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Message-ID: <55270asstr$1170479401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Farmer's Daughters (Hoisington) {MF Mf oral horror magic caution}
Lines: 1445
Date: Sat, 03 Feb 2007 00:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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                     FARMER'S DAUGHTERS
                     Russell Hoisington

This is an erotic dark fantasy.  If you are looking for
lighthearted fun, I strongly recommend that you go read any
of my other stories except "G'Night Pixie."  You have been
warned.

The characters and the situation are purely imaginary, and
this story is NOT intended to be a guide for actual
behavior.  Any similarities between this story and actual
people or actual events you should be ashamed of are purely
coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the world
to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage,
or if you don't like underage sex stories, then stop now.

This story is Copyright 2007 by Russell Hoisington.
Please do not remove the author information or make any
changes to this story.  You may post freely to non-
commercial (free) sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites.  That does NOT mean that these stories
are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I give
permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I
reserve the right to determine what is "spam advertising"
by MY definition, not yours or anyone else's.

Thank you for your consideration.

My sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing this
story and to Wizard, the Night Hawk, and Old Man Ted for
their input.

************************************************************

Vince Clark was going to quit his job, assuming he lived
long enough to return to the office and hand in his
resignation.  He pushed himself up onto his skinned knees,
flinching as a sharp corner of rock stabbed the raw skin
through one of the tears in his expensive British suit's
trousers.  He'd skied enough to know that he was lucky he
hadn't broken his ankle or leg when he'd stepped into the
small hole buried by the brown and dull-red leaves and had
pitched forward onto his face.  Fortunately, he had been
going uphill and knew the direction in which to continue.
If he'd been on level ground in the oak, cedar, hickory,
and walnut forest, he might have wandered off in the wrong
direction thanks to the hard landing which had temporarily
disoriented him.  Possibly he might have returned to his
broken expensive Japanese rental sedan by mistake.

This wasn't a good idea, though it was a little late to
conclude that.  But the nearest towns were five miles back
the way he'd come or eight miles the way he was going.  The
old fart at the cafe had told him not to take the gravel
road shortcut over the hills in that sedan and to stay on
the highway.  The younger man with him had agreed, but
Vince had been in a hurry to reach Westburg, where he had a
motel reservation.  No doubt the motel was a fleabag dump
as lousy as the one where he'd stayed the night before, but
he'd be finished with driving for the day, perhaps with
time remaining to troll for prospective new customers ahead
of the looming storm.

Satellite imagery on his expensive Chinese laptop
computer had shown what looked like a farmhouse about a
half-mile away, on the other side of a ridge.  Fortunately
he'd locked the laptop in the trunk because the battery was
running low and, like an idiot, he hadn't yet recharged the
spare.  That was fortunate because if he'd been carrying
it, the rocks under the leaves would have smashed it on
this fall, if not on one of the other two tumbles.

It was also fortunate that because of the darkening
skies, he'd checked the satellite imagery after using the
GPS system to determine where he was.  While disconnecting
the computer from his expensive top-of-the-line Finnish
cell phone, he'd dropped the phone.  Now it wouldn't even
light up, much less give him a dial tone.

'Punishment,' he reminded himself as he rose to his feet.
Tommy D'Aversa, head of the Sales Department, was punishing
Vince for breaking D'Aversa's sales record that had stood
for twenty-four years and eleven months.  Maybe if he'd
waited one more month on that last sale so that D'Aversa
could have reached the quarter-century mark with his
record, the bastard wouldn't have told him to fill in on
this route, the one usually given the new rookies to see if
they had what it took to be salesmen.

Vince examined his knee through the rip in his hand-
tailored trousers.  It was oozing blood, but wasn't bad
enough to require making a bandage from his expensive
French silk handkerchief and the expensive Italian silk
necktie crammed in a pocket of his hand-tailored jacket.  A
lot of good his expensive imported clothing was doing him
now.  It had become expensive domestic rags.

With the way his luck was running, the farmhouse would be
abandoned.  Or worse, it would just be rocks in a meadow
that looked vaguely like a farmstead in the blurry
satellite photo.  He was wondering what he'd do if the
farmhouse was abandoned or non-existent when he reached the
top of the hill.

Faint wood smoke suddenly teased his nose.  When he
stopped gasping for breath he thought he heard the high,
tinkling trill of a girl's laughter.

He angled to the right, toward the sound, and made his
way downhill.  The smoke grew stronger.  Thirty feet later
a rock shifted under his foot and he went down hard.  The
back of his head smacked the stony hillside and the lights
winked out.

                           ~ ~ ~

Vince opened his eyes.  He was reasonably sure he hadn't
been out long because the light level seemed about the
same, though it was hard to be certain with the shifts
caused by the dark, roiling clouds.  His head still rang
like a Buddhist gong.  Sitting up brought on a wave of
nausea that slowly passed and didn't return.

He gingerly felt the back of his head.  Congealing blood
had trapped some debris.  But if it was congealing, then
he'd been out longer than he'd thought.  Well, he wasn't
gushing blood, but touching the back of his head was too
painful a method for exploration.  He'd check a mirror at
the farmhouse.  He thought he remembered that the clearing
lay but a short distance ahead of him.  He rose to his
feet, using an oak sapling for support, and had to wait a
couple of minutes for the revived nausea to pass.

An engine spluttered somewhere off to the downhill left.
The sound grew louder and traveled to the right, to the
point where he thought he'd heard the laughter.  It
quieted, returned to life in a different pitch, quieted,
spluttered, and died.  A vehicle door slammed.  Indistinct
voices echoed.  Vince released the sapling and carefully
made his way toward the sounds.

                           ~ ~ ~

The small copse of cedars ended at a drop-off.  Vince,
feeling light-headed, sat and stared down into a clearing
bounded on three sides by the U-shaped ridge.  A dirt road,
little more than a trail, wended in from the left across
the flat pastureland.  He sat maybe twenty feet above the
roof of a house which faced the entrance road a hundred
fifty feet away and slightly to his right.

Directly across from him were the open doors of a
ramshackle barn.  The house had seen better days, but it
was in far better shape than the unpainted barn with its
randomly-missing weathered boards.  A rusty Ford pickup of
uncertain vintage had been backed to the barn doors.  A man
lifted a large, heavy sack from the pickup bed and carried
it inside.

To the left of the barn sat a few equally decrepit sheds,
with a small herd of cattle cropping lush green grass
beyond and left of them.  To the right of the barn, on the
far side of the house, was an elevated galvanized-metal
water tank marred by several cancerous patches of rust.
The tank and a garden were both enclosed by a split rail
fence.  A voluptuous woman with waist-length black hair was
in the garden, picking corn and adding it to a woven basket
slung over her left forearm.  She wore a broad, bright blue
ribbon that pulled back her hair, sandals, and a belt.  The
latter apparently supported a sheathed knife and a leather
holder with a small hand trowel.

Vince felt like a voyeur, but the woman was so beautiful
that he couldn't tear his eyes away.  He was a voyeur.  He
was afraid to move and cause the woman to rush inside and
dress herself.  Instead, he stayed motionless and watched.

