," she said.
Brenda stood up and walked over to the counter as Martha turned back to her chore. She pressed into her aunt from the side and rear and took in a sharp breath as their bodies, separated only by two layers of thin cloth, touched.
"Perfect," said Martha, pronouncing her judgment on the creamy, beige batter.
"Yesss, perfect," echoed Brenda, breathing in the scent and heat of the woman beside her.
Martha turned to her niece, and looked into her eyes. "Brenda... you are so... beautiful," she whispered. She raised a trembling hand to brush back her hair. "I... I want you... I've stood here all morning trying to stop these feelings..."
"There's no need, Martha. We're kindred spirits. We've found each other," breathed Brenda, pulling Martha to herself and sliding her body against the forty-eight-year-old woman.
"But we can't... I mean... I can't... it's not..."
Her words were cut off by the touch of Brenda's lips to her own, and by the beating of her own heart as she succumbed to the wanton desire coursing through her veins.
As their hands slowly pulled the clothes from each other in a ritual that felt almost sacred, who they were disappeared, the mists of history burning away like morning fog.
There was only Brenda, Martha, and the heat of the morning sun as it
blazed between them.
- Sara
Before she would be able to consider her work done, however, there would be several more nights of deepening the effects of the complex machine at the very least. Cumulative treatment would be necessary to make the entire valley hers, and although she didn't mind - it was, after all, a matter of simple reality - there were several people for whom she had special plans.
Close and intense contact with a properly configured polyspectral field could create a dedicated and completely willing slave in less than an hour. With the right technique, the treatments necessary for permanent change would be completed by the newborn slave without any more direct interaction from Simone.
She shivered pleasurably at the thought of creating such a wonderful cascade of events, and hummed happily as she continued preparing. It was fair to say that she loved her work as much as the effect she was having on the valley.
She loved each and every barrier she came to, thinking of it only as another puzzle to solve. First and foremost of the remaining barriers were the men. While she wanted them to see her handiwork, she would have to figure out how to defuse their coming outrage, especially when they figured out that someone was behind all the changes. She'd had several ideas, but until recently hadn't come up with one that would achieve her goals without unacceptable risks.
But that was now solved... such was the nature of inspiration.
So for most of the rest of the morning and afternoon, there were new things to accomplish. She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Rogers Falls Baptist Church.
"Hello," she said when the phone picked up. "My name is Lorraine Shepherd, and I just moved into the area. I've been really missing church, and I was wondering if I could talk to your pastor sometime?"
She listened as the secretary on the other end of the line thanked her for calling, and then asked for her name again.
"Yes, it's L-o-r-r-a-i-n-e, and Shepherd is spelled just like it sounds - like watching my flocks at night," she answered.
She waited patiently as the secretary checked the pastor's schedule and mentioned an opening, to which she responded, "He could? I mean he does? That would be great! I'll be there in about an hour and a half! Thanks, and God bless you!
"Buh-bye!"
Simone set the phone down and sighed with satisfaction. A new member in a rural church was always a big deal, and she'd spent enough of her youth learning how to say the right things - it was like walking through an open cattle gate.
She sat for a moment in thought as she considered her next task, and then dialed the cable TV company.
With a shiver, she began to finger her clit absently as she spoke to the young woman who answered the phone.
There was just so much to do.
He took off his glasses and placed them on the desk. It was time to end this childish charade.
"Look, Miss... Shepherd. I know who you really are. I assume you've come back to cause trouble of some kind, and I'll tell you now, the people in this valley won't put up with any shenanigans, nor will I," he said. His voice took on an air of stoic indignation.
"I don't understand... who do you think I am?" asked Lorraine with a meekness that was at both appalling and disarming to the middle-aged pastor.
"Stop it. Now. You're Simone Aubrey, and making me say so just shows the lack of decency you have that goes beyond trying to fool me in the first place. I expected to meet someone interested in godly ways, in church, and instead have met someone who prefers demons of lust."
Simone settled back in her chair, still relaxed and calm. "Well, Hemmie... you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Hemmie, I'll admit it was childish, but it did get me in here to see you, which we both know wouldn't have happened had I announced I was coming. I daresay you'd be off hiding somewhere rather than confront a victim of your cruelty," said Simone as a sweet smile widened her features.
"I'm not to blame for the consequences of your own abominable actions, Ms. Aubrey. You are. There really isn't anything else to say. I think you should go now," said Dr. Peterson, turning his attention to papers on his desk. As he read, he added, "In the interest of compassion, it’s only fair to tell you that I don't think being forced out of Rogers Valley would be any more pleasant a second time. It will be much easier if you leave of your own accord, as silently as you returned."
