Chapter 3
I heard the engine sputter, and then I looked up and saw the house perched atop the knoll a few hundred yards further on, the only house I'd seen in a couple of miles, and I remember thinking, At least I'm not alone in the wilderness.
The engine coughed and died, and I coasted down the gradient watching the gauge needle sink past the E mark. Damn! Why hadn't I filled up somewhere? Was I that busy thinking about my conflicts and personal dilemmas? Hell of a lot of good thinking would have done me, if I'd broken down somewhere in the deep woods and had to sleep in the car tonight. Days were pleasant enough this time of year, but at night the temperature dropped the way my panties had when I decided it was time for me and Mark to share our first fuck.
Belatedly, I turned off the lights and switch. By now I'd coasted the Mustang off the road, though there seemed to be little if any traffic. Habitually, I locked the door after I'd gotten out, and I started on down the road toward the house I had seen. The sun was almost set now, the last orange glows flashing through the trees to my left.
It was an old house, reminding me at first glance of one of the Gothic mansions where young heroines find all sorts of dread and danger in popular novels, but that was a subjective opinion, I decided. It looked very dark and brooding against the fading sky, and there was an acre or two of clear ground surrounding it before the forest took over again. A tall house, three stories high, though the top floor was probably attic, it looked impressive and rather picturesque in its lonely setting. Again I wished I'd brought along my camera.
There was a mailbox reading BUCKLEY on one side, freshly painted, and lights were shining from the house, so I took heart and marched up the cobblestone walkway, onto the porch. There was no bell, but a gnome-faced doorknocker grinned at me. I took the gnome by the chin and rapped two or three times.
"Hello," the voice began even before the door was opened widely enough for me to see its possessor.
"Hi," I replied, and the door swung further open.
A woman stood in the doorway, a very tall woman-at least six feet-and a very beautiful woman, too. I wasn't too vain She was very pale-skinned, like a night-blooming orchid, and her slender, finely-chiseled face was surrounded on each side by falls of straight, luxuriously black hair which made her skin seem even paler by comparison. Her eyes were large, set beneath dark brows, and her mouth was a luscious painted slash of cherry pink. Except for a little mascara around her dark eyes, the lipstick was her only makeup.
She wore a simple combination of turtle neck pullover and tight-fitting blue jeans, and her figure was quite good. A slender woman, she had rather large tits that moved just enough under the snug pullover to show that they were braless, and the nipples made small, dainty indentations in the clinging fabric. Her waist was tiny-if I'd wanted, I could probably have closed my fingers around it, though I was unsettled by the idea and just a little curious about why I'd want to do anything like that-and her hips were narrow but definitely feminine. The jeans clung to her legs, and they were good legs. Slender in the thighs, the way I wish mine were until I began to squeeze the plumpness and get goose bumps all over.
"Excuse me," I said, "but my car's run out of gas, just up the road, and I was-" "Come inside," she said, a very soft voice like satin swishing, "it's too cold to stand out and talk." It didn't seem cold to me, but I'm a little more robust than she was, so I stepped inside.
"Uh, do you have any gas you could sell me? Enough to get me to a station."
She shook her head slowly. "I'm afraid not," she said, and that voice was like a little wind blowing in my ear. "It's after six, and I don't think you'll find a gas station open this side of the border."
I heard the rustling of beads and looked up. We were in a long hallway, with a staircase at the far end and doors opening on the sides. One of those doorways was guarded with a curtain of bead-strings and a man had just stepped through it.
He was a tall man, I suppose, as men go, but he was no taller than the woman and when they stood side by side they looked like matching parts of a set. He too was slender and pale, large-eyed, with the most delicate hands I'd ever seen on a male. The fingers were very long and tapered and looked as if they'd never done a day's work in their lives. It was hard to tell their age but I doubted if they were much older than my twenty-six. Husband and wife?
"My name is Nanette Dolan," I said, offering my hand. "I'm from the States, just traveling through."
