I'm Mel's Dad, 31 Wilson's Farm

THIRTY-ONE 'Wilson's Farm'

We move smoothly along the highway, through light traffic. You are driving, my hand rests on your thigh, feeling your muscles move encased in your tight jeans. Saisha and Charles sit snuggling in the back, eager. They were thrilled to be invited to the Wilson's farm and were waiting on the curb when you backed out of the drive. They scrambled in and we were off.

Answering their questions I am relating the history of farm.

Betty had been surprised to inherit it from an estranged uncle. The notice from his executor came by registered mail. The surprise was that she had not heard from him, or about him - or communicated with him in any way since she had escaped at age sixteen. This uncle had begun molesting her by the time she was eight. Never violent, but insistent - overpowering. Her parents had died overseas when she was eleven (she never did know the whole story) and she was sent to live with her mother's brother. "Adopted" was the word they used. She did not even realize there was anything wrong or unusual until she started to hear the tales of some of the girls at school. One night she slithered out her window (he locked her into her room regularly), shimmied down the tree and ran into the dark, with her book bag stuffed with some quickly gathered clothes. She was lucky. She found nurturing support from strangers and, after her escape her life was relatively normal.

So, having an officer of the court deliver this letter was a shock. Though she hadn't thought of him consciously in all that time, she felt a profound relief to know that he had died. A weight sloughed off that she had not known she had been carrying. She was glad to be rid of it.

Not sure what to do, after a week or so of conversation and consideration, she and Jim decided to go check it out. It had not been the site of any of her trauma, she had never been there or known of it's existence.

They followed the directions and pulled into the long lightly paved drive through the woods to find a well-kept house, a large barn set in a couple acre clearing. They were greeted by Peter and Gail, who had been employed, along with a few others, to care for the farm and tend to the Uncle's... interests.

Gail was particularly nervous and, after the standard civil introductions, quickly brought up the state of, and possible termination of, their employment under this new and unknown ownership.

Unanswered at the time, this question did lead to fairly explicit discussion of the circumstances and practices of the farm.

Pete was in charge of the genecal operations of the farm, caretaker/overseer/manager. He had taken over from his father under the previous owners and the uncle kept him on with a slight increase in pay. Gail was hired quickly to tend to the farm's books - the uncle had no interest in the tedium. She acknowledged that she was likely chosen from among the several candidates based on her looks - but she was well up to the task at hand.

The uncle was a complete wastrel, uninterested in the farm, and obsessed with sex. He created a sort of erotic B&B catering to high-paying depraved profligates He secretly recorded their activities and used them to black-mail them both financially and socially. Eventually, he broke any promises he may have had and edited and published his collection under the company name, "Verdorben Farm".

This enterprise brought in lots of money and swelled his accounts beyond the limits of his morals. Which were absurdly wide to begin with. He shut down the B&B and hired in performers from the erotic arts. He had a keen eye on the market and soon realized that there was a hunger for the forbidden lusts. He went deeper and deeper into BDSM and bestiality, rape and snuff. He did not guarantee these films were fictional enactments. Some were not.

One day, he and Pete were racing around the property on ATVs. Pete came back alone, reporting that the uncle had run into a tree and tipped over a bluff, rolled to the bottom. Some of the employees rushed to the scene and found the uncle crumpled in the scree, battered and dead. There was no further investigation. The performers abandoned the farm. Gail searched for any relatives, finding Betty after more than a year. The lawyers worked out the paper work, sent the letter, and now, here we are.

Betty had not been at all surprised at the ballooning depravity, the dishonesty, the corruption. She was surprised to know that this was all hers - hers and Jim's - to untangle. After talks over dinner, and long into the night, the four of them came to an agreement. Gail and Peter would stay on in their capacities. Betty and Jim would move into the uncle's house. And they would play it as it came. So they did.

Pete and a couple hands took care of the horses and dogs. Claire took care of the books. The actors were unemployed and left.

