("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
Huge IX: Chris Gets a Summer Job
by Heatheranne (hthranne@aol.com)
***
Chris, our well endowed hero, is home from college
after his freshman year. He gets a job that brings
mystery, danger and the usual bevy of beautiful babes.
(MF, inc, orgy, size)
***
Chris awoke lying on his side. In those first few
seconds of uncertain consciousness, he kept his eyes
closed and tried to figure out where he was. He was
definitely in a bed. But was he at college in his dorm
room, or in some girl's bed or was he at home?
A warm hand snaked across his hip and found his half-
hard penis. The hand traveled the length of his shaft
until it found the pronounced ridge that marked its
bulbous head. Fingers began to massage that sensitive
patch of skin that all men love to have massaged.
Coming fully awake, Chris smiled, he was at home, and
his mother, Heather, was after his cock once more.
Chris' cock grew, stretching longer and wider until her
hand could span only the bottom of his shaft. He began
to work his hips against the movement of her fingers.
Suddenly her hand withdrew, and then slapped him
sharply on the ass. "Stop pretending to be asleep. I
will not be ignored," Heather said, her voice rising in
mock indignation.
Chris spun about so quickly that his mother squealed
with laughter. His hard-on slapped her on the leg. "No
one could ignore you," he said hoarsely. He lifted her
generous breast to his mouth and sucked on her nipple,
tonguing it roughly.
"Oh yes, baby," sighed Heather. She grabbed her free
tit and rolled the nipple between her fingers.
Chris licked and kissed his way down Heather's shapely
form until he was teasing her pussy lips apart. Slowly
he worked his tongue inside, sweeping it upward to wash
over her stiff clit. She writhed against his touch,
trying for a deeper touch, more stimulation, but Chris
pinned down her legs with his forearms. It was useless
to fight her son on a physical level. He was too tall,
too well muscled for that. "Chris... Chris, honey," she
panted, "please stop teasing... give me that cock...
your big cock... ohhhhh."
Chris relented. As soon as he lifted his weight, his
mother was up on her knees, waving her sculpted ass in
invitation. Chris bent his cock down to pussy level and
ran his finger along the thick tube at the bottom of
his enormous dick. A stream of pre-cum flowed from its
tip and coated Heather's vaginal lips. Not that she
really needed it; the woman's hot, slick vaginal juices
were practically leaking down her leg already.
Chris flexed his hips and six inches of thick dick went
up his mom's deliciously tight cunt. That was merely a
good start for Chris, but it sent Heather over the
edge. She began to orgasm immediately. "Uhhh... yes,
yes, oh FUCK YES," her muffled wails came from the
rumpled bed clothing where she had buried her face.
Chris reveled in the tremors that ran up and down his
rock hard cock from his mothers clasping pussy. He
closed his eyes and grinned. He loved to give her
sexual pleasure; it gave him license to pursue his own
gratification. He plunged more inches of his potent
cock into her hot pussy and began to stroke in earnest.
He could feel the pressure building in his groin. It
wouldn't be long before he would blow his wad in her
pussy. It was tight, and clinging, and sexy, and hot,
and... and... and it wasn't there anymore. Chris' eyes
popped open. His mother was halfway across the room
looking over her shoulder. "That'll teach you to
torture me like that," she said with a giggle. She
disappeared into the bathroom. A second later, he heard
the sound of the shower begin to flow.
Chris growled deep in his throat. He knee walked to the
edge of the bed; his elbows pumping angrily from his
sides and his dick slinging sticky strings of pre-cum
across the sheets. He reached the shower just as his
mother stepped into the warm water. "That was a dirty
trick," he said as he stepped into the spray. They were
standing face to face. "You left me with a throbbing
cock and blue balls."
Heather ran her hand down his shaft; the thing was
prodding at her tummy. "Hmmm... well, it's definitely
throbbing," she said in a clinical tone. Her hand
traveled on downward until she was hefting his ball-
sac. "And these are certainly big and full of cum, but
hardly blue," she said, looking down. She turned and
picked up a bottle of soft soap. "Let's see what we can
do about that." She squirted a generous amount of the
soap across her breasts and into her hands. Lathering
up Chris' steel hard cock, she engulfed its fleshy mass
between her tits. Between the incredible length of
Chris' cock, and the generous size of her breasts,
Heather hardly had to bend over at all.
"Oh yeah," moaned Chris. He heaved his dick up and down
between his mother's sweet globes. Within a dozen
strokes his fully primed cock began to spew huge
amounts of milky cum. The stuff welled up from between
Heather's breasts to cascade over her creamy skin.
Chris thrust upward and the head of his erupting dick
jutted into the open to stream hot cum all over his
mom's neck and face. She merely closed her eyes and
reveled in the creamy flow of her son's cum.
After their shower – the real one, not the one Chris
had supplied – he and Heather gathered in the kitchen
for breakfast. Heather was in a silk gown and Chris had
put on fresh boxers and a tee-shirt. Neither was in a
mood to cook, so they went with their basic meal of
cornflakes topped with fruit. Although Heather's
portion was about one-fifth the size of Chris', plus
she used skim milk while he went with the high octane
stuff.
Chris had finished inhaling his food, and had pushed
back from the table in order to better read the morning
newspaper, when Heather neatly snatched it out of his
hand. She straddled his knees and reached between his
legs for his already hardening cock. "Mmmm... hi
there," he said with a grin. He undid the sash to her
robe and let it fall open to reveal her outstanding
breasts. And outstanding they were, at the age of
thirty-five, Heather simply had great, shapely, firm
tits. Chris cupped them in the palms of his hands and
thumbed her erect nipples.
Heather played with her son's dick until it stood
proudly between them. "So what are you going to do
today?" she asked.
Chris dipped his hand between his mother's legs and
softly stroked her clit. "Well, we could do this for
hours," he said, raising up and giving her a kiss that
left them both gasping for air. He'd been home from his
freshman year at college for almost a week. When
Heather hadn't been at work, they'd spent most of their
time screwing their brains out.
Heather stood, and taking Chris' cock in hand, she
worked the head between her pussy lips. She put her
hands on his shoulders and slowly began to pump her
hips. "I had lunch with the business women's
association yesterday," she said conversationally, as
if they were sipping their breakfast coffee and not
committing delicious incest. "You remember Tanya
Welling, Cindy's sister?"
"Uh... yeah," said Chris as he put his hands on
Heather's hips, trying to urge her along. He had dated
Cindy when he was a sophomore in high school and she
had been a senior. Everyone in school had wondered why
she would have a younger boyfriend. Of course they
didn't know that he had been giving her an unending
stream of fantastic orgasms. Tanya had been a senior in
college at that point, and Chris hadn't even been a
blip on her radar. She had hardly been able to remember
his name.
"Well, I spoke to her at the meeting; she's opened an
employment agency down on Mervin Avenue. I set up an
appointment for you today at eleven," said Heather.
Chris had had a summer job lined up before the end of
school, but it had fallen through.
"Oh, gee... well... okay, sure, I guess," said Chris
aimlessly. He would have agreed to about anything at
that point. The oily, satin like smoothness of his
mother's cunt was overwhelming. When he felt her pussy
contract around his cock in orgasm, he was set off.
Shots of hot cum surged upward into his mother's pussy
only to be replaced by more copious shots of his cream.
Heather pulled herself off Chris' cock even as the last
of his cum leapt from the tip. "I'd love to stay and
play," she announced, "but I simply have to go to the
office." She caressed Chris' cheek. "Be a dear and
clean up that mess."
"Oh sure," said Chris as he looked at the cummy mess
coating his thighs and dripping onto the floor, "leave
it all up to me," he grumbled.
"Get a job," Heather said over her shoulder as she
swept out of the room with a swirl of her open robe.
Hours later, Chris steered his Jeep down Mervin Avenue.
The road had once been a residential area of
middleclass, one and two story homes. But the city had
spread outward and now the avenue had become a corridor
to newer, bigger houses in outlying developments, and
the older homes had been transformed into businesses of
various sorts.
Chris turned into the cramped parking lot of the
Suntime Temp Agency, located in one of those older
homes. Exiting his car, he climbed a flight of steps to
a porch. A sign on the front door bid him to enter, so
Chris stepped into what had probably been the living
room or parlor of the old house. Halfway down the room
on his left was a blocked off fireplace. On his right
was a padded folding chair occupied by one very fat
calico cat that barely opened one heavily lidded eye at
his approach. Across the room, behind a desk, a young
lady spoke rapid fire Spanish into a phone. At Chris'
approach she put the caller on hold. "Can I help you?"
she asked with a warm smile in slightly accented
English.
"My name's Chris. I have an appointment at eleven."
The girl glanced at a desk calendar and said, "Just a
second." Leaning back in her chair, she turned her head
to the side and yelled, "Tanya, your eleven o'clock is
here."
"Send him back," came a muffled voice.
"End of the hall on your right," said the girl pointing
down a hallway.
"Thanks," said Chris. He saw her eyes shifting to
follow his ass as he walked away. Chris grinned to
himself; he knew he looked good. He was wearing his
best khakis and a navy, oxford cloth dress shirt.
He reached the end of the hall and turned right into
what he guessed had been a dining room. An ornate brass
chandelier provided most of the lighting in the room,
and a large bay window looked over what might have been
a garden at one time. Tanya was seated at an L-shaped
business desk. She stood as Chris came in and extended
her hand. "Hi, Chris, it's good to see you again."
Chris leaned across the desk and shook her soft hand.
Whereas Cindy, Chris' ex-girlfriend and Tanya's sister,
was a five-foot tall bundle of sexy curves and red
hair, Tanya was almost six feet tall in her heels,
svelte and very blonde. She was wearing a turquoise
dress with a business-like square cut bodice. "Hey,
how's it goin'?" asked Chris.
"Great," said Tanya, "it was nice seeing your mother
again." She gestured to a chair for Chris, and then
resumed her seat, showing lots of nicely tanned leg.
They talked for several minutes. Tanya, Chris decided,
was an excellent flirt. She fiddled with her hair,
smiled at everything he said, held eye contact and she
even held a pen which she rhythmically stroked with her
finger tips. He wasn't sure if it was for his benefit,
or if she treated all her male clients this way.
Finally, she got around to asking about what sort of
job Chris wanted. "I'm not sure," he admitted.
"something outdoors maybe, try not to give me anything
too mind numbing."
Tanya laughed. "That's usually the definition of a
summer job, but let's see what we've got." She clicked
through several screens on her computer. "Here's
something," she said. "The Brick Estate is looking for
seasonal workers. They want some college students to
work as guides, do security, that sort of thing."
Chris shrugged and said, "That sounds as good as
anything."
"Okay, that'll at least give us a starting point,"
Tanya said. "I'll give their personnel guy a call." She
got on the phone, and in a few minutes she was handing
Chris a scrap of notepaper. "You're set up for an
interview tomorrow at ten o'clock, here are the
details. Give this a try. If it doesn't work out then
we can move on to something else."
"Thanks," said Chris as he stood and took the note. "I
appreciate your help." He edged toward the door,
preparing to leave.
Tanya checked her watch. "I'm due for a break. If you
don't have to run, we could grab a soda."
Chris shrugged and said, "Sure, that would be nice."
Tanya led the way out of the office. She called down
the hall, "Maria, stay near the phone, I'm going
upstairs."
"Okay," her assistant answered.
"Follow me," Tanya told Chris. She went across the hall
into another room and then took another turn up some
steps.
The stairway of the old house was narrow and steep. The
wooden stairs creaked as they climbed upwards. Chris'
eyes were practically at Tanya's ass level as they
ascended. He didn't mind it at all as her trim butt
cheeks were alternately outlined against her skirt with
each step she took. At the top of the stairs, Chris
could see that the second story had been made into an
apartment. There was a bathroom, bedroom, kitchenette
and living room. Tanya gestured into the living room
and said, "Have a seat, I'll get us some cokes."
The tiny living room was filled by just a few pieces of
furniture. There was a chair, and a loveseat plus a
table with a television on top and a compact stereo
underneath on the floor. A tarnished brass floor lamp,
which looked as if it was as old as the house itself,
completed the decor. Chris sat on the loveseat.
Tanya returned to the room carrying two cans of soda.
She closed the door and handed one of the cans to Chris
as she sat beside him. "All we have is diet," she said.
"We girls have to watch our figures, you know."
"Well, it seems to be working," said Chris, trying to
make the line sound not too cheesy.
Tanya laughed appreciatively as she gave his thigh a
little squeeze. "Thank you," she said. She sipped at
her drink. "So how's college life?" They compared
college experiences for a while. Chris didn't exactly
brag about his social life and girlfriends, but he made
sure that Tanya knew he was no hermit.
"You know," said Tanya, snuggling closer – something
not easily done as they were already shoulder to
shoulder – "back when you two were dating in high
school, Cindy told me all about you one night."
"Oh really?" said Chris.
"Yeah, we'd had some beers, enough to put us in the
mood to say stuff we wouldn't have otherwise. You know
how that goes. I asked her why in the world she was
dating a sophomore. I mean, you were good looking and
all, but really, wasn't it ruining her socially? An un-
cool image like that in high school was hard to live
down."
Chris decided to take the plunge. "Did she happen to
mention the mind-blowing sex, and about how I was
fucking her brains out?" he said as if confiding a
secret.
"Something like that," said Tanya with a salacious
grin, "although she did bring up one startling point."
Her hand went back to his thigh, but this time there
was no quick squeeze. Her fingers found their way up
his leg to his crotch.
Chris spread his legs in invitation. "What was that?"
he asked. His dick was rapidly filling with hot blood.
Her hand found the base of his cock. "She told me... "
her fingers began to trace the path of his thickening
shaft, "... that you were endowed beyond anything she'd
ever heard of." Her palm bumped over the bulge made by
his cock-head. "Oh my God, I thought she was
exaggerating," she said with a gasp as her hand groped
at his expanding cock as if she was trying to
comprehend just how hung he truly was.
Chris was enjoying the moment immensely. "Why don't you
look and see for yourself?" he said.
Tonya didn't say anything, but her hand went
immediately to his belt. In seconds, with Chris' help,
she had his pants down to his knees, leaving his jockey
shorts with an obscene bulge running from his crotch
toward his hip. Seemingly mesmerized, Tanya stood and
straddled Chris' legs. Starring downward she said, "Oh
please, tell me that's not some sort of stuffed
athletic sock."
Chris chuckled. "Keep going," he urged her.
Tanya hooked her fingers under the waistband of his
shorts and gave them a firm yank. Chris' huge cock
leapt upwards and stood magnificently erect from
between his muscled thighs. "Holy fucking massive dick,
Batman," whispered Tanya in awe. Reverently, she ran
her fingers over Chris' cock. It quivered with the beat
of his pulse. Tanya massaged the sweet spot just under
the flaring cock-head with her thumb and she was
rewarded with a gush of pre-cum that washed over her
fingers. "Oooo..." she cooed and cleaned the clear
liquid from her fingers with the tip of her tongue.
Using both hands, she bent Chris' cock back and fit the
tip into her mouth. She rolled her lips and tongue over
his bulging cock-head like she meant it. In fact, she
was downright enthusiastic about the matter.
Chris simply laid back and relaxed as Tanya used both
hands to jerk his iron hard shaft. It wasn't long
before he could feel his sap rising. "Tanya," he said
as he reached out and groped at one of her breasts,
"I'm going to cum, and there's going to be lots of it."
Tanya didn't stop or even hesitate in her
ministrations. If anything, she stepped up her
exertions with her lips and tongue. Chris couldn't
believe that the tall, elegant blonde was such an eager
cock sucker. And that thought put him over the edge.
His cock-head grew even larger, his cock-shaft even
harder and then a huge blast of cum surged upwards.
Tanya's eyes widened in surprise as the shot of hot
cream filled her mouth. It was an impossible amount of
cum, and that was only the beginning. More and more of
the stuff jetted past her lips; she had to positively
gulp the wads down. When it seemed that she couldn't
take any more, the gushes ran down to a trickle and
then stopped altogether.
Tanya took a final gulp and lifted her mouth. "Oh
shit," she said in awe, "Cindy told me you came like a
volcano, but I didn't believe that either." She was
still holding onto Chris' cock, squeezing and kneading
his hard flesh. "You're not going soft, are you?"
"I guess not," Chris said in a husky voice, "especially
if you keep doing that." By this time, Tanya's skirt
had ridden up her legs to her hips. Chris ran his hands
under her thighs until he was cupping her compact ass
cheeks. He lifted her up, showing his intention to
impale her sweet pussy on his upturned cock.
"Oh Chris, I don't know about this," Tanya said as she
clutched at the rigid muscles in his forearms.
Nevertheless she pulled aside the crotch band of her
panties. Her pussy was practically weeping vaginal
juices in anticipation of Chris' enormous cock-head.
There was a soft tap, tap, tap at the door. "Tanya?"
Maria's tentative voice came from the hallway.
"Yes?" Tanya said weakly.
"That conference call is ready. You didn't forget, did
you?"
Chris would have plunged ahead, but he could tell by
the expression on Tanya's face that her mood was
broken. Arm muscles bulging with the strain, Chris
managed to stand and then he lowered Tanya to her feet.
"Thank you," she whispered. Aloud, she said, "Coming
right now, Maria." She giggled and whispered to Chris,
"I wish." She poked Chris in the chest, "You owe me
one."
"I'll count on it," said Chris. They got their clothing
straightened, and in short order Tanya was on the phone
and Chris was on his way. Outside the office, he
stepped into his Jeep and checked his watch. It was
nearly twelve o'clock. What to do, what to do? He was
free for the rest of the day. He was hungry, and
despite his three orgasms of the morning, he felt
horny. Grinning to himself, Chris put his Jeep in gear
and headed to a place that could take care of his
needs.
A few minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a
local business called This That and the Other. It was
his mother's store. She sold home furnishings of a
mostly decorative nature. When he wanted to tease her,
Chris called her a master purveyor of useless crap. He
entered the shop and threaded his way between the
displays. The sales floor seemed to be free of
customers at the moment. A man seated at a writing desk
looked up. "Hi, Chris, come to take me away from all
this?" he said with a wink.
Gary was Heather's best salesperson. Impeccably dressed
and coifed, he played the gay flamboyant male with
unimpeachable taste to the hilt. Middle-aged women
bought practically anything he suggested. He always
made an unserious pass at Chris whenever he came in the
store. Chris winked back at him and said, "Not today,
lover, but don't give up hope."
Gary laughed. "I think your mom's in her office."
"Thanks," said Chris. He went to the rear of the store,
walked past an 'employees only' sign and climbed a
flight of stairs to the second floor. The store's
warehouse was here as well as its offices.
"Hi, handsome," said a female voice from one of the
offices.
Chris stopped and stuck his head in the door. "Hi,
Diana," he said. "What's up?" Diana was his mother's
assistant, bookkeeper and second in command. She was a
rotund, jovial woman who kept her hair too blonde and
too short.
"Same old crap," she said with a smile. "Come to bother
your mom?"
"Yeah."
"Good for you," Diana said with a laugh. "I think she's
in her office."
"Okay," said Chris. He went down a short hallway and
stepped into his mom's office. Across the room, three
picture windows looked down on the sales floor as well
as the stairs. Heather's desk was near the door. Chris
tapped on the doorframe as he entered.
"Hi, honey," said Heather, looking up from her work.
"How did the meeting go?"
"Good, I've got an interview over at the Brick Estate
tomorrow," he said.
"The Brick Estate huh, that sounds interesting. Doing
what?"
They discussed that for a minute and then Heather
asked, "So what are you going to do this afternoon?"
Chris stepped behind her chair. He leaned over and
cupped his mother's breasts in his hands. In a little
boy's voice he said, "It's summer, Mommy, and I'm
bored."