Simone remained seated, letting the seconds tick by without answering. When Dr. Peterson looked up again, he saw she was still smiling. Once she had his attention again, she said, "I came here to give you a chance to be kind - to show some regret for how things went. But as I expected, you're the same bigoted, uncaring control freak you always were."
Her hands began to wander her torso and she arched her back with a pleasurable sigh. Her voice became more breathy and deep as she continued, "I think you should ask me to stay around. I think you will be happier in the end if you do... and very unhappy if you don't."
"I don't like threats, even ambiguous ones, Ms. Aubrey, and yours have no weight. Good day."
"Oh, I'm not threatening at all. Do you remember Cindy Johnson? You know... the girl who committed suicide after we were caught together? Everyone thought it was her shame from being in love with another woman. But you and I know differently, don't we, Hemmie.
"And it just so happens that I have her telling me her story of your affair with her on video tape. In excruciating detail. Does the phrase, 'Take it, Bathsheba!' while riding her ass ring any bells? Or does your memory only go so far as remembering me? Do you still have a mole just above your pubic hair? And does your cock still bend upward and terribly to the right?
"Tell me... was Mrs. Peterson's spitting on me a result of your lies, or is she in on the little game, too? I'll be glad to ask her after she's seen the tape."
Dr. Peterson dropped the papers in his hand, his face ashen. "Get out of here, you whore. If you think anyone would believe some crazy, debauched abomination over their pastor, you're even more insane than any of us thought," he hissed.
"Oh, now don't be so dramatic. Leave? Why, Hemmie, I'm going to be a permanent resident. A veritable fixture. After all, this is home, yes? And we're going to be great friends, you and me," said Simone, lifting her briefcase onto the table. "I actually came here to bring you a gift. Something that will very much enrich your life, Hemmie."
Before he had a chance to respond, Simone touched the right-hand latch of the briefcase, and a soft, low hum filled the small office. Dr. Peterson felt his face go slack, and then, with a touch of surprise followed by acceptance, everything went from a nightmare to something... peaceful. Something very nice. Wonderful, in fact.
"Hemmie, meet Polly... Polly, meet Hemmie," whispered Simone. "Polly is a little something I came up with while away, and I just couldn't wait to show you. It is a little device to help you see things my way... although you won't remember meeting.
"But it will smooth out all the troubles, all the worries, all the responsibility. It will take care of all the bad things you have done, all your particular sins. You see, I do have compassion... if you want to call it that," said Simone. "And of course you want to call it that. To you, I am the embodiment of compassion and understanding, don't you agree?"
"Sure," mumbled Dr. Peterson, finding it very difficult to focus on her words. He felt so good. "Cm'passion."
"And I know all kinds of true things about you. Very true things. More than you know yourself. You are about to learn these things. Isn't that wonderful, Hemmie?"
"'Unnerful..." sighed Dr. Peterson, eyes glazing over and then closing as his mind went elsewhere for awhile, emptying itself to make room for whatever Simone had to say.
"So let's be honest, Hemmie. You find my voice very arousing, don't you?"
"Nnnga hah," was all he managed to say.
"Oh Hemmie," said Simone, with a wicked, happy sigh, "it will be so wonderful to hear you begging to be my little helper..."
And she had no need to pursue it now, either. It was as if she’d found the finish line in the Race to Love before she’d heard the starting gun. Instead of guilt, she found herself savoring the beauty... wanting to shout it out to the trees, to the falling sun, to anyone who would listen.
Smiling to herself, she pushed open the door with her foot and carried the logs inside and placed them on the hearth. As she stood up, a pair of hands circled her waist and drew her backwards, and felt Martha's lips and tongue trace a line starting with her neck and moving down the length of her shoulder.
She melted and shivered, almost falling as her knees turned to rubber. Nothing - nothing - had ever affected her like this.
She turned around and kissed Martha, pressing her lips to her aunt's with passion she'd never known she was missing, but now knew she would never be happy without. Their tongues danced, and Brenda's mind went elsewhere... they were on a dark, rainy street, headlights passing by them, mist covering them as the tires threw water into the air. She clung to her lover for love, for safety... for everything.
As the kiss ended and she came back to earth, Brenda realized she had nearly passed out from the power of it. She still felt foggy and almost drugged as the strange, stirring images passed from consciousness to the place where dreams reside. She clung to the woman who had opened her eyes and heart.
"Martha..." she started, but words failed her.
"I know," answered Martha. "I know. I love you, too. I didn't try to fall in love with you, Bren. I moved here to be alone, to be away from such things, to heal my heart. But here we are," she said.
Brenda smiled and snuggled in closer. "Yeah," she said. "But you know... Mom isn't going to understand... as beautiful as it is, she won't."