Betty and Jim continued to hold erotic parties with friends. Such as Diedre and I. Small group of friends.

Claire advised hiring someone to take over the uncle's tasks, marketing & client services, so they hired Pedro who convinced them, in order to maintain income stream, to make personalized custom videos. They brainstormed, came up with a dozen scenes and shot them. Turns out people's imaginations are not that varied and they could edit what they had to fulfill 'custom fantasies' scripted by clients. Over three years they were raking in big bucks and only had to shoot four new scenes.

"Comin' up here on the right, Sweet. See that wooden sign - no words." "Yeah." "Turn there."

We are on a two-lane blacktop county road. She'd been following my directions as we rolled. Charles and Saisha had been rapt by the tale, asking few questions as I steamed through the history of the farm.

"OK, see that turn off up here to the left - couple hundred feet. Turn up that." She does and we are bouncing along a rugged forestry trail up the side of a hill, steep enough to need switchbacks and not maintained for smooth travel.

"Yeah. It's somewhere along here. It's uh. Is that it. No. There, there. That grassy spot on the right. Pull off and stop."

We sit in silence for a moment. I open the door and step out on the wild grass, half-shin deep. You all get out and follow me to the edge of a bluff, overlooking the broad valley. A quiet stream wanders out of the trees, winds around a small cluster of buildings and disappears again into the forest on the other side of the large cleared area.

"That's it. That's the Wilson's farm." "It's beautiful." "Yes, Saisa. Beautiful and isolated. Private." "What's that burned off area?" "That's where the stable and kennels used to be. Fire took them last year." "That must of hurt." "Yes. They had to close down some - and limit some activities. But I think they were ready." "How so?" "Well..."

As we stand there, looking, I continue the history lesson.

After the uncle died and the production closed down, a lot of customers clamored for more, for a return to what was. For more video. That had been a vast revenue stream for the farm, but Betty and Jim had neither the experience nor the great desire to get into it. They enjoyed their small parties with their friends, including us, who had sort of been swapping off whose house we met at to play. This location freed us in many ways, so here we met. Gail and Peter joined in. To our delight.

One day, a short limo drove up and three suits stepped out. Betty and Jim stepped out on the porch and watched as the three talked together, looking around at the buildings. One of them led the other two towards the house and Betty stepped off the porch to meet them. They came with an offer from a European client who wanted production at Verdorben Farm to resume. Though Betty and Jim were not enthusiastic - even reluctant - the client was insistent. And offered huge Euromoney as incentive. Enough to sway the couple. They were paid to revamp the barn to a studio/theater, including a multi-camera internet connection for streaming live shows. Shows in the vein of the uncle's production. Including the return of severe BDSM and bestiality. Reluctant, but swayed by the fortune in play, they agreed - though refused the rape and snuff material. The representatives of the European agreed, contracts were signed and the Verdorben productions were relaunched.

After totally rehabbing the barn, translating it to a theater/studio - they had to build new stables to house the horses and kennels for the dogs. Pedro proved quite adept at live production - and at editing packages for sale. Gail grew into an online diva. And everything was sorted into a revived success.

Live shows selling out. Streaming subscriptions banging through the roof. Recordings of all types selling so much it was hard to keep up. Huge financial success and the weeks were mostly free for the private activities we so enjoyed.

Then, and this was after Mel and I first tapped into the feed, fire swept through the barn, burning it and the kennels to ash. As you can see.

No longer needing the revenue, they chose not to rebuild. Any contractual obligations were moot because Euromoney man had died and no one claimed his rights. So, Betty and Jim quit the business and now do what they do exclusively for their own pleasure. They still stream, play to smaller audience, book a more limited programme.

I come to a pause and Saisha pipes up, "Is that the paved road we were on?" "Yes." "Is it a direct connection." "Sure." I head back to the car, you guys follow. "Why did we climb up this hill?" "I wanted y'll to see this view. And shake up the load in the trunk." I tap the trunk as I walk 'round to take over the driving.