"Chris," hissed Heather, "not here. Someone could come
in." Chris gathered the silk material of his mother's
blouse between his fingers and rubbed it across her bra
cups. "Don't tell me that you're still horny after what
we did this morning?" she whispered.
He leaned over and whispered, "Not only after what we
did, but I also scored a nice blowjob from Tanya."
"You're incorrigible," said Heather with a laugh. She
didn't mind her son's girlfriends and lovers; she knew
that she couldn't satisfy him on her own. Besides, she
thought it was sexy.
Suddenly, there came the sound of someone approaching
Heather's office. The old wooden floor creaked and
popped under their footsteps. With a final titty-
squeeze, Chris discreetly stepped to one side and put
his hands in his pockets. In a second, Diana appeared
in the doorway. "I'm going to lunch," she said to
Heather.
"Okay," said Heather, "I'm going to eat here; I brought
something from the house."
"How about you, handsome? Want a lunch date?" Diana
asked Chris with a twinkle in her eye. "You can treat."
"I'll stay here and keep the boss busy while you take a
three martini lunch," said Chris.
Diana laughed, "Three beers, maybe. Okay, I'll see you
later then." She took her leave.
Chris waited at the office window until he saw Diana go
down the steps and across the showroom floor. Smiling
in anticipation, he turned and looked around the
office. In one corner there was a small table where his
mother kept an old manual typewriter that she used from
time to time. There was a secretary's chair at the
table. Chris grabbed it and rolled it across the office
and positioned it a couple of feet from one of the
windows.
"What are you up to?" Heather asked.
Chris gave her an evil grin and took her by the arm,
urging her to her feet. "Time for us to do something a
little daring."
"Daring?" said Heather with a hint of trepidation mixed
with excitement in her voice as she allowed her son to
lead her across the office. They'd been daring before.
Besides the matter of their incest, they'd had sex in
cars, in closets, several places, in fact, where they
could have been caught.
Chris moved his mom in front of the window as he took a
seat directly behind her in the secretary chair. "Now
you just stand there and look over your domain like the
business tycoon you are."
"What are you... oh Chris, honey," she hissed as her
son ran his finger tips up her inner thighs, lifting
her skirt. He tickled her legs and ass until his mother
began to twitch her hips. He moved on to her pussy
mound, pushing the material of her panties between her
vaginal lips.
"Oh my god, Chris," said Heather. "We're going to get
caught."
Chris heard her words, but he noticed that she wasn't
trying to get away. If anything, she was pushing her
pussy against his invading fingers. His sexy mom was
wearing the briefest of panties. It was barely more
than a thong, and Chris pulled them down with his
fingertips. Now he alternated fingering her clit with
dipping his fingers into her hot cunt which was growing
wetter with each passing second.
"Chris honey, your big dick is getting hard, isn't it?"
Heather asked eagerly.
"Mmmm, you know it is," he said. His cock was throbbing
painfully in his pants.
"Come on, fuck me, honey." She was practically panting
now.
Chris undid his khakis and shoved them down to his
knees. His shorts followed and his huge cock swung
free. It smacked his mom between her legs as it sprang
upward. Heather reached down and painted her vaginal
lips with the stream of pre-cum that was leaking from
his cock slit. When she was ready, Heather released his
cock and sheathed it in the well oiled, soft tunnel
that was her pussy. "Fuck me, Chris. I can't very well
stand here in this window, swinging my ass all over the
place."
Chris laughed and shoved a foot of steel-hard dick into
his mom. She steadied herself on the window sill as
Chris began to thrill her cunt. He heaved upward from
where he sat in the secretary chair. The thing creaked
and popped and he hoped it would stay together. "Is
anyone looking at you?" he asked.
"Gary glanced up here a minute ago," said Heather. The
strain in her voice told Chris that she was fighting
the urge to meet his plunging cock. "Oh look, there's
Mrs. Trumble, and she's brought an entire gaggle of her
gossipy, bitchy friends." Heather raised her hand and
waved. "Yes, I see you... you overdressed snob."
Chris was seriously screwing his mother. He sent his
cock racing through her cunt faster and faster. "You
tell 'em, Mom," he gasped.
Heather raised her hand once more. "Yes, hello to all
of her bitch friends, too." Her voice was getting
tighter. Chris could tell that she was close to an
orgasm.
"You ladies spend lots of money today. Yeah... give me
lots of fucking money while my son is filling my
pussy." Heather was practically groaning out the words
now. "That's right you old whores. My son is fucking me
with his fantastic cock... a cock like in your dreams.
Oh yes, baby, I'm cumming all over your hot dick."
Heather bit on a knuckle to keep from screaming out as
her pussy shuddered on her son's burning cock.
Chris was only seconds behind her. He reached up and
around his mother's torso. Grasping her firmly by her
generous breasts, he pulled her down onto his lap. With
a shriek from Heather, they rolled backwards slamming
into her desk while Chris filled her clinging pussy
with his usual amazing amount of creamy semen.
Sometime later, footsteps sounded in the hallway
outside Heather's office once again. Diana appeared in
the doorway. "I'm back from lunch," she announced. "Is
everything all right in here?"
Heather looked up from her desk. She had been absorbed
in some papers. Chris was sitting at the smaller desk,
idly punching at the typewriter's keys. "Uh... we're
fine," said Heather. "Why do you ask?"
"Gary said that he heard some funny noises up here,"
said Diana.
"Oh, Chris was just horsing around," said Heather.
"He can come and horse around with me," leered Diana.
"Oh go count something and leave my innocent little boy
alone," said Heather with a laugh.
Diana turned and left. "Innocent, that's a good one,"
she hooted as she walked down the hall.
"I'm starved," said Heather as she pulled a bag out of
one of her desk drawers. "It must be all the hard work
I've done this morning." She winked at Chris.
"Are you going to share?" he asked, raising his chin
toward the bag.
She pulled an apple and a container of yogurt out of
the bag. "This wouldn't make a good appetizer for you,"
Heather said with a laugh. "Now get out of here so I
can get some work done."
"Well, okay," he said as he walked to the door. "If
you're going to starve you're only son..." he mumbled
good-naturedly as he left.
*
The next day Chris drove to the Brick Estate. He had to
stop at a gatehouse – it was actually a house that cars
could pass through, where a guard checked his name
against a list of people having legitimate business.
The guard gave him directions and a pamphlet containing
a map. Chris followed a road that wound upwards through
a forested area until he arrived at a parking lot for
tourists.
He was early, so Chris decided to park here for a few
minutes. He got out of his Jeep and walked to the edge
of the lot. Across acres of lawn he gazed at the Brick
Castle. Alan Fleetwood Brick had been an obscenely
wealthy industrialist of the late nineteenth century.
Wanting a summer home, he bought what would come to be
known as Brick Mountain, plus thousands of surrounding
acres of land. He quarried stone from the mountain and
then built Brick Castle so that it not only abutted the
mountain, it looked as if it had been extruded from the
native rock.
The castle was enormous with more than two hundred
rooms plus an assortment of towers and spires. Brick
sent agents throughout the world to track down exotic
furnishings. After a building program of five years,
the castle was essentially finished and the Brick
family began a long tradition of entertaining friends,
celebrities and politicians during the relatively cool
summers at the castle.
Brick didn't intend for his estate to be run at a dead
loss. Some of those vast acres were devoted to farming.
The forests yielded timber as well as game for the
table. There were even a couple of mines opened on the
mountain. Time passed and eventually the Brick family
couldn't maintain their opulent life style, despite
their wise use of the land.
The castle was opened to the public. In return for tax
allowances, the surrounding property was held as a
public trust in the form of a public park. The latest
Alan Fleetwood Brick was the fourth in line from the
original. He was known as Fore to his golfing buddies
because of a predilection to over swing and send his
balls in dangerous directions. Fore may have inherited
his wealth, but he made sure that his estate, as well
as his other businesses, kept him that way.
Chris reentered his Jeep and drove on through the
public parking lot and wound his way to the employee's
lot. This lot was closer to the castle, but hidden from
view by a garden wall. Chris followed a path to a side
entrance. He assumed that this door was the proverbial
tradesmen's entrance.
Inside, Chris found himself in a long, very plain
hallway. Signs that marked various rooms protruded into
the hall from hangers. Chris searched until he found
the one that indicated the personnel office.
"Can I help you?" asked a young woman sitting at a
messy desk. She was wearing a blue jumper with a plain
white blouse. She had a pleasant, oval face with huge,
dark eyes. Her relatively plain features were offset by
a crimson lips and ears that sported gaudy, dangly
earrings that weren't far from being wind chimes. Her
hair was her most remarkable feature though. Her jet
black hair was cut full and short, and tipped in a riot
of colors. Chris couldn't help but smile at the sight.
"I'm Chris, I have a ten o'clock appointment with Mr.
Green," he said.
The woman, Mary Simpson according to the name on her
desk, checked a desk calendar and then leaned back in
her chair. She picked up a phone and punched a button.
A phone rang in an office that was merely feet away.
She said, "Elmwood, you're ten o'clock is here."
"Send him in," Chris heard the man say clearly without
the aid of the phone.
Tilting her head to the door, she said, "Go on in."
"Thanks," said Chris. He entered the next office.
Elmwood Greene kept a much neater desk than his
assistant. He was a doughy, middle-age man who stood as
Chris came in.
After shaking hands, Elmwood said, "Please, have a
seat." He consulted a notepad that sat squared up on
his blotter. "Tanya Welling gives you a great
recommendation."
"That's nice of her," said Chris. "She made this place
her first recommendation."
"Have you known her long?" Elmwood asked.
"For several years," said Chris. "I used to date her
sister."
"Is she as pretty as Tanya?"
Chris grinned at the memory of how often he'd pounded
Cindy's tight pussy. "Shorter, but just as pretty," he
assured Elmwood.
The personnel man nodded as if he'd check into that.
"So, about this job..." he said.
They spoke for several minutes. Elmwood described the
position, saying that Chris would be a fill in for
various jobs. Chris just nodded his head every now and
then; the job was much as Tanya had described. In the
end, Chris said he was interested and Elmwood offered
him employment. Chris accepted.
"Fine," said Elmwood. "Our last orientation class for
summer employment starts tomorrow at eight AM."
"I'll be here," said Chris.
Both men stood and shook hands. "Of course there's some
paperwork," Elmwood said. He picked up his phone and
punched a button. The phone on his assistant's desk
rang. In fact, Chris could see her answer it from where
he stood. "Would you have Chris fill out the forms for
a contracted employee?" Elmwood said.
"Sure thing," said the woman with the multi-hued hair.
"Mary will take care of you," Elmwood said, gesturing
at the door.
"Thanks for the opportunity," said Chris. He walked all
of ten feet to stand in front of Mary's desk.
"Have a seat," she said. Chris sat on a lightly padded
metal chair. "Now smile for the camera," said Mary. She
patted one of those eyeball looking cameras that was
perched on top of her monitor. Chris smiled, and in a
few seconds Mary said, "Okay, that's fine." She handed
Chris a pen and a clipboard with several pieces of
paper trapped under the clip. "Just fill these out for
me."
"Okay," said Chris, and for the next five minutes he
filled in the lines necessary for his employment. As he
worked, he heard a clicking sound. When he looked up,
he saw that Mary was gazing at him, and absently
rattling a pen between her front teeth. She looked away
quickly when he caught her eye, but when Chris went
back to his papers the clicking resumed.
Finished, Chris handed the clipboard back to Mary. She
went through the papers and pronounced them fit for
use. She handed him a wallet sized laminated card.
Chris took it. Obviously computer generated, the card
contained his name and his picture. A bar code ran
underneath both.
"This," said Mary with the air of someone who was
saying something very important for about the
thousandth time, "is your ID. It will give you access
to the grounds, plus you have to swipe it through a
time clock in order to get paid. Lose it and it'll cost
you ten dollars to get a new one. Understand?"
"I'll protect it with my life," Chris said in mock
solemnity.
"See that you do," she said with a smile.
At that moment, Elmwood appeared from his office.
"Mary," he said, "I have a meeting. Would you mind
taking Chris down to the store room and getting him a
couple of uniforms? He's going to start tomorrow."
"No problem," said Mary.
"Good, I'll be back in about an hour." He began to walk
to the hallway door. "Chris, glad to have you onboard,"
he said, giving Chris a pat on the shoulder on the way
out.
Mary fiddled with her computer for a minute, and then
opened a drawer in her desk. She removed a hefty set of
keys that jangled cheerfully. "Let's go get you set
up," she said. As she came around her desk, Chris cast
an appreciative eye at Mary's figure. The plain Jane
jumper revealed a narrow waist and nice sized, if not
large, breasts. He followed her out of the office. They
went into the hallway, made a couple of turns and
stopped before a heavy looking wooden door. The upper
half of the door was inset with a frosted pane of
glass. Mary unlocked the door and they entered the
room.
On the wall to their left and against the far wall were
shelves finished in a dark stain. The shelves were
filled with various office and cleaning supplies. To
the right were a series of freestanding fixtures
holding uniforms of varied styles and sizes. The
fixtures themselves were heavy wooden rectangles with
wide spread wooden legs on both ends. Clothes were hung
on a bar which ran the length of the fixture. Chris ran
his fingers over the smoothly finished wood.
"These used to be in the laundry," said Mary. "They're
part of the castle's original furnishings." She smacked
a wooden upright with the palm of her hand. "They built
this stuff to last."
"I'd say so," said Chris. He couldn't imagine that any
amount of clothing could strain that arrangement.
They walked amidst the forest of racks. All the
clothing was hung neatly with dangling identification
tags. "What size do you wear, in pants?" Mary asked.
"Uhhh, my mom's always giving me clothes. I'm not
sure," he said sheepishly.
Mary smiled at him. "Your mom has good taste," she
said. Chris was wearing his khaki pants and navy,
oxford cloth dress shirt once again.
"Thanks."
"Well there's no point in guessing," she said. "Come
over here." Chris followed her a few steps to a table
that held a sewing machine and other sewing
paraphernalia. She picked up a cloth tape measure, and
then reached around his waist. As she stretched out the
tape, Mary looked him in the eye.
Chris had seen that look before. She was interested,
and probably not in sharing coffee and sticky buns
either. He felt his cock stir, and he was about to let
Mary know that he knew that etc... when an insistent
chirping erupted from her pocket.
"Excuse me," Mary said, pulling her cell from a
voluminous pocket in her jumper. She walked far enough
away that Chris couldn't make out her words, but he
could tell by her tone that she was having some sort of
intense conversation.
Chris knew that Mary would more than likely measure his
inseam next. Which left him with one question: down
which pant leg would he stick his swelling cock? He
tugged and pushed at his crotch until he worked his
half hard-on down his left leg.
Mary returned. "Sorry about that," she said.
"No problem."
Mary pulled the tape between her hands once more.
"Let's get that inseam." She hunkered down and
stretched the tape from Chris' crotch to instep. The
back of her hand bumped into his still swelling dick.
Mary didn't even bother to be coy. She turned her hand
and clutched his cock-head. "Oh damn," she said
eagerly. "You must be hung like a mule."
"I am," said Chris, thoroughly enjoying this direct
approach. He began to unbuckle his belt.
"I love a big cock," said Mary. She stood and her hands
went to the back of her dress. There was the sound of a
zipper being pulled. She let the straps of her jumper
fall off her shoulders, and in a few seconds the dress
was puddle at her feet. She simply kicked it aside. Her
mind wasn't on her clothes; it was on Chris' cock. His
monster dick was growing and filling as she watched.
"Oh yeah," Mary said. As his cock passed the
horizontal, she used both hands to wrap around its
shaft. She kissed the head like it was a long lost
lover, and drove the tip of her tongue into the cum-
slit.
"That's it," Chris sighed. The feel of her lips and
tongue were exquisite. She stuffed as much of the head
into her mouth as she could manage. Then she began a
twisting motion with her head, while her hands stroked.
Damn, thought Chris. This girl really knows how to suck
a dick. There was even a visual display. The colors at
the tips of her hair made a swirling pattern in time
with the twists and plunges of her head.
Chris reveled in the feel of this midday, illicit suck.
The pressure in his balls was building fast, and he
didn't see any reason to suppress it. "I'm going to
cum," he announced to the top of Mary's head.
Her eyes jerked upward with a look that was half
pleading, half accusatory. But Chris was past caring at
that point. She was even better at this than Tanya had
been on the previous day. Cum rushed the length of his
steel hard dick and splashed into her mouth. More hot
cream followed, lots more, but Mary handled it as if
she gulped down stuff like this on a daily basis.
When his cock stopped spewing, Mary stood. She wasn't
looking very happy. "Kind of a hair trigger, there,"
she said.
Chris chuckled. "There's plenty more where that came
from," he said. He gave his cock a couple of strokes.
It was still pointed north, steel hard.
Mary's frown turned into an intriguing smile. She was
about to say something when the door to the hall
opened. "Mary?" said a voice that sounded as if it were
rumbling up from the bottom of a well.
Mary looked at Chris with panic in her eyes. She
silently mouthed, "Oh fuck, it's my husband."
Chris raised his head and peeked between the hanging
clothes. Luckily, there were a number of full racks
between them and the door. Chris mouthed a few
expletives of his own when he saw Mary's husband. The
man was the size of a house. He was African-American,
bald with massive arms, and a chest that left Chris
wondering how he had managed to get through the door.
Chris was very fit and probably a bit taller, but this
guy looked as if he out muscled Chris by fifty pounds.
Worse, he was walking in their direction.
"Go!" Chris mouthed at Mary, making shooing motions
with his hands.
Mary grimaced, but turned and hustled down the aisle.
She had left her jumper, but her blouse, which may well
have been one of her husband's shirts, was nearly long
enough to be a dress on its own.
"Mason," she said sharply, "what are you doing here? I
told you I'd be right back to my office."
That's it, go on the offensive, thought Chris. He
pulled up his shorts and pants. There was enough
ambient noise, not to mention the volume of Mary and
Mason's voices, to cover his movements.
"Baby, they told me you came in here with some guy. And
where's your dress?" said Mason, his ominous tone
sounding like an approaching thunderstorm.
"What are you accusing me of?" Mary fired back.
This isn't going well, thought Chris. He looked around
and his eye fell on a maroon dress jacket with black
satin lapels that was hanging on a nearby rack. An idea
blossomed in his mind. He quickly and quietly donned
the jacket. He couldn't imagine who would wear such a
thing, but it would have to be someone shorter and
fatter than he. The sleeves of the jacket were inches
too short. But that would work out fine, Chris
realized. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled
the cuffs back over the jacket's sleeves, then he
pushed the cuffs up to his elbows. He unbuttoned two
buttons at his neck and spread open his shirt. Running
a hand through his hair, he gave it a tousled look. He
then scooped up Mary's jumper and headed toward the
bickering couple.
"There you are!" exclaimed Chris as he emerged from the
forest of clothing racks. He minced his way up to Mary
and Mason. "Hi there," he said brightly to Mason. He
held out a hand so limp that it might as well have been
boneless.
Mason looked at Chris as if he was eyeing something a
dog had thrown up. "Hello," he rumbled doubtfully. His
paw engulfed Chris' hand for a nanosecond of
politeness.
"Here you are, dear," said Chris as he handed Mary's
jumper to the amazed woman. "I'm sorry it took so long,
but that sewing table is such a mess. It took me
forever to find the just the right shade of blue
thread. You simply must allow me to straighten that for
you."
Mary took the dress and said, "Uh... sure, okay."