The woman counted the items in the basket and turned
toward the barn.  She walked a half-dozen paces and pulled
carrots out of the ground, adding them to the basket,
before joining the man.  They spoke for a moment, and then
the woman shouted, "Lyla Mae!" at the house.

A brunette teenager wearing sandals rushed out of the
house.  She took the basket and bolted back inside while
the woman sank to her knees in front of the man and reached
for his zipper.

Less than half a minute later a wisp of the man's groans
reached Vince's ears through the still air.  Vince had
never had a problem with premature ejaculation, but he
could see how someone could be quick-triggered with that
delectable morsel.

The woman slid her face off the flaccid member, licked it
clean, and left it dangling from the man's pants.  She rose
and disappeared into the house as the man stripped and
dropped his clothes in the cab of the truck.

To Vince's surprise, the tank was a heated outdoor
shower.  Steam from the falling water drifted in the
afternoon air.  He braced himself against expected
dizziness and started to rise.

A redheaded girl rushed out of the house and scampered
toward the shower.  She wasn't even wearing sandals.  Vince
relaxed and watched the two shower together, with the girl
occasionally glancing in his direction.  Finally she turned
to face one of the support posts for the water tank, bent
forward, and braced her hands against it while the man took
her from behind.  Vince stared.  He'd always thought that
the stories about these backwoods dwellers were exaggerated
stereotypes.

The man grasped her hips and took her in long, slow
strokes.  Vince was amazed that the man could get it up
again so soon after the blowjob because he didn't appear to
be that young.  He soon decided that the girl's nubile
sexiness could have aroused a saint.  And maybe the man had
just returned after a few days away.

The man adjusted his stance and began stutter-slamming
into the girl, with brief pauses at each end of the rapid
strokes.  When the girl wasn't allowing her head to sag or
pulling it backward in ecstasy, she'd turn it to stare in
Vince's direction.  He sat absolutely still, afraid that
he'd given some indication of his presence.

The man began short-stroking.  The girl's head snapped
back, and she emitted a long squeal of delight.  He slammed
into her body one last time and then pulled on her hips to
lock himself in place as he arched backward.  When he
curled forward over the girl, her head dropped to hang
limply from her shoulders.  They stayed that way for half a
minute before separating.

She gave the man a passionate kiss before hunching her
hips forward into the streaming water, washing herself, and
running back into the house.  The man washed his equipment
and then shut off the water.  He opened a wooden box
sitting on the top fence rail nearest the shower and
removed a towel.

As the man dried himself, Vince realized that the girl
had failed to dry off.  Children were so undisciplined.
That was why Vince wasn't interested in a committed
lifetime-relationship with Miss Right.  One mention of the
"M" word and Vince was looking for another Miss Right Now.

The man threw the towel over his shoulder and retrieved
his clothing from the cab of the pickup before disappearing
into the house.  Vince decided to wait fifteen minutes
before approaching the farmhouse.  That way, nobody would
suspect that he'd seen anything.

                           ~ ~ ~

The man, wearing only heavy rubber sandals and a faded
blue baseball cap with a logo that Vince didn't recognize,
emerged from the house before Vince set foot on the wooden
steps.  "Howdy!" he said as he crossed the porch that
spanned the full width of the house front.  With his black
hair graying at the temples, he appeared to be in his mid-
40s, no older than Vince, though he had the look of wear
that was the lot of these backwoods types and none of the
softness that was beginning to afflict Vince.  He was
certainly in better shape than the porch, which had several
new and somewhat-newer boards among the sagging and
cracking ones shedding a dandruff of paint flakes between
the door and the steps.

"Good afternoon."  Vince extended his hand, trying to
ignore the nudity of the man clomping down the porch steps.
"I'm Vince Clark.  I had a problem with my car and need
help."

The man shook hands with a firm grip, smiling the way one
would greet an old friend.  "Jake Farmer, Vince," he said
in a slow, methodical voice as if weighing each word before
releasing it.  "This here's mah place.  Yuh talkin' 'bout
that silver see-dan on Abbott Road?  Th' one with th' front
tire stickin' out at a forty-five degree angle at th'
bottom?"

"Yeah," Vince said with a rueful nod.  "Something broke
underneath.  I was wondering if you might have a telephone
I can use.  My cell phone doesn't work here for some
reason.  Dead area here in the hills, I guess."

Jake raised an eyebrow.  "I reckon yuh might say that.
Naw, we ain't got us no phones or 'lectricity out here.
Don't really want or need it.  Well, listen, we'uns is
about t'have supper."  He twisted toward the door long
enough to shout, "Charlene!" and then said, "Yuh look like
yuh  got bunged up purty bad, though the car don't look
like it rolled or nothin'."

"No," Vince said.  "I wasn't hurt in the car.  I fell
down getting he..."  His words died when the black-haired
woman appeared in the door, now wearing only the ribbon and
sandals.  The distance had diminished her beauty.  Seen up
close like this, she was ravishing, with sparkling gray
eyes and full lips set in a rectangular face designed by a
master sculptor.  Her pale, untanned skin was reminiscent
of the finest marble, reinforcing the sculpture image.
Full, upright breasts, a narrow waist, flared hips, and
long, shapely legs reaching from the ground to heaven, with
the entrance to paradise indicated by a small black
triangle, made the young woman a walking wet-dream.  She
couldn't be more than twenty-five, if that.  Vince wondered
what she saw in a man like Farmer.

"Yeah, Pa?" she said, answering Vince's question.

Vince thought it odd that Jake wasn't the least concerned
that his daughter was naked in front of a strange man,
though he certainly wasn't complaining.  "Charlene, this
here's Vince.  That'us his car I saw up on th' road.  Set
another place at th' table, and after we eat, we'll see
'bout his car if'n th' storm ain't kicked in.  And send
Lyla Mae out here with some water and wash rags and a
towel.  I reckon Vince'd like t'clean up a mite."

"Shore, Pa."  She gave Vince a handshake and a smile,
causing his heart and one body appendage to flip-flop,
before she disappeared back into the house.

"Jake, I don't want to impose..."

"Aaah!" Jake growled dismissively, raising and lowering
his hand, as if slapping down the argument.  "Yuh obviously
come from a city, where everbody's a stranger, don'tcha?"

"Pittsburgh."

Jake's smile widened.  "Ah knowed it," he said in his
slow, amiable voice.  "There yuh go.  Out here, we's all
neighbors, and we watch out fer each other.  If'n we didn't
offer no hospitality, we'd be run outa th' hills.  It'd be
like us goin' inta the church and tellin' Revr'n Bob that
he couldn't pray fer no sinners no more."

"Well, then I'll pay you..."

Jake shook his head.  "No, yuh won't."  He waved a finger
in a slow horizontal circle.  "Everthang here in this
valley was oncet my pa's and his pa's b'fore him.  They's
buried out back, next t'Ma and Grandma.  If'n I was to
accept money fer doing what they taught me wuz mah duty and
wuz the right thang t'do, they'd climb outa th' hole and
thow me in it, head fust."

The brunette emerged from the house, carrying an enameled
pan of steaming water.  She wore her sandals plus a towel
and a wash cloth draped over one shoulder.

