The Day after Tommy Dean

He was up quickly. I got a bit of a start on him, but he was a strapping, muscular young man in his early twenties, used to life out in the hollow, as I wasn't. I headed for where I'd parked my car where the driveway met the road, but it was too far. We were both running barefooted, but that was natural with him. Not for me. The attempt to escape was futile.

He caught me in the forest almost within sight of the house and the shed. He landed on top of me from behind, taking the breath out of me.

And Billy Bob fucked me right there, pulling me back up onto my knees, the heels of my hands pressed into the moss of the forest floor, my blouse pulled open and his hands working my breast like he was milking a cow. My skirt was bunched up to my waist in back. I hadn't found my panties or bra in the hurry of my escape attempt. He crouched over me from behind, mounted me like I was a bitch dog, entered me with a shaft every bit as thick and long as his brothers', and, snorting and snuffling, fucked me to his release. I involuntarily settled into cries of passion he was taking care of my need so good, telling him not to stop—to be good to me—the primeval setting and circumstance lifting me up and then slamming me down, lifting me up higher and slamming me down harder—always seeking that higher plane, that feeling of sexual nirvana. And he didn't stop, and he was very good to me. Once more, I'd been fucked to the core—I'd opened to him and gone spongy deep inside and he'd lathered me with the gush of his seed. My knees had gone wobbly at his jerking, spasming, and releasing again and again and I'd collapsed to the ground. He'd ridden me down, crying out, "Oh, sweet baby!"

Afterward, he just pulled me up from the ground, slung me over his shoulder like a sack of cornmeal, and carried me back to the shed. My purse—with my car keys—was left somewhere out there at the fringe of the forest on the mossy ground.

Young, in shape, virile, and in heat, Billy Bob was in erection again when we returned to the shed. He tossed me down on the mattress on my back and, naked, came down on top of me. He fucked me just as his older brother and younger brother had done—in missionary style. And, truth be known, I melted to it from him every bit as much as I had with his brothers.

Tommy Dean came awake while Billy Bob was plowing me on the bed.

"Billy Bob," he said, sleepily. "I thought you was gonna wait to fuck her until the morning."

"She tried to get away."

"Uh, OK. Well, enjoy yourself. She's a peach. Juicy pussy. You too, Ginnie," he said, "You enjoy Billy Bob." And then he closed his eyes again.

Before Billy Bob was finished, while we were really into it—me completely won over to him and the two of us rocking against each other to perfection, Tommy Dean woke up again, pulled his dick out, and watched and stroked himself.

He was hard as a rock and throbbing when Billy Bob had ejaculated and rolled off me. Tommy Dean rolled onto me then, and, as he thrust inside me and began to stroke, Billy Bob tied my wrists to the brass rungs of the headboard again and stood and watch his younger brother fuck me for a few minutes before leaving the shed.

When Tommy Dean had come—and after I had seen fireworks a couple of times myself—we just lay there, both exhausted and fully satiated, and drifted off to sleep.

He hadn't untied me.

* * * *

"You know what's happening? What your sons are doing? Out there in the shed?" It had taken me some time to build up to ask her this. She was still canning blueberries when Tommy Dean brought me into the house for lunch on Sunday and sat me down, me moving gingerly, at the table. He'd left me and I was alone in the dining room, next to where the deer carcass had been hanging on Friday night. I heard his mother bustling around in the kitchen and muttering to herself.

"Ma will bring you something to eat. I gotta help dress the deer," Tommy Dean had said, and then he left me. He'd seen me eyeing the front door of the farmhouse and had added, "We'll know if you try to leave. Don't try." Little did he know that I'd spent much of the morning—while he was on top of me wheezing and pushing, young and virile, never apparently being able to get enough of it, worrying about where my purse and car keys might have landed last night. It had been quite a sexual satisfying evening and night, but it was time to go home.

The woman came in and set a plate down in front of me—blueberries spread on a thick chunk of bread—listened to my rehearsed question, and gave me a long look. "Yes, I know."

"And you're OK with that?" I asked.

"You were quick enough to go with Tommy Dean night before last," she said, giving me a disapproving eye. "You as well as asked for it."

I couldn't argue with that. But I couldn't just let it be either. "All three of them. All three of your sons. Did you know that?"

"When you got it from Tommy Dean, you didn't complain none," she said, still staring me down, still judging. "And you came back for more of it yesterday. They didn't go down into the valley and drag you up did, did they? You came back for more of it."

"For Tommy Dean, yes. Not for all three of them."

"The shed's not far off from the house. I knew. I knew each time one of them was inside you, breeding you. I heard you. You liked it each time."

To my embarrassment, I couldn't argue with that either. "I didn't say yes—not at first—not to the two oldest ones. They bound me. Did you know that? They tied me up . . . and . . . and they didn't wear protection."

