Chapter 10
Cathy scooted under the fence and ran, panting around the large house's front door. As she ran she saw the terrible, run-down condition of the rusting machinery, the weathered, rotting barn, the peeling, blistering paint on the cedar shakes of the main house.
She wondered if the house was occupied; it had such a dead, dirty, abandoned look. All the windows were shut and covered by drapes or shades inside. Yet she noticed a thin plume of white smoke coming from the fireplace chimney.
Cathy bolted up onto the porch and banged on the windowless door. "Mrs. Martin! Mrs. Martin? It's Cathy Dietz from the next farm! Let me in, please! Please!
Silence. She could hear the approaching tractor about a hundred yards away. Would Fred drive through the fence?
She banged on the door. "Please let me in! I'm in trouble! I need help!"
The roar of the tractor grew louder.
Cathy turned away from the door. Where could she run to now? Where was there a place to hide? He'd search the old rickety barn! The empty chicken house?
She was just about to run again when the door lock turned over behind her. She whirled and had to wait as two other locks were opened.
The door opened a crack. Crazy mrs. Martin peered out at her. "What are you saying?"
"My father's after me! He . . .he wants to get me in bed!"
"You're Mary's little girl. Grown up a lot. Got yourself in trouble?" The woman opened the door wider after surveying the porch and yard.
She was tall, almost six feet, and heavy and strong in the shoulders and hips. In the thin, flowered housedress she was massive, with pale, tree-trunk like legs and pasty arms. Her greying hair was drawn back in a bun. She wore old-fashioned bifocals. Her mouth was a thin red slash. Her dark eyes glittered with suspicion.
Cathy repeated impatiently, "It's Fred ... my father! Ever since mother died he's been after me! I couldn't stand it anymore! Please, let me in! He's right behind me ... there!"
The tractor roared around the side of the house. Fred shouted something.
"Trying to violate you, is he?" The widow Martin's face hardened. "You come in. We'll see about that. Never liked Fred Dietz, Never trusted him!"
Cathy darted inside. The widow slammed the door shut and set all the locks. She went into the bedroom as Fred steered the big tractor close to the porch and hopped off. The engine went to idle and he bellowed, "YOU COME OUT OF THERE GIRL! WIDOW! WIDOW, YOU SEND HER OUT OR I'M BUSTING IN!"
He stomped up onto the porch and rattled the small panes with his heavy blows.
Cathy retreated, away from the door. She looked around for the widow. Then she heard a window in the bedroom open and the widow's strong voice. "You get off my land, Fred Dietz, or you'll be carried off it!" There followed an ear-splitting BOOM! that had to be a shotgun going off.
Cathy ran into the bedroom and saw the big woman jacking another shell into the 12-gauge she was pointing out of the window.
She heard Fred scream, "You crazy woman! You shot my tractor!
"Lucky it wasn't you! Now get off my land! Get! Now!"
Cathy rushed to another window. She saw Fred run to the tractor. The large right rear tire was pocked and flat. The machine tilted. He was cursing non-stop as he mounted the wide, cushioned metal saddle and put the machine in gear. The tractor wobbled and lurched as he drove it slowly back around the side of the house.
The widow Martin muttered to herself and carried the shotgun into the kitchen, where she peered out and, with Cathy, watched the wounded tractor with its big tire flopping, and Fred, lurching in the bucking saddle, weave across the back yard and through the hole in the fence he had made a moment ago when pursuing Cathy.
The widow grunted and set the shotgun on the table. "Piss ant. Like as not he'll come back tonight with his own gun."
"Can't we call the sheriff?"
"Don't have a phone. Didn't use it enough to have one ... all that money for nothing." Her voice was changing, deepening.
Cathy got a creepy feeling. The widow Martin was changing, subtly. Cathy asked, "Do you have a car?"
"In the barn. But no gas for it." The woman's voice was now an octave lower, deeper, pitched to imitate a masculine voice. She looked down at Cathy and smiled ... differently. She held her big body in a stiff manner, like a man. Even her face. ...
Cathy was frightened. "I think I should go now ... while he's gone. I can get a good head start."