"Lyla Mae, this here's Vince.  I reckon Charlene told you
'bout him.  Now, you help him clean up, and ah'll go see
if'n Charlene and Emmy Lou got thangs in hand fer supper."

Vince tried not to stare at the girl as Jake clomped up
the steps and shouted, "Emmy Lou!  Git down here!" as he
disappeared inside.

The brunette was slightly pudgy.  Baby fat had lingered
too long and was now just beginning the transition to
blubber, and while she wasn't what most men would call
"pretty," the oval face framed by the shoulder-length hair
was what these people would call "puppy dog cute."  She had
large, sparking eyes of a deep-water blue that you could
drown in, set on either side of a small perky nose. An
impish grin of false innocence invoked visions of chocolate
smears on lips protesting that she'd not been near the
cookie jar.  She was breathing rapidly, causing her small,
wide-set, lightly-tanned breasts to rise and fall.

"You look like you got bunged up purty bad," she said.
Vince found the genuine concern in her voice touching.

She turned and bent at the waist, placing the pan of
water and other items on the porch.  Vince discovered that
the light coating of curly brown hair became denser the
farther back it went.  This time he made no attempt to
avoid staring because the sight had destroyed the vestiges
of his willpower.  He openly ogled the girl's displayed twat.

Like many salesmen, Vince thought of items in product
quality terms, and pussy was no exception.  You had the
economy model, which had only the necessary basic functions
and a cheap finish.  You had the advanced model, which had
additional attributes and a standard finish that made it a
more desirable, if more expensive, item.  You had your
deluxe model, which had all the bells and whistles and a
much nicer finish and would eat a hole in your wallet.

And then there was the super-deluxe model, which was what
you'd order if price were no object.  The super-deluxe
model was the standard by which all lesser-quality items
were measured.  The super-deluxe model was what you'd sell
your soul to own, if necessary, because it was exactly what
you desired.

The super-deluxe model was what winked at him before Lyla
Mae straightened.

She smiled in an alluring blend of shy and coy that
didn't help the sudden twitch in his pants.  "Ah thank
you'd best sit here on the steps while ah work on yore
haid.  You might better take off that shirt and coat afore
we git bloody water dribblin' all over them," she said as
she reached for his shirt buttons.  "Even if they is sorta
bloody and a whole sight dirty already."

"Uh, yes," he said.  "You're right."

As he slipped off the jacket, she unfastened two shirt
buttons, then ran her hand inside the V-neck of his
undershirt.  It felt warm as she rubbed it over his chest.
"I don't feel no injuries here," she said, "but yore heart
shore is a-hammerin'."

"Well, I had a couple of bad falls," he said, hoping she
wouldn't notice the swelling behind his trouser fly.

"Uh huh.  That'll do it fer shore."  She helped him out
of his shirt, then took it and his jacket and said he'd
better remove his undershirt, too.  She turned and bent
over, feet slightly apart, to place all three on the porch
and to retrieve the water basin.

Vince realized that she also had a super-deluxe model
ass.  The swelling pressed outward against his fly.  He
hastily adjusted it to point upward as the girl dropped the
wash cloth in the water and then wrung it.  He thought it
odd that this girl was having a stronger effect on him than
Charlene.  Maybe it was because the young woman was a
goddess too perfect and unattainable for mere mortal men,
while Lyla Mae was the willing girl next door.

"Now, you sit on that there top step," she said as she
dipped, swirled, and wrung again.

He tried not to turn and stare as he sat, tried to will
himself to face forward and not openly ogle the girl's curl-
framed slit that had parted slightly and looked enticingly
moist inside.  It was like willing himself not to sneeze
after inhaling dust.  He was able to look away only after
she lifted the basin and straightened.

She stood next to him, facing away and with one foot on
the porch and one on the top step, and bent over to place
the pan on the edge of the porch.  In the thickening still
air, her scent drifted to him from inches away.  Vince had
parted several deluxe furrows with his nose, and while all
had been excitingly pleasant, this super-deluxe model made
the others seem skunky as spoiled beer.

She straightened and shouted, "EMMY LOU!"  As she
straddled his hips and sat, she said, "Charlene kin fix
yore clothes good as new.  Meantime, let's clean up yore
face 'fore the water gits all bloody."

He couldn't stop himself from staring at the brown curls
barely an inch from his nose or from following their
descent as she sat on his legs.  The scent was so enticing
that it was destroying his civilized inhibitions.

She seemed not to notice as she gave him a natural smile
and gently washed his face.  The hot water was relaxing,
and even though it was only his face she washed, he felt as
if his body had been immersed in the soothing waters of the
whirlpool at the Midtown Gym.  She had just finished when
the screen door opened.

"What'cha want?" asked the youngest girl, her square face
scrunched into a frown, as she padded barefoot across the
porch and halted at the edge of the porch.  She was close
enough to squat slightly and rub her smooth crotch on
Vince's right shoulder if she wanted.

"Emmy Lou, this here's Vince."

The girl gave him a sly grin.  "Ah'm pleased t'meet yew
up close," she said, her eyes flicking up to the hillside
for an instant.  If Lyla Mae's grin was impish, the light
in Emmy Lou's green eyes was positively devilish.  The tip
of a middle finger briefly scratched an itch just inside
the juncture of a leg and one of her hairless folds.  "But
ah'm sorry y'all got hurt gittin' here."

Her own scent arrived in that instant and made his head
spin.  He fought to clear it enough to find the right words
for his reply.  "Uh, hello, Emmy Lou.  Nice to meet you,
too."

"Emmy Lou, take Vince's clothes in fer Charlene to fix.
An' tell her," she raised an eyebrow slightly, "that they's
got blood on 'em."

Thunder rumbled in the distance while Emmy Lou nodded,
gave Vince a quick show as she bent to pick them up,
clutched them to her narrow flat chest, and scampered back
inside.  A light breeze began, laden with the smell of rain.

"Emmy Lou's a sweetheart," Lyla Mae said as she rinsed
the wash cloth and squeezed some of the water out of it,
"but she's terrible impatient, and sometimes she ain't got
the sense of a June bug.  Ah thank she's Pa's favorite, but
she shore does try his patience at times.  Well, let's get
yore head cleaned up now."

She straightened her legs and rose, dragging her lightly-
tanned left breast across Vince's face without seeming to
notice, and stepped over his shoulder.  The curl-covered
folds parted with a wet, sucking sound, and again his head
spun with the dizzying effect of her super-deluxe-model
perfume.

She squatted behind him and carefully inspected the wound
on the back of his head.  "Not as bad as ah first thought,"
she said.  "Most people wouldn't even give that sucker a
stitch.  'Course, I don't need t'do that, nohow."

The screen door opened for Jake, followed by Charlene
with her basket.  "Lyla Mae gittin' yuh all fixt up, there,
Vince?" Jake asked as they crossed the porch and descended
the steps.

"She certainly is.  I feel better already, and she's just
beginning."

"Yeah, Lyla Mae's th' best'un fer doctorin' yuh when yore
hurt.  Lissen, me and Charlene got t'run out t'that there
far shed fer a few minutes.  Yuh need anythin', yuh jest
tell Lyla Mae."