Chris said, "Now girl, I stitched that seam good as
new, but you know it wouldn't hurt for you to loose a
pound or two." He glanced at Mary's middle. "Or perhaps
you have a bun in the oven?" He looked at Mason. "I
wouldn't be surprised, looking at this virile hunk of
man." He gave Mason a broad wink. Mason gave him a look
that landed somewhere between fright and incredulity.
Turning back to Mary, he gave her a flick of a wink
that was hidden from Mason. "Dear, I'll see you early
tomorrow for those uniforms." He sighed deeply. "I
suppose I'll just have to wear the dreadful things."
And with those words, he flounced out of the room.
Chris made a beeline for his Jeep. All the way there,
he expected to hear the pounding of Mason's hoof beats
charging from the rear, but they never materialized.
*
A month later, Chris was having a lazy, late Sunday
morning in bed. He stretched an arm across his heavily
muscled chest and fondled his mother's ample breast. He
rubbed his thumb across the tip of her nipple.
Heather put her hand on Chris' "That's nice, honey,"
she said in the sleepy voice of a woman who had been
well fucked. "But let's talk before the next round."
Chris rolled onto his side. His cock, now only half
hard, flopped with an audible thud onto the mattress
between them. "Okay, about what?" he asked. They hadn't
seen much of one another lately. Their jobs kept them
on different schedules. This was the first Sunday that
Chris had had off since he had begun work at the Brick
Estate.
"How's your job going? You haven't told me anything
since your encounter with that Mary person. Have you
seen her since?" she asked with a chuckle.
"No, thank goodness. I'm not going to fool around with
a woman who's married to an NFL defensive line."
"Lineman."
"No, I'm pretty sure he's as big as a whole line,"
Chris assured her.
"Other than that," said Heather.
"Well, let's see," said Chris as he resumed tweaking
his mother's nipple. "My immediate superior is a man
named Preston Rigson. He's this stooped little guy with
a really dry sense of humor. And I just happen to be
his fair haired boy."
"Oh? How's that?"
"Thanks to the work ethic that my wonderful mother
instilled in me, plus the fact that a lot of the other
summer workers are slackers, he thinks I'm great."
"I see," said Heather. She gave the head of her son's
cock a squeeze.
"Rigson has me filling in all over the place. I've
worked the parking lots, the ticket house, the gardens,
pretty much wherever they need someone," said Chris.
"I hope they're not taking advantage of you," said
Heather.
"Actually, I enjoy it," said Chris. "The different jobs
keep me from getting bored." He let the tip of his
fingers trail across Heather's tummy. When her legs
spread apart on the bed, he reckoned that his mother
was ready for more play. "Any more chat about work?"
"Maybe later," said Heather.
Chris moved between her legs. He opened her vaginal
lips and was rewarded with the sight of his mom's gooey
pink cunt. He licked his tongue along her juicy slick
lips until it bumped over her growing clit.
"Mmmm," moaned Heather in encouragement. Her hips
rolled and pushed against his mouth.
Chris lavished his attention on her clit, at first
swirling around and then using the flat of his tongue
on her sensitive nubbin. Heather's pussy opened and her
juices flowed. Chris crooked his middle finger and slid
it into her weeping hole until he found the bump of her
g-spot.
"Ahhh, Chris," cried Heather. Her hips began to buck
and heave wildly.
Chris locked his free hand on his mom's ass cheek,
drawing her wild cunt hard against his questing tongue
and fingers. She reacted as if she hadn't had sex in a
month. In just a few minutes she was shoving her full
pussy lips frantically against his lips.
"Fuck, yes, baby!" Heather was practically screaming
now. Orgasms ripped through her body like lightning
strikes.
Chris' cock had roared back to a full steel hardness.
He got to his knees, leveled its bulbous head and in
one powerful stroke shoved to the depths of his
mother's pussy.
"That's it!" she wailed. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard, baby!"
Chris lifted Heather's legs over his shoulders. He
grabbed her ass with both hands and began to shag her
unmercifully. His groin slapped against his mom's ass
in a staccato rhythm, and Heather's cries turned into a
series of grunts.
Chris felt his cock swell. The cum churned in his balls
and then erupted from the tip of his cunt-buried cock
in a lava hot torrent. "Oh... shit... yes... oh yeah...
oh fuck," he growled in time with the long streams of
cum.
A few minutes later, after the wild sexual tension had
drained from their bodies, Heather turned toward Chris
and said, "Now tell me honey, have you met any nice,
single girls on this job of yours?"
"Oh Mom," Chris moaned, rolling his eyes.
*
The following day it began to rain – hard and steadily.
Chris spent the next three days in an official Brick
Estate slicker directing tourists to their various dry
destinations. By the time he reported to work on
Thursday, Chris was beginning to worry that he might
mildew. Many of his fellow workers had decided to take
the day off, so they were more shorthanded than usual.
When he came to assigning Chris, Rigson was left
scratching his chin and flipping through the papers on
his clipboard.
"Chris," he finally asked, "have you worked for that
limey asshole, Johnson, yet?"
Chris chuckled. "No, sir," he said. He'd heard some of
the other summer employees talking about a British
couple who were cataloging furnishings or something
like that.
"You're too damn good for him," said Rigson. "But I
don't have anyone else." He scribbled on a piece of
paper, tore it off and handed it to Chris. "Here's
where they're working. Try not to do too good a job."
Chris took the paper, wondering how serious the man
was.
The castle was a labyrinth of passages and odd rooms.
That was because, when the place was built, the
servants were supposed to be seen as little as possible
by the Brick family and their upper crust friends. The
help had to use the smaller, more utilitarian passages.
They couldn't be expected to carry mops and pails and
dirty laundry through the hallways full of stately
paintings, and over floors covered with expensive rugs.
So when Chris read that he was to report to D-S1-12, he
knew that he had to find section D, sublevel 1, room
12. It turned out to be a room under one of the towers
that abutted Brick Mountain.
When Chris found the room, he saw that it was no mere
office; it was about twenty by sixty feet. The walls
were of vaulted brick, testifying to the enormous
weight of the castle above. Exposed electrical conduits
ran along the walls. Four, large, waist-high tables
were the prominent furnishings. One table held the
miscellaneous trappings of workers everywhere. There
was a coffee maker, compact refrigerator, phone, laptop
computers and even what Chris recognized as a small
copier/printer/fax machine. The table nearest Chris
held wooden crates and an assortment of dinner plates,
candlesticks and other bric-a-brac. On the far tables
were more crates and piles of books. Excelsior shavings
littered the tables and floor.
As he entered, Chris saw a man and woman in lab coats
examining some sort of brass looking figurine. The man
was in his thirties, medium tall, with rimless glasses
and brown hair. He looked at Chris and then at is
watch. "Well, well, Bob's here," he said in a British
accent. His manner and tone implied that Chris, or at
least someone named Bob, was late.
"Hi," said Chris. "Uh... my name's Chris," he said
hesitantly. "I was sent here to help?"
The woman strode forward, holding out her hand. "Don't
mind him," she said in an accent that was just as
British. She was as tall as her partner with short
blonde hair that was swept behind her ears. Thick bangs
fell sideways across her forehead. She was pretty and
she was smiling warmly. Her fitted lab coat and slim
calves told Chris that there was probably nothing wrong
with her mostly hidden figure. As Chris shook her hand
she said, "Mr. Johnson calls all of you chaps, Bob. It
seems that Mr. Rigson sends us someone new everyday, so
he simply calls you all Bob."
"I see," said Chris.
"My name's Andrea, Andrea Hastings."
"Nice to meet you," said Chris.
"Right then, let's get you started," said Andrea. As
they crossed the room, Andrea pointed to a corner and
said, "This is Jane Simmons. You'll be aiding her
also."
Chris was mildly surprised that he'd not noticed the
young woman who was working at one of the tables
covered in books. She smiled at him, and gave a self-
conscious wave of her hand as he walked by. "Hi, how's
it going?" he said as he passed.
They walked down a short corridor and turned into what
was evidently a storeroom. Rough wood shelving lined
the walls, and on the shelves were dozens of wooden
crates. Andrea swept a hand at the shelves and their
contents. "We're doing an inventory of what's in these
crates," she said. "All you have to do is bring us one
when we're ready, and – if you'll follow me." She
walked across the hall to another room. Chris followed.
"Once we've finished and repacked the box, then you can
bring it in here." Chris looked around. The crates in
here looked cleaner, and they each had a laminated
sheet of paper stapled to their sides. He stepped over
and read one of the sheets. It was a list of contents
of the crate.
"You'll be doing much the same for Ms. Simmons. The
books she's cataloging are in the other rooms." She
made a gesture referring to rooms further away from the
workroom.
"Okay," said Chris. "That sounds simple enough."
"Good. Why don't we get started then?" said Andrea. "We
have a couple of crates ready to be stored. You can use
that trolley."
Chris saw that she was referring to a hand-truck that
was standing in a corner. He grabbed the handle of the
truck and pulled it behind him as he followed Andrea
back to the workroom.
The morning passed quickly enough. Chris found himself
hanging around Jane more than the British twosome. That
was to be expected. Jane was about Chris' age. She was
taller than average with brunette hair pinned up on her
head. She was slim, but she had noticeable breasts.
Jane had a pretty oval face that was offset by a fairly
hideous pair of cat's eye glasses.
Before Chris knew it, it was time for lunch. "I usually
eat in the break room," said Jane.
"Cool," said Chris. "Mind if I join you?"
"No, not at all," said Jane.
They left Andrea in the workroom. Johnson had left
earlier. Apparently he had plans that didn't involve
Chris or Jane or the Brick Estate's employee break
room. Chris bought his lunch from the room's vending
machines. Jane pulled a salad and thermos of soup from
a bag she'd brought with her.
"So what's the deal with you guys?" asked Chris. "I
don't know anything about antiques, but all the stuff
I've seen so far wouldn't bring a dollar at a garage
sale."
Jane laughed and nodded. "I know," she said. "I've
asked, but they just say that they're not looking for
anything in particular."
"Where'd it all come from?"
"You haven't heard the story?" Jane asked.
Chris shook his head.
"Well," Jane downed a spoon of thin soup, "you know
that the original Alan F. Brick furnished this place
from stuff he bought all over the world."
Chris nodded again.
"Apparently, James the third tried to do something of
the same. After the Second World War he spent millions
buying up all sorts of stuff in Europe. When the stuff
turned out to be crate after crate of the items like
what you've seen, people began to wonder. Had he been
ripped off by is buying agents? Was there some other
motive? Edwards issued a statement about providing
charity through honest business purchases. Which kind
of makes sense, the people in Europe needed all the
dollars they could get at that time."
Chris crunched a corn chip and asked, "So where do
Frick and Frack come in?"
"They work for some historical society in England,"
said Jane. "They claim that they're simply making an
inventory for an archive."
Chris frowned. It didn't make much sense to him, but it
really wasn't any of his business. "So you're just
handling the books?"
"Yeah, I'm temporary help like you. I'm studying
library science at Helmesford College. So I get the
books."
"Have you found anything valuable or interesting or
whatever?" Chris asked.
She shrugged. "Not really. A few volumes from the turn
of the century might be of interest to a niche
collector, but so far nothing's been valuable."
"That Johnson sure acts like he's got a stick up his
butt," said Chris.
Jane grimaced and then smiled. "Matthew's okay, just
really focused. Most of the help we get isn't as good
as you. He's had to practically lead some of them
around by the hand. What do you think of Andrea?"
"She's nicer than he is," said Chris. He wasn't about
to tell Jane that he wouldn't mind nailing her co-
worker. Not that there was anything wrong with Jane.
"How about a date?" he asked impulsively.
Jane looked confused. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"No, no," said Chris. He pointed at himself and then
her. "Me and you."
"This is kind of sudden, isn't it?" she said.
"Who knows where I'll be working tomorrow?" Chris said.
"I might never see you again."
Jane laughed. "Well, there is this new invention. It's
called the telephone. You..."
"Okay. I exaggerate for effect," Chris said. He tried
his most charming smile. "How about dinner tomorrow,
nothing fancy."
She hesitated but then said, "Okay, dinner tomorrow."
They settled on the details and then went back to work.
Chris was in a good mood. He even did some cleaning and
straightening up when he wasn't toting crates. By the
end of the day, Johnson was calling him by his correct
name, and even managed a 'thank you' as they parted at
quitting time.
At seven the following night, Chris pulled into the
parking space of the address Jane had given him. Her
home turned out to be a single-wide trailer. It sat on
a small lot that had a yard full of colorful flower
planters and neatly trimmed bushes. A porch large
enough to hold two rocking chairs and numerous flower
pots had been attached to the trailer. Chris climbed
the two steps onto the porch and knocked at the door.
A few seconds later the door was opened by an elderly
man dressed in faded jeans and a denim shirt. "Hello,"
he said loudly. "You must be Chris."
"Yes, sir," said Chris.
"Come on in," said the man. He stepped back so that
Chris could enter. "I'm Jane's grandfather, Griff
Simmons." He stuck out his hand.
"Nice to meet you," said Chris, shaking his hand. The
man might have been old, but there was nothing wrong
with his grip. He had a beefy, calloused hand. The
front door opened into the living room. There were two
easy chairs and a couch. To the left there was a small
kitchen and dining table. Everything was neat as a pin.
Griff eased onto one of the easy chairs. Obviously,
that was his accustomed place. "Have a seat," he told
Chris. "Jane's getting ready." He picked up a remote
and muted the television. There was a baseball game on
the screen. Chris took the other easy chair. "I
understand you work at the estate, too."
"Yes, sir," said Chris. "It's a summer job. I'll go
back to school in the fall."
Griff nodded. "You know, I grew up on a place that was
right next to the estate." He chuckled and said, "I
used to sneak on there and poach deer."
"Really?" said Chris.
"Yep. My daddy worked at a mill, but this was still
during the Depression and he didn't make much. It was
my job to keep meat on the table." Griff closed his
eyes and cocked his head to one side in the manner of
someone recovering a memory. "I remember one time about
a year before the war. I snuck on the estate before
daylight. I knew where the deer trails were, and I
nailed one just after first light. I had an old
Springfield that was about a tall as I was. I slung it
across my shoulder and commenced to dragging the
carcass out of there."
Chris just nodded in time with the man's story, content
to let him talk.
"There was a dirt road that ran around the edge of
those woods, and I had to cross it to get home. I
usually checked that road before I crossed it, but I
reckon I was so tied up with hauling that deer, that I
forgot where I was. Anyway, about the time I got to the
edge of the road I heard someone yell, 'Stop right
there.' I tell you, I like to piss myself. I dropped
that deer, jumped up in the air and spun around all at
the same time."
Chris chuckled in appreciation.
"It was a soldier; a sergeant I think. He had one of
those doughboy hats, a uniform and a rifle that was
pointed right at me. 'Drop that gun,' he tells me. I
un-slung my ought-three and laid it on the ground; I
wasn't about the throw the thing down. He marched me
out into the middle of that road, and danged if there
weren't a whole crowd of people there. There were a
dozen people on horseback, and a truck with I don't
know how many soldiers. He told me to stay put, and he
went to talk to one of the men on horseback. Heck, I
was too scared to run.
"That man rode over to me; I knew it was Mr. Brick; his
picture was in the papers all the time. 'You're one of
the Simmons', aren't you?' he asked me. I was amazed
that he knew who I was, and of course I told him yes.
He said, 'The sergeant tells me that you've shot a
deer.' I allowed that I had. He just looked at me for a
second and rode back. He told that sergeant something
and then that bunch just rode off. The sergeant came
back to me and told me that he and his men were going
to be there another week or two. And if he caught me
again, then he was just going to shoot me with no
questions asked."
"Wow," said Chris. "I wonder what was going on."
"Well..." Griff started to say, but he was interrupted
when Jane appeared from the rear of the trailer. In
fact, Chris had to look twice to make sure that it was
her. There had been a significant transformation since
he'd seen her the day before. Her hair was down. It was
a lustrous chestnut mane that fell across her
shoulders. The glasses were gone, and makeup had been
skillfully applied. She was wearing a sleeveless, lime-
green dress that showed off her figure nicely. Jane had
gone from pretty to beautiful.
Chris stood. "Hi," he said. "you look great."
"Thank you," Jane said with a confidant smile. "Are we
ready to go?"
Chris checked his watch. "Yeah, I guess we'd better."
He turned to Griff and shook the man's hand. "It was
nice to meet you," he said.
"You too, son," Griff said. "You drive careful, now."
"Yes, sir," Chris said.
Jane crossed to her grandfather and kissed him on the
forehead, "I won't be out too late," she told him.
"Your grandfather's a cool guy," Chris said a few
minutes later as they drove away in his Jeep. "He told
me a story about hunting on the Brick Estate when he
was a boy."
"Yeah, he'll tell a story at the drop of a hat," Jane
said. "Which one was he regaling you with?" Chris
outlined the story. "Huh, I don't remember that one,"
she said with a wry expression.
"See? I've enriched your life already," said Chris.
Chris had made reservations at a local steakhouse. It
wasn't an expensive place, but the dining area was
divided into rooms so as to foster a cozy atmosphere.
They spent the meal talking mostly about college life.
"Helmesford College is pretty expensive, isn't it?"
asked Chris.
Jane nodded and smiled, "It sure is. My mom went there,
and before she passed away she made me promise that I'd
go there too." Jane had never known her father, and her
mother had died of cancer at an early age. That was
when Jane had been a senior in high school. She'd moved
in with her grandfather and her maiden aunt, Genevieve.
"Mom left me some money, but I've about gone through
that. I'd like to get my master's or maybe even a PHD."
"You could get student loans," suggested Chris.
Jane laughed. "Yeah, but at the rate a librarian gets
paid, I'd repay the loans about the time I retired."
"I see what you mean," said Chris. He felt lucky.
Between his mom's help, his summer jobs and the fact
that he was going to a state college, he wasn't
building up any student debts.
They finished their meal with an obscenely rich
chocolate desert. "What would you like to do now?"
asked Chris. He checked his watch. "We might be able to
catch a late movie."
"Actually, I had something else in mind," said Jane.
"Do you trust me?"
"Sure," Chris said, with a smile.
"Good," said Jane. "The first thing is that I have to
powder my nose." While she was gone, Chris paid their
bill.
A few minutes later they were in Chris' Jeep. "Okay,"
said Jane, "we need to run a little errand."
"What's that?" asked Chris.
"Terri, she's a friend of mine, is out of town, and I
promised her that I would check her house and feed her
cats," Jane said.
"Which way?" asked Chris.
Jane gave him directions, and soon they were pulling to
a stop in the drive of an aging townhouse. Jane
collected mail from a box at the end of the drive, and
then unlocked the side door of the townhouse. They
entered into the kitchen. It was evident to Chris that
this Terri was a cat person. She had a cat clock, cat
refrigerator magnets and a cat calendar showing the cat
of the month. There was even a musty cat smell.
Jane added the mail she'd brought in to a pile that was
already on a counter. She walked through the kitchen
and opened a closet door. Chris was treated to the
sight of Jane's shapely ass as she bent over to open a
sack of cat food.
"Want to make yourself useful?" she asked him.
"Sure," Chris said cheerfully.
She turned and presented him with a pooper-scooper.
"It's in the bathroom," she said with a grin, and
pointed around a corner.
"Gee, thanks," said Chris. He followed her finger down
a short hallway, past a washer and dryer and into a
half-bath. The litter box was under the basin. He
hunkered down and began to scoop the lumps of cat-waste
into the nearby commode. There seemed to be a lot of
it. "How many dozen cats does she have?" Chris called
over his shoulder. He heard Jane laugh.
"There's only two, but they eat really well," she said.
"Evidently," muttered Chris. He flushed the commode,
washed his hands in the basin and returned to the
kitchen. He handed the scoop to Jane who put it away;
she'd already filled the food and water bowls for the
cats.
