niggers/ZooTracker_Torrents/Petbooks/st-11.txt

ST-11 Sex-Crazed Stallion by Author Unknown


Chapter 1


His hands trembled slightly. Yet his appearance was one of outward 
calm, a methodical thoroughness that obliterated emotional reactions.

There was no room here for the indistinct grey region of emotions, of 
moods, of feelings.

No. Here, there could be only precision. Calm, detached precision.

Magnificence cloaked in the simplicity of scientific accuracy.

A magnificence he alone could attain.

They had expelled him from their midst. Now, he would return, 
triumphant.

It would be he to whom they came, pads in hand, bubbling over with 
questions, with pleas for guidance, pleas for his forgiveness ...

Maybe, he would grant it. Maybe.

But he would have no need for them now. He had learned to do without 
them, they had proclaimed him expendable and now it would be his 
privilege to return the favor.

He noticed the slight trembling still in his hands, his wrists, as he 
dipped the pipette into the clear liquid, then carefully, ever so 
carefully let it empty into the small glass dish. He flicked a button 
and a bright light shot through the dish, while at the same time, a 
previously blank screen flickered, cleared and slowly came to focus.

The object was hazy still, a kind of patchwork worm seen through blurry 
eyes. That's how it looked. Ah, but that patchwork ... that would be 
his ticket back. It would make the world stand up and take notice. It 
would make the name of Lucus Simpson once more not just one of the 
leading names in medical science, it would make him the leading name. 
He would rule.

A slow turn of a dial on the console in front of him sharpened the 
image to the point that separate segments became noticeable ... links 
in a chain, pieces in a puzzle, fragments of a text ...

It was a molecule A living reproducing molecule. Some would say it was 
the essence of life itself. A chromosome. Messenger of life. The 
ordering structure of heredity.

But a chromosome like no other on earth. One that he and he alone had 
created. True, it was still a small scale operation. But the major line 
had been crossed. Ahead lay difficulties in logistics, but the 
fundamental problem had been solved. The answer came finally to focus 
before his eager eyes.

A living chromosome, forced to accept and duplicate genes of a wholly 
different species. A mutant. A life form never before conceived.

Sure, there was work going on all over the world; using bacterium, 
splicing in this genes to fool the organism into duplicating insulin 
here, interferon there, maybe a few illegal drugs now and again ... the 
possibilities were endless.

But the fools. They'd strapped themselves into a straight jacket. Would 
you ask a neurosurgeon to work wearing boxing gloves? Never!

Yet, the entire industry had done exactly that, by declaring human 
manipulation off limits.

He shivered every time he thought of those vast international cartels 
with their virtually unlimited resources playing around with microbes 
while the true work of their calling gathered dust on the pages of 
obscure publications and texts.

But for himself.

Man was the laboratory.

Man was the experiment.

Man, was the product.

Like Nietzche, he believed that man was something to be transcended. 
He, Lucus Simpson, would be the bridge. The human race would forever 
and for all time sing praise to his foresight, his knowledge, his 
daring, his genius ...

There was so much left to be done. Still such a long road ahead, he 
felt constantly weighed down by the task. Yet his heart was light. And 
his mind clear. Quite clear.

This simple chromosome was but a start. There would come an embryo. 
Then more, each with a greater and greater blend of genes, a fuller and 
more equal mix until he could predict with accuracy which traits from 
which species would appear in the mutant. His pulse quickened at the 
thought of it. No longer would we need to rely on unstable population 
pools for the human resources so necessary to the growth of the system 
as a whole.

Now, people could be bred specifically for the tasks required. 
Qualities envied in other species could be matched with the superior 
intellect of man producing unimagined benefits. It was so obvious as to 
be painful. A tool so awesome surely must have applications never yet 
conceived.

And as long as his fellow scientists ignored the path of the future, it 
would be up to him, Lucus Simpson to lead the way.

He looked back at the chromosome. Not alive, yet vital, vibrant, filled 
with possibilities, able somehow, by an incomprehensible blend of 
physics, biology and sheer magic to duplicate itself exactly, atom for 
atom, molecule for molecule, gene for gene.

A human chromosome. With a few stray genes added in. Taken from the 
blood cells of a horse.

It would develop no further. But others would follow. The tests would 
become more and more complex. But the first and most crucial stage had 
at last been reached, and banished from his own kind, he had been 
forced to develop the capability and the technology all on his own.

He had succeeded. He would continue to succeed. Nothing would stop him 
now.

*   *   *

It was some time later that Lucus Simpson emerged from the depths of 
his laboratory.

From the living room came the sounds of Chopin. His daughter Sherry 
paused in her practicing as she heard her father shuffling down the 
hallway to his room.

She sighed. He would be about due again. It had been almost a week. And 
it was her turn this time. Carrie had taken the last two sessions and 
had let her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to go 
again until Sherry had taken her turn.

Dear little Carrie. She was so headstrong. Of course, Sherry could 
easily understand her sister's reluctance to indulge their father's 
strange little quirks, but he was so weary from his work these days, 
and he had been spending so much time down there. It seemed a simple 
thing to ease his burden, however slightly. True, he did get a little 
rough at times, but that was only when he took too much of the drug. 
Usually he was docile as a lamb, putty in her hands.

He seldom took them both at once anymore. Probably a general lessening 
of his stamina.

But he could still be a wild man when the feeling grabbed him.

For years, they had been his only release. They had served his needs, 
they had been his ... his women. Sherry was old enough to understand. 
She had been six when their mother left. That was after the bad time, 
the time of reporters and newspaper articles and police and 
investigations and inquiries and an entire collage of images and 
recollections that she simply filed away in her mind as BEFORE. Now, it 
was AFTER, and had been for years. Almost as long as she could 
remember, and certainly longer than Carrie could remember.

He had taken them away. He had run, taking them with him, into hiding. 
The years had been hard, awkward, at times dangerous, but he had 
managed to keep them alive and safe and clothed and fed, and now they 
had this beautiful house in the wilderness that she had grown so to 
love. It seemed at times that there could be nothing to interfere with 
the idyllic life their father had carved out for them. Nothing, except 
that unexplained stubborn streak in Carrie. Sherry had noticed it long 
ago, though she doubted her father was aware of it yet.

But Carrie was becoming restless. She was becoming dissatisfied. She 
was starting to wonder about the rest of the world. She was asking 
questions.

"How do other people eat, daddy? Do they grow all their food like we 
do?"

And their father would patiently explain about the evil of cities and 
civilization and of other people and she would listen but Sherry could 
see that she really didn't hear.

But most dangerous, she was beginning to wonder about other men. And 
why there were none around. Or any people. Their father had seen to 
their education. He had instructed them well in the way's of civilized 
society. He didn't want them to feel like they were prisoners here. He 
wanted it to be their choice. He wanted them to realize that there was 
only evil and pain and suffering beyond the safety of the Eden he had 
created for them in the mountain wilderness.

Where else could one breathe clean air, catch fish in an unpolluted 
lake, fish without chemicals, fish from water you can swim in. These 
questions and hundreds more he would patiently confront Carrie with, 
but she was still unconvinced.

It saddened Sherry, because she knew that at the final point, their 
father would never permit them to leave. He had learned to need them. 
To depend on them. They would sign his death warrant should they leave. 
Sherry knew that. She had almost, in her own way, made peace with the 
fact. It was a beautiful place to live. And it was so easy, so simple, 
so undemanding an existence ...

She heard him coming down the hall again, his gait a little less 
steady.

When he came into the room, she could tell by the slightly out-of-focus 
stare in his eyes that he had taken the drug. She had no idea what 
drug. Once, he'd confessed that it was some kind of extract from a 
mushroom, varied according to his own special formula. He claimed to 
have bacteria in petri dishes working overtime to produce the stuff. 
Sometimes she worried about him, worried that maybe he was taking too 
much of it.

But the poor dear, it was the only real recreation that he enjoyed. And 
it seemed to be the only way he could arouse himself ...

"Come to me my dear," he said in the characteristically thick voice of 
his drug induced euphoria.

"Would you like me to finish this Chopin Etude, Daddy?" she asked, 
knowing that he would show no interest.

As expected, he simply shook his head and held out his hand. She rose 
from the piano bench, carefully folded her music and stacked it in a 
neat pile, then she turned to face her father.

It was easy to understand how someone, male in particular, would find 
her an appealing sight. That this male happened also to be her father 
could perhaps be forgiven in light of the fact that until recently, the 
young woman standing before him had been the one and only woman to 
cross paths with Lucus Simpson for close to ten years now. In the early 
years when it had been necessary to rely on his considerable 
intellectual powers merely to avoid detection, it had often been 
necessary to exist right in the midst of the very people who would have 
screeched for his capture in the shrill tones of hysteria so typical of 
the general uncomprehending populace.

Hide where they'd least expect it!

And he'd done it with his usual success.

Except he knew that there would be less and less safety for them. 
Eventually, whether or not by design, something would slip. He was, 
after all, no fool. He knew the law of averages, he could calculate 
odds. A chance meeting (remember, according to chain-letter enthusiasts 
we're never further than five people through a chain of acquaintance 
from anyone else in the country), some connection of links totally 
beyond the powers of prediction, and it would be over.

At its peak, his case had been a national story, and when one spoke of 
the peak, one spoke actually of three separate events, spaced apart by 
six weeks or so, that assured Lucus Simpson of initiation into that 
select circle of the near-famous, the nefarious and the infamous whose 
names trigger a spark of recognition in most of the populace. And if 
the trigger's sharp enough, it can even conjure up details of the case 
itself.

Would they remember?

He wondered.

There certainly was enough to remember.

SIMPSON THE BABY-RAPER
Says fearful wife


Headlines of a similar nature filled the hinterlands and the cities, 
with enough follow-up reports on national news to keep him up nights 
worrying about that one stray fool who'd actually remember ...

And he'd had no doubt that somewhere, someday they would meet. No 
matter that there had never been a single shred of evidence against him 
that would stand for a moment on its own support in a court of law. No!

Never mind the fact that not a single eyewitness raised a voice against 
him.

Ignore his record of brilliance, of dedicated service to his 
profession, the long list of credits, his awesome credentials.

Who among the mad mob could recall any of those?

But the lurid details ... the pictures of those poor children ... The 
anguished cries of heartbroken mothers ... The circumstantial evidence 
...

He knew there was no shortage of morbid ghouls spread across the entire 
land who soaked up precisely such facts as a way of life almost, trying 
to season the bland stew of their own dull existence with the blood and 
sweat wrung pitilessly from the pages of magazines, tabloids, non-
fiction thrillers ...

He had no stomach for it, and knew that ultimately the final 
disappearance would be necessary.

It had happened, precisely for the same reasons that he had managed to 
slip away unnoticed in the first place.

There were still a few, a very select few Who believed in him, who knew 
of him, of his work, who even now were ready to lend whatever 
assistance they could manage.

No, Lucus Simpson was not without friends.

But he was without human contact. He had planned it that way, 
structuring his life so that it became a closed box, a sealed jar, a 
self sustaining system.

Their terrarium needed no attention now:

There were no outsiders.

No one to recall old nightmares.

No one to betray, no one to lie.

No men to prey upon the two jewels of his daughters, no one to soil the 
perfect life he had fashioned.

He had kept them pure. He had kept them unsoiled.

He had kept them for himself.

Since she'd been aware of her body, Sherry had regularly been called 
upon to ease her father's tensions.

"I'm tense, daughter, yes, I'm tense indeed. Ease the tension in my 
loins girl, come to you father and ease my pain."

He would whisper it to her in her sleep, he would call to her in the 
afternoon from the porch as she played in the yard, he would read to 
her at night and at the close reach his arms out to her: in short, she 
was at his command whenever he felt need of her.

It wasn't a conscious decision on his part.

It simply evolved into the custom.

Tradition starts with a single act.

The act had been placing her small hands on his swollen cock, letting 
her squeeze it, pull on it, jerk it until the fountain of white jism 
spurted forth and coated her arms, her chest just beginning to blossom 
with breasts.

She stared wide-eyed.

"What happened? What did I do to you Daddy? Are you bleeding?"

She was petrified.

"Easy little girl, easy," he'd laughed, gently, calming her as only he 
could.

The bond, forged almost at the moment of her awakening awareness was 
never something grafted onto her from the outside. It was from the 
start something interior, something organically fused to her own 
developing personality, something that was innately her.

By the time she had sufficient analytical powers to try and make some 
sense of the situation, objectivity was beyond her.

It was a bond that could be questioned, liked, disliked, approved of or 
disapproved of, but never broken.

She was a part of him.

And it was a bond she accepted in the center of her soul with welcoming 
pleasure.

The ritual was always the same, although lately he had begun taking 
more and more of the mysterious drug that he prepared in his 
laboratory.

"Purely by accident, purely as a result of tripping and stumbling into 
some previously unsuspected part of my mind, I have invented the first 
genuinely authentic aphrodisiac!!"

Sherry remembered well the day he had proclaimed that discovery, and 
remembered as well the first test of the substance.

It was then that he discovered the psychedelic properties as well.

Mild, but nonetheless real.

Once a week, he would treat himself to an excursion, and always 
accompanied by one of his daughters. In the past year, their sexual 
tasks had slowly merged with his drug experiences so that now, they 
knew that they would usually be called upon to assist. Which meant that 
as soon as their father's brain cleared enough from the first rush, he 
would develop a massive hard-on which would take most of the night to 
wear away.

Though she doubted Lucus was aware of it to any degree, Sherry knew 
without a doubt that she enjoyed the sessions far more than her sister 
Carrie.

Carrie's awakening years had come at a point when Lucus was still quite 
virile and Sherry was sufficiently matured that their sessions were 
both involved and frequent. As a result, Carrie was not brought into 
their special relationship until later in her life than Sherry.

She had never evolved into her father's instrument to the extent that 
Sherry had.

Which was fine with Sherry, because even though she may not exactly 
look forward to their fucking sessions, she never failed to find them 
exciting once she was involved in one.

Lucus was just standing watching her. She was beautiful. Long brown 
hair that hung straight to her waist in a thick cascading mane 
(Carrie's hair was as thick and long, but much curlier and a brilliant 
summer blonde in hue) ... breasts as full and ripe as the honeydew 
melons they grew in their greenhouse ... beautiful long slender legs 
with perfectly curving thighs ...

He would sometimes simply watch her asking her finally to remove 
perhaps her shirt, her pants, sit in front of him dressed perhaps only 
in her panties ...

Lucus made certain that his daughters had the proper apparel when he so 
desired it.

His favorites were the flimsy crotchless panties that split right over 
those juicy pink slits, so hot, so heavy with musk, so inviting ...

He could never control himself when he stood in front of his daughters. 
Either of them could reduce him to jelly.

He stood now, transfixed and Sherry slowly unraveled herself from the 
dress she wore. It was a wrap-around style (he made certain they had 
access to moderately current fashions), a loose fitting piece of cloth 
that gently molded itself to the delicious curves of her young body, 
not glued itself to her, but simply suggesting the shape of that pliant 
flesh beneath.

She was his release. The safety valve that kept him sane, sane to 
continue his work, sane to keep them protected ... and yes, sane enough 
to stay his hand in those awful early morning hours, when the urge 
would creep onto his soul like a black fog. When the pressure in his 
temples would flare, press outward against the inside of his skull, 
when he could think only of one thing, the small tender bodies, their 
warmth, their innocence, their need OH GOD their fierce overwhelming 
need--!!

And he would wake from a soiled sleep.

He would call for his Sherry and she would be there, and as he would 
gently stroke her smooth young skin, running his fingers over her face, 
her slender throat, her soft breasts, down into the wet folds of her 
youthful pussy, he would forget, he would block the past from his mind, 
he would return to the present, to his new life ... to his new destiny 
...

He wanted her now. So gracefully she moved! Like smoke, only with 
structure, coherence.

She turned to him now, nipples flaming a deep crimson against the 
backdrop of the two dark eyes of her aureole.

Her breasts were perfectly round, perfectly tight, firm and taut so 
that they merely rippled when she moved.

It never ceased to amaze him the way those two huge globes of flesh 
could simply hang there exactly in place and simply ripple. It never 
struck him as being short of miraculous.

He reached for her now, saw her weave her way through the space that 
separated them, approaching, coming closer, closer, closer ...

Her lips were on his mouth, her hands on his body, reaching between his 
legs, cupping his balls through his trousers, squeezing. Them gently, 
more firmly, hard--!

He let out a gasp of pleasure mixed with pain. That too was perfect. 
She knew exactly what he liked, what he wanted. They thought as if with 
one mind.

She unzipped his trousers and as they slid down his legs she circled 
the suddenly exposed head of his cock with her thumb and forefinger, 
forming a ring only slightly larger in diameter than the head of his 
swollen shaft.

She slowly started to slide the ring up and down, focusing mainly on 
the bottom ridge of his glans at the point where it flares then curves 
sharply back into the main shaft. He loved it there, claiming it to be 
the most sensitive part of a man's cock.

She stroked with these miniature strokes for as long as it took him to 
start drooling from the tiny mouth-like opening at the center of his 
cock.

As soon as the first clear droplet appeared, she began to rub it into 
the deepening purple colored head, enjoying the sound of his throaty 
moans as she did so.

Again stroking his cock, back and forth, back and forth until again a 
crystal droplet appeared, oozing slowly out and down.

This time, she lowered her body just enough for her breasts to hang 
down on either side of his prick.

She took one in her hands and guided the hard red nipple to the 
collected liquid.

Cock against nipple, the friction of each spreading through both their 
bodies.

Sherry felt a tingling in the deepest portions of her cunt, felt her 
body gather itself for an explosion of orgasmic fury, still distant but 
unmistakable even in its earliest stages.

She spread his juice all over her nipple, her aureole, down between her 
breasts ...

Then she squeezed both fleshy mounds against his cock burying it in the 
folds of her thick breasts. She squeezed hard into him, felt his hips 
begin to move in and out against her in response and then start to get 
faster.

But she wanted to make sure that wouldn't come too fast. On the drug, 
he was able to come several times without getting soft, but it was 
still best for them both if she could stretch it out a little.

Which sometimes could mean hours!

She got down on her knees and began to feed the stiff piece of meat 
before her straight into her mouth. All the way in, till it pressed 
against the back of her throat, her hungry throat that had swallowed 
enough of her father's cum over the years to fill a bath tub ... her 
sweet hot throat that waited for this next load to come shooting out of 
his cock, splash against her tonsils and slowly slither down the pink 
walls, down her throat into her stomach.

But again, Sherry was only building him up. Tension, release. That was 
the key.

Play with him, get him hot, fill his balls, wait till he's just about 
to blow his entire load, then pull back, leave him hanging, frustrated, 
unfulfilled ...

Until the process starts up again, this time taking him just a little 
bit further, leaving him dangling from an even higher position.

Tension.

Release.

Tension.

Release.

Except that as each pause builds upon the tension that proceeded it, 
they too merely contribute to the gathering pressure in his balls, his 
cock, his thighs.

Until at last, there is no line left to cross. He is standing directly 
on it. Poised right at the brink of orgasm, yet still, somehow, not 
coming.

That was her style with Lucus, one she had never wavered from. She'd 
learned to read her father, to interpret his body language, his non-
verbal cues, the noises he made. She knew when he was going to come and 
she knew at any moment exactly how much it would take to make him spill 
over.

And always, she could withhold just that last tiny bit, keep him in 
limbo with a cock so hard it could cleave a diamond and oozing so much 
juice that she would feel almost that he had come in her mouth after 
all, so much of it did she have to lick off.

But yet, not coming. Still with the tortured balls, filled to bursting.

It was an agony for him, one that he gladly endured, but the strain was 
obvious from his face.

He could only remain standing for a short while. Once the session got 
under way seriously the only thing he could do was to lay back and let 
her do whatever she desired.

And to be sure, Sherry got a lot out of giving her father sex. She got 
sex for herself, for one thing, and that was something that she had 
long since learned to value greatly.

But she also got the satisfaction of knowing that she was helping a 
great man resume his position of greatness in the world.

About her father's past, the past she was too young to remember, she 
knew virtually nothing.

She knew only, at the moment anyway, that her pussy was beginning to 
ache badly for the feeling of that hard cock in her mouth. She wanted 
it to be in her pussy.

She wanted to be fucking him. Sometimes she would let him lick her 
cunt, leave her pussy suspended above his lips for what seemed like an 
eternity while his tongue and lips and teeth gladly wandered each 
minute part of her pink flesh.

But not tonight. Tonight she wished only to be fucked.

She'd long ago learned that her father was glad to trust her judgment. 
Whatever she felt like doing, that's what he felt like doing.

It was a very convenient relationship.

She slowly slid her body around, letting her breasts drag across his 
body and then the head of his cock was at the lips of her pussy, lips 
spread and parted by the angle of her thighs as they straddled his 
waist, but spread also from the sheer force of her mounting passion.

