("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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