"Thanks, Jake, but I'm fine."  He watched the enticing
wiggle and bounce of Charlene's buttocks as she walked arm-
in-arm with Jake to the shed.  He was vaguely aware that
she carried something in the basket, but no man could
ignore that wiggle and concentrate on the basket.

Lyla Mae sighed and said somewhat wistfully, "Everbody
likes Charlene."

By the time she'd gently dabbed away the blood, the pain
had left with it.  "It'll be better after supper," she
said, "and then you kin take a shower and get th' rest of
it cleaned off."

That was a strange comment, but she was young and these
hill people had an odd dialect with any number of
colloquial expressions that shouldn't be taken literally.

"We got jest enough time to take care of that there knee
'fore supper.  You get them pants off so's we kin clean it
up all proper-like, an' we'll have Charlene fix them, too."

His pants were barely able to hide his raging erection
while he sat.  His underwear alone couldn't hide it, even
if he were sitting down.  "Uh, Lyla Mae, I don't think
Charlene could fix these the way they're torn.  But I have
more in my car.  I'll get them later."

Lyla Mae stepped over his shoulder again, and once more
his head spun with longing.  "Don't you go sellin' Charlene
short.  She does magic with cloth.  But more important, we
gotta clean up them knees so they can heal tonight, or you
gonna have a right bad infection in them.  An' there's too
much dirt on them pant knees, so you gotta get 'em off or
cleanin' up them scrapes ain't gonna help none."

"Well," he said, hesitating.  Thunder again rumbled, and
the air temperature dropped noticeably.  The smell of rain
intensified but didn't override the scent from Lyla Mae's
twat.

She grinned at him.  "You embarrassed about that big ole
boner you got there?  Well, don't you worry none.  One of
us'ns will take care of that fer you later."  She leaned
down and gave it a squeeze.  "Oooh, that's a nice'un.  I'd
be mighty proud if'n you picked me t'fix that fer you."

A dozen thoughts fought for control of his tongue.  The
one that won was, "But what about your father?"

"Oh.  Well, Pa don't go in fer that, if'n that's what you
want.  It's jest us three or nothin' but yore hand," she
said with a giggle.

"No, that's not what I meant!" he said in a rush, shaking
his head.  He didn't realize until later that he could now
do so without becoming dizzy.  "I meant, won't he object to
me, well, having... with us..."

"Naw," said Lyla Mae with a lively laugh.  It was the
same laugh he'd heard in the woods.  "He don't care if we
fuck.  Shoot, he appreciates havin' some help, and we'uns
appreciates havin' some variety on th' menu.  But we gotta
wait until the right time, after the drinks."

He shook his head in confusion.  Maybe he'd hit his head
harder than he realized.  "What?"

"Lookit, y'gotta do it Pa's way, or you don't get none
a'tall.  An' I'd shore be disappointed if'n I didn't get
none o'that.  'Course, two of us would be disappointed
anyways, 'cause you only get one of us."

"What?  One..."

"C'mon!  Get yore pants off or we'll be late fer supper.
Oh, fer goodness' sake.  Here, I'll help you.  Besides,
it's startin' t'rain now."

The first cold drops arrived with her words, accompanied
by a stronger rumble of thunder.

                           ~ ~ ~

Vince was half scared to death at the idea of entering
the house with a raging erection leading the way. Lyla Mae
had stripped off his underwear when she yanked down his
torn trousers.  Neither Jake nor Charlene had noticed the
woody on their return, but he'd tried to hide it then.
He'd argued with Lyla Mae, but she'd grabbed his wrist and
pulled him along.  The girl was as strong as a draft horse.

Jake was standing at the countertop with his own erection
and scooping biscuits from an oven sheet into a wicker
bread basket.  To Vince's great relief, Jake merely
indicated a chair, smiled pleasantly, and invited him to sit.

All three of the girls regarded Vince's woody with
obvious interest.  Lyla Mae and Emmy Lou sat on either side
of him at the long table, with the younger girl between
himself and Jake at the end, while Charlene sat across from
him.  Outside the storm had intensified, darkening the
interior of the house.  Suspended kerosene lanterns created
a warm glow that illuminated the kitchen and dining table.
The overall effect was a warm, homey atmosphere that Vince
found immensely comforting.  More comforting, in fact, than
his expensive house in the "right" part of Pittsburgh.

After he'd had his first bite of the Salisbury steak with
onions and commented on its wonderful flavor and
tenderness, he said, "I'm curious.  If you don't have
electricity and natural gas, how do you heat your water?
Do you just heat it on the wood cook stove or do you use a
wood-fired boiler?  I see you have dual taps on the sink."

"Nope," Jake said around a mouthful.  He swallowed and
continued in his slow, methodical way.  "When my great-
granpappy built this place, he picked th' perfect location.
It's got two o' them artesian springs."  He pointed toward
the water tank with his knife.  "They's a hot 'un over
yonder and a cold 'un," he moved the knife to point to the
rear of the property, "over that-a-ways.  But that ice in
yore sweet tea?  We brung it in from town and stored it
down in th' cellar."

Charlene wiped her mouth and said, "In th' summertime, we
gotta buy new ice 'bout ever two weeks.  It's 'bout ever
three in winter."

Jake cocked his head and said, "Ah'm kinda curious mysef.
How come I didn't see you on th' road or th' entrance trail
when ah come home?"

"Oh, well, I didn't follow the road.  I came over the
ridge.  That's where I fell and hurt myself."

Wonder, if not amazement, flooded Jake's face.  "Over th'
ridge?  Ah'm surprised yuh didn't git bit by none o' th'
rattlesnakes!  How'd yuh keep 'em from attackin'?"

"Rattlesnakes?"  Fear edged Vince's voice.  "I didn't see
any snakes of any kind.  There are rattlesnakes on that
ridge?"

Jake's fork halted in mid-lift.  "Th' thang's covered in
'em," he said quietly, giving Emmy Lou a long, hard look.
The girl stared at her plate and chewed slowly.

Maybe his erection was a good thing, Vince decided.  It
had kept him from hosing the floor at the mention of the
snakes he'd wandered through.  He thought for a moment as
he attacked his corn on the cob.  "Maybe that's what those
two meant when he said to stay on the road."

"Whut two?"

Jake described the men.

"Yup.  That'd be ole Cooter and Jessie.  They'd know."

Emmy Lou brightened.  "Ah like Cooter, but Charlene's his
fav-o-rite."  Her face collapsed into a frown.  "Jessie
likes Nancy Jean."

"Nancy Jean?" Vince asked.  The table was large enough
for three more people, five if you didn't mind jostling
elbows a little.

Jake glared at Emmy Lou again.  She resumed staring at
her mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Oh, she ain't here right now," Charlene said in a
conversational voice, though frowning at Emmy Lou.

Despite the lack of blood flow to his big head, Vince
realized it was time to change the subject.  "Nice home you
have here, Jake.  I'd like to retire to a place like this."
The words were out before he realized he had thought them.
But it was true.  His house and exclusive lot was worth
well over half a million dollars, but it wasn't a home.
This was a home.