It was at her, moving at her, in her, sliding through her.

Deep.

Deeper still.

Down, down, all the way to the bottom of her cunt. All the way into the 
back of her cunt wall. She gasped, for no matter how often he rammed 
his swollen cock into her, the feeling of a cock first entering you 
still carries echoes of the first time a cock ever entered you.

It was like rediscovering what your pussy was really supposed to feel 
like, as if in those dull moments when the rest of the world intrudes 
and you aren't fucking, you somehow forget it's purpose.

But she always remembered.

Now, he began to slide it in and out, her thick juices providing 
perfect lubrication.

In and out, faster and faster, he began fucking her like it was the 
first time he had ever fucked, like it would be the last time he would 
ever fuck.

Fucking her the way he always fucked her, with passion and desperation.

Harder. Harsher. Hips slamming against hips, sweat mingling, her 
breasts crushing down on his body beneath her ...

She came, five times, ten, a dozen ... she had no idea. She knew only 
that this was why she kept it up, why she found finally, nothing wrong 
with her relationship with her father.

The bottom line was that she couldn't live without these massive jolts 
of orgasm that left her body limp every single time they made love.

Again and again his cock crashed into her, splitting her cunt in two, 
splitting her body in two, driving orgasm after orgasm from her ravaged 
pussy.

At last, she felt him come. She always knew when he was coming, because 
he started to plunge his cock in and out of her a lot faster, and 
suddenly the friction eased up as wad after wad of thick white cum shot 
from his prick.

And then, surprisingly, he was still.

Could it be that he wanted no more tonight?

It seemed so, because he simply rolled off of her after gaining his 
breath and held her hand for long moments of silence. Then he started 
to stroke her hair, but she thought that he seemed ... almost 
distracted.

Something must be on his mind, she thought, after he gave her a kiss 
and strode from the room. Perhaps his work is going well, she thought. 
She hoped so.



Chapter 2


The breeze blowing through the open window brushed over her bare 
nipples. It was cool but not yet with the biting chill that would 
signal the true onset of winter. For now, it was still comfortably in 
the dying gasps of summer, or, to be more exact, Indian summer. A month 
ago there had been a sharp cold spell and she had feared the warm 
weather gone till spring.

But now, even with the leaves the brilliant shades of red, orange, 
purple and yellow like giant dollops of paint dripped on the 
mountainsides, she could still enjoy the countryside as she liked best.

The breeze blew a little harder, rustling the window shade which was 
pulled a few inches below the base of the open window. It was a light 
sound, but during the night she had somehow unwound herself from her 
covers and had been shivering slightly through her dreams for the past 
hour. The added sound of the shade was enough to finally arouse her.

Carrie Simpson sat up the way she did everything, all at once with a 
sudden jerking motion, fully alert and at attention.

She was as striking a girl as her sister, smaller of body, blonde where 
Sherry was a brunette, but with the same full breasts, the same lithe 
supple form.

She yawned once, shook her head to clear it of the last remaining 
traces of slumber and was on her feet with a single graceful hop, into 
her shorts and shirt, and checking to see that her bedroom door was 
still locked, she was out her window and onto the damp grass outside. 
Her bare feet left a chain of oblong smudges in the coating of dew that 
she knew would vanish with the first rays of the sun. But now in the 
grey half-light of false dawn they stretched back from dancing figure 
as it raced down the slope of the yard towards the woods, the only 
proof that life stirred in the mountain retreat.

She had no need really to be so furtive and clandestine. It was simply 
part of her nature. She was a private girl, one who kept the major 
portion of herself hidden from the rest of the world, choosing instead 
to serve portions of herself to others as she saw fit. She understood 
the first rule of the theater: leave them wanting a little more. She 
also understood the mind of the poker player and knew instinctively the 
value of keeping your true self hidden.

Strange, that one kept sheltered and secluded from the world and from 
other people could have such a worldly outlook, but Lucus Simpson had 
done right by his daughters, at least in terms of preparing them for 
maturity. Why, is anybody's guess, because Sherry's secret conviction 
that he never intended for them to leave their shelter was probably 
correct. Still, he must have realized that he would not live forever. 
And in the meantime, if he was successful in keeping them with him, he 
would obviously want minds as aware and as sharp and knowledgeable as 
his own.

In Carrie, he had molded a mind that was perhaps too much aware. Too 
sharp.

She was, unlike her sister, her own person and no one else's. She 
respected her father, even loved him and allowed herself to go along 
with his desires, but that intimate bonding that had so affected Sherry 
had never taken hold with her. At the center of her soul burned the 
conviction that what she did with her father was wrong, that ultimately 
she would have to escape, flee their hermetically sealed box and break 
out into the world beyond, a world that till now had filtered to her 
only through books and her father's lectures, both of which were 
available in abundance.

Her feet skipped lightly over the rough terrain, the bottoms turned 
slowly thick and hard by endless summers of climbing up and down the 
mountainous landscape, of racing through the limitless forests, of 
wading through the rocky stream beds with their frigid crystal waters 
... she was a child of a natural environment. It was perhaps the 
greatest gift her father had given her and she was so much at one with 
the land around her that she probably wasn't even quite conscious of 
it.

She knew only that her solitude was the most precious thing she had. 
She sought it out often.

Particularly in the past several months. That was the reason for the 
locked door. Let them think she slept late. By the time she returned, 
her father would be in the laboratory cooking up God knows what and 
Sherry would be blissfully involved with whatever satisfied her.

No one would notice her returning, and if they did, no one would 
question her.

Life in the house, to be honest, was boring. How Sherry could spend day 
after day, week after week, year after year mindlessly catering to the 
quirky whims of an old man rapidly going senile was totally beyond her 
ability to fathom.

Well, maybe that wasn't fair ... Lucus was sharp as a razor ... 
something about him just didn't go down quite right, and she couldn't 
have said what it was ... she only knew that as she grew older, the 
calm complacency of her older sister seemed to be more and more an act 
worthy of loathing ... was it his eyes, the way he would look at her 
sometimes when she would go to him, stand before him naked, waiting for 
his wishes to become apparent?

That strange distant stare, flavored at times with ... was it hatred? 
That's how it struck her, so much so at times that when he would reach 
out his hand to her, start to stroke her breasts, run his fingers over 
her neck, her shoulders, her face, and she would actually have to beat 
down an impulse to scream out, to pull away, to run--!

But from what?

She had no idea. She still lacked the distance necessary for true 
objectivity. Their situation, their isolation were still givens in her 
life, like the color of the sky, breathing, dawn and dusk ...

But the seeds, sown probably at birth or perhaps before, taken root 
from her earliest years of awareness, were now beginning to sprout, to 
grow, to bear fruit ...

So far, her rebellion expressed itself only in the act which now 
preoccupied her.

Dancing through the woods, she seemed from a distance to be perhaps a 
doe, maybe even a fawn, so perfectly did she melt through the trees, 
the underbrush, the foliage. As she ran, she had no conscious goal. The 
running was an end in itself.

To be alone!

To be a part of a world so much more vast, so much older and expansive 
... that was her desire.

Coming to a clearing, she climbed a rock and standing at the top, she 
stripped. Naked, captured in the first ray of sun cutting a yellow 
swath across the tops of the trees, she might have been a wood nymph, 
the very embodiment of whatever spirit ruled the forest.

Her stance was defiant. Arms akimbo, legs spread, long waves of thick 
hair washing down her shoulders, her back, dipping down to the two 
rounded cheeks of her tanned buttocks.

Her sister's body had long ago been given to Lucus Simpson. She knew 
it, knew how Sherry secretly craved the touch of her father's lips on 
her breasts, the feel of his fingers probing into her, the grinding 
crush of his cock as it split her ...

Carrie's body was her own. She derived no pleasure from what her father 
did to her. None. She was, again, the actress, the theatrical persona, 
giving just exactly what her audience paid for, no more, no less.

Only in the isolation of the wilderness could she truly feel her own 
life's pulse throbbing throughout her veins, rippling beneath the taut 
surface of her skin.

Here, atop this rock, she felt the heat of arousal, as surely as she 
felt the heat of the sun, climbing higher now in the sky.

She stroked her long legs, let her fingers glide over the hairless 
skin. It had always been Lucus' wish that they maintain their bodies in 
a truly feminine manner. No unshaven legs for his daughters, no hairy 
armpits. It was something that was very important to him and Carrie 
could understand. She like the sleek feel of her body, the almost 
frictionless way her hands glided over her flesh, up the insides of her 
thighs, higher, higher, all the way to the already dripping lips of her 
young pussy.

The feeling of her body's juice oozing through her fingers was possibly 
her greatest pleasure. She never failed to be amazed at the depths of 
feeling her body was capable of and she never hesitated to drive it as 
far as she possibly could.

She lay back on the top of the rock, her body sloping downward along 
the curve of its surface. She spread her legs, pulled them up towards 
her at the knees, and touching her fingertip to her hot clitoris, began 
the slow steady manipulations that would propel her through orgasm 
after violent orgasm.

The crisp air, the crystalline clarity of the sky, the near silence of 
the breeze slipping through the trees with a whispered SHHHHHH! ... all 
these blended with the glowing nugget of hot coal between her legs, its 
heat spreading outward taking in more and more of her body until she 
felt herself to be on fire, felt the entire surface of her skin to be 
aflame, engulfing her, devouring her, consuming her ...

She cried out when she came. From a distance, one would have heard 
perhaps what might have been the distant cry of a falcon, would have 
seen, had they even noticed, the inert form of a goddess. She made 
almost no movement at all. The torrent was within her, ripping her 
apart, searing her brain. Outwardly, there was just the simple 
flickering of her fingertip back and forth relentlessly against her 
clitoris. Orgasm after orgasm tore through her, cries welled up from 
her throat, her eyes closed ... she was transported, she merged with 
the wilderness, for a moment felt time as it was experienced by a tree, 
a rock, a mountain, felt herself changing like a season changes, felt 
time come crashing to a halt.

But only for a brief instant.

She returned, as she always did, and spent long moments simply lying 
motionless in the sun, legs splayed across the surface of the massive 
rock, breasts jutting straight upward like two mountains themselves, 
hair flowing in every direction, scattered as the wind, brilliant as 
the sun itself.

She felt at peace. Completely at peace. She was aware of her body, her 
mind and her soul. She was content with who she was.

But she was restless. She stood up, looked down the long slope of the 
mountain across the ravine to the next and the next, all splotched with 
the fiery hues of the dying year, all a tapestry of change, of 
alteration, of death and renewal.

There were changes building in her, still hovering just past her 
conscious thoughts. But she felt them the way animals in the forest 
feel an approaching storm when the sky is still cloudless. She knew 
something was there. She wished only that she might discern something 
of its shape, describe its form ...

She looked at the sun. It would be nearly seven o'clock. Time was 
abundant.

She slid down the face of the rock, gathered her clothes, and carrying 
them in her arms, trotted off in the direction of the stream. Perhaps 
it was a bit chilly still, especially in the shade; nonetheless, 
nothing could surpass the shattering jolt of that first plunge into the 
icy water, that nerve searing blast of heatless energy. Her senses were 
finely tuned. They needed stimulation.

Carrie's solitude was not quite as complete as she believed.

Others stirred on this early morning, though they moved as strangers 
through the woods.

Had she gone perhaps a half-mile further, instead of turning down 
towards the stream for a swim, she would very soon have encountered the 
spiced wooden scent of coffee wafting through the trees like a scented 
mist. And she would have heard the sound of metal clanging together, 
smelled bacon cooking, perhaps even heard the sizzle and sputter as it 
fried in the pan.

But most alien, she would have heard voices. Strange voices. Voices 
never before heard in these woods. Male voices.

Belonging to one Johnny Talbert and his companion Rod Barrett. They sat 
at the camp fire watching their breakfast cook through bleary eyes.

"I'm telling You Rod, I don't think I can take much more of this. I'm 
getting to fucking old!"

Rod just chuckled to himself as he poured a dark stream of coffee into 
his cup, sipped it, wincing from the heat, then sipped it some more.

"You say that every year; and you've said it ever since we started 
coming up here. Now why don't you just drink your coffee and wait till 
you wake up a little bit before you go making sweeping decisions like 
that. You'll only regret it later on anyway."

Johnny grumbled and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"That's another thing. Who the fuck can be expected to shave with cold 
water? It's barbaric!"

"What are you talking about? Shaving's barbaric anyway! Hell, if you 
weren't supposed to have hair on your face it wouldn't start growing. 
That's what I say."

He ran his fingers through a thick beard tinted generously with deep 
flashes of red.

Johnny looked at him sourly.

"Yeah, well, something like that could get caught in a branch or 
something. You want me to start calling you Absolom?"

"Aw, shut up! Here, have some coffee."

The bacon turned a darker and darker shade of brownish red, and when it 
seemed to be just about done, Rod dipped into his backpack and pulled 
out a small carton wrapped in two towels. Inside were six eggs, each 
wrapped in paper towels to cushion them.

"See there, you sorry hound? You laughed at me, but I told you it would 
be worth it. Save the freeze dried shit for later. On that first 
morning, there won't be anything at all to compare to a real breakfast 
of real eggs and bacon."

Johnny's face still wore a scowl that seemed to be permanently etched 
into his skin, but his eyes perked up with renewed interest.

"Here, pour me some coffee, will you?" he asked Rod.

"Pour it yourself, asshole; Can't you see there's serious business 
taking place here?"

He very carefully cracked each egg till it was circled with a jagged 
ring of fractures, then delicately pried each half apart, splitting the 
small sac beneath the shell and let the egg fall with a plop into the 
bacon grease.

"I hate broken yolks. Nothing fucks up breakfast worse than a broken 
yolk."

Johnny looked at him like he was mad.

"What's it matter? An egg's an egg. What if you scrambled the fuckers?"

Rod stared at him like he was the most uncouth asshole that ever lived.

"Well Godfuckindamnit, I ain't scrambling the damn things, and if 
you're so indifferent about the whole thing, you get the broken yolk if 
I fuck up.

"The hell you say. I don't want a broken yolk."

"Asshole," muttered Rod continuing the painstaking process of starting 
the day out right.

And it was important too. This was the first day of their annual 
backpacking excursion into the wilderness. They'd begun the tradition 
eleven years ago, each year choosing a different area to explore. 
Usually they would spend two weeks in the wilds, leaving jobs, friends 
and all the burdens of civilization far behind.

Both were divorced now, but when they had been married, these trips had 
been a problem, so much so that they even brought their wives along one 
year.

Never again. Rod, in fact, traced the break-up of his marriage directly 
to that ill fated trip. He thought of it now and began to laugh.

"What's so damn funny," Johnny asked, still feeling like the world had 
something against him.

"Oh, it's real hard for me to get up in the morning and fix breakfast 
like this without thinking about dear old Louise."

Johnny thought about it for a second and started to laugh too.

"Yeah, that was too bad. Ah, women don't belong up here. It's too damn 
rugged for 'em."

"No, Louise had a liking for the wilderness. She just didn't like 
bears."

"That bastard sure took a liking to her though, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but it was the flood that really did her in."

"That's for sure. Mabel didn't get along too good after that either."

Rod thought back on the ill-fated venture. "Probably not having any 
clothes left when the rescue crews finally caught up with us didn't 
help either," he mused.

"Yeah. She did kind of shy away from the TV cameras."

They both started to laugh hard at the recollection. Johnny stood up 
and cracked his vertebrae, stretched and exhaled deeply. His breath 
puffed into a small cloud and dispersed into the morning. Then he 
winced.

"Goddamn! I swear to God, I'll never get used to sleeping on the 
fucking ground."

He rubbed the small of his back in obvious agony.

Rod regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and contempt.

"I just might leave your sorry ass home next time after all. Listen you 
sorry clown, we've got fifteen miles to cover today if we're gonna 
sleep on top of Kingman's Dome, and I'm going to be sorely pissed if 
you can't make it."

"Hey, I'll make it. I'll make it. I'm just getting too old for this 
garbage, that's all."

"You're thirty years old! How the hell can that be too old? I'm thirty 
two! What's that make me? Crippled?!"

Johnny threw a pine cone at him to shut him up and wandered down to the 
creek to splash water in his eyes, maybe wake himself up.

And to think, he muttered to himself, I could have been putting a 
couple of six-packs on ice right now giving Cheryl, or maybe Charlene, 
or what the fuck maybe both of them a call on the phone to come over 
and watch the game with me and then ...

But he didn't mean it. The day was young and just as soon as he could 
figure out a way to wake up and make his joints stop hurting, he'd be 
ready enough to get out in it. If only they had a couple of women with 
them. That's all. Didn't seem like too much to ask. Just a couple of 
nice sweet women who'd do nothing but fuck their eyes out. Yeah! He 
warmed to the idea as he splashed the cold water over his face.

Oh well. Like Rod said. What didn't get packed they'd damn sure do 
without. He looked around, took in a deep breath and for no reason at 
all other than the fact that he felt utterly alone in the world, he let 
out a mighty roar. The sound bounced off the surrounding mountains, 
returning again and again in diminishing echoes till at last, there was 
again stark, naked silence. No question about it. They weren't going to 
find any women up here waiting for them.

*   *   *

Carrie stood at the clearing leaning over the wooden fence. Out in the 
field she saw him.

In the brilliance of the early morning sun he stood motionless, a 
statue sculpted from black onyx, polished by the wind and rain, 
separated out of our own time, defining a space all his own.

She put two fingers to her mouth and let out a shrill whistle.

Suddenly, he was fluid with motion.

The mighty head turned towards her and with an imperial shake, he broke 
at once into a rapid trot spilling over to a slow gallop as he made 
straight for her.

He came up to where she leaned against the fence, nuzzled his face 
against her hand and neighed softly.

She had no name for him feeling somehow that would preserve the magic 
she felt in his presence.

That was the word for it. Magic. She knew nothing of his true owners, 
only that their landowning were extensive. Her father never spoke of 
them. They were forbidden to ask, and the idea of any exploratory 
contact was such a taboo that not even Carrie in her rebellious 
independence would seriously challenge her father on such a serious 
issue. Yet.

But the magnificent stallion before her represented the first chinks in 
the wall he'd constructed around her life, the first steps outward, 
away, seeking a world of her own.

She'd discovered him five months ago. She'd begun to wander further and 
further and further from their sanctuary, seeking to uncover more and 
more of the world that had been denied her, moving, perhaps 
unconsciously, perhaps by design in the direction of the taboo lands, 
where the possibility of human contact might actually present itself.

Instead, this meadow, this steed had appeared.

The first day she felt an attraction she could scarcely focus her mind 
upon, much less verbalize.

She'd hopped the fence immediately, in awe of such a beast. The very 
first time she'd seen a horse. It somehow came to symbolize the vast 
quantity of other experiences that had also been kept from her.

Through some instinctive communication system that functioned beneath 
the filter of language and mind, she understood how to ride him, how to 
control him, and he accepted her from the first.

A graceful spring and she was up, arms wrapped around his neck, knees 
digging into his powerful ribs, and they were off across the meadow. It 
never occurred to her that he belonged to someone else and that they 
might object. She simply did what she felt like doing.

She returned. And returned again. The animal became the focus of her 
life, yet she still was almost unaware of the fact, as she was unaware 
of so much about her still developing personality.

But her excursions into the wilderness now usually ended here, in this 
meadow astride this horse.

The feeling as she rode him was electric. The communion between their 
bodies was a real, tangible sensation.

It was ...

But there were no words in her vocabulary to describe precisely what it 
was. She knew only that when they rode, she soared, she flew, she 
transcended herself.

She petted him softly, talking a kind of baby talk to him. He was 
gentle. That something so huge and powerful could be so gentle always 
left her stunned.

And then, dropping the clothing that she had carried from the stream, 
she mounted him, naked, alive, tense and trembling. They would ride. 
She would soar. And again, she would feel the strength of his body pass 
into her own, feel the energy of his gait transformed into power in her 
own body, energy, sensation ...

Sensation like nothing she could possibly experience from anyone else 
or anything else.

Her legs spread down either side of his large frame. The bumps along 
the ridge of his spinal column passed directly beneath her, right along 
the opened wet slit of her pussy. She felt his body against hers, felt 
herself growing wet as she gave the first tentative squeeze of her 
knees into his sides.

He began to move. The vibrations started like a slow cadence, building 
with each step. She felt him. She felt herself. She felt alive!

Faster now, faster, racing with the wind ... They reached the other 
side of the meadow, and he instinctively slowed down as they approached 
the fence. She paused, trying to decide what to do. Then, she turned 
him back around the way they had just come, kicked him into a full 
gallop and held him to it, even as the fence loomed closer and closer 
...

With one mighty spring he flew over it.

They were out!

She felt suddenly a freedom she'd never before known.

She didn't even think about where she was going. It didn't matter.

She wanted to ride, to fly, to escape. She wanted to take her steed and 
vanish, never to return again!