The woman snorted. "You walk around with 'Yes' written all over you. And we don't traipse with any of that protection stuff up here in the hollows. A woman up here takes it as it comes and drops babies as they come too."

"But all three of them."

"They'll sort each other out over time."

"What do you mean by that?" Suddenly, understanding what she meant, I looked at her in horror. "You're telling me they plan to keep me. That's why they're tying me up. How could you let them—?"

"That's how they get their women if'n there ain't one back in the hollow they hanker after. That's how my man got me. You look like stout stuff. Broad in the hips. Probably good for breeding, and Lord knows the Simpsons can use some fresh blood. You came back for it. So, you get what you get. I didn't do that. I was livin' down in Waynesboro when my man came and just snatched me up and brought me up here and back into the hollow. Bred me again and again. Three babied in the first four years. I ain't been any closer to the valley than this in a good thirty years. The boys will sort it out soon enough. Billy Bob and Jack got wives up in the hollow. They's just sowing oats. It's Tommy Dean needs a woman—a woman who will start givin' him babies. Mind you, if Billy Bob and Jack want to go on messing with you, they will."

I was still shocked that she had been seized and brought up here. "But how could you have . . . how could you have put up with it?"

"Once you've had a Simpson man inside you—and once you've dropped him a baby—you don't need nothin' else in life. Once you have your first baby, you'll need no other purpose in life. And what you will look forward to then is having your Simpson man inside you again, cookin' up another baby. There ain't nothin' like havin' a Simpson man inside you. You know that already. You came back. You came back because you had Tommy Dean inside you and that one time weren't enough. You want it again and again from a Simpson. Don't try foolin' me. I been there."

"And Billy Bob and Jack?" I asked.

"One Simpson man is as good as the next. It will sort out. You start droppin' babies and it will sort out. It did with my man and his brothers."

With a shudder, a new thought—the possibility the woman had broached—came to my mind, and my hand involuntarily went to my belly and I at least imagined I could feel stirrings there. Each of the three brothers had reached me as no other man had, had caused me to open to them fully, to become totally vulnerable to them. I had moved with each of them, given each of them everything—had had a special, warm, contented feeling afterward. None of them had worn protection—that had been a large portion of the ecstasy, the total fulfillment, I'd felt with each of them. All of them had seeded me more than once. Already I could be . . . by any of the three. And if they took me up into the mountains, there would be little, if anything, I could do about that now.

Was the die already cast?

What could I say? What could I even think? The mixed horror and temptation of it was even worse than if all of this really had been an illusion. But, no, I couldn't say that. The three brothers weren't illusions. What I felt when any of the three was inside me wasn't an illusion. Any of the three . . . any of the three. I'd take any of the three again and beg for it. This woman was telling me that's what would happen if they took me up into the hollow—when they took me up into the hollow.

"You eat up now," the woman said. "I've got to finish up the canning and we need to be on our way up into the hollow."

She left me then and went back into the kitchen. I could hear her moving around in there. It sounded like she was cleaning up from the canning. I took up the bread with shaky hands. I realized that I was ravenous. Having continual sex brought up the hunger, I realized. I thought of the three sons. I couldn't say that I wouldn't be pleased with any of the three as a sex partner. But as a husband? In primitive conditions? Stuck back in the mountain hollows the rest of my life? Only coming this far back toward civilization to can tomatoes and blueberries? Having to learn to dress out a deer carcass? Having three virile men fucking me until they "sorted themselves" out down to one? Dropping babies for them every year until I was worn out.

The bread and berries were delicious. But then I was so hungry I thought maybe I could stand to go out there where the men were and chew raw meat off the deer carcass. Out there with the men. Three men fucking me. I was feeling all tingly inside.

I also felt like I wasn't alone—like someone was watching me. I looked up at the doorway into the kitchen, but the woman wasn't there.

"The boys tell me you're a real honey. Got a sweet cunt, they all say."

The voice, a deep bass, was coming from the opposite direction. I pivoted around. The father—Pa—was standing at the entry door. Like his sons, he was just dressed in coveralls and it looked like that was all he was wearing. Like his sons, he managed to look sexy in them and invited speculation on what lay inside them. He was older than his sons, certainly, but tall, broad shouldered, muscular. Extremely handsome. Blue-eyed and wavy hair, like his sons, but his hair was salt-and-pepper to their jet black. Tufts of hair curling out from the top of the bib of his overalls promised of a lightly hairy chest.

Lawrence sprang to mind. They were much the same age but couldn't have been more different. Which? There was something about the primeval roughness of this man, Tommy Dean's father. But . . .

"Please. Your sons. They . . . you need—"

But I got no further. I gasped as he covered the distance between us in four quick strides and was behind me, one strong arm embracing me from behind, knocking the air of me, so tight was the grip of the muscular arm across my belly. His hand moved up to my face and covered my mouth. His fingers were pinching my nose, controlling my breath. Just like that I was fully under his control.