The large woman quivered and became herself again. She smiled and said softly, "I'm sorry. That was my Henry. He gets strong sometimes and shows himself."
"What do you mean?"
"My husband, Henry. He died ten years ago, but you know, a few years later he started talking to me in my head, and I wasn't alone anymore. It was just like before he died. I didn't lose him after all. He came back to me." She smiled beautifully, happily.
"Oh, that's nice." Cathy swallowed and made an incomplete gesture. "I really should go. I. ... "
"You can't go now. Your father is still out there. Look." The window pointed out the back window.
The tractor was standing quiet a few yards beyond the fence, on Dietz property. Fred wasn't visible.
Cathy's heart sank.
The widow said, reasonably, "You stay here with me for a while, until we see what you father has in mind. We won't hurt you."
Cathy chewed her lower lip. "All right. I guess I have to. It's just ... A minute ago, you changed ... like ... like Henry was talking to me, like you were a man."
The widow Martin nodded agreeably. "He does that sometimes. He'll just take over and do things around the house and the farm, or. . .Well, he is a man, and ... Well, you know men. They get their nature up sometimes."
"What?"
"I don't always remember what happens. It's all blurred. It depends on how strong he is. But you don't have to worry. Henry is a gentle man. He couldn't have shot that gun a minute ago. I had to do that."
Cathy felt itchy all over, and afraid. Talk about going from the pan into the fire!
The widow sat Cathy down at the kitchen table. "Henry lied about the car, and the gas. If we have to we'll drive you to town and see you on a bus. But we don't have money for a ticket for you."
Cathy slumped. "Neither do I. I just ran."
The widow cut Cathy a piece of deep-dish apple pie. She poured milk. She watched, smiling, as Cathy ate. "There's more."
They talked. Slowly, wheedling, guessing, the woman got the whole story from Cathy. They talked for hours, and at the end Cathy was lying on the bed in the woman's arms, being mothered, crooned, cuddled.
Cathy discovered that the widow possessed soft, warm breasts. In the housedress they hadn't been obvious, but when the woman slipped off the dress and got into the bed in an old, yellowing nylon slip with no bra, the masses of flesh sagged sideways, and the woman's nipples poked out. The white, veined roundness became impossible to ignore.
Cathy slept with her head cushioned in the deep warm hollow between the woman's huge, matronly breasts. She was held and sung to ... she was an infant again.
Cathy awoke frowning. There was a hand between her legs, seeking to arouse her. The fingers pressed rhythmically against her jeans crotch.
It was the widow. Except. ...
"Don't you like that, Cathy?" It was Henry's voice. The widow's body felt different against her. Different muscle sets, tensions. The voice was astoundingly masculine. The hand acted masculine.
"NO!, Please ... Henry, don't do that." Fear made Cathy breathless and sick to her stomach. The big woman/man held her easily with one arm while the other marauded over Cathy's body.
"I want to touch you. I haven't touched a young girl in a long, long time ... I won't hurt you. I only want to touch. ... "
There was nothing Cathy could do. The arm that held her was shockingly strong. And she didn't want to make this an all-out struggle, because if pushed to extremes maybe Henry would be violent.
And ... somehow, Cathy trusted the widow, Henry to be gentle and trustworthy. Her judgment was made at her gut level, in her unconscious. The child in her had made a reading from dozens of insignificant signals and knew ... just knew, that no harm would come from letting Henry have his way.
Cathy managed to relax somewhat, and her terror passed. It was a weird situation ... but she had to smile faintly ... her own mental problems were as weird. And what had happened with her own father! So why not let Henry enjoy himself. Maybe ... maybe she would enjoy it, too.
Cathy closed her eyes as the strong hand unbuttoned her shirt and spread the garment to reveal her breasts. Her nipples told on her by being puffed and excited. She turned her head to one side and secretly enjoyed the big hand's caresses. She could really believe it was a man touching her, gently molding the warm flesh, stroking fingertips over the enlarged, sensitive nipples.
The widow shifted and Cathy gave a small surprised and grateful moan as the mouth descended and kissed the distended little tips of pink tissue.