Chapter 3


"Holy shit! Would you look at that."

"How the fuck can I look, I can't even hold on!"

Rod looked back at Johnny, who was balanced precariously on a small 
ledge.

"What the hell are we doing climbing up this damn thing anyway for? I 
thought you wanted to make Kingman's Dome by dark!"

"All right, all right, we'll head back. I just wanted to see what there 
was to see."

"Well, if you'd move out of the damn way and let me up there, I might 
get an idea for myself."

"Well, be careful you stupid klutz. There's not a whole lot of room up 
here."

They had decided to detour and climb a chimney rock. It had taken the 
better part of an hour and now, perched atop what seemed to Johnny to 
be the highest place in the world, the view was without a doubt 
breathtaking. But scary. The top was no more than five or six feet 
square except that it wasn't square at all but rather sloped. At a 
fairly steep angle.

"Oh Lord, I think I'm gonna be sick," moaned Johnny as soon as he 
scrambled up next to Rod.

"Well make damn sure you're down wind from me if you do."

"No fucking sympathy, that's your problem You know I'm scared of 
heights."

"Then what the hell are you doing up here?"

"Well now you see the confusion that's been going on in my brain for 
the past hour."

Rod just looked at his friend with bemused exasperation. Then he looked 
back at the sight that had first caught his attention.

"Look over there."

He pointed about halfway down the mountain slope that they'd slept on 
the previous night.

A faint stream of smoke could be seen drifting through the trees, and 
the dim outlines of a house.

"Someone lives over there. That surprises me. This is supposed to be 
absolute wilderness."

"That's not those people the ranger was telling us about, is it?"

"Nah, those were some people from the DuPont family. Come up here for 
the summer. But they're way the fuck back over that way," he said, 
pointing in the opposite direction. He looked back at the smoke.

"Now who the hell do you think could be living up here, and be so 
secluded that no one would know about it?"

Johnny looked at him like he was crazy.

"Hell, anyone. Look around you. Do you see any roads? Do you see any 
phone wires? Do you see anything but mountains and trees for miles and 
miles. No one would find you up here."

"Yeah," Rod replied, thoughtfully. "And I'll bet that if you did 
stumble onto someone up here, and no one else did know about them ... 
well maybe they might have a reason for wanting to stay out of sight."

"Rod old buddy, this is the vacation, remember? You were supposed to 
have left your job behind, remember. You're just a backwoods country 
boy come home, remember? You aren't a newsman, you don't have a camera 
crew with you, you don't have any deadlines to meet for the six o'clock 
report, and if something does happen, someone else is going to get the 
scoop. That's the price you pay for getting away from it all. Except 
it's not supposed to be a price. You follow?"

He wasn't sure that he did.

He thought about it a moment.

And then he answered.

"All right, all right. I'm just curious, that's all. That ranger seemed 
to know the area pretty good ... if he didn't know about someone who 
was up here, it just seemed like maybe there was a reason."

"Maybe he was getting paid to forget," said Johnny, rapidly losing 
interest in the conversation. He'd just realized that they were going 
to have to climb back down the same impossible rocks they'd just 
climbed up.

"There, see what I mean? Even you're doing it."

"Doing what."

"Trying to figure out a reason why someone would be up here in such 
seclusion."

"What reason? Be sensible, will you? What's wrong with wanting privacy? 
It's people like you that give news reporters a bad name. You don't 
look for stories, you try to force people into stories."

"All right, we've had this argument before."

"Yeah, I know. But if you're going to deal with fiction, you ought to 
be like me and just deal with fiction."

Rod gave him a sour look.

"Besides, you'd make more money."

"Yeah, but at least I'm performing a public service. What about you? 
Hell, you don't even sign your real name to your stuff."

"Don't need to. The checks have the right name on them."

Rod gave him another sour look.

"Besides, Bart McAdams sounds like a cowboy writer."

"Yeah ... who were you for your spy series?"

"Brent Holbrook. Good establishment CIA type of name."

"Um hmmm. Well, I'll tell you what. Whatever your fucking name is, 
you're going to have to climb back down this thing, and we might as 
well get started."

Johnny groaned, looked down and groaned again.

"I told you, asshole, don't ever look down!"

*   *   *

Lucus Simpson sipped coffee on the back porch, sighed, wished for a 
moment that his career enabled him to get out into the open more often. 
The weather up here was so beautiful. Down in his laboratory it made no 
difference whether or not there was a tornado or a hurricane or 
sunshine. He saw none of it.

Every so often though, he liked to just sit out here, put the work 
aside, relax, forget.

Sherry came to the door.

"Do you want your breakfast now Dad?"

"Yes, I'll have some eggs, I think."

Dear Sherry. She took such good care of him, tending to all his needs.

Strange. It wasn't like Carrie to sleep so late. Usually she was around 
by now, tending to one thing or another.

He looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. Yes, it wasn't like her.

He stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

"Anything wrong Dad?" asked Sherry.

"Have you seen your sister up yet?"

"No, I guess she's sleeping late today."

Sherry seemed unconcerned. Was he worrying too much? Perhaps. But there 
was something that he'd felt growing in his younger daughter, something 
almost ... he didn't want to use the word malignant, and so he forced 
the thought from his mind. But the fears were there. There was a 
stranger at times behind her eyes, someone who was far different from 
the person he'd strove so hard to create, an alien, a flawed alien. It 
worried him. Actually it filled him with a dread. She couldn't be 
flawed. He couldn't take it. It couldn't be. Not after Sherry had 
developed to such gem-like perfection. He couldn't tolerate flaws. 
Flaws were the bane of the race. They had to be stamped out-!

He caught himself, realized that he was giving in to the old feelings, 
the ones he had run away from, the ones his wife had turned on him for, 
the ones he could never permit himself to think.

Only his daughter could bring such feelings out of him. Only one he 
loved with such total dedication could fill him with such rage for 
falling short of his expectations.

And yet, the truth was, she did exactly that. Somehow, he knew that he 
had failed in her development. He had allowed for uncertainty, for 
randomness. He had allowed her to develop a will.

The horror!

It was still a fledgling, an embryo ...

But he could see it, even though he tried not to. It was in her eyes. 
She was ... well, she was somewhere else. Not like Sherry. She was like 
her mother.

He prayed to God that it wouldn't be so, that somehow he had been 
paranoid, had read signs that weren't there, had interpreted actions 
that didn't exist.

Perhaps. He wondered at times if the drug was warping his perception of 
reality. But no, that was impossible. He kept too close a watch on 
himself, tested himself too often. His vision was as clear as it had 
been twenty years ago ...

He tried the doorknob to Carrie's room. It was locked. Did she always 
sleep with her door locked? That in itself was unsettling. For what was 
she trying to keep out, if it wasn't he himself?

But a darker thought struck him. What if she wasn't there at all? What 
if ...

Sherry's voice calling to him broke his thoughts.

"Breakfast's ready, Dad."

He looked back at the door. He knocked. "Carrie? Are you all right?" he 
called.

There was no response.

He knocked again, harder this time.

"Carrie! Are you in there?"

Sherry heard him and appeared in the hallway.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. Either she's sick or she's not in there. But the door's 
locked.

"Get me a screwdriver."

Sherry wasn't sure how she felt. She'd suspected for a long time that 
Carrie was drifting away ... she'd closed her eyes to it. But now ...

"Dad, what if she is gone? It doesn't mean anything. She just likes to 
be on her own."

But Lucus wasn't to be put off. He'd felt a confrontation brewing for 
some time and suddenly he felt it to be at hand.

He went into his room and returned with a screwdriver and began to pick 
at the lock.

Then they heard a noise inside the room. The door knob turned and there 
stood Carrie a blanket wrapped around her, seemingly rubbing the sleep 
from her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she yawned.

Lucus seemed momentarily deflated by her unexpected appearance. She 
rubbed her eyes, yawned again and gave each in turn a bleary eyed look.

"Is there something wrong, Daddy?" she asked innocently.

"I wondered if you were all right, that's all. It's not like you to 
sleep so late."

"I know, I guess I'm just being lazy. I'll be getting up pretty soon. 
I've got some chores to tend to."

"That's right," he agreed. "Have you checked the chemicals in the 
greenhouse yet?"

"No," she answered, yawning again and turning away, "but I'll do that 
first thing."

"You might think about gathering the eggs while you're at it."

"I will," she said, characteristic adolescent annoyance creeping into 
her voice.

Well, I'm sorry for all the fuss," he apologized. "I suppose there's no 
harm in sleeping in a little late, is there?"

He gave her a small chuckle, trying to sound casual and unconcerned, 
but Sherry could see a pinched strain at the corners of his eyes, an 
intensity that somehow recalled ominous thoughts, resurrected images 
from a long dead past ...

What little she remembered of her father's history she'd managed to 
block from her thoughts. Only now, in moments of tension, when for one 
reason or another Lucus would suddenly feel the fragile bonds lashing 
the planks of his makeshift work together start to fray and unravel ...

She knew the clues, assimilated them instinctively and knew when to 
spring to his defense.

As he gave Carrie one last uncertain look, turned and shuffled back 
down the hallway, Sherry reached out to her sister and ran her fingers 
through her hair.

"It's still damp. Funny, if you've been asleep, when did you get a 
chance for a shower?"

"Oh, leave me alone. I didn't do anything wrong."

"If that's the case, why be so deceitful about it? Why sneak off?"

"Who says I did anything?" Her brow wrinkled in defiance.

"Calm down, calm down. There's nothing wrong. That's the whole point. 
The only thing wrong is that you act like you've got something to 
hide."

Carrie looked at her with a stone face that revealed nothing.

"Where do you go in the mornings?"

"I don't go anywhere."

"Carrie, it's all right. You just have to understand Father, and I 
don't think you're making much of an effort. He has ... fears."

"About what?"

Sherry was lost for words. One of the issues she allowed herself to 
overlook was precisely that question. What was it that haunted their 
father?

More to the point would have been to question why their life was 
structured as it was at all, but neither girl was really able to view 
that question as an issue separate from the life they took for granted.

"You're all sweaty," Sherry observed. "You really should take a shower. 
I don't know what you've been doing, but you smell."

Carrie turned away, ending the conversation as far as she was 
concerned.

But Sherry was plainly worried. There was a balance being threatened 
here in what way she could not quiet say, but it left her with a dimly 
perceived feeling of dread.

"Carrie, you have to go along with Dad. You can't shut him out the way 
you do. He needs you."

Carrie said nothing, but her frown thickened.

Finally, the words that had been building for months were at last given 
voice.

"But I have my own life to live."

Sherry said nothing, but the dread in her seemed to turn to a black 
syrup in her stomach. She wasn't able to say why, but she felt the 
familiarity of her world being to come apart with those words. They 
frightened her, primarily because the showed her how far apart she and 
her sister had grown.

"Carrie, you're going to hurt him. You can't do that."

"Oh, he's just got you eating out of the palm of his hand. You're 
blind--!

Sherry reacted without thinking. Carrie was doing the unthinkable. She 
was speaking out against their father. From her earliest years, he had 
been the pillar of strength, the standard for good and evil, the one 
who determined the rules and went about seeing that they were obeyed. 
Carrie's words bordered on blasphemy.

She slapped Carrie on the cheek. It wasn't hard, but the shock was 
still hard and impersonal as iron.

"I think I'll get a shower now. Thanks for your opinion." She closed 
the door and listened for Sherry's footsteps down the hallway, which 
she soon heard.

She clenched her fist and pounded it into the palm of her other hand.

She felt a slowly increasing rage inside her. What business was it of 
theirs anyway? She would do what she wanted!

It had been so fantastic. There was no way they could take that away 
from her, nor could they deprive her of it in the future. She too had 
felt the touch of desperation in her father's voice, had noticed just 
then and in the past also how he would suddenly seem to simply fall 
apart over no reason. Become morose, depressed, silent.

She simply had learned to ignore it, but now it seemed as though there 
was a new note of urgency being added. She didn't like it.

Not at all!

How could she?

How could the trivial day to day problems in the life of this house 
possibly compare to what she had felt this morning?

She opened her door again and after checking to make certain that there 
was no one lurking in a dark corner she got a towel from the closet and 
went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Sherry had been right. She did smell. Of him.

His sweat, and the scent of his body lingered on her thighs, on her 
stomach where she had leaned against his powerful neck, on her breasts 
where she had pressed herself into him ...

Truly they had flown. He might have been a giant condor come to take 
her to another land entirely, so magical had the feeling been.

She had ridden him down to the creek, and then followed the bank away 
in a direction that she had never before taken, a direction that led 
away from their house and their world.

And they had flown.

Halfway down the slope they had come to another broad opened space, 
this time without a fence, with no restraining limits at all, and she 
had let him open up to a full gallop, hooves pounding into the earth 
like thunder, sending shock waves of energy rippling through her body.

Her legs were spread wide to wrap around his bulk. And she felt her 
body opening between her legs, felt the soft flesh of her cunt rubbing 
up and down on his back, his smooth coat like velvet against her 
clitoris, the vibrations of his body like a jackhammer pounding into 
her pussy again and again with every driving step.

As she stepped into the shower and began to wash the traces of his body 
off her own, she knew that in a way she could never remove mark he had 
made on her.

She had become transformed, she had felt herself transcending the world 
that she found herself a prisoner in, felt herself rise above it, 
experience for the first time in her life, something new.

She had driven him to his limits, digging her body into his, racing 
back and forth across the field, coming in insane orgasmic bursts again 
and again.

The lips of her pussy were spread wide as she rubbed herself over him, 
as she spread her juice into his shiny coat.

Lathering the soap in the washcloth she thought of the lather he had 
worked up in her, how her pussy had felt whipped to a froth as together 
they thundered over the untouched land.

She was part of that land, had become more than simply a bored little 
girl. She had felt a purpose suddenly awaken in her, and though it was 
still unfocused, lacking direction, remaining simply a wordless feeling 
inside her guts, she felt for the first time truly alive. The peace and 
tranquillity she had always felt from getting away, being alone were 
now replaced by an urgency of her own, one that she couldn't have 
explained, but which was visible enough to fill her father with dread.

And always, it came back to herself and her body. Her deeply held 
conviction that her body belonged to her and nobody else. And the 
pleasure her body was capable of given and experiencing was hers too. 
Hers to do with as she pleased.

She rubbed the soapy cloth over her breasts and allowed the rough 
textured material to stimulate her nipples. They grew hard, turning to 
small fleshy stones at the tips of her aureole.

She pulled the washcloth between her legs and felt her clitoris tingle 
in response. Slowly, washing the inside of each thigh, down to her 
feet, back up again to her flat smooth stomach, behind her back, 
through the crack between her buttocks, up again to her breasts, she 
slowly turned her entire body into a single erogenous zone, a single 
organ of arousal, response bubbling up from every single point along 
the surface of her skin.

She was in love with her body. She loved to touch it, to feel it 
respond. She never tired of it.

She turned the water on harder and adjusted the shower jet so that it 
shot out in a single fierce stream, which she aimed at her breasts, 
allowing the fine droplets to shoot like soft bullets at her, 
penetrating her body with sensation, pushing her state of arousal 
higher and higher.

She was leaning against the wall of the shower stall now, her firm 
breasts perfect targets for the jet of water. As her nipples sizzled 
beneath the blast, her fingers sought out the soft opening between her 
legs and entered the pliant flesh, spreading the already parted lips 
further, entering with first one, then two, and finally three fingers, 
pushing apart the membranes and moist walls to make room. It was like a 
torch had been ignited inside her.

She had been well initiated into the possibilities of what her pussy 
was capable of by her father's cock, and whether she liked him or not, 
he had shown her what her body was able to do.

But the mere contraction of muscles in her abdomen was not the same as 
... as this utter pleasure.

For more than a year now, after every evening spent with her father's 
cock in her, with his lips on her breasts, on her clit, his tongue 
licking her pussy, digging into her asshole, she would retire to the 
privacy of her room, and repeat the lessons just learned.

But she knew how to make her body tingle and shiver, knew exactly how 
to touch herself, how to wring the last ounce of pleasure from every 
pore, from every square centimeter of her skin.

Now her fingers were pressing against her clitoris from inside her 
pussy, pushing into the underside, shooting electricity through every 
nerve, up through her breasts, swelling from the continuing blast of 
hot water beating against them, back down to her legs, muscles tensing, 
growing taut, convulsing over into spasms beyond her control.

Her entire body slowly slipped past the line of her conscious control, 
and still she drove herself upward, ripping her fingers through her 
pussy till she thought her arm would drop off from exhaustion.

And beneath it all, giving to all her movements and manipulations the 
unifying counterpoint of a rhythmic pulse, her memory of her flight 
through the wilderness on the back of a magic steed, the steady 
pounding of his hooves matching the pounding of the jet of hot water 
against her breasts, the persistent in and out thrusts of her hand 
through her cunt ... It was he finally, who pushed her over, just as he 
had done when she rode him.

Again her brain fell apart, her thoughts turned to ribbons of smoke 
scattered by the wind rippling through her blonde hair and once more, 
in her mind, she was on him, mounting him, feeling the strength in his 
muscles, the power and absolute perfection of his body, the unity 
between them ...

Her orgasm dropped her to the floor of the stall, and she lay there for 
a good while, breathing shallow breaths as water spilled down on top of 
her. She was as in a dream, and felt no desire to awaken.

Filling her thoughts now, overpowering all else, she saw his mane 
waving like a thousand tiny pennants in the wind, saw his thick brush 
of a tail flying straight out behind him, saw the earth splatter as 
each hoof bit into the ground ...

She wanted him. In some unconscious form, the thought took shape. She 
wanted him, and she knew that she would find a way. She was tired of 
being a mere sexual servant. She wanted something that was all her own. 
She would have it!



Chapter 4


"I'm telling you, this fucking ledge was bigger when we were climbing 
up it!"

Johnny Talbert was suddenly no longer kidding about being scared of 
heights. From where he stood, which was on about five inches of none-
to-solid looking rock, he had very good reason to be scared.

It was like he'd explained to Rod the night before over the campfire.

"It's not the idea of being up high in and of itself that gets me 
nervous, but I keep having this problem with gravity."

Right now, he felt gravity tugging persistently at his heels and it was 
really getting him into a state.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you, don't look down."

"Well how the fuck am I going to see where I'm putting my feet!?"

"You don't think about it, you just do it."

Rod stood on much firmer ground, having just crossed the ten or fifteen 
feet of questionable ledge that now had Johnny so worried.

"Are you sure this is the way we climbed up?"

"Will you stop talking and just come on. Look, even if you do fall, you 
probably won't be killed. We're almost down."

"Yeah, but we're not down yet and that's a nasty fall."

"You aren't going to fall. Do you hear me? You aren't going to fall."

"All right, all right, just leave me alone. I'll make this in my own 
way."

He closed his eyes for a second and took a couple of deep breaths, 
thought about all the good things he'd done in his life, took a moment 
to regret some of the things he'd never gotten around to doing, then 
realizing that the time for fun and games was over, he stepped out onto 
the ledge ... and felt it hold him securely.

"Very good, very good," coaxed Rod, not without a touch of sarcasm. 
This sort of thing always happened and even though Johnny was half 
bullshit, half of him was genuinely afraid of climbing like this. 
Nonetheless, he kept plugging away, and thus far none of his fears had 
come to pass.

He took a careful step, then another, found himself halfway across the 
distance that had separated the two of them, found his confidence 
growing as he got closer and closer ...

Suddenly he screamed. The rock gave way, just a small portion of it, 
but enough to throw him off balance.

Rod stared, dumbstruck, so shocked that his friend's imagined scenario 
was actually coming to life that the brief moment when he might have 
reached out his hand to give some support passed. Johnny teetered 
crazily on the ledge for a second or two more, and then, hands grasping 
futilely at the air, he toppled over the side.

"Johnny!" Rod screamed, but it was too late. He stared in horror as his 
friend plummeted about ten feet through the air, then met with the side 
of the chimney rock as it sloped outward towards the ground. Rod could 
see that Johnny's leg hit the rock at a weird angle and twisted 
underneath him in a manner that no human bone should have been forced 
to endure. Johnny let out another scream and started to slide down the 
slope of the rock, coming to rest finally against a section jutting out 
about six feet from the main wall of the rock. A trail of small 
pebbles, dirt, larger rocks and sand followed, collecting in a small 
drift against his back. He didn't move.

It had taken perhaps ten seconds, if that long. It had seemed like 
years to Rod, watching it unfold as if in slow motion. Every minute 
fragment of the scene was already indelibly burned into his brain. He 
searched now for a foothold to climb down. He refused to consider the 
possibilities. All he knew was that Johnny still hadn't moved.

Half climbing, half sliding, he was at his friend's side in a matter of 
seconds.

"Johnny, Johnny! Are you all right?"

He was afraid to move him, even to pull his shoulder around to get a 
look at his face.