"Claire - your mom - isn't really a problem," said Martha. "It's everyone else I need to talk to you about."
The sound in Martha's voice wasn't unpleasant, but there was an added tension as if she had something she didn't want to say. She waited, her eyes questioning as she pulled back slightly.
"Oh, it's just something to mention, really. I moved here five years ago, and it took me awhile to be accepted. It was more than just being a stranger, or at least it felt that way. It took me two years to find out enough to get a picture.
"This is a really conservative place, and despite what you hear about Appalachia, they have a moral code that's almost stifling. Like a lot of rural conservative places, it shows up mainly in two ways. Hunting and sex. And when someone comes along who doesn't fit the mold, it can be a... problem."
"So we're a problem," said Brenda. There was no hiding the dismay in her voice. It was so typical for her dreams to be dashed before they could flower fully.
Martha took the young woman's chin in her hand and smiled gently as she continued. "No, no! Not between us, anyway. Let me finish, and maybe you'll see that it's not so bad."
"Okay," said Brenda.
"You see, this place is hyper-sensitive. About seven years ago, just before I got here as time in the country goes, a young girl named Simone was pretty much forced to leave because she was discovered with another girl. I mean run out of the valley, out of the county... banished is more like it. It was pretty ugly. The effort was headed up by the local preacher and his wife. And the banished girl really came out lucky. The other girl couldn't take the strain and killed herself.
"No one was really happy about the situation, but also, no one defended either girl. So by the time I got here, there was a lot more distrust, mixed with guilt, added to an already healthy helping of homophobia. And while no one really cares what they can't see, they aren't all that welcoming to newcomers, because they don't want to see it happen again.
"All I'm saying is that until we can find a place to go where we're accepted, in public, you need to be my niece... not my lover."
"Oh," said Brenda. "I do understand." But there was no hiding the fact that she was crestfallen. She stepped away from her aunt, who watched her with sad eyes.
"Sweetie, that doesn't make me love you less. Didn't you hear me? I said I want to find somewhere with you where we can live openly. I said, 'until,' not, 'unless.' For that place to be here, it would take a miracle on the order of the parting of the Red Sea. But I don't have any ties here. Well, one, but I was kind of hoping you'd come with me."
"You mean..." said Brenda, eyes widening with joy as the meaning of her aunt's words dawned on her. The love and caring of the older woman overwhelmed her, and she almost leaped into Martha's arms. "I think, um, I'd like to cum with you right now!" she squealed, squeezing her aunt's ass and pulling their hips together."
Martha pulled her young lover to the sofa and fell back onto it. "So much for the fire... I think we've already started our own anyway," breathed her aunt, captured herself by the silky passion flowing between them.
"Doesn't it seem strange," whispered Brenda as she writhed on top of Martha, making her moan as she licked the edge of her aunt's ear. "Until last night, I'd never imagined being with a woman, not like this... and now, I can't imagine being without you..."
Just before she surrendered all reason to her blazing desire, Martha realized with a start that she felt exactly the same way. But strange or not, she was never going to let this love, this lust... this beautiful and wondrous woman away from her side.
"You know we just play Hearts, Ed.. it's not about winning something," said Mary with a touch of dismay. "But we did have a great time. You know, though... for us, it's not like it's about playing cards. It's about being with people we enjoy. In fact, lately, cards has very little to do with it."
"Kind of like poker is with the guys - yeah, I know," said Ed. "I think it's great you all do it once a week. Keeps you out of trouble, even if one or two of them are kind of loony."
"Loony?"
"Odd, you know."
"No, I don't know. What do you mean?" she asked. She frowned, her voice noticeably less friendly. Ed was not scoring points.
"Jesus, Mare, I've said it before and you never got upset..."
He was right... it was a harmless enough thing to say, and before today she would have been nodding right along. But right now, every word was piling up and adding weight to her aggravation. She was surprised to hear the undercurrent of anger in her own voice as she spoke. "I know, but it hurts. We're all very close. Very close. And why should it just be cards? We're all planning on heading up to Silver Cliff tonight, as a matter of fact, for a candle party. Is there a problem, or is that too 'loony', Edward?"
"You're going out again? What about my supper?" asked Ed, visibly perturbed by his wife's tone of voice, and the way the conversation, which he'd meant to be friendly, had turned.
It was never a good sign when she used his full name.
"Did you finish all the chili last night?" she asked.
"No, but... it isn't 'that' time of the month is it?"
"Then you can heat it up again tonight," said Mary, ignoring his offensive question. "Do I have to do all of the thinking for you? Of course, if you felt up to the challenge, you might be creative, and fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, assuming that's not too far beyond you. I know, I know. Asking you to actually think for yourself once in eight years is too much of me to ask."