Cathy couldn't help arching her back as Henry suctioned them into 'his' mouth and tongue-lashed them. Her rounded, touched, fondled breasts glowed now, and sent hot messages to her loins. The itch ... the hungry itch for long, fat cock was awakening. ...
Henry whispered, "You like it, don't you, Cathy?"
She nodded. She couldn't look at the widow's big body, the woman's head, and face set in strange lines. It was too grotesque. It was too weird. She just wanted to drift with the situation without much thought. The morality of it was so complicated!
Cathy didn't think ahead. She didn't anticipate the next move by Henry. How would a man in a woman's body satisfy another woman?
Soon Henry was opening her jeans, pushing them down, pulling them off. Now palming the smooth warm flesh of Cathy's belly ... now edging fingers under her panties.
Cathy burned with need. She hated herself, her body, for the addiction to sex she had developed. Her insatiable lusts were humiliating, degrading. They had led her to. ...
She couldn't permit the thought to be completed. She sat up abruptly and pushed the woman's hands away. "Don't!"
Henry asked "Why? You like it, he said, you'll like it a lot more, too."
Cathy couldn't cope with Henry's voice and the subtle masculine set to the widow's facial muscles, and the overwhelming feminine body. She recoiled and fell back, unwilling to face the scene, the argument that would follow, and maybe the struggle if she opposed the strange schizophrenic madness of the widow.
Cathy turned her face away again and whispered, "All right, do it. Do what you want."
As she let the hands delve into her panties and press down into her moist crotch to discover her body's lust, Cathy wondered what Fred was doing? Crouching out there at the fence line, scheming, devising a plan to get her out of the house. Fred was insane, too. Old Man Knebel was crazy. Was the whole world crazy?
Cathy felt her panties being eased off. Now she was naked. Now Henry was kissing her belly, hands busy gently exploring hr vulva, finding the taut little clitoris, the juices, the entrance to her depths. ...
Henry whispered, "I know what you want, Cathy. It's what Gretchen-likes all the time."
Cathy expected him to finger her, or go down on her. Except ... how could Henry go down on the widow, since he was only a part of her mind?
Cathy lifted her head to look, in spite of her reluctance to contend with the widow Henry in the widow's body situation. She said, "What are you going to do to me?"
"You'll love it. You've been getting it from Fred for a long time. I knew Fred when ... before I came into Gretchen. I know how well hung he is. I can make you happy like he did."
The widow reached between the mattress and the box springs at the head of the old bed. She, Henry, brought up a silk wrapped object ... long and thick.
Cathy knew what it had to be even before Henry unwrapped it. Yes, an artificial, homemade cock. It was constructed of wood and wrapped sponge rubber and string. It bulged in places to almost frightening thickness. It was a foot long.
She gasped, "It's too big!"
Henry had opened a bedside drawer and taken out a package of condoms. He was rolling one onto the phallus He opened a jar of petroleum jelly. "It isn't too big for Gretchen. We'll give it a try. I isn't too big for Gretchen. We'll give it a try. I would never hurt you, dear. When it gets too much, let me know. I only want to please you and give you what your body says it wants."
Shamed, frightened, Cathy said, "My body doesn't talk!"
"Oh, yes it does. Bodies always talk, and they tell the truth. The mind ... the surface mind, is always full of lies and should never be believed. Only the body tells the real truth."
Cathy had no answer. She clenched her small fists and let Henry kiss her on the mouth, on her breasts and nipples again, and in spite of herself she became aroused even more. Her cunt wanted that big cock, artificial or not.
Henry was gentle and considerate. The rounded head of the thing entered on a well-oiled, slick skin ... and he took a long time working it gradually deeper and deeper ... as Cathy breathing faster, became restless, raised her knees as she began gripping the quilt under her heated, naked body. She licked her lips and heated, naked body. She licked her lips and began a soft, embarrassed moaning.
Henry said, "I'm pleasing you, I knew I would. Take your time, dear. There's no hurry. Let yourself go. Let your body tell you, let your body have what it needs."
And Cathy did submerge. She let Cunt take over. She breathed, "Faster ... deeper!" . "Yes, I'm so happy!" Henry hugged Cathy closer with one arm and powered the artificial cock further into Cathy's clenching, spasming vagina, and faster, faster, deeper!