I heard the buckles on his bib overalls give and the coveralls puddled to the floor at his feet. He was naked, and hard, his erection pushing at the small of my back. He pushed my skirt up above my buttocks from behind, exposing my nakedness and pulling a grunt of arousal out of him. I had yet to find my panties. Lifting me with the arm encircling my waist, he bent me over the dining room table.

He was as thick and long and hard as his sons were. He entered me strongly and deep, almost immediately setting up a deep thrust rhythm. I struggled at first, but it was useless. He was inside me, pumping me, still controlling my breathing with one hand while he squeezed my breasts and fingered my nipples with the other hand. My attention was fully divided between just trying to catch the next breath and luxuriating in his masterful thrusts inside me.

He fucked me for several minutes, bringing me to the brink—and then beyond—three times before he ejaculated deep inside me.

He had made quick, but total, work of me. I was panting and moaning, having collapsed on the table, cheek to wood and arms outstretched, completely docile to him having his way with me as he held my waist between his hands and rocked me back and forth to meet his thrusts up into my passage, which was slack and welcoming to his attentions. I opened as much to him as I had to his sons. He reached into the quick of me as much as each of them had done and I went spongy for him, taking his seed in ecstasy and total acceptance and joy. Any of the four now could have impregnated me. I had never felt as fulfilled as after any of the four had been inside me, breeding me.

When he was done, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "They was right. You're a real peach, you are. Real sweet cunt. Ain't we gonna have fun?" Then he released me, letting me collapse on my belly on the table top. He pulled up and buckled his overalls, and turned and strode out of the house.

I looked up, at the door into the kitchen. The woman was standing there, in the doorway, giving me a hard look. I remained sprawled there, the two of us looking hard at each other, me panting in ragged breaths.

At length she spoke, her voice as hard as her gaze was. "I'll be goin' out to them where they are working on the carcass. I'll keep their attention. That will get you a head start. Make the most of it. If you don't go, I'll make your life miserable."

"My car . . . I don't have the keys."

She pulled her hand out of her pocket. She had my purse clutched in her claws, and she tossed it across the room. It landed on the top of the table next to where I still was sprawled.

"Take it and go. Billy Bob brought it to me this morning. You'd left it out there by the trees where you two were rooting last night and where you was screamin' how much you liked havin' him inside you."

"Why are you doing this? Just now you were saying I'd be taken back into the hollow."

"That there was my man just now. He's taken a fancy to you too. You would have given my boys pleasure—'bout time Tommy Dean settled down to a woman who'll give him babies and the other two deserve any sport they can find—but you're not gonna pleasure me none if my man has taken a shine to you too. I don't plan on sharing my bed with a slut. You got a few minutes of lead time while I get the men movin' on packing up. Use your time well. I'll tell them you're walkin' on a head up the trace because I told you about the stream up there where you can get a proper bath."

She turned and walked back into the kitchen. I didn't hesitate. I made a dash for it.

I'd almost reached the road when Lawrence and a couple of other men reached me from that direction.

"Ginnie, there you are. Are you OK? You'd told Natalie you were driving up here again yesterday. You weren't home last night. When you didn't come back, we got worried. We found your car back on the road."

"Back there . . . the house," I blurted out, breathing so heavily I couldn't say more. I collapsed into a seated position on the grass next to the driveway.

"Something about the farmhouse back there," Lawrence turned and said to the other men, and they kept moving in that direction. "We'll be right back," Lawrence said as he ran to catch up with the other men.

In twenty minutes they were back.

"Is this what you're missing?" Lawrence asked. He was holding my silk Monet-patterned scarf in his hand. We found this in a shed by the house. The house was otherwise deserted, though. Looks like it's about ready to fall down.

"The house? It was deserted? No one in the yard. A deer . . ."

"Didn't see any deer around or anything else," Lawrence said. "Did you think . . .?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Let's go back to Harrisonburg," I said, rising, wearily, and heading for my car, leading them away from the mountain family. There was no way they'd understand.

Lawrence was close beside me, a hand on my butt cheek. If he'd found my scarf in the shed, I wondered why he hadn't found my bra and panties too. But I didn't want to think about that now. I didn't want to think about anything now.

"We'll go back to my house," he was murmuring. He kissed me in the hollow of my neck. "I know just what you need." He was squeezing my ass cheek.

I agreed that he knew what I needed. But could I lower my standards from the Simpson men to enjoy it from Lawrence now? I was already thinking of Tommy Dean on top of me and inside me—and Billy Bob . . . and Jack . . . and Pa.

And I was wondering how often the Simpsons came down to the farmhouse for Ma to do her canning.

I like to keep my options open. My hand involuntarily went to my belly. It was quite possible that I also had decisions to make—sooner than later.