"Well," Jake said, finally shifting his gaze back to
Vince and smiling again, "yore certainly welcome t'visit us
any time yore in th' area.  Yuh like fishin'?"

Vince chuckled as Lyla Mae passed him another hot biscuit
and the home-churned butter.  "I've always liked the idea,
and I liked the time or two I went as a boy."

"Maybe yuh'd like t'come back and do some bass or crappie
fishin' oncet in a while.  Mah land goes all th'way down t'
th' river, and Bodie Crick cuts through th' beef cattle
pasture.  We got us some good sized catfish in th' crick
that'll damn near pull yuh in if'n yuh ain't got yoreself
braced good fer th' fight.  Ah got three guys from
Charlotte and Bossier City and Tampa who come here oncet or
twicet a year t'fish.  Th' one from Tampa's about t'retire.
He done made hisself an offer on th' Clark property 'bout
two mile up th' crick.

Lyla Mae giggled.  "Fishin' ain't all they come fer."

"Well, no, t'aint all they come fer.  Vince, let's git
down t'bidness here.  Now, ah noticed yuh done took a fancy
t'all three of mah girls."

Fear flashed through Vince.  Perhaps the use of
"business" meant that Jake was about to offer to pimp his
daughters, as the girls' comments had indicated, but Vince
knew that for the people in this part of the country,
"business" could just as easily mean a lynching.

Charlene seemed to read his mind.  "Now, don't yew let
Pa's word scare yew," she said, giving him a warm smile.
"He's jest sayin' he noticed yew ain't no sissy boy."

Jake looked embarrassed.  "That's right, Vince.  Didn't
mean t'alarm yuh.  Hell, a man's got t'be either dead or a
New Jersey faggot not t'git aroused by these here
young'uns.  Now, most days they's more than ah kin handle
by mahself, so ah'm allus glad t'see someone who can lend
me a hand with 'em.  Or some other body part, if'n yuh
knows whut ah mean."  His face split into a broad grin.

Vince began to relax.  "I think I know what you mean."

Jake laughed.  "Ah reckon yuh do.  Now, there ain't no
sense in a-goin' out in this here storm t'fix yore car.
Yore car's safe where 'tis fer th' night, 'cause there
ain't nobody with no sense gonna be out on that there road
in this weather.  We'll fetch it and fix it in th' morning.
Meanwhile yuh kin stay th' night here with whichever one
o'these gals yuh fancy most.  Now, they's only three
hitches:  one, yuh cain't hurt 'em with no rough..."

Vince was shocked.  "Jake, I'd never do that!"

"Ah didn't thank you wuz that kinda man, Vince, or ah'd
not of offered.  Two, yuh cain't tell nobody about us.
Nobody, nohow, no way.  Yuh ken whut ah'm sayin'?"

Vince nodded, realizing that the man was deadly serious.
"It's nobody else's business, Jake, unless you decide it
is, and then you can tell them."  Vince's head began
filling with possibilities for the night.

"Good.  And three, yuh kin have only one of 'em and
cain't touch none of th' others a'tall."

A large number of possibilities vanished as he remembered
Lyla Mae's words.  "What?" blurted out before he could put
a brake on his tongue.

"Ah'm sorry, Vince, but that's th' way 'tis.  Yuh git one
or none."

Vince shook his head to clear away the fog that had
settled in.  "I'm sorry, Jake.  I didn't mean to be rude.
I didn't mean what it sounded like.  I was just..."

Jake's hand slapped down the apology in a gesture as slow
as his words.  "Ah!  Don't yuh worry 'bout that, Vince.
Most fellers is took off kilter, same'us you.  Now, yuh
don't have t'make up yore mind yit, but yuh need t'decide
by bedtime less'n yuh wants someone t'take the edge off
'fore then."

"Well..."  He didn't know what to say.  Charlene was
definitely legal, Emmy Lou was definitely illegal, and Lyla
Mae...  Lyla Mae he wasn't sure of, though he strongly
suspected she was on the too young side.  He found it
difficult to think.  Maybe it had something to do with the
pressure in his lap.

"PA!" Lyla Mae shouted, looking at that lap.

Charlene's face twisted into a scowl.  "Emmy Lou, yew
turn loose of Vince's manhood 'n' let him make up his own
mind, y'hear?"

Emmy Lou started to protest, but Jake growled her name in
a rising tone.  She released Vince's erection and, head
down, clutched her hands together between her knees.
"Yeah, Pa?"

"If yuh cain't mind, yuh kin finish yore supper in th'
barn agin.  Now, apologize t'Vince."

Her square face rolled sideways toward his.  "Ah'm sorry,
Vince."  Her plaintive voice slowly turned more resolute as
she said, "It's jest thet most men wants Charlene, and ah
want y'all fer mahsef!"

Fortunately diplomacy was a requirement for a good
salesman, and Vince was an excellent salesman.  "Emmy Lou,
I'm sincerely flattered and deeply honored.  That's a very
wonderful compliment to me."

He heard Lyla Mae huff as he continued.  "But Charlene's
legal age.  If I chose you, I could be in big trouble..."

"Oh, y'all don't gotta worry 'bout that," she said,
straightening and looking directly at him.  "Sheriff
Perkins always chooses me."

"EMMY LOU!"  Jake's palm slapped the table top.  The
sound was almost as loud as the thunderclaps outside.  "Yuh
know we don't never tell nobody's name t'nobody else."

"Yew tole him Cooter's and Jessie's."

"Yeah, but ah ain't th' one who tole him they's gettin'
privileges.  Who wuz it opened her mouth 'bout that and got
warned already?  Now, yuh got clean-up AND dishwashin'
chores both fer t'night, and I don't want no backtalk or
yuh'll have 'em fer a week."

"Yes, Pa," she mumbled.  She was silent for the rest of
the meal, which included the best banana cream pie Vince
had eaten since Great-Aunt Margaret had grown too old to
bake.

As Vince pushed his chair back from the table, he
realized his knees no longer ached.  He looked down in
surprise and was startled to see that the injuries had
almost vanished.  When he commented on it, Lyla Mae shook
her head.

"T'wern't nuthin' bad hurt, Vince," she said with a shy
smile.  "They'll be right as rain in the mornin'."

They adjourned to the living room.  Vince politely
refused a pipeful of Jake's home-raised tobacco but did
accept a small glass of whiskey "t'settle yore stomach."
He was surprised to see the Jack Daniels label.  He
supposed he'd expected moonshine.  He was also surprised
when Charlene and Lyla Mae joined them.  Well, he guessed
Charlene wasn't a surprise at her age.

Jake sat in an overstuffed chair covered in faded blue
gingham.  Vince settled to the middle of a green corduroy
couch that had the ribbing of the seats and back worn
almost smooth.  Charlene and Lyla Mae sat to either side of
him, but not next to him.  That didn't stop Emmy Lou from
sticking her head in the room occasionally and huffing her
displeasure.

Jake was like a kid showing off a new toy as he
methodically explained the operation of his farm and how he
raised most of what they ate, while also selling a few beef
cattle, pigs, and chickens to the butcher shop and
vegetables to the grocery market in the town where Vince
had met Cooter.  He was gave equal enthusiasm to Vince's
story of life as a traveling salesman.  More importantly,
Jake was sympathetic to the way D'Aversa had screwed him.