Cathy was in that special orgasmic heaven she had known when Fred had fucked her and fucked her and fucked her, showing off before Jerry that time ... only it was different now. Not quite as good. Because she missed the weight of him, the panting, the intertwined movement, the subtle interactions, the heat and presence of him.
That part of sex was more important than she had realized. Now she was getting a royal fucking. It felt so wildly good, the thing was into her so far! Although, an extra dimension was missing. And this ... this artificial cock being plunged fast and hard and deep into her guts by a man/woman, was in the final analysis, only a form of masturbation. .
But, as Cathy sobbed and moaned into a quivering, gasping climax, even as masturbation it was incredibly good.
She was tortured by the keen pleasure, and fisted bunches of the quilt with clawing hands and emitted strange screeches as she climaxed again, intensely, almost instantly after the first.
The huge bulk of the rubberized cock, driven by Henry's tireless arm, pressed exquisitely, repeatedly, against the spasming mouth of her cervix, deep in her belly.
Cathy felt the smack of the gripping hand against her engorged, gaping vulva, against the flushed, vibrant, pebble-like button that was her clitoris. The tiny organ was like a pleasure bomb exploding every two or three minutes now. Forcing a red flush of congestion in her face and upper chest. A wildly thudding heart. A shivering, trembling, near convulsive reaction in her thighs and belly.
When the fifth orgasm left her dizzy, panting, unable to think, unable to coordinate, fizzing and trembling through and through, Cathy managed, "Stop, please stop! I can't take any more."
The widow kissed her lightly on the lips. The voice of Henry said, "I loved giving to you, dear. It was a joy to watch you."
Cathy smiled faintly. She was wiped out. Weak as a kitten. She was both relieved and disappointed when the immense artificial cock was eased from her still-spasming cunt.
Henry said, "There is something you could do for me, if you will. When you've rested. It would be nice if you'd do for Gretchen what I've done for you. It won't take long. I can't do it as I usually do for her, because I've been surfaced far longer than I am used to. I have to sink now, down into her mind, to a special place all my own. My home since I died and went over. I came back because Gretchen needed me so much. But I can't surface for too long. I expose myself to ... You mustn't know about them. I have to sink now. Remember there is an afterlife, Cathy ... It is possible to come back ... if ... a ... loved ... one..."
Henry's voice faded and grew faint. It was gone.
Cathy watched the widow's fee soften and change as the Henry persona relinquished body control. It was amazing and fascinating. And scary!
The widow Martin sighed and closed her eyes. When her eyes opened, she smiled and said, "You like what Henry did for you?" She picked up the artificial cock and said, "This is how we make love. It's his way. I enjoy it plenty. I lay back in my mind and I let him do it to me. We talk in my head and he uses my arms. To me it's like I don't have arms. To me it's like he's on top of me . . .I can really feel him on me ... and this is his manhood."
The widow smiled shyly and lowered her eyes. "Just between us, Cathy, he never was this big before. I always wished he was, but I never told him, or let him know in any way he wasn't ideal. But I secretly wished he was built bigger. A lot bigger. Then ... when he came back to me in my head, seems like he knew my secret thoughts, and he took over one day and made this thing for us."
She laughed. "Imagine my surprise when he told me what he wanted to do to satisfy my needs and my wishes to him. He knew. He knows everything I know. So that's how we make our life together now, for lovemaking."
She stepped toward the door. "I'll just wash this off good." She went into the bathroom.
Cathy wanted to giggle hysterically. She pressed a hand to her pulsing lower belly. Small pleasure quakes still tremored there reminding her how good it had been. How weird. And how good it would be again, if...
She hopped off the bed and peered out of the window. She could see across the fields toward her house, and along the fence for a distance. The tractor was sitting atilt, in the rows of cabbages. Fred was nowhere to be seen.
Was he creeping around the widow's house, looking for a way in? Was he about to confront her through the window?
Cathy quickly pulled the homemade drapes shut across the window. She stood trembling.
The widow returned. "What's the matter, child?"
"I'm. . .I'm just scared he'll break in. Where is he?"