"So where are they?" asked Chris.
"Ummm..." intoned Jane as she searched the nearby
living room, "there's one." She pointed to the side of
an easy chair. "They're shy."
Chris turned his attention across the room and beheld
the biggest Siamese cat that he'd ever seen. "Good
Lord, that thing's fat. He makes Garfield look like a
starving alley cat."
Jane giggled. She took Chris by the hand and said,
"Let's go upstairs and get out of their way. I'm sure
they're hungry... again." As they walked by a sofa, the
second cat was flushed out of hiding. As big as his
housemate, this cat could manage only a thudding
trundle across the carpet to his food.
Chris and Jane climbed the stairs. At the top were two
closed doors. "Terri doesn't allow the cats into her
bedroom," she said. She opened one of the doors, and
they stepped inside. Jane flipped on the light.
Chris blinked as if someone had thrown dust in his
eyes. Terri's bedroom and furnishings were done in a
dozen shades of mauve. There was a queen-sized,
canopied bed, complete with dust ruffles, shams and
decorative pillows. "Good grief," he said.
"Terri can be a girlie-girl," said Jane.
"I'd say so," said Chris, looking around.
"I hope it doesn't put you off," she said. She put her
hands on his chest.
Chris felt warmth in his cock. He hadn't been sure
where this date was going, but things were looking
promising. "I think I can survive," he said with a
crooked smile. "What did you have in mind?" Jane closed
her eyes and tilted her face upward. Chris took that as
a sign to kiss her, so he did. Her lips weren't exactly
moist, but her heart was clearly in the right place as
her lips twisted against his. He was about to introduce
some tongue action, when he heard and felt a solid
thud. The kind of thud a closing door makes. Chris
turned his head to the side and said into Jane's ear,
"What was that?"
Jane whispered into his ear, "That's another surprise."
There was the sound of footsteps lightly running up the
stairs, and then the door opened. Mary Simpson stepped
inside. "Hi," she said, breathing deeply from her run
up the steps. She was wearing hip-hugger shorts, a
crop-top and flip-flops. She obviously wasn't wearing a
bra. Her breasts swayed and bobbled with every deep
breath. She slipped her purse off her shoulder and laid
it on Terri's vanity.
Chris and Jane said their hellos.
"Have you seen it yet?" Mary asked Jane with an eager
expression.
"We just got here," Jane said, a bit embarrassed.
Chris saw that they had gathered here for some fun and
games. He was all for that, but there was one worry on
his mind. "Your husband isn't going to come charging in
here, is he?" he asked Mary.
Jane laughed, and Mary said, "No, don't worry," with a
smile. "He's at work."
"What does he do?" asked Chris.
"He's a professional wrestler, goes by the name, Long
Hammer," Mary snorted. "It's long and it's a hammer
alright. But he's been hitting the steroids too hard
lately. He couldn't get an erection with a vacuum pump
and a screw clamp."
Chris winced at that visual. But he wasn't wincing at
Mary. She'd been undressing as she talked, and now she
was nude. Mary had a nicely rounded figure with full
breasts and plenty of ass to grab onto. There was no
danger of her becoming a fashion model, but Chris
didn't mind at all.
"Am I going to have to do all the work?" Mary said as
she walked over to Chris and groped at the front of his
pants.
Jane, who had clung possessively to Chris' arm ever
since Mary had showed up, stuck her tongue out at Mary
and said, "I was doing nicely without you."
"I'm just trying to move things along," Mary said. She
unhooked and then unzipped Jane's dress.
As Jane coped with getting out of her dress, Mary led
Chris to the bed and had him sit. She began to undress
him as he watched Jane strip. As compared to Mary, she
was the one who could be a fashion model. Her chestnut
hair fell sexily across her white shoulders. Her
breasts weren't as big as Mary's, but they had that
perky upward curve that made her nipples point right at
him. He was getting a serious hard-on now. Mary went to
work on his pants, so Chris lifted his ass so that she
could slide them off his legs. That left his cock to
bulge obscenely in his shorts. He loved the way Jane's
eyes grew wide at the sight.
"I wasn't lying, was I?" Mary asked Jane as she pulled
the cotton material tight around his cock.
"Nooooo," Jane said absently; her gaze locked on Chris'
massive cock.
"Go and impress your date, while I get the bed ready,"
Mary told Chris.
Chris heaved his naked, Adonis-like body off the bed.
"I know I'm impressed," he said as he looked Jane up
and down.
"That makes two of us," Jane said as she slipped her
arms over his shoulder. They kissed again, but it
wasn't a chaste first date kiss; it was all tongues and
heat now.
Mary stacked the decorative pillows in a corner, and
then did some flip and fold magic with the sham and
blankets until the bed was an inviting expanse of pale
pink satin sheets. At that point, she grabbed Chris'
arm and dragged him away from Jane. "I get first dibs,"
she cried, jerking him toward the bed.
"Hey!" complained Jane.
"I'm sure there's plenty to go around," Mary said.
"Besides, my pussy's been gushing ever since you called
from the restaurant." She slid onto the bed and spread
her legs in invitation, then she licked a finger and
began to play with her clit.
Chris gave Jane an apologetic smile and followed Mary
eagerly. He went right between her bent knees. If she
didn't want any foreplay, that was more than alright
with him. He leveled his ultra-hard cock with her pussy
lips. She wasn't kidding about being wet. His cock slid
in smoothly – and went in until his cock-head bumped to
a stop.
"Oh, shit," Mary cried, "even Mason's big cock can't
fill me like this." She looked down to see inches of
cock-shaft still outside of her stretched and swollen
pussy lips.
Chris began to fuck Mary with long, smooth strokes.
Jane put one foot on the bed, opening her legs. She had
only a narrow strip of pubic hair. She leaned against
the wall and played with her pussy and tits as she
watched Chris and Mary.
Chris was in no hurry to satisfy himself. He knew that
his huge prong was giving Mary's g-spot and clit a
workout. She alternated between wrapping her legs
around his waist, humping upwards to meet Chris' down
thrust, or splaying her legs wide to accommodate his
wide cock.
"I'm cummmminnng!" Mary groaned.
Chris looked at Jane and grinned. The girl was frigging
her clit hard. He gave her a wink. Even though Mary was
already having a tremendous orgasm, Chris threw his
thrusting hips into a higher gear and continued to
pound her pussy. He slammed her down onto the mattress
only to have her spring upwards to meet his next
thrust.
"Oh fuck... yes... YES!" wailed Mary as she came time
after time in a chain of orgasms.
Chris kept Mary in a state of perpetual orgasmic bliss
for at least ten minutes. Then he withdrew his pussy-
juice coated cock. It smacked against his rock-hard
abs. He didn't want Jane to wait any longer. She'd
obviously taken herself to the edge more than once
while Chris had plowed Mary's cunt, but she hadn't
given in to the urge to cum.
Mary sighed in completion and rolled over. That left
most of the bed available. Chris took Jane's hand and
drew her to his side. She looked unsure.
"Don't worry," said Chris. "We don't have to be so...
frantic."
Jane leaned up against him, sliding her thigh up his,
and exploring the chiseled muscles of his chest. Chris
slid his fingers down the length of her thigh and
between her legs, teasing her silky skin. When he found
her pussy, it was sopping wet and the slightest contact
with his fingers made her shiver as if an erotic
electric shock had run through her. He took his time
and brought her to a long shuddering climax.
He moved between her legs and she threw them open wide
in invitation. Jane examined his cock as a thick drool
of cum came from the tip. She slid her hand up and down
his length several times, marveling at the sheer size
of his organ. "I don't know," whispered Jane, "you're
so damn big."
"Trust me, it'll fit, and it'll feel wonderful."
Despite her doubts, Jane started to grind and push
against Chris, slowly forcing herself onto his huge
rod. Her body began to shake as her lips parted, and
Chris' cock started to force its way into her. Just the
size of his huge cock, was enough to put her over the
brink into an orgasm. He had nestled a mere six inches
of his monster cock in her tight body and already her
legs were quaking and her pussy was contracting around
his plunging dick.
"Oh my god... Oh My God," she moaned louder and louder.
She gave into the irresistible need to fuck, plunging
her hips wildly. Chris stuffed the mammoth bulk of his
manhood ever deeper, drawing a constant stream of
orgasms from the wailing woman.
Chris' torso glistened with sweat. Between one girl and
the other, he'd been fucking hard for nearly thirty
minutes. They'd had a countless number of orgasms, and
he was ready for his. His balls were achingly full, and
his dick had swollen to near record proportions. He
gathered up Jane in his arms – even then, she couldn't
stop thrusting and cumming – and knee walked sideways
until he could lay her next to Mary. With a loud,
liquid pop he jerked his dick from Jane's clinging
pussy.
"Ohhhhhhh yessss, ohhhh... fuck... yessss," he moaned
as a pencil thick stream of cum shot from his freed
cock and arched into the air. The hot stuff splattered
down onto the girls. Chris didn't even touch his
erupting dick. His cum cannon fired a nearly unbroken
fountain of cream until the girls were fairly covered.
Chris left the glistening women to marvel at their cum
bath and made his way to the nearby bathroom. The
absent Terri had a full complement of feminine soaps,
shampoos, crèmes and even a variety of pink razors. He
warmed up the shower water and picked out what he hoped
was the least perfumed soap. He had just begun to
lather up when the door opened and Mary entered. She
was carrying a cum soaked towel which she threw on the
floor. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, she
stepped into the shower, situating herself between
Chris and the flow of water.
"Please, come right in," Chris said.
Water cascading over her head, Mary said, "You
shouldn't mind, especially after what you just did to
us."
Chris chuckled. "I suppose so. Here, let me help." He
lathered up his hands and washed her back. He did
something his mother always liked in the shower, he
alternated between a gentle wash of her soft skin, and
a firm massage of the muscles in her back and
shoulders.
"Mmm, that's good," she said, leaning back into Chris'
hands.
"I thought you'd fallen asleep out there," he said.
"I did for a second," Mary said. "But who could sleep
through all that pussy pounding? I was just giving you
guys a little privacy."
"Ah, I see," said Chris. He let his soapy hands wander
to Mary's front. He lifted her breasts and let her
nipples slide between his fingers.
Mary shivered. "I think you've done this before," she
said.
"Once or twice," said Chris. His cock, which had gone
into a sort of half-hard standby mode, began to awaken.
The head pressed against Mary's ass and twitched its
way upward until it rested against the small of her
back.
She turned in Chris' arms. "What do we have here?" she
said, taking his thick shaft in both hands. Now it was
her turn to lather up her hands. She washed his thickly
veined shaft and balls. Hefting first one of his gonads
and then the other, Mary said, "Damn, these match up
with that big dick. No wonder you can make cum
showers." She gave one of his palm filling balls a
gentle squeeze. "Think these bad boys have recharged
yet?" she asked with a grin.
"Mmm... I think so," said Chris. He rubbed the
sensitive underside of his cock-head on her soft tummy.
He stooped and slipped a finger across her clit and
between her vaginal lips. "Now that's a slick pussy,"
he told her.
"You got that right, stud," Mary said. She rinsed off
Chris' big fuck-stick and then turned, steadying
herself against the side of the shower. She swished her
butt provocatively.
Chris didn't need a written invitation. He did the
classic bent-legs-hips-forward maneuver to bring the
head of his dick in line with her flowering pussy lips.
Chris eased forward, pushing into her silky tunnel.
"I can't believe how much you fill me," she groaned as
she ground her ass.
Chris began to pound her mercilessly. "OH FUCK YES!"
Mary moaned in a quavering wail. "That's it, shag my
pussy, baby."
Chris slammed her until she came again and again. His
balls were near bursting. He'd done a lot of fucking
tonight for one nice, but hardly completely satisfying,
orgasm. He could feel his sap rising. His dick was
swelling; the oily smoothness of Mary's cunt was
becoming too much to bear. Chris clenched his teeth and
arched his back; he was about to blow an enormous wad
of fucking cock-cream.
That was when Mary jumped off his dick. Chris' dazed
eyes popped open. "Wha-?" he spluttered.
"I want to see it," she said enthusiastically. She
grabbed Chris' dick and began to jack him furiously.
She didn't need soap; there was more than enough pre-
cum flowing from his cock-slit to lubricate her
fingers.
"Buhhh..." protested Chris. Damn it, he wanted some
pussy, but it was too late. His cock erupted and a shot
of cum leapt from the end of his cock and splashed
against the far end of the shower stall.
"Yes!" Mary cried in triumph. "Come on you big-dick son
of a bitch."
Chris surrendered to the moment. He flexed his pubic
muscles and gave Mary her show. He sent streams of cum
across the shower with enough force to splash cum off
the wall and back onto her ass.
"It's just fucking amazing," said Mary as Chris' last,
drooling, drops fell on her hand and ran in a rivulet
down to her elbow.
A few minutes later, Chris, finally clean, stepped out
of the shower. He toweled off and redressed. When he
walked back into the bedroom, Mary was busy
straightening Teri's ultra-feminine décor. Jane was
curled under a blanket on the bed. Chris walked toward
her, intending to wake her up so he could take her
home. It had been some date.
"No, no," Mary whispered urgently. Chris raised his
eyebrows in question. Mary came to his side. "Let her
sleep. She's been having a rough time lately. Her
grandfather isn't well, and she's been worried more
than she should about her tuition."
Chris checked his watch. "I need to get her home; we
can't be out all night. Her grandfather looked well
enough to be able to aim a shotgun at me."
Mary giggled. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm going to
clean up this mess. It looks like there was an orgy in
here." She paused a beat and said with a grin,
"Actually, I guess there was one. I'll call Griff and
tell him that we met up and that Jane's going to spend
the night with me. Don't worry, I'll give him a glowing
report about you."
It took some more assurances from Mary, but in the end
Chris left Jane in her care.
*
The next day, Chris waited as Rigson handed out work
assignments. He gave a job to everyone but Chris.
"Let's get to it, people," Rigson said. "Chris, I need
to see you."
Chris' co-workers gave him sympathetic looks as they
left. When Rigson singled someone out for a one-on-one,
it was usually to strip a piece off his hide. "Chris,"
he said when they were alone, "I have a tough job for
you. With all the rain we've had lately, we've received
some complaints from the hikers about the condition of
our trails."
Chris nodded. In return for tax breaks, the Brick
Estate allowed the public to use its forests. There
were a series of hiking trails and camping areas
available. The main trail was known famously as "The
Brown Brick Road" made a circle through the estate's
woods and paralleled the Heel River.
"So," Rigson was saying, "I need for you to walk the
length of the Brick Road, and take notes on washouts,
fallen trees and so forth."
"Okay," said Chris. Rigson knew that he had some
outdoor experience. They'd discussed camping and
fishing from time to time.
"Take two... heck, take three nights on the trail if
you need it," Rigson said.
Chris saw the faintest glimmer of amusement on the sour
old man's face. Chris could easily do the job by
spending only one night on the trail. He was giving
Chris, in fact, a paid vacation.
Chris ran his fingers over his chin as if he had to
give the matter serious thought. With a slow nod he
said, "I guess I could manage that."
"Good man," said Rigson. "Now go get your gear
together; you can start this afternoon. And Chris, I'll
expect a full report..."
"On trail conditions," finished Chris.
"On how the fish are biting," Rigson said.
Chris drove his Jeep back home and began to pull out
his outdoor gear. He had more than his fair share. His
Uncle Jack, actually his great-uncle, had been the main
male figure in his life as he'd grown. Uncle Jack had
been determined that Chris wouldn't grow up to be 'some
sort of sissy boy' as he had put it. Although Chris was
a natural athlete, his uncle had taught him the basics
of baseball, football and other sports. He and Chris
had also spent a lot of time hunting and fishing
together. Chris' birthday and Christmas presents from
his uncle focused on sporting and outdoor gear.
Chris got his pack packed and then called his mother.
He told her about his assignment. "Well, you be
careful," she told him, giving him the mother's
universal, qualified blessing to his plans.
It was afternoon by the time Chris hit the trailhead.
He checked the sign-in sheet. There were only two
people listed. The recent rains seemed to have scared
off the usual number of campers. He shouldered his pack
and took off.
Chris moved steadily through the afternoon. It was hot
and muggy, but after the bustle of work, the walk was a
pleasure. If he had been at work, then he might be
stuck in that dungeon of a room carrying crates for...
Chris came to a dead stop in the middle of the trail.
He'd completely forgotten about Jane and his intention
to see her during his lunch break. He shrugged off his
pack and dug out his cell to call her, but he couldn't
get a signal. Well, he hadn't had much hope of being
able to call. Service was spotty around the estate and
now that he had mountains on both sides, he was out of
contact. Oh well, he could only hope that she'd
understand.
He remounted his pack and walked on. The trail was
muddy and indeed, it had been washed out in places.
Chris dutifully marked those spots on a map that Rigson
had supplied. It was after five when Chris reached the
first primitive camping area. There were three widely
spaced sites. Each site had a built up patch of ground
for a tent and a ring of stones for a fire.
The first site was occupied by two women. Chris
introduced himself and even explained that he was an
employee of the Brick Estate, but the ladies were cool
to his presence. They looked to be in their late
twenties with hard, almost bony bodies. One was a
bleached blonde, and the other had coal black hair.
Both of them looked as if they had their hair done at
the corner barber shop. Chris chided himself for being
politically incorrect, but he decided that if they
weren't gay, then the two women certainly wanted to
give that impression.
Chris went to the farther campsite, which put him about
fifty yards from his neighbors. His first order of
business was to set up camp. A dedicated backpacker
would have been appalled at all the stuff he was
carrying. Chris hadn't tried to pack lightly. First of
all, he had a two-person tent. A personal tent wouldn't
have weighed nearly as much, but he liked to stretch
out. Once the tent was up, he unsheathed a self
inflating mattress. Again, it was bigger than one
person needed, but he was a big guy. He walked into the
woods in search of fuel for a fire. Since the recent
rains, it wasn't easy to find downed wood that wasn't
soaked, but eventually he had an armful that he thought
would do.
Chris dumped the wood next to the fire ring and brushed
his hands clean against his jeans – now he was ready
for the important part. He pulled out his fishing
tackle. Rigson had told him about a couple of fishing
holes that were convenient to the campsite. Chris
rigged his fly pole and headed down a nearby narrow
trail for the river.
Chris stepped from the trail onto a rock that sloped
gently down to the Heel. The Heel river was a river in
name only. Here, it was only twenty yards to the far
shore, but the rain swollen water ran in a deep pool.
Chris frowned, there was still a lot of silt in the
water; it wasn't very clear at all. He chose a fly with
a small spinner and tied it on his line. He worked the
pool for several minutes, but if there were any trout
in the water they weren't interested in anything he had
for them.
Chris moved up the river to the next pool. He caught
one small trout. "Go get your big brother," he told the
fish as he released it back into the water. He managed
to catch and return one more fish before he noticed
that the light was growing dim. Chris checked his watch
and decided that it was time to get back to his camp.
When Chris arrived in camp, he decided to set up his
fire first. He cut a few sticks into kindling and then
cheated by coating them in some jellied cooking fuel.
In a few minutes he had a smoky, but lively little fire
going. Then he turned his attention to dinner. Again, a
hardcore backpacker would have laughed, but Chris had
brought MRE's. Chris was no cook, and the military
rations required next to zero preparation. Besides,
they were free courtesy of his Uncle Jack. He opened a
pack of chicken and pasta in some sort of sauce and ate
it using a plastic spoon. For desert he had crackers
with some grape jelly, and then washed it all down with
water. It was hardly fine dining, but it was no muss,
no fuss and clean up consisted of stuffing his garbage
in a plastic bag.