The woman took my hand and squeezed it in a surprisingly firm grip. "I'm Marjorie Buckley and this is my brother, David." He nodded and shook my hand too. His fingers were much stronger than they looked. "Brother and sister? I thought. Twins, most likely, for they looked so much alike.
"Nanette's run out of gasoline," Marjorie told David, "and I was just telling her that all the local stations are closed by this time." He nodded, eyes scanning me up and down. Vampires, I thought. They have the bloodless pallid look of vampires. But attractive vampires, no matter what Christopher Lee does in the movies. Christopher Lee. Mmmm! He could bite my neck anytime he felt like it. I smiled at the thought, and both the Buckleys smiled back at me.
"Would it be all right if I asked Nanette to spend the evening with us?" Marjorie asked suddenly. David raised his eyebrows and he looked at her, and then he nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "Of course. That's a very good idea."
"All my ideas are good," Marjorie replied. Her eyes glistened slightly and I wondered why that should be. But she was looking at her brother and he was looking at her and I felt like the fourth side of a triangle.
"Would you like to spend the night?" Marjorie said, turning to me. "We have plenty of room and it would be nice to have a new face around, if only for an evening. First thing in the morning, if you wish, we can get you enough gasoline to carry you on your journey."
"Well!" I said, "I guess so. Thank you very much. I was afraid I might have to sleep in my car or something."
"Have you eaten? We were just sitting down to dinner." I hadn't, and in a twinkling, all three of us were sitting down to dinner.
Afterwards, we went into the parlor for coffee and cigarettes (at least I had a cigarette; neither of them smoked), and I began to learn a little about my hosts.
They were indeed twins, and thirty years old, though they didn't look it. It seemed funny that they'd stayed together that long, neither of them marrying or anything, but who was I to ask questions about that? If I had my way, I might not marry soon either. If I had my way. They'd been born in this house and, though they lived in the States for a few years, had come back to the old homestead.
Both of them were writers, which I might have guessed from the laden bookshelves in this room. Marjie - she asked me to call her that-wrote children's books and David specialized in romantic love stories, written under a female pen name, which sold very well, or so he said. I'd never met a writer before, let alone two or them, and we talked a long time.
Perhaps I said a little too much about myself. I know I mentioned Keith and our upcoming marriage, and I think that some of my reluctance showed through the conversation. Neither Marjie nor David pressed me on the subject, though, and I was glad. I drank a second cup of coffee, smoked another cigarette, and found that I was extremely tired. Well, I thought, I've driven many, many miles today. Why shouldn't I be tired? On the other hand, why wasn't the coffee keeping me awake, the way it usually does? Usually two cups of coffee give me more of a rush than several tabs of speed, but not tonight.
"Come," Marjie said, rising. "I'll show you to your room."
She led me up the staircase, to the second floor of the house. Another set of stairs led up further, but I presumed that they had offices or studies or whatever up there, where they did their writing. "Here," she said, opening a door and flipping on a light. "I think you'll be comfortable here. The bathroom is next door, and if you need a nightgown-" "Oh, I never wear one," I said, giggling a little, as if I were slightly drunk. My head felt funny, all woozy and swimming round and round and round, and I didn't think I'd even bother going to the bathroom. I just wanted to lie down and sleep.
"All right," Marjie said, patting my shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning, then, Nanette. That's a very pretty name. Nanette. I like to say it. Very French-Canadian."
"I'm from Pennsylvania, though," I apologized. She smiled, a little color showing in her pale face, and she went out. I began to peel off my clothes, and the idea of stretching out on that inviting bed really turned me on. I didn't even bother neatening up my slacks and sweater and undies. They lay where I dropped them and I was between the sheets, stretching, yawning, my limbs slowly numbing.
What happened next was very strange. It was like I was two different people, one of them sound asleep, the other watching, as from a distance. And the watcher was also listening, it would appear, because that Nanette heard the bedroom door open, heard soft footsteps patting across the floor toward the bed. It was dark and the watcher couldn't see. Not at first. But someone flipped on a lamp that stood on a table by the bed and a small circle of light appeared.