In his mind, he flipped back through the pages of every first aid 
manual he'd ever read. What was the first thing to do?

Well first, you don't move him in case there's some injury to the neck 
or spine. But then, what? He looked closely at the angle Johnny's neck 
made with the line of his shoulders. Not too acute. Well, that was 
good.

He touched him on his side, and called his name again.

Johnny moaned.

"Hot damn. I knew you weren't dead."

His body stirred, as if moving in quickly hardening cement and he let 
out a groan of pain.

"My leg," he murmured. "It feels real strange. I think it's broken."

"Ok, just hang on. How does the rest of you feel? Can you feel your 
body?"

"I don't know," he said, his voice scarcely audible. "Where is it?"

"Asshole," Rod muttered. "Tell me, can you feel this?"

He began to probe with his fingers, first along Johnny's arms, then 
down his back and legs. Each time his fingers made contact, Johnny's 
face contorted into a grimace of pain.

"Well, that's encouraging. I think it's safe to turn you around. Here, 
I'm going to roll you over. Be careful of your leg."

"You be careful of it dammit!!"

Rod slipped his hands underneath Johnny's armpits, lifted him up as 
easily as he could and slowly turned him over on his back, at the same 
time trying to pull him away from the barrier that had broken his fall, 
pull him backwards to let his leg stretch out straight.

That was a mistake, as Johnny's agonized shriek of pain affirmed very 
fast.

"No, God no, it hurts!!"

"Well look," said Rod, still supporting him by his shoulders, "I've got 
to get you where I can look at that leg. If it's broken bad, I'll have 
to set it."

Johnny's eyes got wide with panic. "You don't know what you're doing. 
You'll kill me you fool."

"Keep it up and I'll leave your worthless ass right up here so the 
buzzards can pluck your carcass clean. So don't give me any shit."

He let Johnny settle back onto the ground. He noticed the color 
draining from his cheeks, his lips were slowly turning the color of 
chalk, and he was beginning to shiver.

"Fuck, you're going into shock."

"No, I'm all right. My leg's just hurting pretty bad," he said thickly.

Rod looked at him just a moment longer, feeling more and more helpless 
all the time.

Finally, he knew he had to act.

"Look, I've got to do something with that leg. I have to see how bad it 
is. Do you think you can get out of your pants."

"Are you crazy? Look how the damn thing's twisted. Oh shit, it's really 
starting to hurt real bad."

"All right, just keep your cool. I'm going down further to look for 
something to use as splints."

Johnny said nothing. It took about fifteen minutes to locate to 
branches that were sufficiently straight and of suitable length, and by 
the time Rod got back, Johnny was looking pretty groggy.

"Johnny my boy, I hate to say it, but this is going to hurt pretty 
bad."

Johnny gave a resigned wave of his hand.

"Come on, at least get out of this back pack. We can use it as a 
pillow."

He finally had him as comfortable as possible. He took a deep breath, 
closed his eyes, counted to ten, realized that he really didn't know 
too much about how to set a leg, but he had seen it done. The trick was 
to get the pieces in some kind of alignment. The catch was, when the 
two broken ends touched, Johnny would go out of his skull. Too bad he 
couldn't have passed out.

Best get it over with quick. Rod grabbed Johnny's ankle and started to 
pull back, hard. Johnny screamed again predictably, but suddenly Rod 
felt something sort of go pop, and the leg straightened out, almost 
looking normal again. Johnny lay against the backpack, shivering, 
unable to talk or do anything except shake in pain.

Then Rod lashed the branches to the leg as tightly as he could, 
managing to fashion a fairly sturdy support. The leg wouldn't bend, at 
least not very much, unless it was really forced.

Now, the trick would be to get Johnny off the rock, and to someplace 
where he might rest, without forcing that leg to bend. It didn't seem 
too likely a prospect.

"I don't know what we're going to do man. You can't move. That's 
obvious. We're fucking stuck."

"What about that house we saw?" suggested Johnny. "There was someone 
there. We saw smoke, right?"

"Yeah ... I guess it was about three miles off. I guess. I really can't 
tell distance from that high up."

Johnny was making an effort to be light hearted, but beads of sweat 
dotted his brow, and he couldn't talk without labored breathing. It was 
obvious that he was in pain.

"Look, I don't want to be pushy or anything, but I sure as hell can't 
stay up here for very long. They'll probably have a phone or 
something."

"What are you talking about? It's been fifty miles since we saw a 
telephone line. Not since we were driving up here."

"Well then you come up with a better idea!! Look man, I'm hurting, you 
understand?"

"All right, all right, you made your point."

Rod hopped up, dug into his back pack and pulled out a bottle of 
whiskey. Johnny's face looked like he had seen the Lord Jesus himself.

"Praise God and pass me that bitch!" he said, showing the first signs 
that his damage wasn't permanent.

"I brought this along thinking we might need it."

"You have foresight my man, I doff my hat."

"You don't have a hat."

"I know. I have a hurt. Give me that."

He reached for the bottle and downed a big gulp.

"Hey, easy, you're still going to have to get out of here under your 
own power you know?"

"Shut up. I'm in pain. Wasn't there someplace you had to be?"

Realizing there was nothing else he could do, Rod hurried down the 
remaining slope, first making sure that he had his directions straight. 
Once on the forest floor, he'd just have to follow his nose, and it 
would certainly help matters if he had it pointed in the right 
direction in the first place.

As he hiked on, he noticed that the sun was starting to get lower in 
the sky, easing on into the afternoon. Fortunately, it was warming up 
still these days ... that was good. He'd have hated to leave Johnny up 
there in the freezing cold, as foul as he already was.

Shit, he thought. Really fucks up a good trip. That was too bad too, 
because they both spent a couple of months planning these excursions. 
One of the main objectives of their research was to locate areas that 
were unquestionably primitive. No human life of any sort. How fortunate 
that they just happened to be near what might have been the only living 
beings for miles around.

He wondered again who would live here, in such seclusion that not even 
the rangers knew about them. What if they value their privacy so much 
they do me in, he wondered. What if they refuse to help. What if--!

He heard something. It was ... it was a galloping horse! What the 
fuck?! And if his ears were any judge, it was getting closer and coming 
right towards him. Coming, it seemed, right through the trees.

Rod looked for a trail, for there had to be one for a horse to be 
galloping that fast, but all he could see was dense underbrush and tall 
pines growing so close together there couldn't possibly be room for a 
horse to open up.

He listened again, heard the sound of the pounding hooves getting 
closer, closer ... he saw it!

Through the trees, a swiftly moving shape, tearing through the woods, 
from where he was standing, tearing through what seemed to be the same 
dense forest undergrowth he was struggling to get through.

He saw it only for a second, it was there and then it was gone. He 
shouted, loud, shouted again even louder, but whoever it had been 
riding it didn't hear, or at least didn't slow down a bit.

Was he dreaming? No, it couldn't be. But it certainly had looked like 
... Well, he had seen long blonde hair. That much he was certain of. A 
girl! But ... well, he couldn't be sure, but whatever she'd been 
wearing certainly had been heavy on the flesh tones. As a matter of 
fact ... but no, that was impossible. Wasn't it.

He reached the trail, which was invisible until you were right on top 
of it, and started to trot off in the direction that he'd seen the 
horse and rider disappear.

Had she really been riding that horse through the forest naked? Was he 
dreaming? Maybe he was the one who had fallen instead of Johnny, and 
this was the start of a long bout of hallucinations and delirium.

Then again, maybe his eyes had seen what they thought they'd seen, 
which was a fucking vision riding naked and bareback through the 
forest! Stranger things had happened, and he'd known that for years, 
yes indeed, in fact, he'd covered some of the stories himself. After 
ten years as a news reporter, he was ready to believe just about 
anything.

Still ... it did strain the imagination just a little bit.

He was aware that it would soon be late in the afternoon, and if he 
wanted to be able to even find Johnny again, he was going to have to 
make better time than he was making now. Damn! If only he'd been about 
a minute earlier, he could have flagged that fucking horse.

He was trotting now. The trail sloped slowly downward and it required 
little exertion. Even so, he had to admit that he still wasn't all that 
well oriented as to exactly which direction he was supposed to be going 
in. Best to just keep the sun at about a forty-five degree angle to his 
left shoulder ... allowing, of course for the fact that it was steadily 
sinking. And the day was waning.

He stopped, shocked. The forest ended. It was like someone had taken a 
huge blade and with one smooth swipe, felled every tree in sight.

That, however, was the least amazing sight that greeted his eyes.

For in the center of the field stood the horse he'd just seen racing 
through the forest. And his eyes hadn't deceived him. She stood in 
front of the animal, hands stroking his face, talking to him, rubbing 
her face against his ... she was naked.

And she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. 
Most immediately striking was her hair. It flowed down her back like a 
waterfall lit by the first rays of dawn, reaching halfway down the 
tight round cheeks of her incredibly cute ass.

Then she turned so that her front was visible to him. His breath was 
taken away by the sight. Perfectly smooth flat belly, hips curving 
seductively into slim thighs, thick patch of silken blonde pubic hair 
... and breasts you'd kill to get your hands on. Rod couldn't recall 
seeing breasts that were so big and at the same time so tight and firm, 
jutting straight out from her body at nearly a 90 degree angle.

But what finally held him captivated was the way she was acting towards 
the animal in front of her. It was almost as though she were seducing 
the thing.

To be sure, it was a magnificent steed, with all the style and form of 
the finest show horse. But there was something in the way she held 
herself close to it, actually rubbing her body against it, rubbing in a 
decidedly lewd manner ...

She hopped up on his back with a single motion. He was still stunned by 
her appearance. A woman like that could fuel wet dream for years, he 
thought.

Then it started. She leaned forward, pressing her body against him, 
starting a slow rolling movement with her hips against his back, 
rubbing herself against him ... rubbing her pussy into him. That's the 
only explanation he could think of. She was masturbating herself 
against the horse, and now she had him break into a slow trot, and the 
rolling movement of her hips matched the rhythm of his gait perfectly.

She was making love to a fucking horse! What a waste. He wanted to call 
out to her, but was afraid now that she'd gotten into this thing with 
the horse, it would prove too embarrassing for her. And he needed this 
horse. No doubt about it. He had to play this right, because vision or 
not, Johnny was still back on that damn rock with a hurt leg and 
probably drunk out of his skull by now, which meant that he'd be 
feeling no pain but he'd also be vulnerable as hell and totally 
helpless once night fell.

She was really getting herself off now and he could actually hear her 
soft moans on the clear air. She pressed her breasts into the back of 
his high neck and crushed her hips and her pussy against his back, 
kicking him all the while into a faster and faster gait, finally 
spilling into a full gallop, circling the field again and again, each 
time coming closer and closer to where he stood hiding and watching in 
fascination.

He got a good look at her face that last time she passed by him, and 
what he was saw the face of a woman in utter ecstasy. She seemed to be 
aware of herself and the animal she was riding, and that was about it. 
Nothing else seemed to exist for her.

Faster and faster she drove him, harder and harder until, even from 
across the field, it was obvious that she was being shaken to the 
center of her bones by a orgasm he'd have given anything to have taken 
part in.

She gripped the horse's neck and dug her knees into his sides and 
finally, confused by the lack of coherence in her signals, the animal 
just trotted to a halt, waiting while she spent herself on him, 
writhing like a puppet on a string.

Rod was amazed. He had no idea how long he'd been watching her, so 
caught up in the entire experience was he. She was gorgeous. She was 
also weird. But she could also be Johnny's salvation.

But how to approach her?

She was getting down now ... no, she wasn't after all. She was simply 
turning around on his back, leaning her back against the slope of the 
horse's neck, looking quite relaxed and comfortable, legs spread ...

She began to finger herself.

No, thought Rod, this was too much. He couldn't stand to watch this 
beautiful woman go through another orgasm. It was torture. He was 
suddenly aware of how hard his cock had gotten, and while he watched 
her, he had no choice but to pull it out and start to stroke it. His 
balls had filled during her first performance and there was no way he 
could last through a second without letting off a little steam.

He wondered, should he approach her? No, that would just scare her off. 
Best keep it safe.

She had her finger at her clitoris now, he could see her body squirming 
beneath her hand, writhing against the back of the passive steed she 
had just ridden to orgasm.

Suddenly, Rod felt his balls explode, and wad after wad of thick white 
cum spurted from the head of his cock.

Well, that felt better, though not half as good as if he'd been 
shooting into that sweet pussy.

Damn, he thought, was she going to make herself come forever. At this 
rate he'd never get a chance to approach her.

But finally she seemed to be momentarily satiated. He saw her body 
visibly sag back into the contours of the horse's back as the post-
orgasmic bliss struck her.

No doubt about it, thought Rod, this was an extremely sexual woman. He 
wanted more than anything to get his hands on her, to lock his lips 
around those pert red nipples, dip his fingers into that juicy sex pot 
of a pussy between her legs,.

But, he told himself, he mustn't forget what was at stake here. After 
all, Johnny was still back there, and needed help.

As a matter of fact, he needed to quit watching this show, delicious 
though it may be and get on with the business at hand, which was 
somehow talking this sweet young lady out of her fantasies and into 
giving him a hand with his wounded friend.

But he didn't want to scare her, perhaps so bad that she'd just ride 
off and leave him totally stranded.

He looked around. It was still in the middle of the afternoon, enough 
time to make it to the house he'd seen from the top of the chimney-
rock, but probably not enough to make it back to Johnny, assuming they 
would even help him. For that matter, this lady here might even live 
there.

Well, he had to do something. He slipped his still drooling cock back 
in his pants, zipped the fly and then took a hesitant step out of the 
bushes into the clearing.

"Hello!" he called out.

She jerked upright at once, looked around her with a shocked look on 
her face and when she saw Rod standing at the edge of the field, she 
froze.

The breeze was all that moved, that and the pattern it traced through 
her flowing hair as it whipped the golden locks about her shoulders.

Her body though, was like stone. Rod had no idea how long she stayed in 
that one position, but he was starting to feel awkward.

Finally he started to walk towards her, holding his hands out in a 
gesture of friendliness.

"I need your help." he called across the field to her. "My friend's got 
a broken leg. He needs a doctor. Can you help me?"

What amazed him most was that she exhibited no embarrassment at being 
caught not only totally naked but masturbating herself the way she had 
been doing. In fact, she seemed to have no reaction at all that he 
could see as being normal. She simply watched as he approached, looking 
at him almost the way a child might look at pictures of exotic animals 
in an encyclopedia.

He was almost to the spot where she waited now. She still had made no 
response whatsoever, but as he got closer and closer, her head sort of 
cocked to one side in a curious gesture ... as if she'd just realized 
what he was. Now, thought Rod, if only I knew what that was.

"Who are you," she finally asked. She was sitting over the side of the 
horse, both legs extending down. Rod could look straight up at her into 
her wet pussy. It was quite difficult to avoid staring at it instead of 
her face, although her face warranted considerable attention also. Rod 
felt almost like he was in a dream.

"Rod Barrett, at your service," he said, extending his hand. She 
ignored it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice drained of all 
expression.

"Well, like I said, I'm up here with my friend and we were climbing 
that chimney rock about a mile back over that way, when the dumb 
bastard slipped and broke the hell out of his leg. He's back up there 
now, and Miss, he's in real bad pain. I'd surely appreciate it if you 
could give me a hand. Maybe--"

"My father's a doctor. He can fix your friend's leg."

Rod couldn't believe what he'd heard.

"You must live in that house we saw over that way," he said pointing in 
the general direction.

"Yes. But my father won't like you being here. I can tell you right 
now. He won't like it at all."

"Why not. We don't want to intrude or anything, but seriously Miss, we 
need help bad. We're in pretty foul shape."

Suddenly she allowed the faint trace of a grin to dance across her 
lips.

"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with helping people who are 
in trouble. I'll help you if I can, but you have to tell me what you 
need."

Oh, please don't say something like that to me, thought Rod. He was 
still looking right into her open slit, and it was driving him more and 
more crazy. And beyond that, moving up the smooth line of her body were 
two of the nicest, firmest breasts he'd ever seen, much closer to 
perfection from close up than when he'd first seen her from across the 
field.

"Well, I suppose we could lash together some sort of stretcher and have 
the horse pull him. That might work."

She suddenly looked concerned.

"I don't think that would work."

"Why not. What's the problem?"

"Nothing. I just don't want my father to see me riding him. It's sort 
of a secret."

Rod was confused but decided not to press it right then. Obviously, 
there was no other way they were going to get Johnny nearly three miles 
if they didn't use the animal. One thing was getting clear though. 
Whoever this girl's father was, he must be some kind of strange 
character. But no matter. She'd said he was a doctor, and that was 
enough. Once they got Johnny to him he couldn't refuse to help him. 
They wouldn't be staying long enough to get in the way, although it 
hadn't yet occurred to Rod just how they'd get back down out of the 
wilderness with Johnny immobile. But, first things first.

"Well, can we at least go back up there and maybe bring him down? If 
you don't want to take us up to your house on that thing, maybe we can 
work something out, but honestly Miss, there really isn't anything else 
we can do if you won't help us. I'll be honest with you, I never 
expected to find anyone out here at all. You're really our only hope."

"All right," she said a little reluctantly, "let's ride up there. But 
first I have to get my clothes on."

It was the first indication she'd made that she was even aware that she 
was naked and Rod was amazed at the casual offhand way that she 
mentioned it. As if there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary 
about being in front of a total stranger without any clothes on.

She swung her leg around so that she was astride him again.

"Can you ride on back?" she asked, reaching her hand down to help Rod 
up.

He made it, after two unsuccessful attempts which caused her to chuckle 
under her breath. Rod gritted his teeth and tried again, this time 
managing to stay up while he climbed over.

"Hold on," she told him, and as he slipped his hands around her tight 
stomach they were off, back down the trail he'd first seen her riding, 
through the woods, stopping finally beside a brisk stream. Her clothes 
were folded neatly on a dry rock. She hopped down and was in them and 
back on the horse in seconds.

Suddenly, just before kicking the horse in the sides to take off, she 
turned around and faced Rod.

"Do you like looking at me?"

He felt his cheeks blushing. Shit, he thought, he wasn't expecting such 
a frontal assault.

He stammered and stuttered for a second or two and finally asked her 
why she thought that.

"Because you couldn't stop staring at me."

He said nothing for a second. His hands were back around her stomach 
and he could feel the bottom curve of her breasts resting against them. 
She was almost too much to take.

"You're very beautiful. Yes; I do like to look at you."

She turned around again, smiled a dazzling smile and then they were off 
at a gallop.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the bottom of the rock. Soon the 
horse could climb no further.

"Wait here," Rod told her. "I'll see if I can get him down."

"Let me go with you. You'll need help, won't you?"

"Could be. Won't he run away?"

"I don't think so." She looked back at the horse and stroked his face. 
An unquestionable bond existed between them, one that Rod wasn't too 
sure he wanted to examine in great depth.

"Why did you say you're father wouldn't want you to be riding him?"

"He'd be jealous, I guess."

That enigmatic answer shut Rod up for a moment. There was obviously 
something out of sorts here and he'd just keep his mouth shut until he 
had things figured out a little better.

"By the way, I'm Carrie."

"Well, glad to meet you, Carrie. I don't know what I'd have done if I 
hadn't stumbled on you out there."

"You surprised me."

"Yeah ... well, I guess I can understand that. I was afraid you'd just 
ride off and leave me there.

"Why would I have done that? I wanted to get a look at you. We've never 
had anyone up here before."

So, his original guess hadn't been far off. They were secluded. That 
she could toss such a statement off without any concept of how out of 
the ordinary the situation was told him that there was a very strange 
father raising this girl.

"Do you have a mother?"

"No. I've never had a mother."

Rod decided that he'd keep his mouth shut. If he was going to find out 
anything, he'd do it by viewing the situation with his own eyes. Carrie 
didn't seem to want to talk too much, and the things she did say were 
just too confusing.

"Hey, Johnny!" Rod called out after a few minutes.

They heard a garbled noise and following it, they found Johnny where 
Rod had left him, in virtually the same position, with the bottle of 
whiskey nearly empty.

"My hat's off to you, sir. You made excellent time. It can't have been 
more than a week since I last laid eyes upon you."

He was plastered. Probably best. That leg was probably hurting and 
swollen by now.

"That's right buddy, we're going to get you out of here in a jiffy."

Johnny noticed Carrie.

"And who, may I ask, is that beautiful young woman with you. Rod my 
friend, have you been holding out on me. Did you pack her without 
telling me? You aren't going to try and tell me you found her out in 
the woods, are you?"

Carrie laughed and stared at Johnny in open wonderment. In fact, Rod 
had noticed that she seemed to be in awe of both of them, as if she 
couldn't quite believe she was actually talking to them.

It took a long time, but together they managed to carry Johnny back 
down to where the horse still waited. He gave his head a joyous shake 
when he saw Carrie approaching and Rod realized that he'd never have 
run off and left her.

