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Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.

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E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

This is the repost of a fifty-two chapter mind control, multi person romance.

MY INHERITANCE

Chapter 42

The Hermit

The truck crawled across the hard packed dirt path toward the foothills on this high plateau. All

three women had been quiet since we left the motel. It was an uneasy silence. Perhaps I should

have missed the enjoyable banter or sweet sounds they normally emitted, but my mind had only

one focus: the formula.

They had dressed that morning to please me, as they always should. Each wore a thin, plain white

T-shirt with a scoop neck. It was more sexy than if they were naked with their breasts plainly

visible. And, it was obvious both Mary and Lisa had nipple rings. The T-shirts were form fitting

which displayed their narrow waists as well as their endowments. All three wore short skirts which

came to mid thigh when they stood, but barely covered them when they sat. No panties or bras

were allowed. Once again, I had hung the bell on its long chain from the ring through Lisa's

vestibule. It tinkled randomly, reminding us all of their purpose.

Embarrassment is interesting. Lisa, who had been terrible embarrassed when we arrived at the

honky tonk, was thriving, still floating in the high of her gangbang and actually enjoying the bell

between her legs, which she played with occasionally, keeping herself stimulated. She seemed

delighted to be humiliated. Mary was accepting, neither embarrassed nor pleased by her display,

but sexually open and happy to please her man, although an undercurrent of quiet despair flickered

across her face. Andy was mortified, blushing whenever anyone looked at her, even though all of

us had seen her being fucked on many occasions. Don't forget, Andy had screamed to be fucked

in the ass at the B&D club in New York. What had she said? Women are mysterious creatures.

Strange, isn't it?

Me? I did not care if any of them were happy or unhappy, humiliated or venerated. I was focused

on the formula.

Andy was sitting behind me. Once, I glanced at her in the rearview mirror to see a nice shot of her

shaven pussy. She had blushed again and squirmed to cover herself. She had not spoken since we

got into the car except to ask to pee.

I felt soft fingers stroke the hair on the back of my head. I heard her move to sit closer behind me

as her hand slid down my chest.

"I love you, Davy," she whispered in my ear.

"How is your pussy?"

"Sore and swollen. You really pounded me, sweetheart. Why did you do it?"

"You need a good, hard fucking to remind you that you are a kitten. You are made to be fucked

and fucked hard and often."

"I know. I never forget I belong to you. I am very happy belonging to you, Davy, but, well, have

I done something to anger you?"

"Sit back and be quiet, kitten."

Had she done something to anger me? No. You know better than that. Andy was a delight.

What was wrong was inside me, where it was growing, not going away. And, I did not want to

discuss it with her or anyone else.

It was about two in the afternoon now. The desert sun beat down hard on the Suburban. Even

with the heavily tinted windows, the air conditioner strained to keep us cool. The road dipped and

turned, heading toward a break between the two hills in front of us. Those hills seemed to be

granite, the remnants of some mountain chain long ago raised by cataclysmic upheaval, only to be

eroded by the wind and primeval waters. There was no evidence of water now. There was no

evidence of life, not even birds overhead.

The road finally petered out. Mary motioned toward a small cut between the granite uplifts and I

pointed the truck in that direction, easing along slowly in first gear and low gearbox.

Approximately a hundred yards from the cut, rocks had been strewn about to prevent further

vehicle passage.

"Now what?" I asked Mary.

"We walk. It is not too far."

The hot, dry desert air hit like a fire when we opened the doors. With my three women trudging

along behind me, I started toward the cut. I could feel the heat draining the moisture from my

body as if some giant mosquito had plugged into me and was sucking me dry. I was thirsty and

tired by the time I stepped into the shadow where the hills hid us from the sun. We were at the

start of a narrow path, only about four feet wide at the widest, with shear vertical walls on each

side.

I could see light at the other end and I walked toward it. I was halfway through the cut when I

heard the cocking of a firearm. From the bright light at the end of the cut, a figure appeared, a

rifle in his hands with the barrel pointed at me.

"Freeze," a voice cried out, the sheer walls echoing and magnifying it, making it sound as if it

came from a man twenty feet tall.

"Identify yourselves!"

"I am Dave Wilson. These are my women: Mary, Andy and Lisa."

"Well, little Davy Wilson. I have been waiting for you to arrive. Hello, Mary."

"Hello, Hermit," she replied softly, letting the acoustics carry her voice to him.

"You ladies just sit there and rest. Do not move. Boy, put your hands in the air and walk toward

me."

Slowly, I walked toward the man with the gun. When I was within ten feet of him, I still could not

determine his appearance because of the bright sun behind him, but he was not twenty feet tall as

he had sounded.

"Far enough," he said. "Turn around and drop your pants."