At some time in the past, energetic campers had
maneuvered a sizable tree trunk near Chris' fire ring.
He sat there now, staring into the flames. This was one
part of camping alone he didn't care for. He had a
couple of hours to go before bed and nothing to do. If
he turned in now, then he'd be wide awake well before
dawn. He'd thrown a paperback in his pack and he was
about to dig it out when he heard footsteps.
"Hello there."
Chris jumped up and turned. It was a woman's voice and
for a second he thought one of the women from the other
camp had decided that he wasn't a serial rapist after
all. But the woman who entered into the firelight
certainly wasn't one of them. In fact, for an instant
he thought that his mother had turned up. The stranger
was tall and buxom with dark hair.
"Hi," said Chris. He stood and watched her approach.
Maybe it was a trick of the firelight, Chris decided,
but the woman looked almost too good to be camping in
the middle of the woods. She was wearing neatly
pressed, pleated shorts with a thin belt around a high
waist. Tucked into the shorts was a plaid, men's shirt.
She'd folded back the cuffs until they were at three-
quarters length. She didn't have any trouble filling
out a man's shirt though. Her breasts swelled
impressively beneath the material.
"Good evening, my name's Helen Clarke," she said,
offering her hand.
"Chris," said Chris, shaking her hand. Helen had a face
that went with her voluptuous figure. It was a full,
nice oval shape with maybe green eyes, it was hard to
tell their exact color in the firelight. She had a mass
of red hair that was done up in large curls and fell
down her back to her shoulder blades; it was held in
place with a head band.
"I thought we might share a little after dinner wine,"
she said. She raised her left hand and just then, Chris
realized that she was carrying a bottle.
"Oh, that's great," said Chris. "I've got a cup here,
somewhere." He went to his pack and unzipped a side
compartment. He pulled out his heavy duty, all purpose
plastic cup. He rinsed it out with water from his
bottle.
"Do you have a corkscrew?" Helen asked, "I'm afraid I
came empty handed, except for the wine."
"Well, you've brought the most important part," Chris
said with a grin. His hand went to a sheath on his belt
and he pulled out a multi-tool. It had been another
gift from Uncle Jack. The thing was large enough to
fill his palm. "There should be a corkscrew in here;
it's got everything else but the kitchen sink - and I'm
not sure that it doesn't have one of those too." He
turned the tool in his hand until the corkscrew
appeared. "Here we go," he said, flipping it into
position. He handed Helen the cup and took the wine
bottle. In a few seconds, he'd managed to remove the
cork without destroying it.
Helen held out the cup and Chris filled it about three-
quarters full. "I've only got one cup," he said.
"I'm sure we can make do," said Helen. She lifted the
cup in Chris' direction and said, "Cheers." She took a
sip of the wine, and then handed the cup to him.
Chris took the cup and, very self consciously, mimicked
her. He lifted the cup in her direction and said,
"Cheers." As he sipped the wine, he considered that
he'd never said that word in his life, unless he was
answering a trivia question about the television show
of that name.
"Not bad," said Chris, as he handed the cup back to
Helen. "More of a beer guy though. I don't know much
about wine."
Helen sipped again. "I believe the strong point about
this wine is that it's twelve percent alcohol."
Chris laughed. He looked around and thought that they
ought to be able to sit somewhere. There was the log,
but it was damp – as he'd already found out while
eating dinner. Suddenly inspired, he said, "Hang on a
sec.'" He went to his tent and pulled out another of
his uncle's gifts. This was a rain jacket that was knee
length on Chris. It was made from an extremely light,
but extremely tough material. And it was huge; Chris
could wear it over his pack if he needed to. He spread
it open and draped it against the log and onto the
ground.
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing downward.
"How gallant," said Helen. She gracefully lowered
herself onto his jacket while still holding the wine
bottle and cup.
Chris, less gracefully, sat next to her. This was cozy;
there were only a few inches between them. "So, you're
with the two ladies over there?" He tossed his head in
the direction of their tent.
"Oh, you might call me something of a guide," Helen
said. "They're wrapped up in their own company, so I
try to leave them alone as much as possible."
Chris nodded. He thought it best not to go down that
road any further, so he changed the subject. "Can I ask
where you're from? I hear some sort of accent."
"Mmmmm..." Helen said through a mouthful of wine. "I'm
afraid you've caught me," she said once she'd
swallowed.
"British," Chris said with a snap of his fingers.
"Got it in one," Helen said. "What gave me away? I've
really worked on trying to sound like a local."
"I think it was the 'cheers' thing," said Chris.
"Ah, of course," she said. She poured more wine into
the cup and offered it to Chris.
They talked on into the night. Chris saw that she kept
up her end in the wine drinking department. They were
splitting the bottle between them. As far as the
conversation went, however, he was doing most of the
talking. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want to
be the guy who thinks that his life is fascinating to
everyone else. But that's the way it went. Despite any
probing questions on his part, she always turned the
conversation back to him, or least to some neutral
subject.
Helen emptied the cup and then hung it top down over
the neck of the wine bottle. "And that is that," Helen
said in finality.
"Too bad," said Chris. Actually, he'd had enough. He
had a comfortable glow of wellbeing radiating from his
tummy, and his cock was sporting one of those
spontaneous half hard-ons. Or maybe it wasn't quite so
spontaneous. A full moon had arisen over the mountain.
Between the moonlight in his eyes and the wine in his
head, Helen was looking damned gorgeous.
He wasn't sure who made the first move, but suddenly
they were kissing. There was none of the - let's see
where the noses go, and when do we open our mouths -
sort of kisses. These were the full on - we're gonna
fuck, it's just a matter of how soon - sort of kisses.
Chris couldn't enough of his tongue in her mouth
because she was trying to do the same.
He kneaded her tits through the material of her shirt
and bra. They were more than a handful and rode high on
her chest despite their size.
Chris began to unbutton Helen's shirt, and then she
began to unbutton his. She giggled as they made a race
of it. In seconds, both shirts were off. Helen reached
to her back, jutting her tits outward provocatively,
and undid the clasp of her bra. She shrugged her
shoulders and her rather utilitarian looking
undergarment joined her shirt on top of the log. Chris
barely had time to admire the seductive fullness and
shape of her tits before she set to getting downright
naked.
Chris dragged his eyes away from Helen's body long
enough to also get rid of his clothing. He pulled down
his shorts, freeing his steel-hard dick, and then he
stopped long enough to drink in the sight of Helen's
form. Maybe it was just a product of the combination of
moonlight and the dying embers of the fire, but she
looked like a goddess. She stood tall with her hands on
her hips, her shoulders back and her breasts up thrust
into the night. Her skin had an ethereal glow. She
removed the band from her hair and now her tresses
spilled in large curls over her shoulders and onto her
tits.
"You look... amazing," Chris said in a hesitant,
reverent tone.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she said. Clearly,
she was admiring his muscular frame, not to mention his
world class cock. "Damn, you're hung," she said as she
stepped close.
Chris jerked his pelvis, and his hard prick waved back
and forth in invitation. Helen touched the base of his
cock, caressing his cum-filled balls. The shaft of
Chris' massive prick throbbed in her hands. Chris
stepped closer, his cock riding up the taut skin of her
stomach. They began to swap tongues again. Their kisses
weren't as frantic as they had been moments earlier,
but no less passionate. Chris slipped his middle finger
over her clit and dipped it into her pussy. She was
wet; her lips were full and inviting.
Helen groaned at his touch. "Oh, Chris, you've got to
fuck me now," she said as she lifted her foot to the
top of the log.
Chris bent his legs, and then leaning back he popped
the head of his dick into her open pussy. He eased the
first ten inches of his rock hard, thick man-meat
inside and Helen moaned even louder. "Oh damn, I've
never, never been so full." She grabbed at Chris' arm
to steady herself.
Chris screwed her with long strokes. He made sure his
veined shaft bumped over her clit with every pump of
his hips. "Oh... Chris... I... I... " she gasped and
just that quickly she was cumming. Her cunt shuddered
and rippled on his cock again and again. She
practically feinted; Chris had to hold her steady to
keep her on her feet.
When she came back to her senses, Chris was maintaining
a slow, but steady stroke. "That was incredible," she
said to him with half-lidded eyes. "Didn't you cum?"
she asked.
Chris flipped his hips upward and sank considerably
more dick than the ten inches he'd been using into her
dripping pussy. "What do you think?" he asked.
Helen gasped and then squealed with delight as Chris
put his hands underneath her thighs and lifted her into
the air. She threw her arms around his neck and locked
her legs around his waist, and then held on as he
bounced her on his rigid cock.
Helen's high tits were in his face, so Chris took
advantage and sucked on one of her erect nipples. Chris
knew that he was massaging and vibrating her clit each
time she slammed down on his cock.
Helen drew herself up, smashing her tits against Chris'
face. "Uh... uh... uh... " she grunted with each
thrust. "Oh my god, Chris. I'm going to cum againnnnn."
Chris felt the familiar milking sensation of a wildly
fucked cunt on his swollen member. Helen was having
massive orgasms. Chris held her suspended from his cock
until she recovered. She gave Chris a long kiss and
said, "Why don't we find something more comfortable. I
need to take care of you properly."
Arm's bulging, Chris lifted her off his cock and let
her stand on her own. His cock, coated in pussy juice,
glistened in the moonlight. "I think I can manage
that," said Chris. He went to his tent and wrestled his
mattress pad into the open. He put it a safe distance
from the fire and then spread out his sleeping bag for
more padding.
"You first," said Helen as she gestured for him to lie
down.
"Alright," Chris said. He lay on his back, and a second
later Helen straddled his hips. She used both hands to
bring his cock - still steel hard - into an upright
position. Her pussy juice and his prodigious flow of
pre-cum coated his shaft. She worked his flared cock-
head into her pussy. "Ohhhh yesss... " she moaned as
she filled her cunt with his huge erection.
Chris held Helen's tits in his hands, and twisted his
palms against her nipples as she rocked her hips and
slid her hot, clinging pussy along his cock. His shaft
widened as she pushed her vaginal lips downward until
her clit was bumping over the bluish veins of his dick.
It felt as if she was having her clitoris licked as her
pussy was stuffed.
"Oh my god, what a fuck," gasped Helen as she came
again.
Chris liked nothing more than to overwhelm a woman with
orgasms, but there was a limit to his control. "I'm
going to fill your pussy," he growled.
"I bet you make lots of cum," Helen said. Her voice was
husky with emotion and fatigue.
"You won't believe," Chris said.
"I want to see," said a suddenly reenergized Helen. She
pulled herself off Chris despite a grunt in protest
from him.
Chris got to his knees. "Jack me off then," he said.
The least she could do was finish him off with a hand-
job.
"With pleasure," said Helen. She used both hands to
span his massive meat. As her hands jerked up his shaft
and over his cock-head, squirts of pre-cum leapt from
his slit. "Damn, it looks like you're cumming already."
"You haven't seen anything yet," Chris gasped.
He began to swing his hips in order to speed her hand
fucking. In less than a minute he grunted, "Now, baby
NOW!"
Helen bent his cock to the side. An unbelievable stream
of cum erupted from the slit. She heard the creamy load
fall to the ground with a loud splat. It was an
unbelievable amount of cum and she was about to release
his cock when another, longer, thicker stream shot even
farther. "My goodness," she said. She continued to
stroke his shaft and marveled at the bulging pulses of
semen as they raced the length of his cum tube. He came
until there was a long, creamy puddle on the ground.
Chris sighed and laid back on the mattress.
*
Chris awoke to blinding sunlight blasting through his
closed eyelids. He threw an arm over his eyes while his
mind struggled to rouse itself from sleep. He wondered
just how late it was; the sun wouldn't be over the
mountain above the river until up in the morning. He
propped up on his elbow and looked around. Helen was
nowhere to be seen, and neither were the women at the
other campsite. She'd been good enough to cover him
with the sleeping bag, and to fold his clothes and
place them nearby on his boots.
Chris arose, his morning – actually, almost noon -
hard-on waving in the sunshine. He dressed and then
stepped into the woods, away from his camp, to relieve
his bladder. He gathered up a washcloth and soap and
headed for the river. The mountain water was darned
cold, but he gave himself a sponge bath. His stomach
growled on the way back to camp; he was famished.
He dug out a MRE of sausage and eggs and warmed it with
the included chemical heater. He added some crackers to
his breakfast and washed it down with water mixed with
powdered cider that had been in the MRE pouch. He
straightened up his camp, putting his mattress pad back
in his tent and policing his trash. Helen had left the
wine bottle. He frowned at the thought of having to
pack it out. But, he decided, considering the fun
they'd had it was worth it. At that point it he headed
to the woods once more to do what the bears do there.
Arriving back in camp, he said aloud to himself, "Okay,
Chris, I guess we'd better get going if we're going to
fish today."
He put on his wading boots and fly vest, gathered up
his rod and headed for the river. Chris fished steadily
for about three hours. He caught several trout,
releasing them back into the stream. He hadn't hooked
anything worthy of bragging about to his Uncle Jack,
but the bites had come along often enough to keep his
attention.
It was mid-afternoon when he noticed that the weather
was deteriorating. Black clouds were blowing in over
the mountain crests. The river water began to turn
dingy. "Aw hell," Chris muttered to himself. That was a
sign that it was raining hard upstream.
"Chris!"
He turned to see Helen standing at the edge of the
stream. She was dressed as she had been the night
before, looking fresh as a daisy. "Hi," said Chris,
giving her a wave. They were separated by at least
twenty feet.
"Heavy rain coming," she said, pointing to the ever
darkening sky.
Chris nodded in agreement, and then shrugged his
shoulders and looked around as if to ask what could he
do about it.
She pointed to where a spring emptied into the river.
"Follow that spring, you'll come to an overhang. You
can wait out the storm there."
"Okay," said Chris. "We can split a candy bar." He
patted one of the pockets in his vest where he'd stored
a snack.
She shook her head. "I have to catch up with the
girls," she called back. "They're lost without me."
Chris grinned at her. He turned his attention to
reeling in his line. When he turned back, Helen was
gone. He waded to the shore; the water was already
noticeably deeper and full of silt. He decided that it
must be pouring the rain not far away. In fact, heavy
splatters of rain began to fall loudly onto the
surrounding leaves and ground where he stood.
Chris followed the flow of the spring up the mountain
side. The vegetation closed in around him; he began to
constantly snag his fly pole on branches. The rod was
eight feet long and too unwieldy to maneuver in this
undergrowth. Despite the growing intensity of the rain,
he stopped and took the time to dismantle the pole into
its four sections. Carrying the rod sections in one
hand and pushing leaves and branches out of his way
with the other, Chris pressed on.
He'd fought his way up the muddy, slick slope, when he
came to an opening in the foliage. The rock overhang
that Helen had mentioned was on his right. It looked as
if the spring had recently overrun its banks and carved
out a niche under the rock large enough for someone to
huddle in. In fact, there was an opening of some sort
there. He stepped toward the ledge, but then he
hesitated. He was already wet. It might be a better use
of his time to go back to the river and ford it before
the water became too deep.
A movement caught his eye. He looked up the mountain,
and to his amazement he saw that the mountain was
coming to meet him.
Chris knew what had happened. Call it a landslide or
mountain slide; the recent heavy rains had saturated
the soil on the slope above him. Then today's rain, or
some other event, had weighted a tipping point and now
a chunk of mountain side the size of a football field
was hurtling down on Chris.
He dove for the overhang. Hitting the ground under the
rock ledge, he rolled to the back. He expected to come
up hard against rock, but he found himself frantically
crawling through an opening and down a slope into the
dark.
The mountain shook and thundered as untold tons of
rocks, trees and soil shoved its way along the fold of
earth where the spring ran into the river. Chris
scrambled until he could go no farther. He curled into
a fetal position, every muscle tense as he waited for
the end.
Eventually, the roaring and shaking faded to an ominous
dead silence. Chris decided that he wasn't dead, at
least not yet. He opened his eyes and slowly uncurled
his body. It was, as the saying went, as dark as a coal
mine at midnight. He turned, hoping to see some glimmer
of light from the opening through which he'd come. The
problem was, he wasn't sure where that was. He began to
feel around. He was lying on sandy soil. There was rock
overhead, but he was able to get to his knees. He found
the slope he'd tumbled down, and at the top of that he
felt rough tree bark.
Damn it, he needed some light. Abruptly, he remembered
something. His hand went to his belt and his multi-
tool. It had a tiny, single diode flashlight as one of
the attachments. He opened the tool and fumbled until
he could unfold the pencil width metal tube. Chris sent
up a silent prayer that the battery hadn't died and
twisted the knurled ring at the end of the tube. The
resulting burst of light wasn't much, but it was
infinitely better than what he'd had a second ago.
He had to practically hold the light against the wood
in order to see anything, but it looked as if the trunk
of a large oak had sealed the opening. He used a knife
blade and punched it in several places between the tree
and the rock in order to see if he could catch a
glimpse of daylight. But it was no use, the trunk was
too wide. He supposed that the oak had saved him from
drowning in mud, only to seal him in this hole.
He turned to inspect the rest of his maybe tomb. He
moved to his right, finding rock, dirt and
surprisingly, more wood. This wasn't a tree though, it
was a rough hewn plank stretched across an opening
opposite where Chris had entered. Maybe it was the
opening to a mine – an adit. He couldn't believe that
the obscure word had come to mind. He remembered
something about a mine or mines being one of the
operations on the estate.
He turned until he was practically lying on his side.
After a couple of hard kicks the plank gave way. Chris
wrested the pieces away from where they had been nailed
to a sturdy looking frame. Using one of the pieces as a
shovel, he raked away the dirt until he revealed a
lower plank. Three hard kicks and one aching foot later
he had a hole large enough to crawl through. He tossed
the piece of wood to the side and heard it clatter
against something. Shining his light in the direction
of the sound, Chris saw the sections of his fishing
rod. They were laying there as neatly as if he'd placed
them just so.
Chris barked out a laugh, and picked up the sections.
He stopped to consider his options – which were about
nonexistent. He could sit here and scream for help, but
he had no idea how far his voice would carry. And he
had no idea how long it would be before he was missed.
He had a half-liter bottle of water, a candy bar and
two granola bars in his vest. Those were supposed to
have been his lunch, so he wasn't going to starve. And
the air in here wasn't exactly fresh, but it didn't
smell toxic either. He looked at his light. It wasn't
going to be much help; in fact it already seemed
dimmer. So, exploring the mine seemed like the thing to
do, even though he was going to have to do it blind. He
just hoped that it didn't end in a cave-in on the other
side of that door. He backed feet first through the
opening.
He touched down on the other side almost immediately.
The shaft wasn't much higher than the hole. He thrust
his light forward and saw exactly nothing. Pulling the
light back, he reluctantly turned it off. He waved his
arms to one side and then the other. The tip of his rod
scraped against a wall, giving him an idea. He
assembled the four segments of the rod into two longer
sections. These he waved to each side and then to his
front. He shuffled forward, using his carbon fiber
antennas to feel his way along. He had to walk in a
stoop. The mine shaft wasn't very high.
*
"OW... damn-it-all-to-fucking-hell," bellowed Chris
sometime later. He clamped his hand to his head where
he'd just smashed it into an overhanging rock for the
third time. "Who in the frigging hell worked in here?
The seven dwarves?"
He decided that it was past time for a break. He sat on
the ground and checked his watch. It was hard to
believe that he'd been in the mine for only three
hours. It seemed as if he'd spent half a lifetime
shuffling around in the dark. He'd found an opening
that turned out to be the entrance to a big room. A
gallery, he thought might be the right term. Anyway,
he'd stumbled around in there for at least half an hour
before he had decided that there was no other tunnel to
take. He'd crawled over a couple of partial cave-ins.