She knew what she was doing in the woods. Within half an hour they'd 
managed to find branches the right size to tie together a crude 
stretcher that would support Johnny's weight. The two main branches 
extended up along either side of the horse she managed to tie a rough 
harness with the rope that was left.

Soon they were slowly moving back down the trail towards her house. 
Johnny was complaining behind them about the lousy shock absorbers. He 
had quickly drained the rest of the whiskey as soon as he'd realized 
what they had in store for him, so Rod wasn't worried about him being 
in too much pain, although the possibility that he might fall off 
bothered him.

"So what do you want to do about your father?" Rod asked after they'd 
ridden for about ten minutes. "Will he really be mad if he sees you 
riding up on this horse? What's the matter, is he afraid you might get 
hurt riding him?"

"I don't know what my father's afraid of, to be honest with you."

She sound distant again, like there was a whole lot she just didn't 
even want to get into. Rod was going to take the hint, when she 
continued.

"To be honest with you, it's me coming up with you two that's going to 
make him mad."

"Yeah? Why?"

"He doesn't want us to be exposed to anyone from the outside."

"Outside? What do you mean?"

"You know, the rest of the world. He says it's evil and corrupt and 
that it just isn't safe."

"I see."

No doubt about it, the old man was a kook. Rod started to feel a little 
nervous.

"What's a doctor do up here? There can't be very many patients."

"There aren't any patients. There isn't anybody. At all."

"No one?"

She turned around and looked at him.

"That's why I looked so surprised in the meadow when you first saw me. 
You're the first person I've ever seen besides my family. Ever."

Rod couldn't believe it. Her father had literally kept her isolated 
from the world. Yet, she seemed so ... normal wasn't quite the word. 
After all, he couldn't forget the circumstances under which he'd first 
encountered her. But still, she had a genuine feel for what normal 
behavior was about. It was hard to believe she'd developed in total 
isolation.

"Who else is in your family?"

"My sister. Her name is Sherry."

"And why does your father keep you up here."

She waited a long time before answering, and when she did, Rod had the 
feeling that the question had never really occurred to her before, at 
least not in such a straight forward simple statement.

She answered slowly.

"I ... don't know ..."



Chapter 5


Lucus Simpson ran his hands in unison along his daughter's bare back. 
His head had a sharp stabbing pain racing through it. He felt the 
beating of his heart, the throbbing of his blood as it pounded in his 
ears.

His scene with Carrie had disturbed him greatly, had thrown him totally 
out of synch with himself.

He had tried to work in the lab, but couldn't keep his mind on what he 
was doing. The experiments were entering a new phase, a very crucial 
phase. He was preparing to impregnate a mouse with an embryo that had 
been fertilized in a test tube, in itself nothing spectacular. What was 
special was the embryo that he was developing. It was a fusion. Two 
zygotes each the fertilized product of separate sets of parents had 
been fused into a single embryo. If it lived, the stage would be set 
for future fusions, fusions of a decidedly more bizarre and unnatural 
variety.

But he hadn't dared to attempt the delicate process of inserting the 
tiny blob of life into the selected mother. His hands were trembling 
more often now. The tension was beginning to take its toll. He felt 
restless. He felt ... He felt the old urges churning closer and closer 
to the surface. For twenty years, he had through the sheer power of his 
mind, the same power that enabled him to vanish, to evade all those 
seeking him, this awesome intellect had managed to beat down its darker 
side, its nightmarish alter ego ... But now, the demons chained so long 
were struggling once more for their freedom. In his dreams he could 
hear them, could hear the soft metallic clank of locks being sprung, of 
cell doors slowly creaking open, could hear their furtive footsteps 
through the corridors of his brain as they searched for their own form 
of daylight, of freedom ...

He knew that he could not control them this time. The effort to change 
himself, to beat them back had succeeded for twenty years. He had 
watched his daughters grow to womanhood through those long years, and 
had managed to translate his demented desires into a simple satisfying 
of his sexual needs. They had kept him sane.

At least, Sherry had. But now Carrie threatened his very being. She 
threatened him with the one thing he could not tolerate ... exposure. 
She, by her very reluctance to live the life he had programmed for her, 
stood as an obstacle in his path.
She was his daughter. He had endured years of isolation for them. He 
had suffered for them. He loved them. But no one, not even one of his 
own could threaten to interrupt his work again. It couldn't happen. It 
must not happen!

It wouldn't happen!

And now, she was gone again. She had left without a word. He had stood 
at the window and watched her leave.

Why should he be frightened? What was wrong with her wanting to be off 
by herself?.

They were, of course, questions that had no answers, at least none that 
would have fitted into Lucus Simpson's scheme of things. For he had, 
over the years, painted himself into a corner, so to speak, by hinging 
his life and his sanity on the two women who formed the focus of his 
existence, and now, discovering that they weren't both the perfect 
image he'd tried to fashion, he had no resources left with which to 
improvise an alternative solution. It was forward, keeping to the same 
course however ill advised, or it was oblivion. Destruction. Ruin.

And so his work was left in the freezer of his laboratory, and his mind 
was distracted by his overwhelming needs ...

It almost was no longer enough. He could feel it, in his balls, in his 
hands, in his brain.

The beautiful supple body bent willingly before him, so ready to answer 
his every request was reaching nonetheless his limits.

He ran his fingers down the crack of her ass and felt her lean 
backwards into him. He was at her anus, pressing into her with his 
finger, opening her body, entering her, violating her and she gladly 
accepted him.

Stretching her, wider and wider, rubbing her juices back from the pink 
wet slit between her legs, back between her smooth buttocks, up into 
the brown ring of muscle, he kept it up until the opening was smooth 
and oily.

He dropped a blob of saliva onto his fingers and started to work the 
liquid onto the head of his swollen cock. Again, and again until the 
head and upper shaft were slippery from his spittle, then back into her 
asshole, inserting one then two fingers, rubbing them in and out, in 
and out until he felt the muscles finally start to relax, felt the hole 
open wider and wider, felt her whole body settle forward as she 
prepared to receive him.

He placed his cock at her anus.

The opening was still far too small to make entry easy, but he was in a 
heat of tension and lust. He needed this, needed it in precisely this 
way, needed to feel her body closing around his throbbing prick, needed 
to feel her shudder from the pressure of his entry.

Down, down into her, thrusting with one mighty jab of his hips. She 
cried out.

But she might have been crying to an empty room. He hurt her when he 
did this, hurt her knowingly, willingly. He enjoyed it, wanted it, 
needed it, somehow, needed to hurt her.

More and more he seemed to need to work out fantasies of violence on 
her body, needed to feel himself triumph over her helplessness.

He needed to feel the stretching of her body, needed to hear her cry, 
not from ecstasy but from agony.

He wanted most of all, to force a blending of the two in her mind, to 
feel that he had gained total control, not only of her will, for that 
had been his all along, but also of her reflexes, of her instincts, of 
the very foundation of her being.

He wanted to reduce her to an instrument of release.

He was well on his way.

She knew that there was nothing to be done about it, that she had been 
selected for a peculiar role in life and would never question it. He 
needed her. He needed her body for reasons that she could only dimly 
perceive and never hope to understand, but that was enough for her.

He was her reason for existing. Never had she actually spoken the 
thought to herself in exactly those words, but it didn't matter. At a 
more fundamental level, they both knew it and neither questioned it.

He thrust his cock into her ass, like a spear cleaving a melon. Her 
cheeks quivered as the rest of her body shook from the pain of the 
onslaught.

Out, in, out, in. He slowly, deliberately increased his speed, holding 
himself back to milk the absolute extremes from the experience.

He felt himself grow harder with each scream torn from her throat. He 
felt his blood race, his heart pound, felt his skin almost crawling 
across his body from excitement.

And he remembered!

Yes!

Somewhere, in some small room at the very center of his mind, there 
existed in all their full lifelike horror, the memories ... Ignored but 
never truly forgotten. Overcome, but not banished. Always they had been 
there, always, forever, as long as he could remember waiting, calmly, 
patiently till they could be called up.

Lately, they had been appearing at times other than his deepest dreams.

During the day, at night before sleeping ... and especially times like 
now, when his dominance asserted itself, when his daughter's body was 
spread and opened to him, opened to his attacking cock, his twisted 
mind.

He remembered.

The darkened rooms the sleeping bodies.

In the hallways, he would prowl, a creature of the night disguised as 
one of their saviours.

A creature of torture clothed in the robes of a bearer of life.

One by one, the cases grew. And his split mind fought with itself with 
each new attack. During the day he was at the front of the 
investigations.

But at night, he was an animal seeking to satisfy its hunger, its 
thirst, its need ...

He remembered. With each shudder wracking his daughter's body, he 
remembered other bodies, smaller, softer, more helpless.

He remembered how easy they had been, how trusting, how utterly 
delicious!

He remembered their eyes, opening always at the last instant in wide 
horror as they realized what was about to befall them, their sweet tiny 
mouths, struggling beneath his powerful hands to utter a single cry for 
help, release a single scream of pain and agony ...

He remembered. More and more, he was remembering, bringing the demons 
back to the surface. The night was settling once more in his brain. The 
darkness was enveloping him, choking him, dragging him back into the 
slime from which he had so laboriously crawled so long ago.

Devolution. That's what was taking place inside him. He was regressing. 
Should it overtake him, he knew he would be helpless.

Oh GOD! he thought, he didn't want it to take him again, the thirst, 
the hunger, the need ...

His need to feel their soft bodies as his fingers squeezed relentlessly 
into the flesh, as he dug into them, seeking them out with his fingers, 
his cock ...

He knew that this time, the hunger would run rampant; would consume not 
only those around him but he himself. There would be only ashes where 
once there had been a brilliant mind.

It frightened him, and so to stave off the approaching doom, he thrust 
his throbbing cock once more into her, felt her squirm in pain, heard 
her cries grow more and more intense.

It wasn't enough!

He needed more!

He raised his hand, and for the first time in his life, he struck 
Sherry's body. Hard.

She collapsed, both from the pain and from the shock.

"Oh, Dad, that hurt! Please, why are you doing this?"

He heard her, a voice in the fog, a shape in the night without form.

He slapped her again, firmly on her buttocks and he could feel the 
force of his assault as it penetrated her body, could feel it in his 
embedded cock.

And again he struck her, on the side of her buttocks this time, leaving 
a deep red mark from his hand.

She was confused, was in pain, but she did not struggle. It was her 
role to serve. She would not question it.

But somewhere inside her, a flicker of doubt sparked to life, a small 
glowing ember, unnoticed as the fallen ash from a cigarette onto the 
mattress just before sleep can go unnoticed.

But there was something in her father that was malignant, and it seemed 
to be growing. As his blows fell, she endured them in silence. This was 
not like him. This was not what she wanted. This was something that she 
would not be able to take for the rest of her life. Something would 
have to change.



Chapter 6


Lucus Simpson stood on his porch, a feeling of unexpected calm settling 
onto him like the dusk spreading over the lawn.

He watched the strange procession emerge from the woods, and though he 
knew nothing of whatever the specific facts would turn out to be, 
fingers reach up from the dark mists of his past and caressed him with 
their familiar touch of malice.

Again and again this scene had played itself through his dreams, with 
variations but leading always to this exact point, this moment 
surrounding him now ...

Their self contained world had been broken. They had been, until now, a 
singular entity, like a cell, all life functions reduced to their 
simplest form, existing purely for the continuity of their survival.

A cell. One that had at last been invaded. Lucus had no delusions about 
the figures crossing his lawn, his daughter among them. They were a 
virus, an infection that had to be attacked at once, destroyed before 
the damage compounded itself.

The question in his mind was whether or not he at last had the 
strength. For too long he had played the game of lying to himself, of 
pretending that the reality he had invented was his only reality. He 
knew now, that whatever else transpired, he could never again permit 
himself the luxury of forgetting the past ... his senses must remain 
finely tuned always ...

He'd seen Carrie leave again. After lunch, as soon as she thought he 
had returned to his work. Their confrontation had simply widened the 
gulf between them, irritated an already open wound. What was he to 
think of her now? How could he still treat her as one of his own? She 
had betrayed him, in innocence perhaps, but it was she who had broken 
the seal of their existence, who had shown the invading disease the way 
in.

He felt the muscles in his stomach grow tense. Yet the calm stayed with 
him, clearing his thoughts, amplifying the power of his logic, his 
reasoning, his whole mind. He would meet this challenge. He would 
remain intact. He would survive.

*   *   *

Rod sipped his cup of coffee, letting the warm liquid slosh around his 
throat, savoring the perfect taste of a freshly perked pot. It was a 
taste he'd prepared himself to do without for the next two weeks. 
Packets of instant were to have been all that he and Johnny had 
available. Well, he thought, plans change. They sure as fuck did.

"The leg should be all right, in time," said Dr. Simpson entering the 
living room. Rod tried to find some clue to the girl in her father's 
face. There was nothing. A face bleached of all emotion. Calm, 
professional, polite even ... but no human warmth. No sense that he had 
any interest in them as people at all.

Only a detached scientific curiosity. There was something about him, a 
sense of a hidden dimension, an unseen depth to the man that Rod could 
not quite define for himself, yet it lingered, that feeling that 
somewhere, somehow, he was familiar ...

"How long before he can travel on it?" Rod asked the man.

"That is a good question. One, I fear, that has no answer that I find 
pleasing."

"And why is that, Dr.?"

Rod felt strong animosity in the man's words, in spite of the easy, 
almost casual way in which they were spoken.

"I would prefer that you had never entered our world. I say this not 
with malice, but as a simple statement of fact. I have, through my own 
free will, chosen to withdraw from your world. My daughters and I 
function quite nicely here. We have had no need for contact with the 
rest of the world. To put it frankly, you are trespassers. Invaders, if 
you will."

"But I am a man of medicine, your friend is hurt, I of course shall 
observe the oath I took when I was first initiated into my select 
fraternity. But I do not wish your company and I shall look forward 
eagerly to the moment when you are able to depart."

He spoke this whole time in a voice that was almost friendly, almost 
casual, but far enough off to show the whole speech as a rather bad 
act. The man scared Rod, and he couldn't even say why.

"I assure you, Dr. Simpson, we had no desire to stumble into your life. 
As a matter of fact, when Johnny and I take these trips up here into 
the mountains, if we go the whole two weeks without seeing a bloody 
soul, that suits us just fine. We'll be only to glad to get out of your 
hair. When do you suppose that might be?"

"Well, I could radio for a helicopter to lift him out, were it 
absolutely essential, which it isn't. There's a chance that the leg 
would be hurt worse by the vibrations of the flight. Perhaps in a week 
... till then, of course, you shall be our guests. My daughters and I 
will do everything we possibly can to make your stay a comfortable 
one."

He turned to Carrie who had been sitting wordlessly on the couch for 
the whole conversation. Then he looked over at Sherry, standing in the 
doorway.

"Girls, why don't you tend to dinner? I have a few things I'd like to 
discuss with Mr. Barrett alone."

A momentary flicker of annoyance crossed Carrie's features, while it 
was simply resignation that showed on Sherry's face. Rod caught both 
reactions. After a moment the girls left the room.

"Mr. Barrett," said Lucus when they were alone, "let me be blunt. I 
treasure my daughters greatly. They are my single joy in life. Aside 
from my work. You see, I am engaged in delicate research here, such 
that I must cleanse my life of all distractions.

"My daughters make it possible for me to exist with a measure of 
comfort and pleasure added to what would otherwise be a very sterile 
life."

He paused a moment, almost as if he felt all this an unnecessary 
annoyance, having to deal with this topic at all.

"Unfortunately, the secluded nature of our world has resulted in a 
certain innocence when it comes to my daughters' awareness of the 
world, of the kind of mature adult life taken for granted in your 
world. I would appreciate it if you took that into consideration during 
whatever limited contact you may have with them in the next few days. I 
would of course prefer such contact to be kept to the barest minimum. 
As I said, we shall make you comfortable. We will not make you 
welcome."

Rod nodded. He doubted that any statement was desired or needed. The 
old man had laid his cards on the table and there really wasn't much 
else to say.

"I assume we understand each other?"

Well, maybe a small statement ...

"Dr. Simpson (where had he heard that name before!), I assure you, you 
have nothing to worry about."

Lucus gave him a single nod of his head.

"I know," he said, rose and left the room. Well, what the fuck! thought 
Rod, finishing the rest of his coffee. If that wasn't the strangest 
damn thing he'd ever encountered.

What the hell was that old buzzard's problem anyway? Every sensor in 
Rod's brain was tingling. Every warning buzzer and bell was screaming, 
the console of his brain was a mass of red warning lights.

Face it, he told himself, the man simply didn't appear rational. No 
way! The way his eyes would keep darting to your shoulder like you had 
a parrot sitting there or something, then quick jump back to see if you 
were still looking at him and quickly darting away again when he saw 
that you were.

The way his fingers kept weaving in and out of each other with a steady 
rhythm, and his left foot kept tapping at a tempo totally unrelated to 
his fingers. There was a lot of tension in the man. More than he could 
bare to let come to the surface.

He looked around the room in which he found himself. Surprisingly 
comfortable, yet lacking anything that suggested contact with the 
outside world, at least as it had developed within recent memory.

There was, of course, no television. But also missing were magazines of 
any sort and newspapers ... nor were there any gadgets to speak of ... 
it was a very simple looking lifestyle that resulted in this room.

He walked over to the bookshelves. Pulling several books a random he 
saw that there were none with copyrights more recent than twenty or 
twenty-five years ago.

He hadn't been kidding when he said that they lived an isolated 
existence. It was a house that time had passed by. A moment frozen, and 
the old man saw he and Johnny as a serious threat ... what had he 
called them ... invaders. Christ! What the hell had they stumbled onto?

"Would you like some more coffee," a female voice asked behind him.

He turned and saw the older sister standing in the doorway, watching 
him with a neutral expression.

"Certainly. It tastes pretty good after that instant crap we were 
drinking over the campfire."

She smiled thinly as she picked up his cup and carried it into the next 
room.

OK, thought Rod, if that's the way you want it, that's OK, by me. Don't 
want to go upsetting anyone's apple cart, do we?

She returned with his coffee.

"We'll be eating dinner around six-thirty. Father likes it early so he 
can get work done in the evening. Perhaps you'd like to rest till 
then?"

"Oh, no that's all right. I'll tell you what though, I sure could use a 
shower. I feel like a real grit after being out in the wilds like that. 
It's OK if you know you're going to stay there, but around folks as 
refined as you all, I'd sort of like to get cleaned up."

Again a thin, polite smile, a nod of acknowledgment and she led him to 
the bathroom, showed him where the towels were, and then showed him 
where he would be staying.

"Father has an extra cot that I'll put in here. It should be 
satisfactory."

Rod thanked her, but she made no response. Damn! he thought, and so 
beautiful too. Somehow though, he doubted her capable of the scene he'd 
witnessed today in the fields. What an incredible difference for them 
being sisters. About the only similarity was the delicious shape of 
their bodies.

Rod had to admit he was in a dither. Everything he'd encountered so far 
told him that there was something as screwy as could possibly he going 
on here, and he really didn't want to explore too much. Keep away from 
the bushes, you avoid snake bites. That was one of the little axioms 
he'd always carried with him when he went into the wilderness and it 
seemed apt here.

But his reporter's instincts were alerted. Why, why, why, did that 
crazy senile old doctor seem so ... not exactly familiar. More like 
someone he'd once heard of ...

He thought about it. Assuming he'd taken off into the mountains around 
twenty years ago ... hell, Rod would have been eight, maybe ten or 
twelve at the very oldest. Not surprising that the bells weren't 
ringing too clearly.

Still, they were ringing. Lucus Simpson was somebody, and he was hiding 
out. It was as simple as that. There was absolutely no reason to 
suspect that to be the case. Nonetheless, Rod would have bet his job on 
it. Whether or not what he was hiding out from was anything serious, 
that was another question. But there was no doubt he considered it 
serious. Serious enough to be nervous when they'd walked up to his back 
doorstep. Serious enough to try to keep the entire world away for 
almost two decades ...

Face it, that was fucking off the wall. The amazing thing wasn't that 
he'd tried, but that he'd succeeded. It hardly seemed possible. How did 
they eat. How did they survive?



Chapter 7


Carrie sat at her window and watched the land rolling away go slowly to 
shadows, fade, and vanish in the soft greying air. Her mind was pure 
turmoil. She'd spent the entire afternoon in a daze, as if a dream had 
stretched past waking, lasting in her mind after reentering the real 
world.

He had seen her! He had watched her?

The idea sent small blades of ice slicing through her.

He had watched as she rode him, rode her steed, watched as she melted 
into that massive back.

He had seen her do things she could not possibly have done unless she'd 
been sure that she was completely alone. But how could she have 
expected anyone to be there?