I was actually relieved he had said that. Showing my ass was far from my favorite thing, but it

meant he was checking for the rose tattoo Uncle Bert had his favorite tattoo parlor give me. When

I got it, I thought it was a wild thing to do. I did not realize then Uncle Bert meant for it to be an

identifying feature of my anatomy. I dropped my pants and boxers.

"Back toward me, boy."

The beam of a flashlight pierced the air and jumped around until I saw it no more, indicating it was

illuminating my ass.

"Now, answer some questions."

The hermit carried me through a list of questions, the same kind Andy had asked that first day

when I met her. The questions were to confirm my correct identity. I answered all of them.

"Mary, you answer a question," the hermit said. "Is this Dave Wilson, Bert's son?"

"Yes, Hermit," she replied.

"Hot damn! You people come on in and let me get you some cool water to drink."

With the three women right behind me, I followed the Hermit out of the cut into a small canyon.

The canyon was probably only three or four acres of flat land. There was a small, adobe hut,

probably the size of an efficiency apartment, abutting the highest of the canyon walls. Next to it

was a small corral which was empty. On the other side of the hut was a vegetable garden. I could

see tomatoes, peas, beans and broccoli, among other things, growing, their shades of green and red

a sharp contrast to the brown of most of the area. A well stood by the garden with one aluminum

pipe running from it into the garden and another into the house.

I guess the outhouse surprised me the most. It sat far away from the well and adobe hut, but it was

clearly an outhouse. No running water, no plumbing, growing his own vegetables. I wondered if

he had electricity.

The Hermit watched us, waiting as we took in his small world. When I finally focused on him, I

was not surprised by what I saw. He looked like a Hollywood hermit, with a red flannel, long

sleeved shirt under faded overalls and heavy work boots on his feet. They were not cowboy boots,

but the lace up kind which snugs just under the heavy muscle at the back of the calf.

He was about five four and looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds and not an ounce more.

There was not a bit of fat to be seen on him. He was all sinew, muscle and bone. His skin was

leathery and wrinkled from constant exposure to the desert sun. He looked a hundred years old. I

could not see his hair or his eyes. A wide brimmed straw hat covered his head, shading him from

the brutal rays.

He guided us into the hut he called a home. His bed was against one wall. But, there were a few

surprises. In one corner was a computer, complete with a LaserJet printer. Next to it was a TV and

VCR. He saw my surprise and laughed. He said he had solar generated electrical power. Besides

what I had seen he had a microwave, satellite antenna, refrigerator, radiant heat and the pump

from the well all powered by electricity. Modern niceties are everywhere, aren't they?

He removed the wide brimmed hat. It was the first time I saw his eyes. They were a washed out

green with a few random brown flakes floating in the iris. They were neither cold nor warm, but

neutral as if no message ever was passed by them.

"Mary, honey, how have you been?" he said, gently, taking her in his arms and hugging her as if

he were a long lost uncle.

"Fine, Hermit, all considered. I miss Bert . . . " Her voice caught and she buried her head in his

bony shoulder.

"I know you do, honey. I miss him, too. No one else ever comes to visit this godforsaken place I

call home. Now, introduce me to these girls."

Mary did the introductions. The Hermit seemed genuinely happy to meet both Andy and Lisa.

They blushed at his florid compliments like school girls. While florid, the compliments were real. I

could see him appraising each of them as men have always appraised women.

I was becoming irritated at the delay. I had come a long way to complete the formula and I was

anxious to have it. Doc was muttering to me, advising me to push on.

"Look. I want to get the formula and be on my way."

"Relax, Davy. We have all the time in the world. These women look hungry. How about it,

ladies? Need something to eat?"

The women immediately replied, complaining of their hunger. I realized I had not stopped to eat

and it had been a long time since breakfast, but food was not on my mind right now. The Hermit

led them outside toward the garden. I stood at the doorway of the adobe hut and watched the four

of them pick fresh vegetables for lunch. They looked like a mid-nineteenth century oil of a French

countryside scene except for their clothing, all four working the garden, enjoying the feel of the

dirt and the warmth of the sun on their backs.

"Davy, get on with it," Doc said. "We need to get the formula and be on our way."

"Hermit! I want the formula."

"Slow down, boy. Is the formula so awfully important to you that you cannot stop for a good

meal?"

"It has been a long search."

"You can damn well wait another hour or two," he said, returning to his direction of my women in

which vegetables to harvest.

I was pissed! In fact, I was more angry than Diablo, who counseled we wait out the Hermit to

make sure we got the formula.

"Don't blow it now. Let him give it to us. No telling what traps old Bert laid in our way," Diablo

said.

I took a deep breath and joined the rural scene, gritting my teeth and trying to smile.