"Yup," Jake said, "that'us handin' you th' dirty end o'
th' stick fer shore.  But th' silver linin' o' thet dark
cloud is we got t'meet yuh.  Yore misfortune wuz fortune
for us.  Th' world does sorta tend t'balance thangs out
if'n yuh let it."

Vince looked around the living room.  Worn furniture,
faded wallpaper, paint beginning to peel from some of the
wood trim and the staircase balusters, hardwood floors that
showed the wear of four generations of feet, and everything
tinted orange by the light of kerosene lanterns.  But
everything was clean and orderly.  The lack of clutter
should have made the place seem sterile, like a hospital
room, but instead the feeling was one of peace and home and
belonging that he'd not felt since he'd left for college.
The feeling was something his money could not buy for his
expensive new home and all its latest electronic gadgets.
He wondered if the man from Tampa had felt the same peace
and if that was why the man wanted to move to the area.
He'd have to give that concept further consideration.

"Jake," he said, nodding at various places in the room,
"maybe my fortune was greater than yours.  If you're ever
crazy enough to give up this place, you call me first."

Jake smiled, acquiring a boyish look.  "Thank yuh, Vince.
That'us a mighty neighborly thang t'say, though yuh ain't
th' fust t'say yuh'd like t'buy it.  But yore welcome
t'come back t'visit any time fer as long as yuh want t'stay."

Vince shrugged.  "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to
spend maybe a week of my vacation next spring learning to
fish again.  But if I'm a bother, I can get a room in
town...."

"Don't you even thank about it!" Lyla Mae said in an end-
of-discussion manner that caused Vince to chuckle.  "You
gonna stay here with us'ns th' whole time.  Right, Pa?"

"Well, Vince kin stay wharever he wants, Lyla Mae, but
he's certainly got an open invitation t'stay here, and we'd
all be powerful disappointed if'n he chose to stay some'rs
else."

"Yew right about that," Charlene agreed as Emmy Lou
entered, huffed at the tableau, and poured herself a small
glass of bourbon.  The youngest girl settled on Jake's
chair arm and made hungry eyes at Vince while she sipped
the liquor and gave Jake a woody.  Jake's arm curled around
her, and his hand slowly stroked an inner thigh.

"Well, Vince," Jake said, "around here we folks goes
t'bed early and gits up early.  So, if'n yuh wants t'have a
bedwarmer t'keep yuh happy, yuh gotta make a choice now,
else they's all gonna pile inta mah bed, and ah ain't gonna
git no rest a'tall t'night takin' care o' their needs.
It'd shore hep me out if'n yuh'd choose one."

Vince turned his head left to scan Charlene, who sat
watching him as if from a throne but without any imperial
pretense.  He knew that didn't make sense, but that was the
impression she gave.  She was a walking wet dream, but...
After a moment he realized the problem.  She was absolutely
perfect.  Too perfect.  She was like the plastic women in
Playboy Magazine.  Not that she had plastic breast
implants.  He could tell that hers were natural.  But she
was more like a mannequin:  she resembled a woman, but she
was an artificial construct.

His head turned to look straight ahead at Emmy Lou, who
was staring at him with dog-like anticipation while slowly
pumping Jake's erection.  He had to admit that a girl just
on the edge of puberty, with her breasts undeveloped except
for the areolae pushing out over a slight amount of new
padding that vanished when you looked directly at it, had
its appeal to him.  And there was also the allure of how
tight her twat would be.  He wondered if she'd be too small
and tight, but then he remembered that she'd been used by
several men as well as Jake, whose erection was roughly the
same size as his own.  So, physically, she had more appeal
than plastic Charlene, but...  Emmy Lou was just too bossy.
Perhaps she was Jake's favorite, and that would explain her
spoiled behavior that reminded him of why he never wanted
marriage and children.

His head continued around to his right to gaze upon Lyla
Mae, who looked forlorn.  She'd already given up, telling
herself that he would choose either youth or beauty, but...

But she was real, not artificial.  The perfect twat was
balanced by human imperfections.  She was truly interested
in Vince and not just in what he could do for her.  She had
an inner beauty not shared by her siblings.  And she had
that super-deluxe model twat.

"Well," he said, turning his attention back to Jake, "if
you're serious with your offer, then I'd choose Lyla Mae,
if that's agreeable to her."

"NO!"  Emmy Lou sprang from the chair arm and raced up
the stairs, crying.

Vince turned to follow her with his eyes, then gave his
host an embarrassed look.  "Uh... Jake, I hope I didn't..."

"Nah," said Jake, slapping down the comment.  "That'us
th' way she acts ever time she don't git took. And ah don't
thank yore gonna get no objections from Lyla Mae."

The girl looked happy enough to sing.  "None, a'tall Pa!"
she gushed with genuine pleasure.

"Charlene?"

The young woman rose, pausing to pat Vince's shoulder.
"Yew are gonna be plumb happy with yore choice, though ah
hope next time yew visit yew choose me," she said.  She
went to the sideboard and poured two small shots of
whiskey.  She pulled a small vial from somewhere and added
three drops of clear pink liquid to each, then handed them
to Jake.

He gave one to Vince, then paused before he extended the
other to Lyla Mae.  "Last chance t'change yore mind," he
said.

"No," Vince said with a smile at Lyla Mae.  "I've made my
choice."  After Jake gave the other glass to Lyla Mae and
she had tossed it down, Vince brought his own glass to his
mouth.  He noticed the faintest hint of orange peel.  "Uh,
Jake, what did Charlene put in the drink?"

"Aw, nothin' that's gonna hurt yuh.  Leastwise, it ain't
hurt nobody yit. It's jest some herbs 'n' other natural
stuff.  Yore gonna need it tonight."

Vince knew that these rustic types put great store in
love potions and other nonsense.  But, if it made Jake
happy and if it meant that he'd get Lyla Mae for the night
and it wasn't going to hurt him, then what the hell?
Though he didn't see how he'd need home-brewed Viagra with
Lyla Mae.  Maybe after a steady week or two of her, he
might need a little help, but he suspected that tonight
he'd be steadily helping himself to that perfect twat until
sunrise without assistance.

The smell was faintly orange, but the taste had hints of
lemon and cloves.  No sooner had he lowered the glass than
Lyla Mae pressed her mouth to his, her tongue reminding him
of the rattlesnakes that were supposed to be on the ridge.
Lust swept over him, clouding his mind and demonstrating
his lack of erectile dysfunction.  She grabbed his
throbbing erection and pumped.

"You wanna git on up t'bed and git comf'terble?" she
asked in a breathy murmur.

"Yes," he said in equally breathy voice.  He'd been
worried about what Jake would say to the handjob in his
living room, despite the man's words, but when Lyla Mae
pulled away, he saw Charlene pumping away at Jake's pole.

"If'n yuh want t'git in bed 'fore yuh cut loose, Vince,
then have a good night and ah'll see yuh in th' mornin'.
Ah'm gonna finish off Charlene down here 'fore ah head up
t'Emmy Lou.  But yore welcome t'finish here on th' couch
'fore goin' upstairs if'n yuh want t'do so."