"Is she asleep?"
"She ought to be. It was a good dose." "Pull down the sheets."
I knew those voices, but I couldn't tell who they belonged to. Then a face leaned into the circle of light and it was Marjie Buckley, and she was pulling down the sheet that covered me, and the Nanette that was asleep couldn't move while the watching Nanette couldn't speak to ask what was going on.
"She's lovely." A male voice. David Buckley. "She's very lovely."
"Of course she is. If she'd been ugly, I wouldn't have asked her to stay the night."
Hands were upon my breasts, soft, long-fingered hands that traced the curvature of my tits, that flicked lazily across the tips of my nipples. "Look," Marjie said, "her nipples are erecting. I'll bet she's a hot one."
"No betting," David said softly. "I don't want to get into your debt again. It was bad enough the last time I owed you."
"You loved it, you bastard.
"I did indeed." Marjie turned and her brother swept her into his arms. Their faces came together and I knew that he was kissing her in a way that is definitely non-kosher for brothers and sisters, even in our liberated society. And I could see his hands cupping her ass, pulling her against him, see those buttocks jiggling in the tightness of her blue jeans as she rubbed her front against David. After a long moment, they broke off the embrace and turned to me.
Don't ask me how I could see, hear all this. It was partly like a dream, partly like the feel of sleeping and waking, waking and sleeping in quick alternation, so swiftly you can't tell which sensation belongs to which period. In fact, I was so detached from it all that I assumed it was a dream, a weird dream, the kind that strike you as silly even while you're dreaming them. That notion occurred to me as I lay on the bed and I wondered if I'd wake up in a minute or two.
David looked down at me for a second, and then his hands cupped my breasts. God, his fingers were cold! And they squeezed at my tender flesh as if he meant to crush them like overblown balloons. I think I murmured, for the pressure stopped at once, and he looked at his sister. By that time my nipples were rigid.
He bent in, licked at my nips for a second, then caught one between his teeth. I murmured again, felt the pressure relax, but it started up again as soon as my little whimper died away. The sheet slid further down my body and something touched me between the legs. Long fingers, caressing my pussy and thighs.
"Sweet, sweet," I heard a female voice purr, and a finger stroked the line of my slit. Deftly it moved inside, past the snug labia, and there was an insistent tickling at my vulva, circling round and round the nubbin of my clit. And still those teeth gnashed upon my nipples, the nipples that were now fully erect, thrusting themselves into the mouth that pulled at them.
"Young and tight," Marjie husked, "with the tiniest, most elusive clit you've ever seen."
"Let me see," David said. "Trade me places."
"Yes," Marjie whispered. "I want to suck those lovely little breasts too. Do they taste as sweet as they look?"
"Sweeter."
And now it was her mouth that dropped down upon my boobs, her mouth that closed upon the end of a breast, her tongue that fluttered round and round that sucked-in tit, that assaulted my nipple, her teeth that bit gently into my flesh, her drool that flowed across the curves of my breasts. She could only suckle one at a time, and she stroked the other with her hands, keeping that nipple erect too.
And it was David's slender fingers that played with my pussy, one of them entering me deftly, wickedly, slipping right up the mouth of my sex tunnel while he kept me split cuntally, while his other hand massaged the region of my clitoris.
It lias to be a dream, I thought, lying there, my body heavy as lead, unable to move. A weird, kinky dream. Once I'd dreamt that Keith tied me to the bed and fucked me in the asshole, all the while calling me a bitch who needed to be taught a lesson. Keith, of all people! Sweet, gentle Keith! Why, President Ford would be more likely to use me that way than Keith would! Tomorrow when I woke up, if I remembered this dream at all, I'd laugh my ass off.
