Paul Grimshaw - Uncle Ned

Sensitive nose snuffing and eyes and ears attuned to everything that made a sound or moved in her natural habitat, the great burly bear moved gracefully through her territory on silent padded feet. She was not hungry, her nearly insatiable appetite for once satisfied. Food was abundant; brambles drooped with sweet berries; lightning-blazed hollow trees dripped with honey, and the numerous streams boiled with darting trout. The furry mother-to-be was content.

Suddenly, the feared man-scent was strong in her nostrils. With the appearance of horse and rider on the crest of the ridge, she stood still and watched. They seemed harmless, unaware of her presence and of no present danger. Then, once again, her wide nostrils rankled with a fresh scent another animal had entered her domain!

From the security of a nearby granite niche, a pair of tawny eyes surveyed the ridge. Nose wrinkling above half-snarling lips, the great cat sorted out the scents; the hated smell of humans, horses, and stronger, the odor of bear. The mountain lion swished its tail angrily and emitted a low growl.

The she-bear turned, sniffing, listening. She recognized the cat scent, heard the low, throaty growl of warning. Uttering her own barely audible snarl of irritation, she moved off into the underbrush until she came to a tall sugar pine. Rising to her hind legs, she reached high, slashing into the rough bark some eight feet above the ground with the lancet-sharp claws of her forepaws to leave her mark her territorial warning to the mountain lion who had violated her domain. Then, dropping to all fours, she ambled down the slope toward the stream her stomach told her it was time to catch a meal of speckled trout.

The primitive drama played, and the men and women who comprised the pack train were unaware of it. Their senses were not attuned to the affairs of the forest. They were in a Sierra wilderness but were not a part of it. They were truly alien beings in that place, in that time. Their concentration was on each other and the feral, rutting fantasies of their imaginations.

Ned Dow led the party. It was the remote back country of his property that they were traversing, and the reason for being here ostensibly was to find a runaway black stallion.

Away to the fight and left rose ridges of varying shades of granite and green that marked the boundaries of the National Forest, and just ahead, where the trail began to switch back down toward a cool meadow, barbed wire enclosed the eastern-most portion of his expansive holdings.

Ned Dow had led many a pack trip into this country of abundant trout and plentiful game, but today his thoughts were filled with the grandeur of Barbara Ross' soft thighs and sensual lips. Today was filled with the yesterdays of her ardent skills and the tomorrows of her sensual promises. And, as Ned Dow envisioned the loveliness of her smooth enticing vaginal sheath enveloping his achingly hard cock, he could not help but think also of his beautifully blossoming redheaded niece, fourteen year old Laurie. He knew such thoughts were prurient, but, damnit! He couldn't stop them!

Where the trail bent and began to descend, Ned halted his horse, turned in the saddle, and watched the loose procession of horses and riders converge toward him. Voluptuous Barbara Ross came first, followed at varying lengths by Ken Chester, Laurie Dow and Will Ross leading two pack animals. When Barbara reined up alongside, Ned extended an arm, pointing to a clump of willows that bordered a stream at the far end of the meadow below, and called out in his booming voice: "Coldwater Meadow. We'll camp on the far side tonight." Without waiting for comment, Ned wheeled his horse and guided him into the first of many descending switchbacks.

Pressing into her stirrups, Barbara eased her weary buttocks off the saddle and for a moment peered down at Ned Dow's retreating back, then let her gaze drift across Coldwater Meadow. There still remained the steep descent and a mile of level riding before they made camp, but the attractive auburn-haired woman felt thankful that she could at last see their destination, for she was the first to admit that she was not a good horsewoman. In fact, the only reason she agreed to mount one of the unpredictable beasts was for the vicarious thrill of the constant, rhythmic contact between saddle and pelvic area.

Now, after several hours of hard riding, the crotch of her tight-fitting britches was saturated, for she refused to wear panties while riding, savoring instead the ecstasy of the friction of her naked vagina against the coarsely woven fabric. At that moment, a shudder cold and unwelcomed rippled through her, and immediately she eased back into the saddle, forcing herself to concentrate on the delicious warmth of her moist pussy against the hard leather, forcing herself to ignore the weariness in her buttocks.

Gingerly, then, the enraptured woman guided her horse into the first switchback, and, as he braced himself in descent, she felt an even more pleasant warmth spread through her loins, for now, with each of his jolting strides, her rigid, inflamed clitoris came into climax-mounting contact with the saddle horn. It felt almost as good to her as had Ned Dow's hard, jarring cock on the previous evening; it felt almost as good as she knew Ken Chester's cock was going to feel. And she knew it wouldn't be long before she was able to maneuver him into her waiting arms perhaps even tonight.

She twisted in the saddle then, and above her she saw Ken sitting quietly on his horse, watching her with unmistakable interest. She flashed him a smile, a smile that expressed all the sensual wantonness she felt at that moment, and he returned it, grinning with a male cockiness that left no doubt as to its meaning.

God! I'm hot! she thought. I need a good fucking! That episode with Ned last night was pleasant but not fulfilling. And she could never get enough from Will. Hell! That selfish bastard hardly ever touched her anymore; and what was worse, he watched her like a jealous hawk, prevented her from going into town alone in search of the cock she so desperately needed to be happy and content. No, she had never kidded herself she was as close to being a nymphomaniac as a woman could be without actually wearing a sign advertising her willingness to spread her long legs for almost any man with a hard-on. Hell yes, she admitted it: she adored stiff cocks, wanted all she could get, and had left more than one man worn to a useless frazzle in the morning.

Sighing with anticipation, she turned to face forward once again, and let the sensualness of Ken's unmistakable promise mingle with the very real twitching in her wetly heated pussy as it banged repeatedly against the firm leather of the saddle horn. Mind and body were as one, in tune, awash in a sea of carnal wanting.

She remained that way, unconscious of the outside world, until she reached the meadow. Then, spurring her horse in an unaccustomed gallop, she raced forward, passing a startled Ned Dow and silently screaming out a deliciously wet climax.

From the ridge above Ken Chester watched this scene with unastonished amusement as he awaited the remainder of the party. He had long since pegged Will Ross' wife for what she was. Nevertheless, she was a striking woman, a woman with unfathomable sensual depth. And a woman he was soon going to plow! Hard, deep, and relentlessly! It wouldn't be like it had been with Laurie. No, with this one he would be the one to learn a few things. Unconsciously he licked his lips in anticipation, then turned, his thoughts distracted as his boss' niece rode up.

"What's so amusing?" Laurie Dow asked, a trace of irritability in her normally pleasant young voice.

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing," Ken lied. "I was just admiring the beauty," he said, sweeping one arm in a wide arc. "Your uncle's a very lucky man. So much beautiful land. Unspoiled. Quiet and beautiful."