Her father was right.

The man was an invader. He had entered a space meant solely for her. He 
had violated her!

Why then, why, why, why did she feel so charged from it?

She felt his eyes once more on her body, almost as hot as the breath of 
the horse she made love to ... penetrating eyes, probing eyes ...

He hadn't taken those eyes off her from the first. Through the 
afternoon, even to the conversation with her father in the living room, 
he'd stolen glances as often as he possibly could without seeming 
obvious.

And every single time his gaze brushed across her body, she felt it as 
if physical contact were being made. Her breasts tingled, her nipples 
had grown hard, two small tiny buds of passion glowing at the tips of 
her breasts, each minute increasing the power of the sensations they 
sent rippling back through her body.

She thought again of the field, the mighty stallion with his mane 
flaring in the wind, of his powerful body, the amazing force that he 
could transfer to her own thighs, crotch, stomach ... like a storm, 
thunder and lightning included, a sudden unexpected summer storm that 
builds from the nothingness of a clear sky, taking you without a 
moment's warning, taking you fully, wholly, totally ...

How then, to describe this strange? who suddenly appeared in the midst 
of her life?

How to explain something that your entire life had trained you to 
avoid?

Perhaps it was the circumstances of their meeting ... she didn't know. 
But in her mind, whatever forces the black stallion and the tryst 
between them had unleashed had already become fused in some way with 
this bearded stranger who called himself Rod, this wild man of a 
creature, this fierce looking man with eyes that on close inspection 
showed themselves to be remarkably clear, soft and kind.

She saw him in her thoughts now, was thinking of him even as she slid 
her hands under the waist of her jeans, loosened the snap and zipper 
and began to rub the moist silken material covering the pink folds of 
her cunt, the dark patch of her pubic hair, the ruby-tipped point of 
her clitoris peeking out from the center of her bush.

She felt her body yielding to a complex of images.

She saw the fiery eyes of the stallion like flares in the night, felt 
the explosive force of his muscles in contact with her spread legs, 
relived once more the sensation of her pussy being rubbed wide open by 
the vibrations of his body, felt her juice oozing from her, coating 
him, even as she was coating her fingers now.

And she saw it, there between his legs, a vastly different sort of rod 
... she'd tried to position herself, tried to imagine how she could 
possibly get it into her ... she'd known all along that she would 
eventually have to try, that it was somehow meant for her, would try to 
open her body fully, let her violation be total ...

It had filled her dreams. It filled her fantasies now, as two, then 
three fingers began to work through the soft mushy swamp of her aroused 
pussy.

She spread her lips by flaring her fingers inside her, spread the 
circular opening beneath the outer membranes, felt her fingertips 
pressing into the inner walls, wringing more and more juice from her 
lust drenched flesh with every digging plunge of her fingers ...

She felt her body shudder. Is that how it would feel, to have her 
stallion's cock in her? How different from her father's cock? How much 
more painful, how much more satisfying?

She had seen it, looked longingly at it ... she'd even touched it, but 
that had sent a shudder of concern through the beast. She understood. 
She'd be protective of something so valuable herself.

Over and over and over again her fingers first pressed deeply into her 
sopping pussy then rushed out and up through her wet slit to where her 
clitoris ached for attention, and down after five or six hard passes at 
the tiny tongue-like bud of nerves, back down into her yearning cunt.

But she knew that nothing would equal one second of what she could feel 
with 'him' in her, with his cock splitting her wide open.

As she pressed herself on and on towards orgasm, higher and higher, she 
began to see it playing before her mind's eye, the drama of the two of 
them, saw how it might actually take place, saw her suspended form 
beneath that huge frame, those vast curving ribs, saw her legs spread 
wide, pulling the red wet target open, saw it getting closer, closer, 
meeting her--!

She cried out in the midst of the first of several violent spasms of 
orgasm. She doubled up on her bed, every, muscle quivering from the 
sudden release of tension.

But she was scarcely touched.

The bottomless pit of her desire had only begun to exert its influence 
on her. For as much as she dreamed of completing what had been started 
with her shadowy beast, another image intruded, more and more as her 
body reached higher and higher levels of arousal.

It was the stranger. She would have found him fascinating even had the 
link of her passion not existed. He was the first person she'd ever 
seen outside of the family. Ever!

Was that as strange as it was starting to seem to her? How abnormal a 
life did she really lead?

These questions and a flood of others like them were starting to buzz 
in her head like a background of static and dissonance slowly raising 
in volume until they now threatened to overwhelm her conscious 
thoughts.

More and more she was becoming convinced that there was no other 
alternative for her but to somehow escape her father's grasp. Until 
she'd looked down from her horse and seen the handsome stranger, there 
had been no way that she could imagine it happening. Now, possibilities 
loomed everywhere, like fresh fruit waiting to be plucked from a tree. 
If only she could find a way to reach them ... way to reach them ...

She drove herself to another orgasm. The image of the stallion flying 
through the night was replaced by the rugged face of Rod Barrett. He 
seemed to be ... normal. That was it. That was the difference between 
her father and the newcomer. She wondered if his friend was the same 
way. It had been impossible to tell what he was like this afternoon. 
Maybe tomorrow. If her father wouldn't try to keep them separated, he 
sounded like that's exactly what he had in mind.

Well, she'd show him a thing or two. She'd already managed to do pretty 
much whatever she wanted, without him knowing. She had no doubts that 
she could continue. Harder now, harder into her dripping pussy, 
spreading her lips, pressing in and out.

With her other hand she started to rub at her nipples, pressed the flat 
of her palm hard into the soft mounds of flesh, harder and harder and 
harder.

In her mind now, there were two objects of her passions, two focal 
points for her vision. She felt at the mercy of tidal forces within her 
never before recognized, forces that threatened now to rip her apart.

Her orgasm, when it hit her was violent. All muscles went spastic, her 
face contorted into a grimace of agonized lust, her breathing was 
choked off.

Again and again she stabbed her stiff extended fingers between her 
legs, drawing every drop of juice and every tingle of sensation from 
her cunt. She wanted more. She knew exactly where to find it. What 
remained to be answered was how to attain it.

*   *   *

Sherry opened the door and looked in on the sleeping form with his 
tightly bandaged leg raised on a stack of pillows. Traction had been 
called for but lacking the facilities, her father had improvised 
admirably.

She walked in and stood by the side of his bed. He was like a sleeping 
... why did she want to think of 'prince'? Besides, in that fairy tale, 
it had been a sleeping princess who awaited the kiss of the prince.

Sherry was, in her own way as confused by the sudden addition of these 
strangers into their lives as was her sister. An entire lifetime kept 
separate from everything this sleeping man represented ... she felt 
like she should fear him, treat him with the respect she might show a 
rabid raccoon but she could find those feelings nowhere inside her. 
Instead there was a curiosity coupled with the compassion one normally 
felt for the wounded and hurt.

But what else? That was what was bothering her. A feeling of 
excitement, a feeling of heightened awareness, a feeling that her life 
had just rounded some heretofore unexpected corner and suddenly an 
entirely new and unexplored street loomed ahead. Did she have the 
courage to walk it? Was she even capable of fully understanding all the 
implications of the question?

She doubted it. She knew only that something had sprung to flame inside 
her body and her mind as soon as these two men walked out of the woods 
with her sister. Something that she as yet had no words for, but which 
throbbed beneath her skin like a hot torrent about to burst through a 
leaky dam of her isolation.

Suddenly the man's eyes opened. She was fascinated by his face, by the 
fact that she knew exactly what he was, knew exactly what she was to 
expect and yet really hadn't the slightest idea what was really at 
stake here. She was conscious only of the fact that her eyes were glued 
to his face, to the curve of lines along his lips, his chin, his eyes, 
the shape of his nose.

"Well Ma'am," he said in a friendly drawl, "Howdy do?"

His voice was so friendly, so ... natural. Not at all like her father's 
stiff manner.

"I reckon it must have been your daddy patched me up like this."

He looked down at the tight wrapping that kept the two splints and his 
leg immobile.

Sherry was confused. This wasn't at all the threatening encounter her 
father had warned them it would be. He'd always told her that someday, 
intruders, invaders would enter their land, their sanctuary. She'd 
listened in terror as he described the world slowly reaching out and 
contaminating them. It was something that had been more implied than 
discussed, the horror, the effects. He'd never actually spelled out the 
final scene, but whatever images he'd called up inside her, there 
seemed to be no relationship between those childhood memories and the 
scene in which she found herself now.

Contamination.

It seemed so alien, much more so than the man in front of her.

She smiled back at Johnny, sensing many things, none of them remotely 
resembling contamination.

"My name's Sherry," she told him, offering her hand.

"Johnny Talbert," he answered, taking her hand, sitting up for a second 
and kissing it. Sherry was thrilled.

"Does your leg hurt very bad?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yeah, it does hurt pretty bad. You dad 
wouldn't happen to have any pain killer stuck up on a shelf somewhere, 
would he?"

"I don't know, she said uncertainly. She wasn't sure just what her 
father had planned for these two, but something told her that it 
wouldn't necessarily be in their best interests.

"Well, I guess I'll ask him when he looks in on me again. Did he say 
how long it would be before I could get up and move around?"

"Well, since he doesn't have anything to make a cast out of, you're 
going to have to just lay there for at least a week. He said then that 
he might be able to make something that would hold you till you could 
get to a hospital."

Johnny nodded, then frowned in pain.

"Ooooo, that's a nasty headache. Lord, was I drunk or what? Guess it 
kept me from going out of my head, though it feels like I might have 
done just that anyway."

He rubbed his forehead, and even though Sherry's experience didn't 
cover hangovers she understood that discomfort was a large part of the 
bargain.

"You just take it easy. I'll be right back with something that should 
make you feel better."

She quickly went into the kitchen, filled a hot water bottle with ice 
cubes and took it back to him.

Johnny's face lit up when he saw what she had.

"Ah, you're an angel for sure," he sighed as she set the ice onto his 
tortured head and he felt the cooling fingers shoot into his brain.

"Whiskey's a good pain killer but Lord, does it ever make you pay 
later."

His eyes closed and he looked like he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Sherry couldn't quite understand why she was so reluctant to leave. It 
wasn't just her motherly instincts rising to the fore. Not quite. There 
was something else at work here and she sensed that it was related 
quite closely to whatever part of her had been functioning whenever she 
gave herself to her father ... similar, but far more enhanced.

She was aroused and it felt strange simply because whatever her father 
had managed to make her feel, there had been a missing dimension to her 
concept of sex.

Up to now.

Somehow, she felt that this stranger with his eyes closed in front of 
her could fill the gap.

He opened his eyes again and looked at her with curiosity.

"Would you like me to wash you?" she offered all at once.

He arched his eyebrows.

"Wash me? How do you mean?"

"Well, you can't take a bath or wash yourself all alone, can you? 
Surely you must want to clean up a little."

Johnny stuck his nose under one of his armpits and coughed.

"Damn! That'd gag a maggot. OK, I see what you mean. If you're up for 
sponging me off, I think I could get into that.

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then pulled the covers down. Her 
father had already removed his pants when he'd worked on his leg. She 
stared at his limp cock with open fascination.

"What's the matter, haven't you ever seen one of those before?" he 
asked, certain that in their seclusion, there'd been no opportunity for 
her to lose her virginity, or even understand how it might be 
accomplished. She surprised him.

"Oh of course. I've seen one many times. It's just that my father's 
looks very different than yours."

"Yeah? Well, I guess they're like fingerprints. Everybody's is unique, 
I guess.

His naked body didn't raise the first flicker of embarrassment in her 
and she was surprised therefore to find that he seemed to feel a little 
awkward.

"Does this bother you?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Oh, well, kind of, I guess ... I don't always have a beautiful woman 
offering to give me a sponge bath like this."

"Well how else are you going to keep yourself clean and healthy?" she 
asked, surprising herself at how easily she slipped into the nurse 
role. It was all very confusing to her and in the back of her mind was 
the knowledge that her father would be quite upset if he knew what she 
was doing. But her father was safely secluded in his laboratory once 
again, and there was no one else to care or know.

She thought back to the awkwardness at the dinner table earlier in the 
evening. Scarcely a word had been spoken that wasn't crisp, clipped and 
polite. But the tension had been thick, thick as mud after the rain in 
spring. She felt it like electricity in the air between them all.

Her father never once took his gaze from Rod. Although he'd managed to 
keep the hatred out of his voice Sherry could sense it seething beneath 
every flicker of his eyebrows, every movement of facial muscles.

Carrie on the other hand seemed to be lost in her own world and could 
hardly care about what was passing between the rest of them. 
Occasionally she would glance at Rod, but the expressions that crossed 
her face had been too complex for Sherry to analyze to any degree.

And then there had been Rod himself. Whatever conversation there had 
been he had initiated. Questions about their way of life Lucus had 
passed off with a disinterested grunt and left to his daughters to 
answer.

But he would cough to show his displeasure if they went into too much 
detail.

Carrie had offered to show Rod the greenhouse where all their food was 
grown, the farm where the animals were kept; that almost had prompted a 
response from Lucus but he let it pass.

Rod kept his eyes glued to Carrie the entire evening. When Lucus asked 
her about the horse, a totally indecipherable look had flickered in his 
eyes and she wondered anew just what it was that kept her sister so 
preoccupied when she went off alone.

"I just started to ride him, that's all," she answered, her voice a 
bored monotone.

"I saw her riding. She looks like she's done it all her life."

Yes, there was something happening beneath the surface here, and that 
as much as anything else had caused Sherry to be a little more open 
with herself concerning her own curiosity about the injured man in the 
other room.

That very man now lay naked in front of her and as she carefully rubbed 
his body with a damp cloth and warm water, his cock started to stiffen.

"Um, sorry about that," said Johnny, looking uncomfortable all of a 
sudden.

"What are you sorry about?" she asked, letting the cloth fall over his 
cock.

"Oh, sometimes it just has a mind of its own," he answered, looking 
first at his cock, then at her.

She just watched him with an amused grin and wrapped her fingers around 
the shaft. She knew how much pleasure her father's cock was capable of 
giving him. This stranger should be no different.

The second she touched it, Johnny's eyes grew wide, he shut up and just 
kept staring at her. She said nothing, simply began stroking it up and 
down, steadily squeezing the hard shaft of flesh tighter and tighter, 
feeling the thing become even stiffer in her grip.

Tighter, harder, faster. Steadily, deliberately, she increased the 
pressure and the tension and to her surprise he started to moan almost 
at once.

"Ummm ..." he said in a dreamy voice, "you really are an angel aren't 
you?"

The pack of ice was wobbling on his forehead as her jerks became more 
intense.

"This won't hurt your headache, will it?"

Johnny was quick to assure her that even though it did make his head 
hurt a little too much, he'd gladly endure the suffering. It was, after 
all, for a worthy cause.

Again she jerked on his cock and again he moaned, only this time, she 
felt beneath her fingers a rapid fluttering movement as the muscle at 
the base of his cock started to go into its spastic convulsions, 
squeezing hard against the small reservoir that held his come, 
propelling it like a war cannon shot down the length of his sex-tube 
where it burst from the head and landed with a plop all over Sherry's 
hand.

More bursts followed at once. He was bucking his hips up into the air 
with every contraction and each wad that shot from the purple colored 
head brought a loud moan of pleasure from his throat.

"Oh baby, that's wonderful, fantastic oh yeah don't stop," he was 
moaning as he spit white come from his cock.

Sherry was surprised at first. Having experienced the orgasm of no 
other man besides her father, who was always so ... sedate, reserved 
... she wasn't prepared for this out pouring of enthusiasm.

"Be careful," she warned him. "You're going to hurt your leg."

But Johnny seemed preoccupied more with his cock, and was getting ready 
to try and figure out some way to fuck this suddenly unexpected 
apparition. It would not be easy, and her old man wouldn't like it ... 
but who cared? Every time he looked up at those lush round breasts 
hanging off her, he was filled with a sense of awe. She was almost 
perfect in her appearance, and for reasons that he didn't even come 
close to understanding she seemed to have developed a sudden and 
extreme attraction to him.

That suited him just fine.

Now, if he could only figure out a safe, sane way to have her climb 
aboard, and then fuck the ever loving shit out of her ...

*   *   *

Rod felt restless. He'd looked in on Johnny a few minutes ago and 
Johnny had breathlessly related the tale of the hand job from nowhere 
that he'd gotten earlier in the evening.

Never had he seen a more blatant case of sexual repression, social 
repression, emotional, physical, mental repression ... face it, these 
poor girls were repressed. One way or another, they were going to have 
to be pulled away from their father. He could see that now, and he 
could also see that it was going to result in a very severe 
confrontation.

Well, it couldn't be helped. The girls were almost at the point of 
being consciously willing. Not yet, for the influence of the long years 
of isolation with their father had developed a strong mental block to 
any concept of actually getting out, breaking away.

But the signs were as obvious as billboards plastered along the 
roadside. Hell, Sherry was the reserved sedate one, and Johnny said 
she'd just about torn his damn cock off!

And as for Carrie ... well, that little honeyslit was already well 
along the road to thinking for herself and taking her own life into her 
own hands. It was simply, where she was concerned anyway, a question of 
options, and awareness of same. You might feel dissatisfied with your 
life as it had developed, but until you were able to conceive of real 
alternatives, that dissatisfaction would remain just that ... a feeling 
of restlessness, unhappiness that would have no focus, nothing to bind 
together the diffuse threads of ennui.

How could she possibly have any sense of options? Christ! The girl had 
never known anything other than this wilderness. Having an educated 
father capable of passing on his education to his daughters had been a 
plus, of course; but the lack of human companionship outside the tight 
closed unit they had developed into could only limit drastically any 
concept in her mind of other possibilities. She might want to get out, 
but having no idea what was out there, she really couldn't know fully 
what it meant.

He would have to educate her. He would have to somehow get past her 
father and spend time with her.

It shouldn't be too hard; she was looking at him all through dinner. Or 
maybe he'd been staring so hard at her, that whenever she did happen to 
glance at him, he was aware of it immediately.

But no, there was chemistry at work here. They had both already been 
poured into passion's beaker, were already coming to a boil. The final 
reaction awaited only a catalyst of some sort.
But what?

He had to think of something, because he doubted he have very many 
opportunities to get her alone away from her father's watchful eyes, 
and they had only a week or so before he would find a way to get them 
but of his hair for good.

He walked to the window and looked out. A full moon hung between the 
peaks of two distant mountains. Over the entire landscape, the white 
frosting of moonlight glazed the tops of the trees rolling up and down 
the slopes, illuminating the contours just enough to remind him how 
truly perfect this area was, how utterly untouched the land had managed 
to remain.

As untouched as Lucus Simpson's two daughters.

(SIMPSON!! ... DAUGHTERS!!!)

The bells were ringing louder in his head. What was the story behind 
that queer old goat? Why did the fact of his two daughters stand out so 
strongly ...?

It was maddening not to be able to put his finger on it, especially 
when it had hovered just out of reach, out of sight and out of mind the 
whole day, his efforts to call up any clue notwithstanding.

But his daughters were untouched.

Weren't they? Johnny had said that Sherry jerked him off like a pro in 
a massage parlor and then had given him head with such a sure touch 
that he'd come again almost at once.

Now where do you suppose she'd found a cock to practice on? There'd 
only been one for years and years. Which made the old man all the more 
sinister in Rod's eyes. Could he really have been subjecting his 
daughters to sexual abuses, throughout their childhoods.

That he now contemplated performing similar acts with Carrie struck him 
as being not at all out of the ordinary. For her father to do it 
however ... that was sick, and if anything justified intervening in the 
situation that was it.

Oh, face it, he told himself, any excuse would do. The bottom line was 
unchanged from what it had been the moment Rod had walked upon the 
field and seen her riding majestically, defiantly, erotically, 
passionately ...

He wanted her. He would have her.

Just then, a sudden movement caught his attention. Had he seen anything 
at all? Or were his eyes just playing ... no! There it was again. 
Someone was moving through the shadows of the yard, and he had a good 
idea who it might be.

As he watched, he saw a figure pass through a patch of moonlight and 
saw the reflection of the cold light off warm golden strands of waist-
length blonde hair.

It was Carrie!

Where was she going?

Rod had a good idea about the answer to that question. He also was 
getting a few other ideas. Hell, if she could sneak out, without the 
old man knowing, so could he.

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get that girl alone.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than that girl!

Nothing!!

*   *   *

He sat, as he had for hours, before the screen, eyes fixed on the 
flickering images bathed in the phosphorescent glow.

Slowly, deftly, with the touch of years of practicing, Lucus Simpson 
added the chemicals that would effect the alteration. It was simply 
another step in a long practiced process.

He knew the outcome in advance. It would, of course, be successful. He 
had nothing but success in the lab these days.

But he was growing restless. He wanted to move on. He was tired of rats 
and mice and microbes.