Somehow, Vince just couldn't reconcile humping the man's
daughter with him and one of the girl's sisters in the room.

                           ~ ~ ~

"Which door?" Vince asked.  Lyla Mae pointed because she
couldn't speak, and he managed to get them into the room.
It was hard to move two people down a hall and into a
doorway when one was deep throating the other while hanging
head down from that other's chest.  As they passed through
the opening he suddenly had to lean against the door frame
and grab the top of the dresser for support as a massive
orgasm caused the room to spin.

When he could focus on Lyla Mae again, she was standing
when had he put her down? and slowly pumping his semi-erect
organ while grinning like a psychotic hyena.  "You thank
that'us a good'n, wait'll you git off in mah pussy," she
said, her plaintive voice husky with desire.  "Ah'll get
off at th' same time, and you'll thank that there
thunderstorm is a spring breeze.  Ah shore am hungry for
your lovin', Vince."

He had only enough breath to groan in delight as he led
her toward the four-poster bed.

A flash of lightning illuminated something familiar on
the bed, causing him to halt.  Another flash confirmed it.
His shirt and jacket were lying on the foot of the bed,
looking like they'd just arrived from the London tailor.
"Lyla Mae?"

"The pants won't be ready until t'morrer mornin'," she
said.  "Ah'll put these over yonder in th' closet while you
turn down th' covers."

Maybe, he decided, they weren't as damaged as he'd thought.

As he straightened from turning down the home-made
quilts, made from one-inch squares of cloth in a wild
variety of colors and patterns, Lyla Mae took a running
step from the closet and sprang.  She flew over the end of
the hand-crafted walnut bed, twisting in mid-air to land on
her back, her arms and legs wide.  They sure knew how to
make sturdy furniture back in the old days.

"Vince!  Ah'm horny!  Do somethin'!"  Her voice was a
mixture of whining, pleading, and growling lust that he'd
never heard in women years older than Lyla Mae.

He buried his face in that perfect super-deluxe model
twat and licked, despite the spinning of the room caused by
her scent.  His hands found her small breasts and fondled
them gently, fingertips tweaking her nipples.  In less than
a minute she was forcing her heels into the mattress and
arching upward on her shoulders.  She let out a long,
breathy "OH!" of pleasure and then clamped his head between
her thighs as she dropped her butt to the mattress,
squeezed his head tightly, and convulsed in multiple hard
spasms.

His mouth remained in place.  His vibrating tongue
briefly assaulted her clit and then fucked up into her
depths.  He repeated his actions for two minutes, creating
an identical result at the end.

"Gawd!" she moaned as she found her breath.  "Kin you get
me off like that with yore dick?"

"I can try," he said, crawling across the bed and
positioning himself over her.  He should have brought a
lantern.  She looked rather pretty in the flashes of
lightning.  He didn't know if it was the whiskey or the
arousal and, frankly, didn't care.  She was sweet and she
was fun.  The idea of having turns with Charlene and Emmy
Lou certainly was appealing, and he looked forward to
having them, but he knew that Lyla Mae would be his choice
for most future visits.

She was as tight as he'd expected Emmy Lou to be, yet so
drenched with her own juices that entry was without
difficulty.  "Fuck me," she begged.

And that's when he remembered.  "Lyla Mae, I'm not
wearing protection.  I don't want to get you pregnant."

"You ain't gotta worry none about that," she said.
"Ain't none of 'em ever wore no raincoat in th' shower."

That didn't ease his anxiety one bit, but she gripped him
with the muscles of her twat and rippled them up and down
his shaft in a way he'd thought impossible.  His mind began
to unfocus with lust again.  Well, if he did catch
something from her, it would be worth it.  He'd never had a
woman who'd done one-tenth as much for him as this girl had
already done, and the night was young.

He twisted his head to catch a nipple in his mouth.  She
responded by locking her legs below his buttocks and
humping furiously.  If he wouldn't fuck her, then she'd
fuck him.  But she had asked him to do her.  His hips began
moving.

The second time Lyla Mae came he heard a voice
Charlene's, he thought also moaning in orgasm down the hall.

Lyla Mae began pushing against his chest.  He understood
and rolled over on his back, bringing her impaled body
around with him.  She rose up on her knees and began
slamming down around him, bringing him to the edge as he
listened to Jake grunting louder and faster down the hall,
the sound cutting off suddenly.  As she went rigid and
spasmed around him again, he lost control and spewed into
her, slamming upward into her perfect twat as if he were
trying to force his body into hers.

When it was over she collapsed atop him.  They lay there
for a long time, cooing semi-words into each other's ears
while he rubbed her sweaty back with one hand and fondled
her pudgy-but-cute perfect butt with the other.  In what
seemed miraculous to Vince, he went soft.  He managed to
stay within her while lightning flashed and thunder boomed
and rain poured down thick as lead.

They drifted in and out of consciousness, babbling pillow
talk into each other's ears for twenty minutes.  Then Vince
stiffened again.

This time he took her doggie style, fucking for fifteen
minutes until he could hold back no longer.  In that time
she came twice and, as best he could tell, Jake once,
Charlene once, and Emmy Lou twice.

He tipped sideways, causing his dick to slide out of the
girl.  "I didn't know I could cum that much," he said as
his mind cleared.

"Jest wait'll you come back fer that week next spring,"
she said with a giggle as she snuggled against him and
rested her head on his shoulder.  "Ah wouldn't complain
none if'n you took me ever night."

He kissed her nose and wondered how much she'd change
from cute teenager to tub of lard in that time.  Well, as
long as that perfect twat stayed the same....

He didn't realize he'd dozed off until he awoke, still
lying on his back.  His dick was hard and in a pumping
grip.  The storm had passed, but the lingering clouds
rendered everything almost totally dark.  Lust was clouding
his senses anyway as she stroked him.  Only...

Only the stroking hand was attached to an arm coming from
his right side, while Lyla Mae was lying asleep at his
left, her head on his arm.

"Vince?"  The whispering voice asked.  "Vince, are y'all
awake?"

"Emmy Lou?" he whispered in reply.  "Is that you?"

"Yeah.  Vince, ah need yew powerful bad.  Ah gotta have
it.  Kin y'all do me?"

He found the longing in her voice to be profoundly
touching.  "I promised your father that I wouldn't have
anyone but Lyla Mae."

"No yew didn't.  Yew jest chose Lyla Mae.  Y'all didn't
give no promise or nuthin."  She laid her hand along the
shaft, with the heel of her hand at its head, and slid her
hand down it, her fingers curling to cup his balls, then
slid her hand back and repeated the movement.  A whiff of
the scent of her twat reached his nostrils and caused his
head to spin with lust.

"Maybe I didn't say it in so many words, but I implied it."

She grasped the base and lifted him upright.  He saw her
head, silhouetted against the faint light of the window,
descend.  Her mouth enveloped the swollen head, and her
tongue did tricks that neither Lyla Mae nor anyone else
he'd experienced had ever thought of.  When her mouth
lifted free she placed the flat of her tongue against the
underside and moved her head to slide it up and down the
shaft.