"Now," David Buckley said, and instantly his sister's face rose from my boobs. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, for spit was dribbling from her mouth, and she turned to face her brother. Looking past her body I saw David unzip his trousers and fetch forth a cock that was incredible in its length and thickness. Most of the men in my life have been reasonably well hung, even my first, Mark, back in high school. Keith Sirolla, for example, has about seven inches of erect gristle and he's rather bigger in diameter than a broomstick. But David's dream pecker had to be a foot long or close to it, and he was as thick as the narrow part of my wrist, which isn't small. His penis jutted up from his unzipped fly, standing erect and imperious, cocked at a jaunty angle, the tip of him looking as big as a small clenched fist, its color a bruised grape purple.
"Now," Marjie repeated, and she raised her arms while David took the hem of her sweater and pulled it up, over her head. Her straight black hair wasn't even tousled by the removal, and I thought, What better proof that this is a dream? No hair is that obedient and well-trained.
She was braless under the sweater, and her large tits heaven as she stood facing her brother. Her nipples were big dark circles on her milk-white tits, and the nubs of those nipples stuck out vividly. David cupped her boobs from beneath, lifting them toward her face. Marjie leaned forward, tongue extended, and she licked daintily at each of her nipples.
David hoisted the large breasts-they were probably medium-sized C-cups, low-slung but not saggy by any means-a little higher, and I saw her do something I'd always wished I could do. She mouthed the end of one tit, sucking herself till the nipple glowed all pink and wet, then switched to her other boob and gave it the same treatment. I remembered last night at the motel, sitting in the bath wishing I could pull off that little trick and I knew this was just a kinky dream. Here I was, transferring my own weird fantasies to a total stranger who'd been considerate enough to give me shelter in her house when I was stranded and far from home. Shame on you, Nanette Dolan! I told myself, the watching part speaking to the part of me that still slept. Shame, shame, shame!
Slowly Marjorie sank to her knees before her brother. Now that I knew how silly this dream was, I could have fun with it, the way I like to do with really dumb dreams. "I'm going to suck your cock," she told David. "I'm going to screw my mouth with the full, beautiful length of your fat delicious pole. I'm going to suck you all the way into my throat and work on you with my jaws until you moan and beg for mercy. And then I'm not going to give you that mercy. I'm going to keep sucking. Sucking. Sucking! Until you turn to jelly in my mouth and you fill me with the milk of your cum."
"I really wish you would," David said seriously.
Marjie caressed his cock for a moment, using her small hands on that enormous instrument, and then she lifted on her knees, so that she could bring her tits to bear on him. "Yes," he said more energetically. "Let me fuck your tits!"
Marjie closed them upon the swollen fence post erection and she moved back and forth, rocking where she knelt. I saw his cock sliding between her boobs, saw it lance up to bump her lips, saw her lips open to swallow the head. God almighty! I thought in my dream. I couldn't even get the head of him into my mouth. I'd be choking and gagging and my lungs starved for air before half that huge pecker glans had passed through my lips. Even if I were willing to try a cock that size, I couldn't do it.
But she could. "Sweet," he whispered. "You're the sweetest, Marjie. Suck my cock. Suck all my cock."
And with that he began to thrust into her mouth. Jesus! When I say thrust, I mean thrust! His first stroke carried more of that cock into her mouth than seemed possible, and I couldn't believe the second thrust, even in a dream. On the third lunge, Marjie took him to the very root, and it's a wonder I didn't wake up right then, because how could any woman's mouth accommodate itself to the presence of a grossly thick cock of at least twelve inches' length?
But there it was, and at least I'd seen it, if only in a dream. David grinding his loins against his sister's face so that his bails nuzzled her small, dainty chin, her mouth and, Jesus, her throat, too, totally full of him. He had to be fucking her in the esophagus!
Or he would have been, if this had really been happening, if it had been anything more than the weird sex dream of a screwed-up young lady worried half to death about a commitment she should never have made, a young woman trying to find some reasonable way not to get married eight days from tomorrow.
"That feels good, Marjie," he asserted. "I wonder if she can do it?" And he pointed toward the bed where I lay. "Maybe we'll give her a chance, hmmmm? Do you think she'd like to try?"