"Don't care where that man is. There's triple locks on both doors, the windows is all locked, and I got this shotgun to blow his head off if he tries to get in. I know the law. Let him get hisself more'n halfway into this house by breaking and entering, and I'm free to shoot. Sheriff Grant'd just grunt and cart the body away, me protecting us from a crazy man like Frank Dietz."
"Would you really shoot him? Kill him?"
The widow's face hardened. "You damn right I would. Don't care what Henry says in my head."
Cathy went to the bed and sat, shivering. She blinked fast. She swallowed. She whispered, "What would I do without him?"
The widow sat next to her and enfolded her in her big, strong arms. "It'd solve all your problems."
"No ... I'm no good. I need..."
The widow pressed Cathy's head to her huge, soft breasts.
"You don't need him, child. Henry and me can give you everything you need. You could live with us."
Cathy's thoughts swirled. She remembered when she was five years old, going to the bathroom and finding her father there, peeing. She had been amazed by the sight of his big organ. It had seemed immense. Fearful.
Alluring, somehow. The magic male thing. She didn't have one.
Fred had laughed at her staring. He'd said, "You're too small for it, girl. It belongs to your mom."
She had backed out of the bathroom, blinking, wanting it anyway.
Cathy shivered in the widow's arms. She had forgotten that incident completely, until now.
The widow eased Cathy backward onto the bed and joined her. "I heard Henry ask you to do something for me."
"Oh, yes." Cathy gingerly took the huge artificial cock from the widow's hand. It was heavy. It was absolutely gigantic. And all but an inch or two had been in her own cunt a few minutes ago! She couldn't believe it.
Cathy stared at the long, thick condom-covered monster. She could understand the widow being big enough. The widow was a very tall, bulky woman. But I'm only a girl. I'm small. I'm ... I'm a perverted, degraded, lust-ridden, mother-killer! I don't deserve to. ...
The widow squirmed out of the old yellowed nylon slip she had been wearing. Naked, she was grossly over-fleshed in breasts, belly and hips. She sank down on her back and spread her doughy thighs. She cuddled Cathy up against her. "Henry plays with me some before he does me. like he played with you."
Cathy nodded and licked her lips. She had to fight to keep an expression of revulsion from her face. She didn't want to kiss this old woman, or suck the big, fat, brown nipples. Or sexually fondle the big, slack breasts. Or finger the deep gash between the thick legs.
With the Knebel girls it had been different. They had all been young and attractive and slim ... almost relatives.
But Cathy knew she deserved this. She deserved this degradation and ugliness and depravity. Freedom from this life was impossible for her. There was no way out except. . .
"Start on me, child. Henry is getting impatient."
Cathy nodded and withdrew from the acts she began to perform. She was a spectator. She ordered her hands and mouth to do things and watched the performance with a critical judgment. There was an invisible wall of glass
The woman's nipples surged up to become thick, red-brown, puckered fingerlets. Teats. Cathy sucked on them. Cathy worked them as she would have a small cock. She tried to make the widow's nipples climax. She molded the soft breasts like bags of warm, half-set jello.
The widow was delighted. "Ohhh, you dear child! You're so good to me. Henry is so pleased. ... "
Cathy ran her fingers down the heavy body to the thick mat of pubic hair, and lower, to the loose, slippery lips that so easily parted and admitted her fingers.
The hot groove was juicy. The bulbous little clitoris seemed to twitch and stiffen on contact.
The widow inhaled sharply. Her heavy thighs parted even more. She said, in Henry's voice, "Now fuck her, Cathy."
Cathy reached for the huge artificial cock. She held it at the end and carefully rubbed the head into the widow's slippery, loose-lipped vulva. The surrounding hair was glistening with her juices.
The widow sighed, and braced her feet on the bed. She made coital moves even before Cathy pressed the head into the slightly gaping cunt.
Cathy was at the same time both bored and interested. She was withdrawn and acutely involved. She watched the widow's changing expressions at the long, thick rubber cock was worked deep.
The widow participated thoroughly ... fucking up against Cathy's pressing hand, taking more inches of the shaft. She bubbled with happiness and whispered words to Henry and used her hands to maul her large, quaking breasts and tweak her nipples.