He wanted to experiment on man.

He smothered a grim chuckle, even though there was no one to hear, or 
see.

He knew of two perfect specimens. And how convenient! They'd been 
simply delivered to him, saving him the tedious business of trying to 
flush out a couple on his own. He'd known that should this ever happen 
there'd be no way to avoid having his daughters suffer some degree of 
contamination. That it had in fact happened was all too evident at the 
supper table tonight. It disgusted him! The way that smooth talking 
sonofabitch with his bushy beard kept making eyes at Carrie, and she 
back at him.

You'd have thought they were high schoolers on their first date!

Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. But he wasn't too 
concerned. The contamination was not yet fatal; they were still below 
the threshold.

Were he to interfere now, with the hard final brutality that he truly 
would have preferred, he feared that he might lose the girls entirely, 
if not in body then definitely in mind and soul.

No, perhaps he'd best play with them, let them think that he was 
softening, let them mingle openly with these ... these outsiders ... 
this disease that had stricken their world ... let them think they were 
enjoying themselves.

And then, after a week, they could leave ... perhaps before the girls 
woke up, yes, that would do it. Simple, neat, surgically clean. Remove 
the malignant growth before it choked them.

Life would return to normal. He was convinced of it. He was certain of 
it.

He was depending on it.

In fact, it was threatening to become an obsession.

That was something Lucus could not allow, not even to the extent of 
denying a portion of himself, a very vital portion, denying its very 
existence. It was a question of role. It was his firm grasp of that 
concept that allowed him to keep his hands rock steady during the 
transfer of minute units, the performance of delicate surgery, slow 
careful surgery, like he would perform on those two malignant pests, 
carefully shaving layer after microscopic layer from their cortex, 
probing deeper, ever so deeper into the very depths of mind itself, 
locate at last the chemical code by which neurons passed their 
information from one to the next, how it arranged it, how intelligence 
itself is generated ...

It would become his primary weapon, the major tool of his research ... 
the chemical genesis of intelligence ... its control ... its 
enhancement ...

No, there was, at the cold immobile center of Lucus Simpson's soul, no 
doubt whatsoever as to the primary role he was meant to play, the 
essential face he was to wear ...

He looked to the screen.

The figure remained, as it was earlier, still a misshapen blob, yet 
even now beginning to take on a crude shape ... here and there small 
extensions of the primal protoplasm that one could almost pretend, with 
enough concentration, were arms, legs, the beginnings of a neck ...

For the first time, the notion of 'cross breeding' had expanded to 
include the whole genus of mammals as its domain. But need it stop 
there? No!

If man could be blended with lower forms, drawing on specific superior 
constructions within certain systems, yet retain man's nature, his 
innovation, his spontaneity ... his mind. Who could predict? What 
limits might be surpassed?

Could you imagine the implications of an army of one celled amoebae ... 
that were intelligent? Cells that could attack body organizations with 
infantry-like precision ...

Yes, there was a lot resting on the next few hands. Lucus felt it like 
a breath of ice on the surface of his skin. He heard it with his 
fingernails, at the tips of each hair, at the core of his marrow. He 
was alert. He was attuned to his essential rhythms. He was ready.

Walking to the small ice-box, he opened it, selected from among the 
neatly rowed bottles, each with a small white label, its molecular 
structure and noted properties expertly sketched and lettered in by 
Lucus' own hand, one bottle. It contained a deep purple colored liquid. 
It sloshed in the bottle with a oil-like sluggishness.

Carefully, taking in those same rock steady hands a sterile hypodermic, 
he punctured the seal of the bottle, watched as the liquid rose to 
nearly the halfway mark on the line gauge, added several more 
increments for good measure, and set it on the silver table. Its point 
gleamed in the light of the screen. Beyond the electronic interface, 
the little blob watched, it too preparing for an alteration of the very 
building blocks of its reality. Lucus felt a mental bond click into 
place in that instant, spanning the space, temporal and electronic 
between them.

Quickly tying the rubber tube tight around his arm, he found a vein and 
the dart was home.

Had a living organism entered his arm and begun eating its way through 
his body, it would have felt like this.

Lucus knew that for the next half hour, he would stay as he was, inert 
and insane.

And then would come the craving. The blind mindless craving, the hot 
flooding of his testicles with lunacy. Yes! Lunacy!

Mindlessness.

Pure primal instinct.

Lust!

There would be Sherry for that. Indeed.

And then, the long space of heightened awareness, of senses sharpened 
to the point of puncturing the thin fabric of reality.

At that plateau he planned to maintain himself for the next several 
days. Small maintenance doses at seven hour intervals would keep brain 
waves in phase through far more complex variations of their separate 
frequencies. His data was vast. He knew exactly what was happening to 
him, and exactly why. Perhaps his daughters looked upon his chemical 
experiments as tolerable eccentricities. Well and good.

None of them would ever know what hit them.

Lucus Tanner looked back at the silent screen, looked a long time in 
total awe ... then he began a long deep laugh, a laugh which continued 
long and hard.

It was a strange laugh. There was something more there than simple 
laughter. Something complex and mysterious. Something that hinted at 
deep inner sadness.



Chapter 8


Rod stopped and listened. Damn! he thought. No fucking way to see a 
thing!

He listened to the delicate roar of wilderness sounds of the night, the 
endless variations of crickets, owls, mixed with less definable ones, 
the rustles, scrapes, thuds, an occasional scamper of miniature feet.

But nothing that could possibly tell him which way Carrie had gone. How 
the hell did she find her way in this blackout?.

He stumbled over a log and landed in something mushy. As he pulled back 
and started to scrape the gunk off his arm, it moved.

Yeecchhh!! Fuck! He hated the dark, he thought as he lashed his arm 
around trying to shake whatever the fuck it was back to wherever the 
fuck it came from.

Then he turned and was running, where, he had no idea, but he ran.

He hated to admit it but he was really scared. For some reason, just 
before he had slipped out of the screen door to follow Carrie's swiftly 
disappearing shadow into the woods, he'd almost reconsidered.

Greed's what did him in. Greed pure and simple.

Well, he thought ruefully to himself as he struggled through a thicket 
of ferns, a man's gotta do what he's gotta do, but why the hell did I 
have to go do this?

He was about to give up and just sit it out till dawn, when he'd most 
likely get his nuts shot off by ole Doc Simpson as he crept back inside 
the house just on general principles.

Then he heard it!

Closer than he would have thought too!

The muffled thunder of hooves biting into the ground at a brisk gallop.

He'd been right!

At once his cock was hard and getting stiffer all the time inside his 
pants. He thought of their first meeting, still stunned at the sight of 
that wet pink slit opened in front of him, so inviting, so innocent ...

Lord! He wanted her, wanted to have her legs wrapped around his 
shoulders, wanted to be able to drop his head quickly each time his 
body rose up to flick first one breast, then the other with a rapid 
fire burst of his tongue, wanted to feel that young pussy wrapping his 
cock in its hot sopping walls, the enclosing warmth of her pink flesh 
seeping through him as though he were merely a sponge growing satiated 
with her juice.

He wanted to fuck her god damned eyes out. By God!

But he still wasn't sure in the least how to best go about it. She was 
by far the strangest customer he'd ever encountered.

True, her circumstances almost demanded it. Still, he had a feeling 
she'd have wound up with an unpredictable kink or two if she'd been 
brought up in the cleanest W.A.S.P. nest or the scungiest ghetto. The 
girl was in her own little bubble, and damned if he knew whether or not 
he had the guts to pop it.

But, with a deep breath, he followed his ears to the grassy fields of 
pleasure.

*   *   *

Sherry walked on tip-toes. Even so, each board seemed to have a special 
squeak they'd reserved for just this night.

But her father had remained secluded. She was glad. With his work to 
occupy him, he would think less of her, which was fine because just at 
this moment her mind was getting ready to meltdown from over activity.

She didn't have the faintest idea what the flood of sensation was that 
had settled into her crotch, she only knew that it was very intimately 
linked with the strange man who simply by his presence coaxed such 
strange behavior from her.

Taking hold of his cock had almost been like a dream. There had been an 
unseen hand wrapped around her wrist. She would have been powerless to 
resist no matter what her reaction. But her utter lack of resistance 
left her numb.

She had taken it eagerly!

She had felt something that she could only compare to hunger, but it 
was an appetite that had never asserted itself before.

It was grinding into her nerves and muscles with blinding force now!

The door to his room loomed ahead in the dim hall. She nearly ran the 
last ten steps, opened it quietly and stepped inside.

He was lying in bed reading a dusty book from her father's bookshelf.

When he saw her, he simply closed the book wordlessly, felt his cock 
begin to stiffen and settled back into the pillows to see what would 
happen.

He found out quickly.

She was at the side of his bed, wanting to reach out to him, touch him, 
run her hands over his face, his chest, his cock. She wanted to feel it 
stiffen beneath her fingers, wanted to stroke it velvet surface from 
the swollen head to the patch of hair it rose out of like a monolith of 
flesh, a totem around which her scattered blind lust could coalesce.

But she was frightened, uncertain just how to proceed. Never had she 
felt this way. It was almost as though her cunt had taken a life of its 
own, one she could share in but never quite control ... it drove her 
now, commanded her, generated her every move. All her thoughts were 
focused on the one desire to have it filled, stuffed with that cock 
that she only this afternoon discovered.

He was ready, and from all outward appearances, quite willing. As she 
drew back the covers, she had all the evidence she need of that.

"I haven't been able to think of anything else. It's been unbearable. 
All afternoon I've wanted to get my hands on it again."

"Well, I've got an idea for something else you can get on it with."

She blushed. At the same time, she felt a swelling blossom within her 
breasts, an answering tremble in her thighs and a slowly mounting flame 
flickering within her clitoris.

She was slippery, drenched, and as she removed her pants, she dipped 
her finger into her pussy slit, let the thick juice roll over the tip, 
and then she placed it at Johnny's lips. He sucked long and hard.

"You have the sweetest tasting pussy I ever got my tongue on darling. 
Which reminds me. Why don't you hop up here so I can get my tongue on 
it.

She quickly straddled him and he began to unbutton her shirt. Each time 
his hands moved from one button to the next and the material there fell 
open, he ran his fingers over the newly exposed flesh.

Darts of ecstasy ran back through her body.

Her breasts fell out of her shirt and he was all over her, cupping them 
in his hands, pressing them into her body, then, narrowing his 
fingertips to the point, he began to massage each hard nipple, rubbing 
the flesh between his fingers, pressing them, pinching them until they 
turned a deep crimson.

She was burning, all through her body, but finally so fiercely in her 
cunt that she could take it no longer.

"Please, please. You know what I want. Please!"

"Yeah? Do I really? What's that? What do you want?" he teased.

"Fuck me you fool! What do you think I want. Fuck me!"

She was whispering but the urgency in her words was quite plain.

Johnny wasted no time. Lucus felt the room slowly begin to fall into 
place, a cartoonist's rendering of reversed chaos, objects flung from a 
whirlwind somehow, miraculously, falling into it's precise spot. His 
mind, though still fragmented far beyond any hope of personality or 
analytic reasoning nonetheless began assembling still random images, 
restructuring the mosaic that had been his world, would be again. But 
with a difference! Now he would hear what they couldn't, see what 
escaped them, hear frequencies past their stunted range ...

*   *   *

Elsewhere there was a similar focusing process, one with a far 
different energy driving it.

In his loins, his abdomen, his groin, he felt a mounting pressure, 
still at the level of mere uneasiness. Soon it would mount to a 
passionate thrust of his will, at the same time shorting out what 
normal social filters the brain evolved in only the last ten thousand 
years or so, letting the deeper and far more entrenched instinctive 
urged, the primal drives to ascend.

Soon, very soon, he would have to pay the fire in his balls the 
attention it demanded.

His lust was building!

*   *   *

Rod stood in the shadows, wanting her more and more with each passing 
second.

He would have to scale the fence soon, make his stand and let fate work 
its course.

She bounced in the moonlight, her hair glowed like a cold flame. She 
was a spirit, a phantom. At times he thought he could almost see 
through her. She was close to becoming mystical.

She had ridden the horse until he was as supercharged as she was. 
Somehow, he must have sensed the effect he had on her, must have felt 
the transfer of energy from his body to hers, felt it on the same 
wavelength her own brain was probably functioning at. She was an animal 
in heat. Pure and simple.

The moment was now.

He jumped the fence and stood waiting for her to pass by him on her 
next circle.

As she approached, he stepped out in her path, called her name, once, 
loud, and hoped to God she didn't run him down like he was just another 
weed. He had no doubt that the horse could do it and never even notice.

Instead, she reared him in instantly. He was up on his hind legs at 
once, neighing with a sharp edge of panic, but simply clasping him 
about the neck, she not only stayed on him with ease but she somehow 
calmed him down almost as fast as he had bolted.

Then she looked down at him.

"I was thinking about you just then," she said.

"I've been thinking about you ever since I first laid eyes on you."

"Yes?"

She sounded amused.

"Why don't you come down," Rod said. He was nearly out of his mind. He 
wanted to get his hands On her fast!

"I've got a better idea," she returned. "Why don't you come up here?"

He wasn't about to argue. He jumped forward to climb up when she held 
out her hand stopping him.

"Wait," she said. "Put your clothes in a pile over the fence so you can 
find them again."

She's been doing this for a while, he could see.

He felt strange climbing up on a horse to try and seduce a girl who 
probably had never had a man in her life (the possibility here being 
taken into consideration).

But he did it. Nothing could have stopped him.

She didn't have to be told what to do with him. Johnny had been right. 
These were accomplished girls.

But Carrie was a natural any way you looked at it. Her touch was 
flawless, sure, and perfect.

Within seconds, she had ever nerve ending at the surface of his skin on 
fire.

His cock was hard as steel and his balls felt like they were going to 
explode. He reached for her breasts and with a moan she fell into him. 
Rubbing them in his hands, their incredible softness built his arousal 
even higher, and as he pressed his fingers into their tender flesh he 
felt the first dribblings of liquid from his cock.

He slipped a finger into her pussy, sought out the hard bud of her 
clitoris and savored the sound of her moans, felt the pressure from her 
hips as she rolled them against him.

Then he was pulling her up, lifting her bodily off the horse to lower 
her onto his cock. At first, she didn't understand what he was doing, 
but the second the head of his cock touched the already parted lips of 
her drenched pussy, she started to struggle.

"No, no," she was saying. What the fuck, though Rod, thoroughly 
confused.

"What's wrong."

"I ... can't" was all he could get out of her.

"Carrie, please, don't do this to me. What's wrong?"

She studied him long and hard. Then she explained to him about the 
unity she had felt riding the horse as he'd seen her doing. She 
couldn't ... not with him, not with her father, who she'd avoided for 
weeks, (Ah ha! thought Rod. So the old man was sticking it to them!). 
She couldn't unite with anyone else ... not until ...

Rod couldn't believe what she was asking him. She wanted to fuck the 
horse! For the love of fucking Christ she wanted to fuck the fucking 
horse! He realized then that no environment in the world could account 
for the woman whose breasts he still fondled to her obvious enjoyment. 
Whatever vein she was mining was one uniquely her own.

But the idea was quirky enough to appeal to Rod. And face it, he was 
horny as a hoot-owl.

"You really mean this, don't you?" he asked, still disbelieving.

"Of course. And if you help me, you can have me."

"How do you mean I can have you?" Rod asked.

"I mean, I'm yours. However you want me."

"What if I asked you to leave here with me?"

She waited perhaps a half second.

"I'd go with you."

Ok, thought Rod, let's get this show on the road.

*   *   *

Locus found the house in darkness. Carrie's room he didn't even bother 
to check. She'd be gone. The worthless whelp. Perhaps he'd dissect her 
brain as well. Surely there was a wrinkle or two there never before 
catalogued by anyone, anywhere. Someone that difficult to predict was 
better off without their cortex anyway.

He turned towards Sherry's room, saw that no light filtered out under 
the door, opened it and found it empty. The hair on the back of his 
head rose in a rush of tingling and he felt his stomach clench.

His breathing started to come harder and harder, short choppy breaths 
that cut through him like a giant blade.

Where was the bitch. Where was that sweet cunt of hers! He needed it. 
He craved it!

And he knew where it was too!

Slowly he turned. Step by step he made his way down the hall to the 
room where the stranger lay. How did he know, already, what he would 
find; he knew, that was all. He could sense it with his skin. They were 
in there, his beloved Sherry and that filth. Certain as he was, he 
prayed to whatever concept of God he still retained that he would, this 
one time, be wrong, that he would find her elsewhere, waiting for him, 
ready for him, knowing, as usual, when he needed her and preparing 
herself accordingly.

But it was not to be.

Even before he got to the door, he heard the low throaty animal groans 
rising up from his daughter's throat. God! could that be her voice? Of 
course, it had to be.

How to do it?

Burst in, catch them in their moment of shock, or enter quietly, so 
quietly they would take no notice in the midst of their throes of 
passion ... was that how he wanted to catch them?

No.

He couldn't stand it.

Instead, he softly turned the door knob, took a deep breath and crashed 
the door on it hinges against the wall. The two figures on the bed 
lurched violently in horror. Sherry's eyes were wide. The man simply 
cried out in pain and reached for his leg.

What he saw sickened him.

Sherry was naked, her legs straddling him about his chest with her back 
towards his face. She was leaning forward, her lips wrapped around his 
cock while at the same time jamming her pussy into his face as hard as 
she could. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. 
He had lost her. She had tasted the forbidden fruit, and while simply 
expelling her from the Eden he'd fashioned would have appealed to his 
sense of symbolism, it would have been highly impractical. He was 
grateful for the drug. He needed the iced steel nerves that it would 
take to deal with her as she deserved.

"Father!" Sherry cried.

Lucus stepped into the room, never once taking his eyes off his 
daughter.

She quickly jumped off Johnny. His panic simply increased the tension 
of his erection and it stood straight up in the air, looking rather 
foolish under the circumstances.

"Deceit," said Lucus softly, almost to himself. "Deceit rules your 
mind."

He sounded surprised, a little disappointed, but still in control of 
himself. That was most important. Never let anyone know you were not 
quite in control of yourself ...

Could he do this? Yes. There was no doubt in his mind that he could do 
it. But the pounding in his cock and balls was more than he could 
stand. First, he had to relieve himself.

He grabbed her by the hand and threw her to the floor. The man in the 
bed made a move to sit up and Lucus calmly walked over to him and 
directed a well aimed fist into the man's leg. He turned white from the 
vicious rush of sharp pain grinding against the broken ends of his 
bone. He let out a choked scream and collapsed back onto the covers.

Then Lucus turned to the trembling girl on the floor, already a 
stranger to his eyes. He approached, his shadow covering her. She 
turned a frightened face to him. Lucus kicked her with all his might. 
Hard, as hard as he could manage, aiming his shoe right for her cheek. 
She screamed and fell back to the floor. Lucus took his stiff cock out 
of his pants, slowly removed his clothing and prepared to unload the 
growing pressure in his balls that threatened to blow them into tiny 
pieces if they weren't emptied soon.

*   *   *

Rod was grateful that Carrie was so light. He supported her beneath her 
arms and she hardly felt like a weight at all.

The scene was amazing to him. Yet strangely enticing. Erotic. Arousing.

Her back faced the ground, her large breasts flopped to either side of 
her body.

She had her legs flared wide reaching up the underbelly of the animal 
she was preparing to fuck, resting against him for support. Ahead 
loomed that massive log of a cock, that horse-prick like no prick Rod 
had ever seen, and certainly unlike any that Carrie had ever 
encountered.

Closer and closer it loomed, seeming to grow larger and larger with 
each step he took, feeding her to it like lumber to the saw.

It was so huge. So awesome!

It was like ... well, it was like if he raped a baby. Size ratio was 
about--!

Rape a baby!

Baby raper!

"The Babyraper", he thought to himself in a flash of recollection when 
all the loose links and clues that had kept flooding his mind ever 
since meeting Lucus Simpson fell into place like a deck of cards in the 
hands of a magician.
'BABY RAPER MISSING WITH DAUGHTERS'

He saw the headline through the eyes of a ten-year old, uncomprehended 
then, quickly forgotten. He also heard the name Lucus Simpson. 
Television news, perhaps, maybe a dinner table conversation. Whatever, 
the entire story, even with its huge gaps flashed before him. Enough 
for him to realize that they were dealing with a psychotic, if half of 
what they'd said about him was true.

Of course. He was one of those names you kept hearing over the years, 
never strongly enough to make an impression ... Yet with a echo residue 
that could suddenly reverberate with profound force.

He almost dropped Carrie, literally from fear. What if that maniac had 
followed them? What if he was watching now, as he assisted his daughter 
in what was perhaps the most bizarre thing Rod had ever taken part in.

Suddenly, he wanted to be out, away. But the girl he held in his arms 
right now could no longer be ignored. He wanted to take her with him, 
no matter what the cost.