Marjie must have been taught that it isn't polite to speak with your mouth full. She gurgled around the meat of his hard-on, and she made little purring sounds too, the kind of noises a cat makes when you're scratching its ears and it feels very, very nice and comfy, but mostly she seemed to be sucking him. Her cheeks moved in and out swiftly, and she held him there longer than seemed possible even for a crazy dream like this one.
And then she relaxed her lip pressure and David's cock began to emerge from her mouth. He was sloppy with spit and drool, and he seemed redder-shafted than he had before. That was fairly realistic touch, I thought. Usually my dreams don't bother with that attention to detail. Maybe being in a strange house, the guest of a couple of writers, had made my subconscious more attentive to detail.
"Suck me hard, now," he commanded. "Suck me hard and fast, the way you do best. Squeeze my balls in your lovely hand, sister. Reach into my pants. Pull them out too. Jiggle them from side to side. Ah, God, yes!"
Her head moved at a totally impossible rate of speed on David's pecker, and most of the time she was taking him into her throat the way she had before. Maybe I ought to write down some of my dreams, I thought. I could start writing sex novels and make a lot of money if I put them on paper.
I don't know how long she worked on him. Time was a weird, faraway thing for me then, something that had no meaning. It never does when you're dreaming. All I remember is that suddenly she pulled her mouth from his cock, grabbed him in her fist, and jerked her head out of the way.
Still clutched in his sister's hand, David stumbled toward the bed-toward me-and the tip of his dick exploded as cum whoooosshhhheeeddd from him in thick, fast-flying spurts. I could see each separate explosion of his semen, and all of them were soaring in my direction, hitting me in the face, on the tits, on the belly. Some of the stuff landed in my hair, some of it beside me on the pillow, but the overwhelming majority of his cum, a hot sticky cupful of thick man-milk, seemed to gush right into my face and onto my boobs. The dream was so real that I felt wetness on my cheeks-Jesus, I thought I could taste something tangy and salty on my lips!
I told myself, Christ, if this dream doesn't win first prize for realism, I may never sleep again.
His cock ceased its spurting, and by now he was panting with the release. Marjie rose from the floor and she stood by him, both of them looking down at me where I lay. The dark-haired beauty leaned in and she lapped delicately at the semen drops on my skin. I almost thought I could feel her hair brushing over my face like wisps of silk.
A huge bubble of cum was on my chin, unmoving. Marjie's tongue picked it up, a juicy fat pearl of jism, and she turned to David. Her tongue extended, still nursing the proof of his passion on the pink tip, and he licked it away with his own lips and tongue, smiling as he savored the taste of himself.
"We'd better go," he announced, caressing her still-bare tits. "I want to fuck you now."
"Don't you want to fuck her? She'll not feel a thing. Nanette is completely out of it."
"I don't want to fuck anyone who can't feel it," he said. "I want to fuck a woman who can."
Marjie sighed. "Look at that skin," she said. "So pink, so puffy in all the right places. And her thighs. Just the tiniest bit fat, but such fat. Wouldn't you like to bite her there? Bite her till she moaned and screamed and begged you to keep on biting ... keep on biting ..." His cock was still rigid and one of her hands dropped, almost casually, to fondle it. "But there'll be time," she added. "I think that darling Nanette may be just what we're looking for. Both of us."
And they were gone.
Well! I know I slept a lot afterwards, and I know that just before I dropped into deeper slumber the active part of my head told me that I might as well knock off dreaming for the rest of the night because I could never hope to stop the last one, and I think I giggled in my sleep as I rolled onto my side and curled up in a tight little ball.
I woke up in the morning, early, about eight o'clock to judge from the sun outside. I hopped out of bed, did a few sit ups to get the blood flowing, then picked up my clothes and started to put them on. As I was easing my tits into the cups of my brassiere I happened to look down.
That's when I saw, clear and plain on both my breasts, the remnants of cherry-pink lipstick ringing the nipples.
"Oh, Jesus," I said aloud, my whole body chilling. The last time I'd seen that shade of lipstick it was on Marjie Buckley's mouth.