Things weren't looking good, but fresh air was coming
from somewhere, and there really wasn't anything else
to do but press on.
He pulled out one of his granola bars and his bottle of
water. He sipped just enough water to get the bar down.
After a few minutes of rest, he decided to press on for
another hour. By then, he figured, his aching back –
not to mention his head - would be at their limits.
Taking his rod halves in hand he pressed on.
Chris waved the rod in his right hand to the side.
Instead of the feel of the tip hitting a wall, he felt
something hit the rod nearer his hand. He'd found the
edge of another opening of some sort. He pulled out his
light and investigated. It was a framed doorway. At
first he thought he'd found another room or gallery,
but on inspection it turned out to be a passage; one
that was narrower than the main shaft. It slanted
upward at what he figured was a three or four percent
grade. Upward felt good to Chris, he entered the
passage.
The going was easier. The floor of the passage was
smoother and Chris could walk nearly upright. His speed
through the inky gloom increased from an arthritic
shuffle to a series of slow of but careful steps.
During one of those steps his foot stubbed against
something. Chris lifted his foot and found what felt
like the gritty top of a concrete or rock slab. He
stepped up and the end of his rod hit something dead
ahead. He reached out and felt wood once more. Pulling
out his light, he saw that he'd found a door. There was
a simple, brass knob on one side. It turned with a
gritty harshness.
Chris pulled on the door. It opened reluctantly, as if
it hadn't been used in quite some time. Using his
feeble little flashlight, Chris passed through. He
could examine only a couple of square feet at a time,
but it looked as if he were in some sort of workroom or
maybe a lab. Along one wall there was a long counter
with cupboards above and drawers below. He found a sink
with one of those long gooseneck spigots – the tap was
frozen. There was more counter space and then he found
a panel of light switches. He flipped them one at a
time but no lights came on, nor did he hear any sort of
response from electrical equipment.
He came to another door. It had a vertical bar to pull
on, but upon examination Chris saw that this door
wasn't going to open easily. There were four heavy
bolts sealing it shut. The bolts were welded to rods
and they in turn were connected to a series of other
rods and cams and springs. The whole crazy mechanism
was open to view, but he didn't have time to figure it
out. He was running out of light; his flashlight was
down to a soft glow.
Chris turned off the light. His mind flashed back to
the times when he was young and when the power would
fail at home. His mother had kept some candles and
matches in a drawer for just those occasions. It had
been a great adventure for him to creep through the
darkened house and light those candles – under his
mother's supervision of course.
"Now," he said to himself, "if I had a windowless room,
and if I were going to keep candles or a flashlight
handy, where would I put them?"
He'd glimpsed a desk a minute ago, before he'd tried
the light switches. He felt his way back to the desk.
He stumbled onto a chair. It felt like the old desk
chair that his mother used at work. Suddenly, he felt
exhausted. He sank into the chair and with much
creaking and groaning from its springs, it rocked back
alarmingly. Chris' arms and legs shot forward. His shin
painfully hit the underside of the desk, but at least
he was saved from landing on his backside.
"Damn," he muttered, rubbing at his aching shin. He may
not die in this little adventure, but he sure was going
to come out black and blue.
He examined the desk with his fingers. There was a wide
but shallow drawer in front of him and three larger
drawers to the side. Guessing that if there were any
candles, they would be in the least accessible drawer,
he opened the lowest side drawer. He used up some of
the remaining life of his flashlight to examine the
contents.
"Ah ha," he said in triumph. There were a dozen tapered
candles; some of them partially used. There was even a
box of kitchen matches, something he hadn't thought of
until then. He could only hope that they would work.
He went through a dozen matches before one sparked into
life. He lit one of the candles and then set it in a
glass holder that he had also found in the drawer.
After having been in the dark for hours, he didn't
stint on the candle power. There were five more holders
in the drawer and he put a lit candle in each of them.
He put one candle by the locked door and then scattered
the others around the room. Now he could get a better
sense of the place. The room was about ten by thirty
feet. Opposite the long counter was a wall of shelves
and glass fronted cabinets. The shelves held various
pieces of equipment, most of which Chris didn't
recognize, except to think that it looked as if it
belonged in a chemistry lab. The few pieces of
electronics looked ancient. They had metal covers and
braided, cloth sheathed power cords. The cabinets held
numerous bottles labeled with chemical symbols.
It was easy for Chris to stifle his impulse to
investigate further. He was tired and hungry and not a
little bit dirty. Besides the dirt from his adventures
outside and in the mine, this room had a fine coating
of dust. Now that he had some light, he was ready to
try and open the bolted door. He went to the door and
picked up the nearby candle so as to see the locking
mechanism. He reached out to jiggle one of the cogs
when he saw it begin to move.
Rods pushed and pulled, cams rose and fell, gears
meshed and springs compressed. Then, with a solid thud,
the bolts slid aside. Chris stepped back as the door
began to move. It opened only a couple of feet and then
someone slipped inside. Somehow, Chris wasn't entirely
astonished to see Helen Clarke. She was wearing a blue
and white print summer dress that fell below her knees.
She had white pumps on her feet and her only jewelry
was a watch with a thin black band. Her red curls
spread across her shoulders.
"Where... how... wha..." Chris sputtered.
Helen laughed fully and held out her hand to forestall
Chris' questions. "It's all very simple," she said. She
closed the door, picked up one of the candles and began
to walk about the room, examining first one thing and
then another. "I saw the slide, and knew that if you
took my advice about taking shelter under that overhang
then you would eventually make your way here."
"Then you knew one of a hell lot more than I did," said
Chris. "And just where is here, anyway?"
"Well obviously, it's a hidden room in the castle," she
said with the air of someone saying that the sky was
blue.
"I... uh..." said Chris. He wanted to accuse her of
something, but he didn't know what that would be.
She had opened and closed several of the glass fronted
cabinets. Now she stood staring into one of them with a
look of concern. "Oh dear, she said. "Come look at
this."
Chris walked over. She was pointing to a jar with a
narrow neck and a glass stopper. The jar looked as if
it would hold a half-gallon. There was a file
containing several sheets of paper lying next to it.
The jar held a liquid that had settled out like a
bottle of salad dressing that hadn't been moved in
weeks. There was a brown sludge at the bottom, a gray
sludge above that and an oily, but clear liquid above
that.
"This compound is very dangerous, don't touch it," she
said seriously. She gently closed the door to the
cabinet.
"Okay," said Chris. "But how do you know that, and how
do you know about this room, and how..." He was stopped
when she put a finger over his lips.
"Questions later," she said, looking into his eyes. She
caressed his cheek. "Don't you find this romantic? A
mysterious woman in a mysterious candle lit room. It's
the perfect setting for a tryst."
"You got the part about mysterious right," he growled.
His brain wanted to insist on answers, but his dick
didn't mind procrastinating on the questions. Besides,
her body language was one big invitation. He drew her
tight and kissed her.
"Hmm... you're going to have to get rid of this
hardware," she said, pulling back. She tugged at the
zipper to his fishing vest. He'd been wearing it for
hours now. Chris shrugged it off his shoulders and laid
it on the counter. She began to work at the buttons of
his shirt. Chris happily interfered by rubbing the
fabric of her dress over her breasts.
Helen finally won out by working his shirt off. "I must
smell awful," said Chris.
"You smell like a man," she said as her fingers traced
the outline of his muscles.
"Well, you smell great," Chris said. He gathered her
back in his arms and began to kiss her with growing
passion. She'd managed a bath or shower since he'd seen
her last and she had a fresh scent of soap and shampoo.
Chris felt his dick harden. It thickened between them
as their tongues slipped and slid about in a sensuous
dance. He moved his hands to her ass and pressed his
thigh between hers. They dry humped until they were
both breathing heavily.
Chris broke their deep kiss and went to his knees. He
slid the pleated skirt of her dress up her legs. She
was wearing some very practical panties, but the crotch
was already wet. She spread her legs and steadied
herself against the counter. Chris caressed the creamy
smoothness of her inner thighs, brushing his fingers
against her pussy mound.
"That's nice," she said, and pressed her hips outward,
asking for more.
His thumb flicked over the damp material of her
panties, pressing on her clit. It was a swollen nub of
sexual excitement. He teased her until she impatiently
pressed her hand on his. Chris responded by tugging at
her panties. She quickly stepped of the panties and her
dress, and then she spread her legs once again.
Chris thrust a finger into her wet cunt. His finger tip
found her G-spot at the same moment his tongue ran over
her clit. "Oh my god," she moaned.
Last night, in the camp, he'd given her a pussy
stretching number of orgasms, but now he brought her to
the edge of orgasm and then backed off. He did it once,
twice and a third time. "Damn you... finish me," Helen
demanded. Her hands sought out her yearning cunt, but
Chris just brushed them aside.
Her pussy was dripping by the time he arose and
unleashed his cock.
"Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me now," groaned Helen. She
turned and spread her arms on the counter. Her hips
gyrated in anticipation. Chris lowered his pants enough
to bring his massive piece of man-meat into the open.
He flexed his groin muscles and a shot of clear pre-cum
landed on her ass. He was so hard, it was painful to
force his shaft low enough, but it was only a second
before he was parting her flowered vaginal lips. He
shoved a foot of cock up her pussy.
"YES, that's it!" gasped Helen.
Chris gave it to her hard and fast. He drilled her
pussy until she was cumming continuously. "Oh fuck, oh
fuck, oh fuuuuuuck..." she chanted in time to his pile-
driving strokes.
Chris felt the cum boiling in his gonads. He swung his
hips two more times and then the hot cum rushed through
his steel-hard cock and exploded into Helen's pussy.
"Ahhhhh... he moaned as his cream over filled her
pussy-canal and flowed back over his cock.
A few minutes they were dressed once again. Chris was
exhausted. The events of the day, plus the emotional
strain – not to mention one hot fuck - had left him
drained. He sat down at the desk. He was ready to go
home, but Helen seemed determined to look at everything
in the laboratory. Well, he could wait a few more
minutes. He'd just cross his arms on the desk and then
rest his head for a second...
*
Chris' eyes snapped opened. He groaned. He was back in
the dark. "Helen?" he croaked. He cleared his throat
and called once more, but there was no answer.
He felt as if he'd slept for hours. He straightened and
checked his watch. He had indeed been asleep for hours;
it was eight o'clock in the morning. His hand went to
his multi-tool and its flashlight once more. The
battery had recovered enough to reveal a candle and
matches before him on the desk. Evidently, Helen was
still taking care of him.
Eager to leave, he lit the candle and went to the door.
Now that he knew what to look for, he saw that some of
the gears on the locking mechanism were knurled for
turning. They even had engraved numbers and arrows to
direct in which order and how far they should be
turned. In seconds the locking bars popped back.
Chris tugged on the door and opened it to a room
flooded with morning light. Stepping through, he sighed
with relief, he knew where he was. In the brochure for
the Brick Castle this was known as the miniatures room.
Located halfway up a tower in the rear of the castle,
the miniatures room was lined with shelf after shelf of
military figurines. There were groups of figures from
hoplites and centurions on to British tommies and
American doughboys. In the middle of the room was a
sand table where would be generals could game out
battles.
The door to the laboratory was disguised as a cabinet
full of brass models of cannons, tanks and other
military vehicles set against a diorama of brass
terrain and shell bursts. Chris wanted to know how
Helen had opened the door from this side. It was easy
to see that some of the shell bursts corresponded with
gears of the locking mechanism. He looked closely at
the shell bursts. Whoever had made the brass fixtures
had, using inconspicuous marks and grooves, cleverly
incorporated the sequence of, and how far each fixture
had to be turned in order to unlock the door.
Once he was satisfied that he could reopen the secret
door, Chris pushed it closed and heard the locking
bolts slide into place. He wondered if anyone else knew
about the door. It blended so perfectly into the
paneling of the room that even a careful search might
not find it. Not that many people came into the room
anyway. Only special guided tours came up this tower,
the stairs were too steep and narrow for much traffic.
Even then, the tourists could only view the room from a
shallow landing outside. Perhaps only Helen and he knew
about the lab; it had certainly looked as if no one had
been in there for ages.
Okay, it was time to get out of there, he decided. He
stepped over the loosely hanging brass chain that
guarded the room and out onto the landing. He headed
down the tower stairs and, this time stepping over a
velvet rope, he emerged into one of the castles main
hallways. He needed to get out of there. The castle was
about to open for the day.
He'd taken about fifty hurried steps when a man
appeared from one of the smaller side hallways. It was
Edgar Thornton, one of the castles docents - someone
who answered the tourists' questions and made sure they
kept their sticky hands off the priceless furnishings.
He saw Chris and what Chris was wearing. He harrumphed
as one eyebrow arched menacingly.
"Hi, Mr. Thornton," Chris said, giving him a sheepish
smile. "I... uh... got sort of turned around and lost?"
Thornton was a retired history professor and
notoriously intolerant of any other employee who didn't
treat the castle and its artifacts with the utmost
reverence. He turned his head fractionally and nodded
toward an inconspicuous door. Chris recognized it as
one that would lead to one of the servant's
passageways.
"Right," said Chris. "I'll just go this way." He waved
thanks at Thornton as the man continued to give him a
glacial stare until Chris disappeared through the door.
He made it to Preston Rigson's office without
attracting anymore attention other than a few odd
stares. He plopped down into a visitor's chair and
waited while Rigson wrote at his desk. When he looked
up, Rigson snorted in surprise and said, "What in the
hell happened to you?"
Chris laid the sections of his fishing rod across his
knees and told Rigson about his outing. When he got to
the part about the slide, he implied that he'd simply
seen it. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to tell
the whole story yet. "So that left me on this side of
the river," he explained to Rigson. "I... uh... had a
lapse of judgment at that point. Somehow I decided that
it would be best to walk on in from there instead of
trying to walk around the slide and ford the river back
to camp."
Rigson chuckled. "I bet that walk was tougher than you
thought. I guess you had to sleep on the ground last
night?"
"Yeah," Chris mumbled. He didn't like lying to the man.
"Actually, I was just thinking about you," Rigson said.
He picked up a piece of paper. "I received a report
from one of the night security guards. Two women, who
had been camping, reported the slide. They mentioned
you; said they weren't sure that you hadn't been caught
in it."
"Oh... weren't there're three women?" asked Chris.
Rigson glanced back at the report. "Yeah, they
mentioned talking to another woman - a stranger - for
several minutes just before the slide. Said it was a
good thing too because otherwise they might have been
caught in it if she hadn't delayed them."
Chris frowned, and said, "I met a woman named Helen.
That might have been her, but she implied that she was
with the two other women."
Rigson shrugged. "A woman meets a big old ugly thing
like you in the woods; she wanted you to think that she
wasn't alone," he said with a smile.
"Maybe so," chuckled Chris in agreement, but he knew
that wasn't it. Helen was a deeper mystery. Over the
next three days, Chris retrieved his camping equipment,
finished his survey for Rigson and even managed a bit
of fishing. He fully expected Helen to pop up again,
but she never did.
Chris went back to his regular job. He tried to get in
touch with Jane, but she was always unavailable, and
didn't return his calls. Well, he'd lost girls before;
his cock wasn't a magic wand no matter its devastating
effects. He assumed that he'd run into Jane at work,
and it seemed that he'd get his chance a few days later
when Rigson assigned him to work with, "those limey
assholes," as he put it.
Chris reported to the dungeon-like room as requested.
The place was deserted except for Andrea Hastings.
"Good morning," he said to her as he entered the room.
"Chris," she said with a warm smile, "it's nice to see
you again."
"All by yourself?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," she said. "Matthew and Jane are
taking the day off."
Chris caught something in the tone of her voice. "You
said that as if you expected them to be together."
Andrea pursed her lips and was silent for several
seconds. She took a deep breath and said, "Look, it's
none of my business, but working so closely together –
I couldn't help but overhear."
"Uh huh," Chris said, in encouragement.
Andrea took a seat at her computer and brushed her
bangs across her forehead. "Matthew and Jane have been
having an affair. I gather that you dated her one
evening not long ago. I only know because she and
Matthew had a frightful row about it in one of the
storage rooms."
"I see," said Chris. That was probably why she wasn't
returning his calls. "Well, it wouldn't be the first
time I was used to make a boyfriend jealous."
"I expect not," Andrea said. She smiled in
acknowledgement of his good looks. "So you're alright
with it?"
Chris shrugged. "I feel a little used, but I like Jane.
I hope she's going to be happy. Are they serious?"
Now it was Andrea's turn to show uncertainty. "Well, I
think it's a just a summer fling. I mean Matthew and I
will be returning to England in a few weeks after all."
Chris nodded. He slapped his hands together and rubbed
his palms. "I'm sure they'll work it out one way or
another. So, where do we start today?"
"Well, we're doing very much the same thing," Andrea
said as she stood up. "Let me show you what part of the
storage we're working in."
Chris once more went to carrying boxes and crates. This
time, the work went more slowly since Andrea was the
only one there to do the cataloging. He tried to help
by unwrapping and displaying the items so that she
wouldn't have to do so much of the hand work. Late in
the afternoon he came across a smallish box that had
been shoved out of sight behind larger ones. He carried
it to the work table. The box had been nailed shut, and
there was no notation on the outside as to what it
contained. Chris had to pry it open with a hammer.
Inside, wrapped in waxy paper, were a series of
photographs. They looked old, but well preserved under
glass in plain wooden frames. Chris examined the
pictures as he laid them out for Andrea. There was a
series of pictures of a group of people about to go, or
perhaps just back from a horseback ride. They were
candid shots; everyone looked as if they were acting
naturally and not posing for the camera. The shots were
in black and white, and the clothing led Chris to
believe that they dated back to the nineteen-thirties
or forties. The men were wearing fedoras plus coats and
ties.
As Chris shuffled through the pictures, the wide shots
of the group gave way to shots of two or three people
where their features were easier to distinguish. He
came to one of the last pictures. There were two men
talking to one another and to the side in three-quarter
profile was a woman. Her thick, curled hair was swept
off her face and held in place by a head band. It was
Helen Clarke.
Chris turned the picture first one way and then another
in an unconscious effort to get a better view of the
woman. It couldn't be her of course, but the woman in
the photo was a dead ringer for Helen. On impulse, he
turned the frame over and pried open the thin metal
tabs that held the backing. In a few seconds he was
holding the naked print. He turned it over and saw
neatly printed names. The first two were Henry Tizard
and AFB. To the left was the name Virginia Munson.
"You should really be wearing gloves if you're going to
do that," said Andrea, looking at the photograph in his
hand.
"Oh, gosh... sorry," said Chris. He juggled the photo
as if it were on fire and finally settled on holding by
the thinnest sliver of a corner between finger and
thumb.
Andrea slipped on a pair of thin, white cotton gloves
and took the picture from Chris. 'Find something
interesting?" she asked, examining the photo.
"That woman looks exactly like someone I met the other
day," he said.
"Hmmm... maybe you met her granddaughter, judging by
the age of this picture," said Andrea. She turned it
over. For a second there was a stunned expression on
her face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Now it was Chris' turn to ask, "Find something
interesting?"
"Oh... not really. AFB has to be Alan Fleetwood Brick
III, and he was famous for insisting on posing for
photographs. This candid shot is unusual," Andrea
explained.
Chris didn't remark on that, he went back to work.
Although work slowed to near a standstill as Andrea
spent a considerable amount of time on that box of
photographs. It was a few minutes before quitting time
when she too casually asked, "Chris, the woman in the
photo you thought you recognized, what was her name?"
Chris' stomach growled loud enough for them both to
hear. "Pardon me," he said with a grin. "I'll tell you
what. Have dinner with me and we'll discuss it."