She stopped licking just long enough to whisper, "Ah want
yew, Vince.  Ah need yew.  That's why ah helpt yew find us
all safe-like when you wuz a'comin' o'er th' ridge."  Her
tone was one of desperation.  "Y'all ain't gonna let me
suffer 'cause yew be too skeert of Pa t'do nothin t'help
me, are yew?"

Unable to decipher the ridge part, he ignored it and
concentrated instead on trying not to cum because of her
oral ministrations.  He guessed he was good only for
another shot or two, and he wanted to launch those into a
twat.  A perfect twat.  Again.

She licked him and circled her tongue around the head.
Her whisper became a mix of warning and desperation and
sounded as if it belonged to a woman of many more years'
experience than Emmy Lou.  "Y'all are about t'cum, Vince.
Yew wanna spurt it out to dribble over mah hand or shoot up
inta mah pussy where it belongs?  Yew thank Lyla Mae got a
pussy what does tricks, wait'll y'all find out what mine
does fer ya!  Only don't wake Lyla Mae or y'all are gonna
spout off in th' air 'fore she can git it inta her pussy."

Another lick-and-swirl convinced him that her statement
was a threat.  "What about Jake?"

"Y'all don't tell him, I don't tell him.  We got us'ns a
deal?"

What the hell?  He had already done one girl under
eighteen.  What difference did one more make, especially
since the alternative was wasting a load on a hand job that
he could do himself instead of enjoying a pussy fuck.  And
while this twat might not be perfect looking, it apparently
knew more tricks than Lyla Mae's, if the girl was telling
the truth.  And Lyla Mae's perfect twat did things that
he'd thought were impossible exaggerations found only in
porn stories.  "Deal."

Emmy Lou kissed the head and crawled up beside him before
swinging one leg across his body and impaling herself in
one smooth motion.  She was hot, wet, and exceptionally
slick, helping him penetrate into the fiery tightness.  He
was mildly surprised that she took his entire length, but
then her scent arrived and caused his head to spin with
longing.  She began fucking him with long, slow strokes of
her body, yet something she was doing within her twat made
it feel as if she were rapidly slamming herself onto him
and as if she were sometimes twisting her body.

He couldn't believe it, but she actually did know some
tricks that he'd not received from the perfect twat.

Her breathing changed as her passion built.  Vince found
the willpower to keep from shooting as he waited for her to
cum.  He quickly reached the point where he felt he had to
either cum or die, but he somehow held off both as her
panting ended with a sudden intake and strained groan.  She
spasmed around him, her voice fighting against her
constricted throat.  His own release triggered, almost
rendering him unconscious in its intensity.

And Lyla Mae moved beside him.  "Vince?" she asked in a
voice groggy with satiation.

Still spewing his semen, he came fully alert when Lyla
Mae suddenly screamed, "EMMY LOU!  NO!  YOU AIN'T SET FER
HIM!"

Emmy Lou's head, again silhouetted against the window,
was thrown back in her ecstasy.  With a sigh of pleasure
her head snapped forward.  The irises of her eyes glowed
yellow in the dark shadow of her face, surrounding dark
elliptical pupils that suddenly snapped closed to form
narrow backward-"S" shapes.  Multiple sharp pains stabbed
intense agony into his groin.  She suddenly became very
heavy atop him.  Her face plunged toward his and her mouth
opened, exposing a triple row of lightly glowing needle-
like blue-white teeth.

                           ~ ~ ~

Jake folded his arms and glared down at Emmy Lou, who sat
in contrite silence on one end of the couch and stared at a
spot on the floor.  Charlene, her right fingers drumming
her upper left arm, stood trembling in fury at Jake's left.
Lyla Mae, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, was
crying into her bloody hands with unrestrained misery.

Emmy Lou's forefinger traced an idle pattern in the blood
smeared on one thigh, ignoring the folded clothes sitting
on her other.  She sighed with boredom.

"Now, Emmy Lou," Jake finally said in a voice as sharp as
a razor and with a glare every bit as cutting, "ah'm real
disappointed in yuh.  Vince wuz one o' th' nicest visitors
we done had in a coon's age.  He didn't deserve whut he
got.  Yuh coulda had yore turn with him any o'them next
times he come t'visit, or maybe even termorra night if'n we
coulda convinced him t'stay another day or two.  And I
suspects we coulda.

"An' besides that, whut if someone come by and seen that
broke-down car a-sittin' up thar?  People would be comin'
round looking fer pore ole Vince.  Now, yuh go git it.  Yuh
put his clothes in it, then carry it down t'th' ravine and
thow it in.  Bury it under some rocks 'n' trees, an' then
git'cher ass back here 'cause yore gonna clean up that
there room and do all that laundry. And yore gonna do it as
Nancy Jean and be her fer th' rest o' th' week, hear?  No
sass, now, young lady, or yuh'll be her until th' next time
someone comes that wants Emmy Lou!"

"Pa!" she whined.  "Yew got any idea how much trouble it
is bein' a blonde?  An' I like bein' this age.  Pussy hair
makes my crotch itch.  An' I HATE havin' big tits!"

"Yuh shoulda thoughta all that 'fore yuh lured Vince in
here fer yuhself in th' first place.  Yuh knowed he'd get a
choice, like ever other'n, and thet he might choose some
other'n th' first time or two.  But yuh done it, and then
yuh talked him into doin' yuh, even though you wasn't set
fer him, Lyla Mae was.  Th' truth is, then, yuh ate him
jest because he perferred Lyla Mae."

"Ah jest wanted some variety in mah diet, Pa!  Y'all are
fillin' and all that, but it's like eatin' pork chops ever
night for a month."

"Well," Charlene growled, "it'll be at least a month
b'fore Jessie comes back."  Her mouth twisted into a cruel
smile.  "And when he does, he'll have a hankerin' for Nancy
Jean."

Jake's right hand held up what looked like a short,
ancient piece of gnarled grapevine with three small,
faintly glowing gems imbedded at equal intervals in one of
the twisting crevices along its length.  He placed the
thumb over the reddish gem and shook the forefinger of his
left hand at Emmy Lou.  "Yuh oughta knowed after all these
years thet ah'm gonna punish yuh one way or t'other
whenever yuh misbehave, just like my Pa and Grandpa did.
If'n yuh don't want t'be Nancy Jean, then ah kin allus send
yuh back, permanent-like."  He raised the twisted vine to
emphasize the threat.  "Ah thank it jest might be possible
fer only two o' yuh t'stay here.  And if'n it ain't, ah'd
bet another might like t'take yore place here.

"Now, go on!  Go take care o' that car.  And wake up them
dad-blasted rattlesnakes on yer way!"

As she stomped out the door he added, "And wait 'till
yore off'n th' porch 'fore yuh change!  I'm tired o'havin'
t'replace broken boards!"

Still scowling in fury, Jake retreated into the kitchen,
picked up a sharp knife, and nicked his forearm.  He
collected a couple of drops of blood in a spoon, then, in
fuming silence, took it and Charlene out to the shed to
concoct more of the clear pink potion that would reset
himself and that which was currently Lyla Mae for each other.

Copyright Russell Hoisington 2007

************************************************************

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Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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