Sex-crazed stallion

CHAPTER THREE

"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!