She gave him a cynical look. "It didn't take you long
to get over Jane," she said.
"I like Jane, but we had only the one date. It was
hardly a relationship," Chris said. One dinner and one
hot fuck, he thought. He gave Andrea his best winning
smile and his pants began to chime. He pulled out his
cell phone – it was Heather, calling. "Excuse me," he
told Andrea, "it's my mother."
"Hi," he said into the phone. "Yes, I remember. As a
matter of fact, I was just making plans." He smiled at
Andrea. "Okay, I'll be home soon... bye." He flipped
the phone closed and put it away.
"Mom's reminding me that it's my night to get dinner,"
he said to Andrea. "See? It'll be all very innocent.
You can eat with my mother and me."
Andrea studied him for a few seconds and said, "Oh,
very well then. Please don't go to any bother."
"Don't worry," said Chris. "How do you like your
pizza?"
Two hours later, Andrea drove her rented Ford to the
address Chris had given her. She was surprised to see a
sprawling two-story home surrounded by old growth oak
trees. She stopped her car next to the Jeep she knew
that Chris drove. There was a gold Lexus in the gravel
space also. A flagstone walk led from the parking area
to a well lit front door. There was a brass knocker on
the door so she used it to knock. She heard running
footsteps and heard Chris yell, "She's here Mom."
The door opened. "Hi," Chris said when he saw Andrea.
He was wearing cut off jeans and a green tee shirt
decorated with a couple of colorful diagonal stripes.
He was sockless in white trainers. "Come on in," he
said, standing aside. "You look nice." She was wearing
a peach colored summer dress with a halter top and a
deep lace lined v-neck.
"Thank you," said Andrea as she stepped inside. She saw
a woman entered the foyer. She was a tall brunette in
tan shorts. Her navy knit top was tucked into her
shorts showing off an impressive figure. Her hair was
tied in a ponytail.
"Mom, this is Andrea Hastings," said Chris.
"I'm Heather," said Heather, sticking out her hand.
"It's so nice to meet you," said Andrea. She took
Heather's hand and looked around the ornately decorated
entrance hall. "You have an impressive home."
Heather laughed. "As usual, my son has left out some
details," she said. "This isn't our house, we're just
working here tonight."
"Oh," said Andrea, clearly confused.
"This place is owned by a decorating firm. They invite
different businesses to furnish rooms here for a time.
I'm doing an office on this floor. If the decorating
firm uses our merchandise or steers customers my way,
then I pay them a commission."
"Oh, I see," said Andrea. "That's an interesting
concept."
"Well, it's not interesting to me," said Chris. "Show
her around, Mom, while I finish the salads."
"My son, the philistine," Heather said with a laugh.
"Let me show you the room I'm working on," she said to
Andrea.
Andrea followed her through a parlor and down a
hallway. She turned into a room that was bare except
for lights set in wall sconces. It was unremarkable
except for a bay window at the far wall.
"I want to turn this into an office while keeping it
warm and livable." Heather pointed to a wall near the
door. "I'm going to put a large roll top desk here.
It's custom made by a local company to look like an
antique, but it'll contain a computer, printer and so
forth. Of course none of that will be visible when the
top's rolled down. Now over here will be a credenza
hiding file cabinets. And I'm thinking of some sort of
conversation area centered around this window. I think
it should be the thing that catches your eye when you
enter the room."
Andrea nodded. "What kind of window treatment?" she
asked. With that, the two women went into an exchange
of ideas and tastes.
They were still at it ten minutes later when Chris
entered the room carrying two glasses of red wine.
"Here we are, ladies," he said, handing over the
glasses. "Dinner's ready when you are."
"Thank you, dear one," said Heather. She took a hearty
sip. "How much did you drink?"
"Moi?" said Chris in transparent innocence.
Andrea smiled at the exchange and tasted the wine.
"This is good," she said.
"Enjoy it," said Heather. "It'll be the most
sophisticated part of the meal."
"First, she accuses me of underage drinking, and then
she maligns my culinary skills," Chris said to Andrea.
"Ha!" was all Heather had to say.
The trio walked back through the house. "I'm afraid we
have to eat in the kitchen," Heather said. "The woman
who decorated the dining room would have a conniption
if we actually used her table."
"Too late," said Chris. "I've already set it up."
"Oh, Chris..." began Heather.
"Don't worry, I put down mats," he said. When they got
to the dining room, Chris had indeed covered one end of
the flawlessly finished and polished table with a
plethora of mats.
"Heather chuckled and said, "I suppose that'll work."
"Take a seat, ladies," Chris said, pulling out their
chairs.
"Thank you, sir," said Andrea as she perched on the
chair, going along with his act.
Chris disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a
second later with bowels of salad. Another trip brought
three bottles of different types of salad dressing. One
more trip and he brought out a wooden platter bearing a
pizza.
"Mmmm, that smells good," said Andrea.
"It's not elaborate, but this is very good pizza,"
Chris said. "A high school friend of mine makes them at
a restaurant." He picked up the ladies' wine glasses
and made another trip to the kitchen, bringing them
back refilled.
The meal lasted an hour. They chatted away; Heather was
obviously feeling the wine. She regaled Andrea with
stories about Chris' childhood.
"I think it scared the poor girl. After the word got
around, all the little girls wanted to play doctor with
him though," she said with a laugh, finishing one
story.
"Oh, Mother," Chris said as he rolled his eyes.
"Oops, he's calling me Mother," said Heather with a
slight slur. "I'm getting into trouble." She checked
her watch. "Okay, while I'm still able, I'm going to
take some measurements and draft some ideas for my
room. Chris, don't forget to put this table back in
order."
He and Andrea watched Heather carefully pick up her
wine glass and leave the room. "I'd better get this
cleaned up," said Chris. Andrea pitched in, and it took
them all of three minutes to pick up the mats, rinse
out the glasses, wash off the platter and reset the
china that originally had been on display on the table.
"Let's take a look around," said Chris.
"Alright," said Andrea. She'd drunk as much wine as
Heather and had a warm, comfortable glow. They went
back to the foyer and took a winding staircase to the
second floor.
Heather walked in the direction of the room she was to
decorate, but she stopped short and, pulling a ring of
keys from her pocket, she unlocked and entered a
different room. It was vacant now, but it had been a
bedroom in the past. Heather went to what looked like
the door to a walk in closet. In fact, it was a panic
room. Bethany Page, a good friend of Heather and the
owner of the house, had shown her the secure room with
an air of delicious intrigue. "That old man must have
been paranoid or a voyeur or both," Bethany had
giggled, referring to the previous owner. Every room in
the house could be seen over a closed circuit
surveillance system from this place. Heather took a
seat in a leather office chair and switched on the
system. In a few seconds she was watching Chris and
Andrea.
She took a sip from the wine glass she'd brought from
the dinner table. There was no wine in it though. After
the first glass, Chris had served her grape juice. She
was far from being the soused mom that she had
pretended to be. But the plan had been to encourage
Andrea to drink, and it seemed to have worked. She had
matched Heather, glass for glass.
Heather felt the taboo thrill of the voyeur. Yes, she'd
had sex with her son. They had done it in public
places, and even shared a bed with a father/daughter
couple one time. But she hadn't seen Chris alone with
another woman since she had caught him with his
girlfriend when he had been in his middle teens.
Chris and Andrea toured through a couple of the
decorated rooms, and then they came to what looked like
the master bedroom. It was empty except for an enormous
four-poster bed complete with canopy. They didn't
bother to turn on the lights; moonlight shone through
four floor to ceiling windows. Andrea walked to one of
the windows and looked down on a flower garden.
Chris came up behind her and put his hands on her
shoulders. "Not a bad view," he said.
"Very nearly a proper English garden," Andrea said.
Chris brushed his fingertips down her arms, and then
wrapped his arms around her front and interlaced his
fingers. Andrea didn't resist, in fact she nestled her
pleasantly curved body against his tall frame. Chris'
cock began to fill. He shifted his weight in order to
bring his growing member in better contact with
Andrea's sweet ass.
Andrea turned within his encircling arms; her bulging
breasts rested against his hard pec's. "I believe that
we were going to discuss that woman in the picture,"
she said. Her tone implied that it was going to be talk
first and action, if any, later.
Chris shrugged, an action that renewed the agreeably
soft friction of her breasts. "Okay," he said. "She
looked very much like a woman I met the other day. I
was doing a survey on the Brick Road trail and she was
there. She said her name was Helen Clarke. She spoke
with an English accent, and that's about all I can tell
you." Mainly, because I don't want to tell the rest, he
thought.
"That name sounds familiar," Andrea said thoughtfully.
"So you've met her here," Chris said.
She ran the palms of her hands up Chris' ab's and chest
and rested them on his shoulders. "I'm not sure," she
said, "I'll have to think about it." She had to stand
on tiptoes to do it, but she gave Chris a firm, dry
kiss. "Next question, in one of your mother's
delightful stories she implied that you were... mmm...
well endowed as a child. Now were you simply
precocious, or was that a harbinger of greater things?
I only ask because I feel something growing between
us."
Chris rolled his hips, rubbing the bulge of his growing
cock against her pelvis. "You're welcome to see for
yourself," he said, daring her.
Andrea slid her hand between their bodies and traced
the length of his cock with her fingers. A startled
look came over her face. "As my old auntie would say,
'that's one bleeding hell of a sausage you've got
there, governor,'" Andrea said, sounding like Liza
Doolittle before Henry Higgins had had his way with
her.
Chris laughed. "Why don't you pull it out and have a
taste," he said as he pushed his cock into her palm.
"You do remember that your mother is just downstairs,
don't you?" Andrea asked.
"Don't worry, she won't come looking for us," he said.
"I'm sure she's busy."
Down in the panic-room, Heather swiveled her chair from
side to side. Things were looking promising. Her
knowledge of optics wasn't all that great, but it was
obvious that the security camera was transmitting a
good, clear picture despite the fact that moonlight was
the only source of illumination in that room. She
didn't have sound so she had to sort of write the story
of Chris and Angela in her mind as it happened. Chris
had her in his arms and her body language was looking
pretty good. There went her hand – she was checking him
out. Yes, there was the expression on Andrea's face
that meant she had struck gold. Heather unbuttoned and
unzipped her shorts. She slipped her fingers underneath
her panties. "Go ahead," she whispered to Andrea
through the monitor, "you know you want to look."
Andrea looked into Chris' laughing eyes. He took the
opportunity to kiss her, and there was nothing dry
about it. His tongue filled her mouth and she responded
– slowly at first and then with growing passion. Wet
and wild, they passed tongues back and forth, sucking
and being sucked.
Wordlessly, Andrea unbuttoned and unzipped Chris'
cutoffs. They fell to the floor, where he kicked them
aside. He was wearing a pair of black boxer-briefs and
there was an obscene bulge slanting sideways from his
crotch to his hip. Chris hooked his thumbs under the
waistband and pulled it down. A cock, bigger than
anything Andrea had ever imagined a man could have,
rolled into the open – and it wasn't even entirely hard
yet.
"Oh dear lord," she murmured. One hand went to her lips
to hide her astonishment and the other was drawn to
Chris' still growing cock. With every beat of his
heart, it straightened and grew longer. The thing
seemed as thick as her arm at its base. The shaft
tapered subtly until it morphed into the impossible
helmet shaped head. The only thing she could think of
was to wonder if Chris ever enjoyed fellatio. How many
lucky women could get that thing in their mouth?
Without thought, she found herself bending over.
Heather's finger tips slowly drew circles over the skin
above her clitoral hood. The pretty pink nubbin was
swollen and sensitive as hell. "Ohhh... she's going to
suck it; she can't help herself," she whispered.
Andrea kissed the top of Chris' dick-head. She grasped
his shaft; it was much more than a handful. Lifting his
dick, she laid more kisses on its tip. She pierced his
slit with her tongue as if she were trying to French-
kiss it.
"That's nice," Chris said. His dick wasn't at full hard
yet, but it was growing by the second. Andre seemed
mesmerized.
Andrea made out with the head of Chris' dick until it
stood nearly vertical against his rippled ab's. She
stroked his shaft and was rewarded with a healthy
dollop of viscous liquid. For a second, she thought he
had shot his load, but then realized that it was an
simply an ungodly amount of pre-cum.
Chris put a finger under her chin and lifted her face
to his. They wrapped their arms around one another and
kissed like two young teens trying to devour each other
on a hot date. He reached down and effortlessly swept
her off her feet. He carried her to the bed and laid
her on the edge of the sheet covered mattress.
Immediately, he bunched her dress up to her waist and
lowered himself between her legs.
"Oh, Chris, we can't," Andrea said softly. She tried to
cross her legs at the ankles, and Chris allowed her to
keep her legs together just long enough to let him
sweep off her panties. Then he pushed her legs apart
once more to only token resistance.
Her vaginal lips were already swollen and ripe. He
kissed them as avidly as he had kissed her mouth only
moments ago. He alternated between flicking his tongue
over her clit and then spearing her pussy with it.
Andrea was losing her inhibitions. Between the wine and
the heady sensations flowing from her pussy, she forgot
about Heather. She had a sexy stud of a man between her
thighs who obviously knew what he was doing. She bent
her knees and spread her legs.
She was getting into it now. Chris sent a finger into
the slick channel of her pussy. He found the bump of
her g-spot and began to massage it.
"Ohhhh... that's soooo good," she gasped in surprise.
Chris grinned to himself and wondered if he'd just gone
where no man had gone before. Andrea began to buck her
hips. He sucked on her clit and roughly ran his tongue
over the swollen surface.
"Yes, yes... oh FUCK yes," she moaned as she came.
Chris found a rhythm of sucking and fingering that led
her through orgasm after orgasm. She was practically
comatose when he relented just long enough to bring his
steel hard cock into play. He climbed between her legs
and popped the enormous head of his dick between her
pussy lips. She was beyond juicy and ready for his man-
meat. He eased about six or seven inches into the wet
confines of her snatch.
"Oh, Chris, darling... " she babbled over and over. He
shoved in more inches and stretched her vaginal lips so
wide that her clit was dragging along the top of his
shaft. He began to fuck her with long, powerful
strokes.
Meanwhile, back in the panic room, Heather had slumped
in her chair. Her legs were sprawled wide and she was
wildly flicking her finger over her clit. She knew that
the room she was in was soundproof, so she was loudly
cheering on her son. "That's it, baby, give her that
big dick... fuck that bitch... fuck her hard... oh
fuck, fuck, FUCK." Heather's finger whipped over her
clit in a frenzy.
Chris quickened his strokes. Andrea was cumming again
as his dick swelled in her tight snatch. Suddenly his
cock exploded, firing an orgy of cum. "Oh shit... shit
yeah," Chris chanted as his cock pulsed load after load
of creamy cum.
Once they were decent again, Chris walked Andrea back
to her car. She was once again the cool, self possessed
Brit. "You will clean up our mess," she half asked,
half told Chris as she slipped into the driver's seat.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he told assured
her.
She didn't exactly look assured, but she started the
car and backed it out of the spot.
Chris reentered the house and made his way to the panic
room. As he entered, Heather was just turning off the
electronics. "Like the show?" he asked.
"It was fantastic," she said. She grabbed his collar
and pulled his mouth down to hers as her free hand went
to his crotch. She could feel the blood pounding in his
cock as it came back to full hard.
"I thought you might get off just watching," said Chris
with a grin.
"I did, more than once in fact," Heather said as she
squeezed his cock-head. "It just made me want the real
thing."
"Here?" he asked.
"We may as well get comfortable on that big bed
upstairs," she said. "We'll have to change that bedding
anyway." She stuck her tongue in her son's mouth and
swished it around, and then brushed her lips against
his as she said, "I bet it smells like hot pussy and
thick cum... lots and lots of thick cum."
"And you know there's more where that came from,"
growled Chris with renewed passion as he led his mom
away.
*
Two days later, Chris was once again assigned to work
in the basement/dungeon of the Brick castle. The whole
gang was back to work. Jane gave him a faint smile and
hello, but failed to meet his eyes when he entered.
Andrea was businesslike with her greetings and Johnson
was his usually brusque self. Chris went to work, but
only a few moments passed before Jane joined him in one
of the storage rooms.
Uh, Chris," she said, shyly running a finger along one
of the dusty shelves. "I'm so sorry that I haven't been
returning your calls."
Chris stopped working and looked at her without saying
anything. He wasn't angry, but he didn't feel like
letting her totally off the hook.
"It's just that Matthew and I... we..." Her voice
trailed away.
Chris relented; he liked Jane and she was obviously
having a hard time. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I
think I can see the writing on the wall. You wanted to
make him jealous."
She looked relieved. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. You
know, you're kind of overwhelming with all the
muscles... and everything." She blushed.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said with a little
bow.
Jane rushed over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you," she said, and hurried out of the room.
An hour later it was Andrea's turn to join him in the
storage room. "Hi," she said as she leaned against a
shelf. "I saw Jane come in here earlier. Is everything
alright between you two?"
"We're fine, no problem, just friends," said Chris.
"How's your day going?"
"Oh, it's the same old examine this, type up that,
although," she said with a tease in her voice, "I did
come across something about Helen Clarke – or at least
a Helen Clarke."
Chris perked up. "Oh? What's that?"
Angela simply looked at him with a sly smile. "Let's
see," she said. "I went to dinner and provided ample
after dinner entertainment to get that name. I'd say we
were even."
Chris said, "Considering who was more thoroughly
entertained after dinner, I'd say it was you who owed
me."
"Hmmmm..." said Angela.
Chris pursed his lips in thought and said, "I'll tell
you what. I have more info on Helen, so if you'll tell
me yours then I'll tell you mine."
"Done," said Andrea.
"Good," said Chris. "After lunch then?"
"Fine."
During his lunch break, Chris hastily ate a sandwich
and went to his Jeep. He pulled a slim, but powerful
flashlight – another gift from his Uncle Jack – from
the glove box. He returned to the basement room and
motioned for Andrea to follow him. They climbed the
servant's stairs to the main floor of the castle, and
then took the narrow stairs up into the tower.
Andrea wondered where in the world Chris was taking
her. She was curious if he'd found some secluded room
where he would expect a noontime shag from her. She
decided that she'd have to think about that one. She
was still sore from the other night. She was a bit
surprised when he stepped over the chain to the
entrance of the miniatures room. She had been there
once, and that was to only glance in it while on a
quick orientation tour she'd taken weeks ago. But she
dutifully fallowed and watched in bemusement as Chris
fiddled with some of the brass wall decorations in one
of the wall cabinets. There was a muted thud and to her
surprise Chris pulled at the side of the cabinet to
reveal a hidden room.
Chris pulled the flashlight from his pocket and turned
it on. The powerful multi-LED light stabbed into the
darkness of the laboratory. "Come on," he said to
Andrea, and stepped inside.
Andrea hesitated, but then followed. "Where, are we?"
she asked. She glanced nervously at the door as it
clicked shut behind her.
"Obviously, it's my secret laboratory," Chris said in
an awful imitation of Bella Lugosi, complete with evil
laugh. Then he saw that Andrea wasn't particularly
amused. "Sorry," he said. He went to the cabinet where
the stoppered jar with the supposedly dangerous liquid
was stored. He gently opened the door and pointed to
it. "Don't touch this," he said seriously. He handed
the flashlight to Andrea. "Here, look around if you
want." He went to the old desk and took a seat on its
chair. "Okay, here's what I know about Helen Clarke."
As Andrea walked about the lab, he told her about how
he'd met Helen at his campsite, about how she'd steered
him toward the mine entrance, about the slide, about
how he'd walked through the mine and ended up in this
lab only to have Helen appear once again. Judiciously,
he left out the sex, but he told the rest as he
remembered it. "And that takes us up to when I saw her
in that photograph, or at least I thought that it
looked like her," he finished.