"Now," she was moaning, wanting that massive cock to plunge up her 
pussy.

"Please," she begged, and Rod pushed that last inch, making contact, 
beginning the long job of trying to get that massive cock inside her 
pussy.

Her concentration was phenomenal. She wanted this more than she had 
ever wanted anything and now with it at hand, she was not about to 
taste defeat.

"Harder, harder," she yelled, "I don't care if it hurts, push me onto 
it, NOW!!!"

And Rod pushed. He couldn't believe that the cock wasn't just splitting 
her in two, but amazingly, he felt her sliding onto it, slowly inch by 
thick inch, as much as her cunt could possible take.

She was gasping; crying, babbling, writhing on the post. Her entire 
body was shaking, sending her breasts into a fine trembling quiver. Rod 
wanted so much to get one of them into his mouth. Soon, he told 
himself. Soon, when they were safe, away from the lunatic that waited 
back at the house for them.

She was out of her mind. Delirious. She was babbling, mindless 
incoherent words pouring out of her mouth, amid gasping for breath.

"Oh my God it's so huge," she moaned. "Hard now," she directed, "push 
me against it hard."

Rod did as she requested, beginning to slide her back and forth as much 
as was possible. It took very little of the cock to fill her pussy, but 
that was more than enough to reduce her to jelly.

She was screaming constantly now, not thinking a single thought, her 
entire body and mind filled with the explosive pain of that giant cock 
pounding into her.

Strangely enough, the horse seemed calm and cooperative. Perhaps the 
girl was right. Perhaps there was some for of bond between them.

When she came, she came in a long fine scream ...

... a scream that was sexuality itself.

... a scream that matched her sister's exactly, although Sherry's 
sounded at that moment for drastically different reasons.

"Stop," she begged, "you'll kill him!!"

She was on the floor, her face beaten and bloody, watching in horror as 
Lucus tried with all his might to strangle the last life out of the 
piece of slime beneath him.

"Stop, stop," screamed his daughter, finally finding the capability in 
her muscles to move again, to act.

She looked frantically around the room for a weapon. Anything. There 
was nothing.

Except ... as Johnny had thrashed about on the bed trying to avoid the 
end Lucus had planned for him, the splints had come loose from his leg 
which now lay across the bed at a sickening angle.

She picked it up now, balanced it in her hand and brought it down on 
her father's head as hard as she possibly could.

He let out a groan and fell to his knees.

Then he turned and with a snarl lunged at her. He was only half human 
and by now bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man she'd known as her 
father, who she'd called 'Dad'.

This was a beast, a drooling crazed beast who could only be destroyed, 
never reasoned with.

Sherry swung again at him, this time catching him across the cheek, 
opening the skin to a torrent of blood.

He grabbed her wrist just as she was going to bring the piece of wood 
down onto his head a third time.

In a quick move, he had it out of her hand and she was backing away 
from him with a look of sheer terror on her face.

"What's the matter you cunt? What's the matter? You thought you'd beat 
me did you? HA! You're a fool. Just like the rest of them. They're all 
fools, each and every one of them. They think I can be beaten. Well my 
darling, I'm going to show you how beaten I am."

He swung at Sherry with the wooden splint but she ducked, jumping 
behind a chair.

He kicked the chair away from her and brought the splint down hard 
across her back. She screamed and went down hard.

Then he was on her, pulling at her flesh, biting her, tearing her, 
digging into her. He lashed out with his fists, with his feet, his 
knees, elbows, teeth ... he was brutal, as brutal as you'd expect the 
repressed deviant passions of twenty years to be on their first full 
expression back in the real world.

She was battered beyond belief. She felt like her body was slowly 
coming apart. She felt like she was being slowly stuffed into a small 
suitcase, where there was less and less air, less and less light ... 
she felt like she was dying.



Chapter 9


Carrie was limp in Rod's arms.

"Take me, take me take me," she continually murmured to him.

"Later Carrie. Listen to me. We have to get back to the house at once. 
Do you understand what I'm saying? I think we might be in danger."

"Danger?" she asked dreamily. "What danger? I feel safe. Do you feel 
safe?"

"Carrie, this is no time for child talk. I'm serious. There's something 
you don't know about your father, but I'm afraid that he might be 
getting ready to do something violent."

"Why?" She seemed more interested now. "What about my father?"

"I'm not sure, but I ..." but he could find no words to explain his 
fears to her.

"Look, just trust me. I'd feel a lot safer if we were back at the house 
and you were safely in your room and I was in mine. No sense in giving 
your father any reason to blow his stack."

"My father is crazy."

Her words chilled him.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, he just is."

"Tell me what you mean."

"Well ... he's just strange. I don't know ... he's the only person I've 
ever known ... I just know I feel really uncomfortable around him ... I 
think he's sick."

"Come on. We're going back."

"I don't want to go back. I want to stay here. You promised."

Her pussy was still dripping from the fucking she gotten on that 
horse's cock. Rod could tell that she was still in a daze from the 
intensity of it.

"Carrie, I helped you. Will you still leave with me?"

She flung herself into his arms.

"Silly," she said, "I would have left with you even if you didn't want 
me to. I want to get away from here. I have for a long time. I told you 
that."

"All right, I want to take you with me. You need to get out of here. 
There are things you don't know."

"Like what!?" she demanded, getting annoyed at his hints that he never 
elaborated on.

"I told you, wait till we get back to the house. Then we'll find out."

She gave in, they got dressed.

"Come on, we'll ride if you're in that much of a hurry to go."

They mounted the horse and even in the darkness, she jumped the fence 
and found the trail without problem.

When they got back to the house, it was dark. Rod didn't have the 
faintest idea what time it was. After midnight Rod was afraid that the 
sound of the hoofbeats would be heard in the house, so he had them 
dismount and walk the distance up the lawn. The darkness seemed to 
actually flow out of the house, like a black mist, falling onto the 
lawn and spreading over it to the woods. Rod felt engulfed by the total 
absence of light.

But the dark seemed to be Carrie's element and she moved through it 
without fear.

They heard the sounds as soon as they opened the back door.

Thuds, and regular intervals. Sharp sounding thuds. And groans that 
were more randomly spaced.

"My God, what's happening," asked Carrie.

Rod was afraid to answer.

They ran towards the sound, realized that it was coming from the 
upstairs hall.

"NO! Johnny's room!" yelled Rod, racing up the stairs.

The scene that confronted him when he ran to the door was unbelievable.

Sherry was thrown across Johnny's still body, herself seeming to be 
unconscious, while Lucus beat her unmercifully with a leather strap.

Her body was a mass of bruises, welts and bloody red stripes where he 
had broken the skin. She could have been dead for all Rod could tell.

Lucus heard him in the doorway; turned with a wild look in his eyes and 
to Rod's surprise let out a growl and rushed him. But instead of 
attacking, he simply pushed past him and ran down the hallway.

Rod ran first to Johnny. He saw that there were horrible bruises around 
his neck, that he appeared not to be breathing, and that he still had 
not moved. Rod feared the worst.

At that moment, Sherry stirred with an agonized moan and started to 
slip off the bed. As she did so, her arm snagged on Johnny's broken leg 
and the weight of her body began to pull it as she fell.

That's what it took to shock Johnny back awake. It was then that Rod 
noticed the crooked twist where the bone had broken, the lack of any 
splints. What the hell had gone on here, he wondered.

Johnny let out a scream.

"Oh God, it hurts, please, no more, no more, I can't take it, I can't 
take it."

Rod leaned over and freed Sherry's arm and helped her to the floor 
gently.

Suddenly he thought about Carrie. Her father was out there in the house 
somewhere and so was she. He was obviously out of his mind.

"Carrie!!" he yelled, "he's out there. Be careful! He's snapped!"

He heard nothing in reply, and was just about to get up and run out 
into the hall to see what was keeping Carrie, when a form crossed the 
doorway.

It was Dr. Simpson, his eyes as wild as ever, standing right in the 
middle of the door. In his hand was a revolver. It was pointed, not at 
Rod or Johnny but at Sherry.

"Mr. Barrett, I wouldn't worry about my daughter. I assure you, I'll 
worry about her. You might look to your own safety. You see, Mr. 
Barrett, I have plans for you."

Rod's eyes were glued to the revolver.

"Don't worry, Mr. Barrett. You needn't worry about this little toy. 
It's not for you."

He looked at Sherry's still immobile form on the floor next to the bed, 
and without blinking an eye drilled three rounds into her. Her body 
jerked at each shot.

Rod felt his world slipping away. It was over. They had lost without 
even knowing what the stakes were until it was too late.

"Well, are you satisfied, you maniac," he said, trying to sound as 
vicious as he could.

"Please shut up Mr. Barrett."

Lucus turned his attention to Johnny, conscious now, simply watching in 
fear for his life.

"Babyraper!"

Rod hissed the words and they had a startling effect.

Lucus' face went slack for just a second, and he seemed to collapse 
against the door frame.

His eyes grew wide with shock.

"What did you say?" he croaked.

Rod sneered at him, looking a lot more contemptuous and condescending 
than he felt.

"You think I didn't know? You think that we didn't know from the first, 
when you introduced yourself? Come on, Dr. Simpson? That was a big 
case."

Rod saw Carrie, her face white from shock and fear peeking around the 
corner, listening. Her eyes fell on the wooden splint that Lucus had 
cast aside after using it to beat Sherry.

"Come on, Dr. Simpson. How many was it they were after you for? Six. 
Eight maybe ten?"

He flinched at every word, as if being physically struck.

"Babyraper. That's what they called you, wasn't it?"

"There was no evidence," screamed Lucas, all at once losing control. 
Rod tensed his muscles, certain that a bullet was about to rip through 
his body, maybe two or three. Maybe enough to kill him.

But the expected shot didn't come. Lucus had somehow brought his temper 
under control, though Rod could see he was right on the line.

"You think you can shake my composure? You think you can surprise me 
and gain the upper hand. You have a lot to learn, Mr. Barrett. A lot to 
learn indeed."

"Well, I've already learned a lot, yessir quite a lot indeed."

"You've learned nothing except to repeat rumors. But you see, there is 
no one which whom you can confide your information and do me damage. 
The daughter I loved is gone, the one who loathes me will not come 
close enough to me for me to deal with her as she should be treated, so 
I will have to track her down."

Carrie had by this time already snaked into the room and had the splint 
in her hand. It was hard for Rod not to steal glances at her from time 
to time, but he knew it would be her death warrant if he did, so he 
made certain that his eyes stayed glued to Lucus.

Carrie had the splint in her hand now, but instead of bringing it down 
on top of him, she looked like she was preparing an underhand swing.

Good luck Carrie girl. If you miss this one you won't get another 
chance.

"Tell me, Dr. Simpson, what was it like, trying to slide your cock into 
a small child like that? Was it as disgustingly sick as I imagine it 
was?"

Lucus was beginning to sweat and his bottom lip was quivering without 
pause.

"You'd better shut up now. I'm sick of listening to you." He leveled 
his gun at Rod's midriff to make the point.

Rod looked over at Johnny. He hadn't made a move since Lucus walked 
into the room. He looked like he was in bad shape.

Too bad about Sherry. Fine lady. Would have been great to bring her out 
too. But there was still Carrie, and if he could at all he was going to 
save her from this madness.

She had her own plans at the moment.

Rod kept talking to Lucus, who seemed only too glad to brag, not about 
the murders themselves for he'd always maintained that he was innocent, 
and he saw no reason to change his position now. But about the escape, 
when every law agent in the city had been watching him to make sure he 
didn't do exactly. And with two daughters no less!

The more he talked, the more Rod got the idea that he saw his daughters 
simply as a gauge to measure himself. He success at dominating them was 
his measure of his own worth.

Sick!

And then Carrie was in position. Rod held his breath, still scarcely 
able to avoid looking at her. She stood behind him, hands gripping the 
splint tightly, her face contorted from the urgency of the situation.

And yet, this was her father. A madman, to be sure, and certainly not 
to be reasoned with. She knew that. She was a bright lady. But Rod 
could imagine that the final thrust, that last harsh act that would 
forever place him beyond her was a difficult one for her. He could 
almost see her steeling her reserves!

Too late! He'd glanced in her direction, for just a split second. It 
was enough. Dr. Simpson pivoted on his heels in a second, and a grin 
slowly crossed his features.

"So. I'll not have to track you down after all. So glad you could join 
us, my daughter dearest."

He spoke with a sneer, his words dripping with contempt. Carrie's face 
went white as she saw the gun aiming right at her stomach. With his 
back turned, Rod was tempted to jump him, but Lucus was too quick, 
swiftly moving away so that he could aim his gun at them both.

"Over there," he told her, pointing to Rod.

"What have you done to Sherry?" she cried. "You're a monster. You're a 
vicious monster. What have you done?"

"Please, don't. You're giving me a headache. It's the last thing I need 
now. Just stand there next to your little friend there, and we'll just 
see what's to be done about you. I must say daughter, you've been a 
supreme disappointment to me. I had such visions for you when you were 
younger."

"Yeah, but they all included keeping me away from the rest of the 
world. I'm tired of being in a cage. I want to leave. I want to leave 
with him."

Lucus chuckled.

"Well, that's going to be a little difficult. You see, he and his 
friend are not going to be leaving us. Not today, not at the end of the 
week. Not ever."

"You can't keep us here forever. If you kill us, there are people who 
know where we are. There'll be search parties. You'll be found out, no 
matter what. It's over. You're finished. Why don't you face that fact 
and end the suffering now. You've already killed one of your 
daughter's. Must you kill the rest of us?"

Locus stared at Rod as he spoke, but it looked as if he really couldn't 
hear what was being said. His eyes began to wander the room, he began 
to waver ever so slightly on his feet. Rod noticed this, hoped it would 
continue and grow worse and kept up a steady stream of chatter, 
designed more to hypnotize him than anything else.

It appeared to be working. Rod kept hammering home the arguments for 
letting them go, but as he spoke, his voice assumed more and more a 
lilting, melodic quality, almost a sing-song rhythm, rises and falls 
spaced at regular intervals.

Lucus was hardly paying attention now. He was starting to have 
difficulty staying on his feet.

Suddenly, Sherry moved. Rod noticed it, saw a flicker of eyelids, saw 
her body jerk spasmodically. At first Rod had just assumed it to be a 
mindless firing of nerves, a reflex, a mimicking of life, not a sign of 
its presence.

But she moaned. A moan of pain, but undeniably from a living breathing 
person! There was hope!

Lucus Simpson was jerked out of his trance-like state and jerked around 
to face his daughter, firing two more rounds as he did so. They buried 
themselves harmlessly in the wall. He stared at Sherry's still living 
form in horror as she tried to raise her head and prop herself up on an 
elbow, only to collapse moaning in pain.

As he stared at her, Rod had to do some quick thinking. He had to 
somehow get across the room to that madman before he took that last 
bullet. Or else he had to make him fire the gun. But how!?

Carrie provided the answer. She lunged for the piece of wood he'd 
forced her to drop when he'd first discovered her presence in the room. 
It still lay at her feet, and with her father's attention momentarily 
diverted, she bent down, picked up the heavy piece of wood in her hands 
and without even bothering to take aim she threw it as hard as she 
could across the room. She evidently knew how to throw well.

The wooden splint flew straight as a spear. Her quick movement had once 
more diverted Lucus Simpson's attention, and as he quickly turned to 
face this new threat, the piece of wood caught him right in his adam's 
apple. He instantly started to cough, bending over in pain.

Rod had started to sprint across the room towards him as soon as Carrie 
had heaved the splint at him, and as he doubled over, Rod felt him to 
be an easy target. He proved much more dangerous.

He was obviously having trouble breathing, but he still managed to 
swing his arm out towards Rod when he was within range. The revolver 
caught Rod right across the cheek and for a moment he saw stars and 
nearly fell. Then he swung back, caught the madman right on the chin, 
but it scarcely affected him.

Then, as Lucus once more lowered the revolver to Rod's stomach, this 
time with no doubts about whether he was going to use it or not, Rod 
truly tensed himself for the hot lead.

That is, until he saw that Carrie had managed to pick up the wooden 
splint once more and sneak around behind her father in the same 
position where she'd been before. This time, she was successful.

The piece of wood flew with perfectly aimed precision up between 
Lucus's legs, burying itself in his balls. All his muscles went rigid 
instantly and Rod was afraid he might pull the trigger, but then they 
went slack almost as quickly. He fell like a piece of empty clothing 
tossed on the floor. His gun clattered across the floor.

Rod jumped for it, but Carrie was on it first, pulling it from his 
reach.

Her father was not yet done-for either, rising to his knees, looking 
Carrie directly in the eyes, face white but still rigid with 
determination, trying to stand.

He held out his hand.

"Give it to me, Carrie."

She backed away, the obvious conflict within her twisting her face 
totally out of shape.

"Carrie, I'm your father. You can't use that against me."

He was standing up now, wobbling, the effects of the splint in his 
balls not yet subsiding. But he was persuasive. Old patterns of 
behavior die hard. No matter how long Carrie may have nurtured 
rebellion in her mind, she had been simply his unquestioning daughter 
for many years longer. She struggled with an awesome choice at the 
moment, and Rod knew nothing he could do to make it easier for her.

Lucus took a couple of steps towards his frightened daughter. She 
stepped back again and found herself nearly against the wall. Lucus 
began to laugh.

"You can't use it. Don't even try. Give it to me, do you hear? Carrie, 
give it to me."

He was closing the gap between them. Still the girl could only stare at 
him in absolute fear, paralyzed by the situation in which she found 
herself.

"Stay back," she finally managed to say, but didn't sound a bit 
convincing.

"No, I don't think I will," her father answered. "Now give me the gun."

Rod was later unsure if he could even remember the sound of the final 
bullet firing. He could only really remember Lucus being literally 
thrown back off his feet. He fell flat on his back, eyes still opened, 
a slowly growing splotch of deep red forming over the space where his 
heart only moments before had pounded wildly. He looked simply 
surprised.

Carrie held the gun limply in her hands, was nearly on the verge of 
tears and would probably have fallen if Rod hadn't been at her side at 
once, arm around her, soothing voice in her ear.

She fell against him. She began to cry. Great heaving sobs poured from 
her throat shaking her body like someone jerked her on a string.

Rod quickly led her to a chair and made her comfortable, then ran to 
Sherry's side.

She was dazed, hopelessly confused and bleeding.

Carrie stared at them from across the room.

"She isn't dead yet, is she?"

"No, but she's hurt. Not nearly so bad as I'd thought. It looks like 
her hand, her leg and shoulder. But no major arteries or veins. At 
least it doesn't look like it."

He continued to examine Sherry's naked body until he was sure that she 
was no worse than that, took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it 
around her.

"We have to stop the bleeding," said Carrie, her voice still dull and 
lacking expression, but at least she was thinking, dealing with the 
situation.

"Do you know how?"

She nodded.

"He insisted that we know first aid. And he taught us a lot more than 
most people know. He was a doctor, remember."

She worked fast, tearing sheets for bandages. "That should hold her. 
For awhile. How long is it going to take us to get out of here?"

"Your father mentioned a radio. Do you know where it's at?"

"No. He never let us see it. He never used it that I know of, but I 
guess he must have once in a while. We'll have to search the house."

Sherry started to mumble something.

"What's she saying?" asked Rod.

Carrie put her ear close to her sister's mouth. "I think she's saying 
it's down in the laboratory. Come on, it's this way."

"Wait a second," said Rod. "I want to check on Johnny."

His friend looked pale. He hadn't moved again since Sherry had fallen 
off the bed. Rod tried not to look at the sickening angle of his leg 
bone. He wondered if Johnny would ever be able to walk right again.

"Johnny, wake up. Are you all right?"

Johnny made some incoherent noises, but opened his eyes and smiled. 
"Shit, I told you I was too old for this shit. Next time, I'm staying 
in the damn city."

Rod looked at Carrie.

"He'll live. Come on. Let's look for that radio."

They broke the lock on the laboratory and walked down the steps. The 
room was still bathed in the same glow it had when Lucus had been down 
there. The same blob stared silently from the still flickering screen. 
Rod let out a low whistle.

"Christ, what was he doing down here?"

"He never would tell us. But there was something he mixed up down here 
and he'd take it and it would make him crazy. That's what happened 
tonight."

Rod looked at her. "You've been through this before?"

"Not quite as violent. But yes. All our lives."

They found the radio after a random sampling of buttons on the console 
slid a small door aside on one of the cabinets. Rod made contact with 
the nearest ranger station without difficulty and soon had help racing 
to their rescue.

He looked at Carrie.

"You know, it's just starting for you?"

"I know. Will there be a lot of people and a lot of questions?"

"Probably."

"Tell me about my father. What did he do?"

Rod shook his head. "Later. There'll be lots of time."

He took her hand and they ascended the stairs and went back to wait 
with the others.


The End