Cathy wondered if Henry had control of the arms now.
The widow's voice asked thickly for more and more.
Cathy obliged, forcing the shaft in and in further, until with one near-savage thrust, and one greedy open-thighed leap of hips by the widow, the cock was buried in the quaking belly, and Cathy's gripping hand was slicked by the gaping, slippery, pink-fleshed lips. The red-knobbed clitoris was rubbed as Cathy twisted the cock and worked it in a figure eight movement, bringing gasps of delight as the implement probed and moved in the hot, tight depths.
The widow's cunt closed on the cock like a fist, and gave it up reluctantly as Cathy strained to pull most of it out. This was tiring work, after a while. Cathy had to change positions in order to grip the big rubberized cock with both hands, in order to haul it out and shove it in ... It was like churning butter.
The widow groaned and heaved and sweated on the bed. Her belly quivered, her breasts jiggled, her thighs jumped and flexed as her blocky hips jerked up and down.
Cathy began to wish the widow could come! This was heavy labor! Pull, push, pull, push, against increasing resistance, because the hotter the widow's cunt to orgasm, the tighter she gripped the cock.
Cathy's arms ached, her legs were cramped. She panted with the effort. She whispered half-aloud, "Come ... come ... make it now!"
With each stroke she buried the cock. The shaft was oiled with the woman's juices. With each stroke, Cathy twisted the shaft during its extreme penetration, rubbing the distended clitoris with her gripping fist, again and again, trying every way she knew, to get the woman off.
And at last it happened. The widow shuddered massively. Her flesh rippled. She croaked, "Ahhhh ... my darling ... I'm there ... I'M THERE!" She seized the cock from Cathy's aching, exhausted hands, and with frantic, brutal, gut-wrenching thrusts, fucked herself maniacally with the huge artificial cock. She grunted and gurgled and howled. She gasped and popped her eyes. Her belly heaved. The bed seemed near collapse from the violent movements.
At the end of this cycle of orgasm, the widow pressed even the last few inches used as a grip into her cunt. With the palm of one hand, pushed by the other palm, the final inch of the huge cock disappeared into the quaking belly. She puffed and mouthed air like a hooked, landed fish. She stared, glassy-eyed, at the ceiling.
Then, she let her hands fall away, lax, and the cock slowly appeared, moved by spasming internal muscles, and inch by inch was expelled from her cunt. After a moment it hung from her cunt, two-thirds exposed, wobbling with the continuing internal reaction to the intense orgasm.
Cathy was disturbed. The widow had had a climax at least as strong as the ones she experienced. That proved Cathy was insane, too. Only crazy people could let themselves go like that ... could let their sexuality have such a free reign, with no inhibitions.
Cathy experienced a queer shiver of satisfaction. That sure explains a lot. They made me crazy, both of them, all these years.
The widow was recovering. She drew Cathy up on the bed and enfolded the girl in her arms. "You were very, very, good, child. Henry is very pleased with you, and so am I. Oh, I'm very happy now."
Cathy endured the embrace. The widow and she were both sweaty and icky. She wanted a shower or bath. She wanted to be ready when Fred returned. That part wasn't finished.
The widow said, kissing Cathy, stroking her, "Henry and I both want you to stay with us. We can let you use the car when you want."
"But my father
"I'll take care of that awful man. We can lure him inside and take care of him easily, i know people think me crazy because I don't keep up this farm, and don't live like other folks live, but I can talk normal to them anytime I want. Henry keep low and I can act as sane and responsible as any of them. And with you to back me up, telling about how Fred Dietz tried to abuse you in a way a father shouldn't abuse his daughter ... well, we'll be written up as heroines!"
The widow laughed. "We might even get famous!"
Cathy didn't like the idea. It wasn't right.
Something was missing. But thinkin about it made her head buzz. She asked, "Couldn't we talk about it later? I feel all sweaty. I want to clean up."
The widow smiled. "Of course. We'll both get clean. Then we'll have super. I have some pancake mix and a few sausages left and coffee. Will that be enough?"
Cathy nodded and managed to squirm free of the widow's arms.