Andrea continued to walk about the room, but she was
clearly in deep thought. When she stopped she said,
"There's a connection concerning that photograph, but
it has to be some sort of coincidence."
"Like what sort of connection?" Chris asked.
"If you'll remember the names on the back of the
photograph," she began, "one was Henry Tizard."
Chris nodded.
"You have to go back to nineteen-forty when Great
Britain was fighting the Germans pretty much on their
own. Henry Tizard was a British scientist who headed a
commission that came to the U.S. The idea was that we
would trade our scientific know-how for your
manufacturing capabilities and raw materials –
something of which we were woefully short."
"Yeah," said Chris remembering his history, "you guys
had a better radar, and jet engines."
Andrea nodded. "Yes, even some ideas about atom
splitting. Now, that commission traveled around a bit,
and even though I could not find it on the official
itinerary, there was more than enough time for them to
have come to the Brick Estate. After all, this would
have been an ideal place for top secret discussions –
easy to secure and out of the way."
Chris snapped his fingers. "Yeah," he said. "Jane's
grandfather told me a story about nearly being shot by
some soldiers on the estate while he was poaching a
deer. And that was just before America entered the
war."
"Well, there you have it," said Andrea. "Now
presumably, the name of the woman in the photograph, as
written on the back, was Virginia Munson. From what I
could find, she was listed as a secretary to the
commission. But you said she looked like this Helen
Clarke."
Chris nodded once more.
"Here is where it gets interesting," Andrea continued.
"In nineteen-forty there was a research scientist in
England named Helen Clarke. She was a specialist in
plastic explosives. Early in nineteen forty-eight, she
simply disappeared." Andrea cleared her throat. "Now
it's just possible that Virginia Munson and Helen
Clarke were the same person. It's reasonable to assume
that we Brits could have been indulging in a little
friendly espionage. Helen could have been keeping her
eyes and ears open around the Americans in the hope
that they might reveal their secrets, while engaged in
some highly technical talk around someone they thought
to be a simple secretary."
"Not to mention that she's a good looker, too," said
Chris.
Andrea laughed. "Yes, there's always that," she agreed.
"Of course they can't be the same woman. I mean that
Helen Clarke would be almost a hundred years old by
now."
"I know," said Chris. "Although, you did mention that
the one I met could be her granddaughter."
"I suppose anything is possible," Andrea said
doubtfully. She shifted her position and fumbled the
flashlight. When she got it back under control the
powerful beam was hitting Chris fully in the face.
"Hey... " he cried. He screwed his eyes shut and threw
up his hand.
"Sorry," said Andrea with a cough, and then she
continued to cough as if she were about to choke.
"Chris," she said when she was finally able, "let's get
out of here. I think this dust is getting to me."
"Alright," he said. "just as soon as I can see again."
A swirl of colors filled his vision.
A few minutes later, they were on the stairs descending
from the tower room. "Chris," said Andrea, "I think you
ought to report that substance. I mean you'd feel awful
if someone stumbled over that room and something
happened."
"Yeah, I suppose so," he said. "We may as well do it
now."
"I don't think that I should be involved," Andrea said.
Chris stopped on a stair tread and turned to face her.
"I mean, I'm not really an employee. I can't add
anything to what you're going to tell them."
"You could lend moral support," he said.
"You're a big boy," she said with a smile. "A very big
one."
Chris felt as if she had let him down, but she had a
valid point. "Alright," he said with a sigh. They split
ways; he went down to Preston Rigson's office.
*
"So why didn't you tell me this story the first time?"
Rigson asked.
Chris had just finished relating the details much as he
had told Andrea. He squirmed in his seat and said,
"Well, it's so – so fantastic, I guess I just wanted to
digest it all."
Rigson frowned and reached for a phone. In ten minutes
Chris, Rigson and the estate's chief of security, Sam
Taylor, were in the lab.
"Did you know about this room?" Rigson asked Taylor.
The craggy-faced ex-military man shook his head. "Nope,
it's not on any plans either." He turned to Chris. "Did
this Helen Crane – and there's no employee here by that
name, by the way – tell you what this stuff was?" He
gestured to the forbidden jar.
Chris was standing to the side, allowing the other two
men access to the cabinet. "No, sir," he said. He
couldn't tell if the man believed him or not.
Taylor ran a hand through his thin, close cropped hair.
"Okay," he said, "there's no point in taking chances."
Six hours later, Chris was standing in a mottled tan
and brown van. It belonged to a bomb disposal military
unit that had responded to Taylor's request for help.
The castle had been evacuated. He was looking at a
monitor over the shoulder of an officer who was looking
over the shoulder of a sergeant who was operating a
remotely controlled robot.
The sergeant was manipulating a multifunction joystick
with his right hand and tapping on a keyboard with his
left. The robot had been positioned in front of the
cabinet in the lab, and now its manipulator arm was
rising. The robot had four cameras and their views were
shown on the van's monitor. Chris shifted his gaze to
the shot from the manipulator arm. Slowly, the jar came
into view. The sergeant manipulated the claw on the arm
until its pincers were ever so lightly touching the
neck of the jar. "Ready sir," he told the officer.
"Okay, Mike, straight up and then swing left for the
black hole." They had already placed an armored
containment vessel on the stair landing in which to
place the jar.
"Yes, sir," said the sergeant. He tapped at a key and
then thumbed a button on the joystick. Almost
imperceptibly, the claw rose against the lip of the
jar. From another camera view, Chris saw the jar lift
into the air. Then the monitor went blank. He felt the
van shudder followed quickly by the loud ka-rump of an
explosion. The officer and sergeant were profane in
stereo.
Chris stepped out of the van into the twilight. They
had been moved a quarter-mile from the castle, and he
could see a plume of smoke and dust above it. There was
a ragged hole where the wall of the tower had been.
Beyond the van was a line of camera people, reporters,
police and Chris didn't know who all gathered against
yellow police tape.
"Chris! Over here," he heard from his right. Chris
turned to see Preston Rigson standing with a group of
men in suits. He walked over and Rigson gestured to a
tall, carefully coifed man in a business suit. "Mr.
Brick, this is Chris," he said to the man.
"Chris," Brick said, sticking out his hand. "You're
quite the man of the hour."
Chris shook the man's hand. "I'm so sorry about your
castle," he said. "I had no idea... "
Brick slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about
it, son," he boomed. "I know there're a couple of old
mines on the property, and I always thought there might
be a forgotten room or two. This is a great story.
Between the news and the internet videos, this incident
is worth millions in publicity."
"Oh... well, I..." Chris didn't know what to say. Hey,
no problem, glad I could get your home and business
destroyed?
"Naturally, there are some questions to be answered,"
Brick continued. He steered Chris in the direction of a
man and woman who had very serious expressions on their
faces. "These ATF agents would like to speak to you."
*
Hours later, Chris tapped on the door to Andrea's hotel
room. She had mentioned where she was staying as they
had eaten pizza the other night. Chris waited patiently
in front of the peephole for a full minute. He was
about to knock again when the door opened.
"Hello, Chris," Andrea said as she stepped aside and
allowed Chris to enter. "I was just watching the late
news. Are you alright? I never really seriously thought
that there was any danger."
"I'm fine," he said as he looked around the room.
"Please excuse the mess," Andrea said.
There was a piece of paper on a writing desk, and the
king-sized bed was ever so slightly mussed from where
she had evidently been watching TV, otherwise the room
looked spotless. Chris barked a short laugh. "I live in
a college dorm, you can perform surgery in here as far
as I'm concerned."
Andrea squeezed his bicep and stretched up on tiptoe to
kiss his cheek. "Well, I'm glad you're alright."
Chris gave her the once over. Andrea was wearing a
revealing pajama set. She had a pair of canary yellow
short shorts with a string tie. Her matching top was
sleeveless and cropped to show off her midriff. She
certainly wasn't wearing a bra, her nipples pushed
provocatively at the thin material. He wondered if she
had intentionally not thrown on a robe. "Just thought
you might want to know that I kept your name out of
it," he said.
Andrea hadn't moved out of his personal space. She put
both hands on his arms and said, "Thank you. I believe
that's all for the best, don't you?" She moved a hand
to his neck and drew his face down for a real kiss.
Chris played it cool. He let her work at the kiss a
bit, and then he finally he responded with a lazy
tongue when she pushed her body close and he could feel
her distended nipples against his chest. She worked a
leg between his and rubbed his cock with her thigh.
"Oh, Chris," she said, "I've been wondering if we would
get together again. To tell the truth," she giggled, "I
thought you were going to ravish me in some out of the
way corner this afternoon."
"Hmm... I don't believe I've ever been accused of
ravishing anyone," Chris said. He ran a finger around
one of her tits and then rubbed its nipple between
finger and thumb over the material of her top. Andrea
moaned into his mouth as she sucked on his tongue.
She had Chris' cock filling out nicely when she
crouched and unfastened the belt at his waist. His
enormous member bulged at the material of his pants.
She squeezed his shaft and ran her thumb over the
bulbous head, feeling it harden with every beat of his
pulse. She unzipped and then pulled down his pants. Now
she could see his massive dick actually moving in his
shorts. Eagerly, she tugged at the waistband until his
cock sprang free, rising up and nearly slapping her in
the face.
"Oh my," said Andrea. In the full light of her room, it
was as if she were seeing his magnificent cock for the
first time. She kissed the head and ran the tip of her
tongue inside the slit. She made out with the head of
his cock just as she had the first time they had
fucked. She kissed it, swirling her tongue around and
teasing the tender underside with the palm of her hand.
When she stopped for a second's break, his cock
twitched and a long drool of clear pre-cum lurched from
his slit. She caught it on her tongue and savored it as
it were a gooey drop of honey. She knew there would be
more and so she began to lick and suck with a will.
Before long, his cock was producing copious amounts of
the clear liquid.
"I believe you're ready," she said, lifting her eyes to
Chris.
"Yeah," he growled. With some help from Andrea, he shed
his shoes, socks, underwear and pants. She kissed her
way up his muscled torso until her tongue was in his
mouth once again.
Now it was his turn to undress her. He took his time
with the two skimpy pieces of clothing, managing to
rub, knead or caress every square inch of her body. Of
course he especially paid attention to her throbbing
clit and weeping pussy. She was limp with desire when
he gathered her into his arms and laid her on the bed.
Chris kissed his way down her thighs until he was
brushing her clit with his lips. "Yessss," she hissed
when he sucked on the ultra-tiny cock and gently
flicked it with his tongue. He kept up his
ministrations until her hips were rocking side to side
and she clutched at her tits. When he decided that she
was about to come he thrust a finger into her pussy and
pressed heavily on her g-spot. "GHAAAAAAAA!!" she
screamed in a mixture of pain and overwhelming lust as
she came.
"How's that," Chris demanded as he burrowed three
fingers into her sopping cunt.
"OH FUCK!" Andrea screamed as orgasm after orgasm
ripped through her tightly arched body.
She was panting and in a sweat by the time Chris
relented and let her come off her high of awesome cums.
"How about a nice titty-fuck?" he asked, moving his
legs to both sides of her torso.
"Good," she said in a husky voice.
Chris painted the inner halves of her breasts with the
tip of his cock as it leaked a steady supply of pre-
cum. She held her tits together as he slid his cock
between the slickened orbs. She couldn't quite
completely engulf his cock, but that didn't seem to
matter as his cock-head slipped in and out. Little
shots of pre-cum landed on her chest with each stroke.
He took his time, letting the cum in his balls slowly
reach the boiling point. His dick swelled and began to
ache.
"Here it comes," he hissed. Cum shot from the end of
his dick. The thick stream hit Andrea in the chin and
dribbled down her throat. He pulled his dick from
between her tits and grabbed the shaft. As he stroked
madly at his cock, another stream erupted and slammed
against her breast with an audible splat. More cum shot
from his steely dick and shot against her tits,
spraying the liquid all over.
When he finally ran down, Andrea disappeared into the
bathroom to take care of Chris' prodigious output. When
she returned – now she was wearing a robe – Chris was
stepping into his undershorts. He arranged his now limp
cock into place. Even limp it made a bulge that any man
would have been happy to call a hard-on. "I'd ask you
to spend the night, but I'm afraid I'd be useless at
work tomorrow," she said. "I'll be walking funny as it
is," she said with a grin.
"I understand," said Chris. "There is one thing I'd
like to ask you about."
"What's that?" she asked as she picked up brush and
began to pull it through her blonde hair.
"Where do you have the file?" he asked in a flat voice.
"File?" asked Andrea.
Chris nodded. "The file of papers that was next to the
jar that went boom today." He pulled on his slacks and
reached for his shirt.
She put down the brush and folded her arms underneath
her breasts. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're
talking about."
Chris said, "When I pointed to the jar and told you not
to touch it, the file of papers was there. Less than an
hour later, when I returned with my supervisor and the
estate's security chief, it was gone."
Andrea shrugged. "Anyone could have taken it during
that time."
"I locked the door when we left, and when I returned
those knobs were in the same position." That was a lie.
He hadn't really noted the positions of those brass
starbursts, but he didn't want to give her an easy out.
"I... I don't know, Chris," she said. "Maybe it was
this Helen Clarke. Now there's a real mystery. She..."
Chris held up his hand. "Let's stick to one topic," he
said, interrupting. "I agree. Helen, if that's her
name, knew how to open that door. But she's had plenty
of opportunity to take that file any time she wanted.
"Now," he said matter-of-factly, "you were standing
next to that cabinet when suddenly you blinded me with
my own flashlight. And then, you had a coughing fit
that could have easily covered up the sound of you
slipping that file under your clothes."
Andrea rolled her eyes and said, "Well if you believe
that then... then, I don't know what to tell you."
Chris pulled his wallet from his back pocket and fished
out a group of business cards. He fanned out the cards
as if he was about to ask her to pick one for a trick.
"I got these from the people I talked to this
afternoon. He pointed to one card after the other. "The
local police, the state police, the Bureau of Alcohol,
Tobacco Firearms and Explosives, Homeland Security and
last but not least, some guys who only left a number –
no name. The guys from the other agencies suddenly had
something else to do when they came around."
"I'm sorry that you had such a bad time, Chris, but I
really don't know how I can help," Andrea said.
Chris shook his head; he wasn't going to let this go.
"I'll tell you what, I'll just pick one of these cards
at random and give the officer or agent a call. You
know – foreigners and big booms make these guys very
nervous."
Helen sighed in exasperation. She went to the closet,
reached into a corner and came out with the file.
"Here," she said as she tossed it onto the bed.
Chris picked it up and opened the file. There were
twenty or so pages filled with notes and chemical
equations and symbols. He saw immediately that it was
way over the level of his high school chemistry. He
shut the file.
"Thanks," said Chris. "You don't need it anyway. I'm
sure you faxed it somewhere already." Andrea didn't say
anything, but the look on her face told him that she
had.
"You were leaving?" said Andrea, clearly implying that
he do so.
Chris was still barefoot. He sat on the edge of the bed
and began to don his socks and shoes. "Just another
question or two," he said. "You really perked up when I
found those pictures of... uh, what's his name...
Tizard... and then that business about Helen Clarke. I
mean, it's all very interesting, but why steal this?"
He gestured to the file. "What's your angle?"
Andrea sighed, rolled her shoulders and said, "I don't
know. Like you said, it just seemed intriguing."
Chris decided that one thing the woman didn't do for a
living was tell lies. He began to reach for his wallet
once more.
"Stop that," Andrea said. "Very well then." She jammed
her fists into the pockets of her robe and looked up at
the ceiling. "What I do is confidential, but hardly
sinister. I work for a software company. We're trying
to develop programs that will deal with the mountains
of electronic intercepts that my government – and yours
– glean every day."
"Ahh... spy stuff; anti-terrorist stuff," said Chris.
Andrea nodded. "I thought they had super-duper
computers that handled all that."
"They have equipment and software that is simply
unbelievable in its ability to sort and sift and store
information. But we're trying to come up with something
that can look at millions of data points and do
something truly intuitive."
"That's interesting," said Chris. "But how does it lead
you here?"
"I'm not entirely sure," she said. "I mean, I'm part of
a blind test. Our company was given a set of data
covering decades of both public and secret records. We
were sent here, under the guise of cataloging all
that... stuff, for lack of a better word. We knew that
we were looking for something significant, but the idea
was that we really wouldn't have a clue. If all this,"
she gestured at the file, "isn't what we were supposed
to find, then I can't imagine what it would be."
Her explanation brought about a hundred questions to
Chris' mind, but he asked only one. "So, I guess
this'll make you rich?"
"It should make my company quite wealthy. One of my
coworkers claims that your NSA will simply hand us a
blank check. And I imagine that I will do nicely," she
conceded.
"Enough to hand out a bonus?" he asked.
Andrea frowned. "Chris, this borders on blackmail. In
fact it is blackmail, and I find it quite beneath you,"
she said with arched eyebrows and a piercing gaze.
"Oh nothing for me," he said. "I was thinking of a
scholarship for Jane; for all that hard work she's done
for you."
"How much of a scholarship?" she asked warily. They
negotiated a figure. Chris thought it would afford Jane
a doctorate at least.
Chris worked at the estate for two more weeks. He never
went back to the basement/dungeon, but he did cross
paths with Jane. She was all bubbly with the news about
her surprise scholarship. Chris turned over the lab
papers to the ATF agent who was working the case of the
blast. Chris mumbled an excuse about having put the
papers in his pocket and then forgetting about them in
all the excitement.
On his last day, Chris said goodbye to everyone. He
drove out of the employee parking lot and began the
nearly mile long drive to leave the estate. He glanced
in his rearview mirror and saw someone at the edge of
the parking lot waving their arm in farewell. It was
Helen Clarke. Something caught his eye; it was the
glare of brake lights from the car he was following. He
had to lock up the brakes on his Jeep to stop from
hitting it in the rear. He spun in his seat, looking
out all the windows, but Helen was nowhere to be seen.
For a second, he thought making a u-turn. "No, just
leave it alone," he said to himself and drove on.
*
Weeks passed and one day Chris received an e-mail from
Andrea.
Chris (it began), I hope you and your mother are well.
I thought I would fill you in on a couple of items.
Jane's scholarship is well and truly on its way. She
and Matthew seem to have parted amicably. From the
mention of the scholarship, you can surmise that our
work in the states was successful. Now about Helen
Clarke – this is still a mystery to me. I've done some
more research and although most of the following is
speculation, I think this is what may have happened. In
1940, Helen came to the Brick Estate and in short
order, fell in love with Mr. Brick. No doubt he wanted
her to stay, but she saw her duty was with her country
in a time of war.
When the war ended she wanted to leave England, be with
the man she loved and continue her work on the estate.
However, England was still a nation in dire
circumstances, even after the fighting had stopped. The
government didn't want to see their best and brightest
brains emigrating to the States, so it was very
difficult for her to leave. I think that Mr. Brick
simply smuggled her out. Then came that period in which
he purchased all those dreadful items in Europe. I
believe that was a cover to have Helen's equipment
shipped to America.
I believe that Ms. Clarke spent her working days in
that secret laboratory. The outlet through the mine
would have allowed her to test her creations (remember
that she specialized in plastic explosives) in the
relative seclusion of the forest. When she died, I
imagine that a brokenhearted Mr. Brick closed the
laboratory, sealing away whatever she had been working
on during her final days.
That, of course, was the unstable compound that you
stumbled upon. The mine entrance was duly blocked.
Chris, these romantic musings of mine are of course
sheer speculation. I hope you aren't laughing too hard
at my expense. Best regards, Andrea.
End
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 56