The Hermit was in no hurry, relishing the company we gave him, particularly the company of

three scantily clad and beautiful women. He was telling jokes and had them all laughing as they

returned to the hut laden with vegetables. Soon, we were eating home made bread (he baked it

himself), slices of cold lamb, and a medley of raw vegetables, washed down with the fresh, clear

water from his deep, desert well. No wonder the old man was in such good health.

He ignored me and my feeble attempts to bring the conversation back to the formula. We talked

about Uncle Bert and farming and the ways things were then and are now. Still, he had a clear,

neutral look in his eyes.

Over lunch, we learned the Hermit was only seventy-one. He had lived out here since he was in

his thirties. We also learned he had a girlfriend, a waitress named Gladys, who was in her thirties

and worked at a small cafe about fifty miles away. He had a motorcycle, a big new Harley, that he

used to go back and forth to Gladys' place. That was about all we had learned about him.

I wondered how he and Uncle Bert met. Even more, I wondered why Uncle Bert would trust the

old codger with the final key to the formula. Had I been less anxious, I would have marveled at

this septuagenarian riding a hot Harley into the nearest town to fuck a waitress forty years younger

than he was. Maybe that was what he and Uncle Bert had in common

It was about four when we finished eating and cleared the dishes. The Hermit led us outside to a

small patch of grass which served as his backyard. The canyon wall hid the sun, providing a

welcome shade. He stretched out on the grass, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. In a

moment, he was almost asleep. The three women sat in a manner as to not get their bare pussies

on the dry grass, all ending in a half lying position. I squatted down.

"Hermit?"

"I rest twenty minutes after each meal, boy. You just take it easy until I wake up."

I wanted to strangle him but the devil dog again was pleading for me to be patient. I lay down.

Andy immediately snuggled up against me, burrowing her head into the crook of my arm. It was

the longest twenty minutes of my life before I heard the old man yawn and stretch, signaling his

awakening. He scratched himself sleepily and staggered toward the outhouse.

"Hermit?"

"My bowels always work after my afternoon nap. I will be back after a while."

Fifteen minutes later I was ready to knock down the outhouse and kill the old man. My patience

had reached his limit.

"How long does it take to shit?" I mumbled under my breath.

Andy, as always beside me, stroked my arm and murmured a reassurance. Mary was watching me

as if she were a mouse avoiding an insane and murderous cat. Lisa was gently pulling on the chain

connected to her pussy, getting herself hot. The Hermit's eyes never left Lisa as he walked back

from the outhouse.

"Well, boy, let's talk a while," the Hermit said, sitting on the grass a few feet away from me. "I

understand your Uncle Bert left you a lot of studying to do. All finished?"

"How did you know about that?"

"I know a lot. Answer the question."

"I have read everything Uncle Bert left for me. I completed every assignment. I have performed

every task."

"Learn anything?"

I was dumbfounded. What was this old fart doing wasting my time?

"Easy, Davy," Diablo whispered. "I smell a trap."

"A lot. I learned I want the formula a great deal."

"But, did you learn how to handle it? How to program people in the right way? How to use the

power?"

"What is this programming?" Lisa asked.

Lisa was watching and listening intently. Andy had a withdrawn, passive expression which is the

way Uncle Bert had programmed her to be whenever he, or I, was working with another

programmed kitten, or discussing the programming.

"She isn't programmed?" the Hermit asked, nodding toward Lisa.

"No."

"Well, honey, why are you here?"

Lisa turned a beet red, quivering slightly as if afraid. But, subconsciously her hand gently tugged

on the chain between her legs, which sent shocks right through her.

"I like being with Davy," she replied, the sex dripping from her voice.

"How about with me? It has been a while since I had a young thing like yourself."

Lisa jerked on the chain and whimpered. She wanted to be fucked and fucked now.

"Hermit, the formula!" I said.

His head snapped toward me, his eyes icy and bitter cold. I had underestimated him. He was one

tough old bird.

"We will do the formula on my time table, boy. It would not hurt you to be polite."

"Placate him," Diablo whispered.

"Sorry, Hermit," I responded, trying to look contrite.

"You have three lovely women here. How about sharing them with an old friend of your father?"

Share them? Of course, I would share them and I told him so. He wiggled his finger at Lisa,

motioning her to come to him. She looked at me for approval, which I gave. She crawled toward

him on all fours. It was a sensuous, cat like crawl, revealing her desire and enticing us males

watching her. She stopped beside him, moving into a kneeling position with her legs spread.

"These brad in her tongue. Does it feel good when she sucks you?" he asked, his thumb in her

mouth, stroking her tongue jewelry.

"Yes. Very much so."

"Well, I want to find out for myself."

 

To be continued . . .

Please! Give me your comments.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
E. Z. Riter
Chapter 43