Ed looked at Mary in shock. He'd seen her upset, but he'd never heard anything like this from her before. "Okayyyyy, then," he muttered as he grabbed the newspaper and stood. Speaking to no one in particular, he batted around the kitchen, getting his tool belt, coffee mug and keys. "Guess I'll be the one fixing supper tonight. Guess I'll have to fend for myself. Then again, maybe I'll be at the Wet Whistle, having a few beers with the guys!"
He slammed the back door and a few moments later, squealed down the driveway.
Mary went to the front window and watched until his truck was out of view. Then she went to the phone, picked it up, and dialed. She could already feel her body relaxing, and the warmth of desire replacing her angst.
"Hi Ver, it's me. I'll be going tonight, too... Hmm? Oh, no, no trouble at all. Ed got a little antsy, but now that he's gone and I'm talking to you, I feel much better. In fact... what say I come over right now? My pussy is soooooo on fire, girl...
Mary listened for a moment as she rubbed her belly with the palm of her hand.
"Ohhhh a strap-on? Ver, you have the best ideas!"
The shampoo had been the worst... the sensual feel of slick hair in her hands as she massaged Wendy's scalp had almost made her cum... in fact, she was already afraid Wendy had heard the small sighs and moans Debbie couldn't hold in. Images kept flashing into her thoughts... images of Wendy naked, of running her hands over the woman's sensitive flesh, for God's sake... and although she'd never had such visions before, she couldn't deny that they had soaked her panties.
And now that the only person left in the salon was Wendy, it was only getting worse. She needed to take care of things before she found herself climbing up on the arms of Wendy's chair and forcing her slick pussy onto the poor woman's full, sensual lips and tongue.
Debbie could feel her cheeks flushing at the thought and realized she had no idea whether it was from embarrassment or excitement. She needed to get some air.
Stumbling over her words, she excused herself and headed back into her house and then up to the bathroom on the second floor. She dropped her skirt and panties to the floor and stepped out of them before sitting on the edge of the cold cast iron tub. She pressed her fingers to her slit, letting the rude, insistent images come freely, each nastier than the last, as if she were spiraling into them headlong.
The cold enamel touching her ass made her shivers more ferocious as her fingers began sliding along each side of her swollen nub. Up and down her fingers glided, slimy and wet from the juices of her puffy nether lips - she circled her fingers around and over her raging clit every so often as her legs spasmed in helpless response. Her breath started to come in ragged, shallow huffs and sighs that pulled her onward, eroding her will to resist, obliterating anything outside of her insatiable need.
The same part of her that was shocked at her own behavior was being shaped by the taboo of her thoughts into deeper and deeper desire and lust, rocketing her awareness into a state she'd never known except in her most depraved of dreams at night.
But this was no dream... this was happening, and as her fingers reached up to unbutton her blouse, something inside clicked into place... she was no longer an observer of her own actions, but an eager, heated player in a game she couldn't even think to understand. She nearly tore off her bra as she unhooked it, and as it fell from her shoulders, she stopped playing with her pussy long enough to squeeze her breasts together and pinch the nipples into full erection.
The burst of pleasure that went straight to her clit nearly sent her reeling backwards into the tub, and she gasped over and over as the knowledge that she was completely out of control sank in and took root.
She didn't care. She just wanted to keep on feeling this. She just wanted to cum. She just wanted... Wendy. God, yes, she wanted Wendy like she'd never wanted anyone before in her life. How could she fight something so perfect, so natural? She licked her lips, now swollen and puffy from arousal, and moved her hand slowly back down to play with her beautiful, flowing pussy as her other hand pinched and tortured her nipples flying from breast to breast, reveling in each new sensation.
And as she whined and writhed on the verge of cumming, she heard a sound that sent her careening over the edge, unable to hold back the flood of her overwhelming release. It was a scream from the salon. Not a scream of fear or pain, but a wail of pure passion, pressing into her mind, into her soul.
Her body responded as if listening itself... and then she was listening to herself as her climax took her, along with her lover downstairs, screaming down into the depths of lust and passion... her desire like gravity itself, pulling her with irresistible force beyond the edge of thought until there was nothing but pleasure, and everything became one thing, and all there was, was cumming.
Cumming was eternal, trapped in time... an endless moment.
And then it fell away, its meaning fulfilled, its purpose accomplished.
As Debbie rose into the afterglow and bliss of her sated pleasure and fulfilled need, she could already feel it beginning again. And she knew that this time, she would be sharing it with someone she no longer had any ability to resist or deny.
She would be sharing it with Wendy.