It's a short bumpy ride down the hill.

Betty is waiting in the drive as we arrive and has, apparently, called for Jim who comes from the barn, Pedro following behind. Gail and Peter come out of the house to join in the warm greetings. Everyone is glad to see you again. And, after introductions, special notice is taken of Saisha and Charles. Hugs and hugs for all. A delightful reception.

Conversations and brief explanation as we walk together to the barn theater. Many cars are parked in field we pass on our way. Inside, some people are seated, some standing in knots. The low hum of the human crowd fills the barn. Peter goes up to the production booth, you follow, interested. I watch you go, interested. As always. Your swaying hair caresses your back.

House lights going down and up signal the time to get seated and Peter's deep voice booms out through the VOG speakers. "Find your seats please, we'll be starting in about five minutes. As always, sit where you like and prepare to enjoy the show." The seats in the theater are about half-full, typical now Betty says.

The house lights go down and three spots hit the stage from high overhead and far back against the walls. A hot red, a frigid blue from the sides and a bright wheat-straw from the front. The triangle with curved sides where they meet - like a guitar pick - is white on the floor. three wings extend from each side, each a different color.

Two thick white ropes drop with a thud from the darkness over the stage, each landing at a vertex of the 'triangle'. Two ropes start to shimmy. A descending string arpeggio fills the air. Suddenly, a body slides down each of the ropes and stops, just before the stage floor. The audience recovers from their gasps of surprise and alarm as two women, heads down, stop abruptly inches from the stage. Their long, loose white skirts immediately fall, revealing their well-muscled legs in white tights with thick furry bands around ankles and nestled where their legs meet their crotch. One wears bands colored fox red, the other patterend in tan, dun and black like an ocelot The skirts hang down from their waists to cover their torsos and heads. They look like bells hanging.

As they start to swing, bells ring out through the sound system. It's a dance. Suspended, floating free. They clutch the rope with their powerful legs and begin to pump up and down. Drums join the music, echoing their rhythm. The swinging becomes circling and a swelling of horns introduces a full orchestra. The circles widen. As these white bells sweep into and out of the lighting spills, their colors change, adding a kaleidoscopic effect.

One arm of one of the bells reaches out, lifting the skirt, then drops, as does the skirt. This is repeated several times, then both arms of both swing out. The circles get wider, the pumping more intense. One hand grabs the skirt of the other bell and they begin rotating together, wrapping the ropes around each other. They spin faster and faster and suddenly, the skirts tear free exposing their bodies. Beautiful, athletic, gymnast bodies displayed in the same tight white body-suits, with furry bands under swelling breasts and around wrists.

The ropes unwind and the dancers are flung further and further. They control their trajectories masterfully, dancing in the air. One works herself up her rope then suddenly changes angle and descends like a hawk onto the other, ripping part of her costume away - exposing her waist. This starts an aerial battle with sweeping, diving, swirling - each contact resulting in the ripping away of another piece of costume. The workings of these powerful bodies is displayed and fascinating. Their bodies remind me of the tight, slender bodies of the Twins. These women are older, though just as limber. Also, taller and more experienced. Bit by bit their costumes are torn away in an amazing ripping strip-tease choreographed over our heads and dipping in and out of the various lighting frames.

Down to only the furried bands, having torn everything else away, their sweat-sheened nakedness is beautiful. The deeply furred bands wrapped tightly on their ribs also remain, their small, firm breasts seem nested in them. They grab these and pull themselves together, rubbing, kissing, tangling, untangling... Using the ropes to direct themselves and each other in their flight.

The Fox flips herself away then swings back, her legs wide, and forks the Ocelot's shoulders, driving her cunt hard into the Fox's face. The Fox wraps her arms up over her partner's thighs and wraps them around her ass and hips to clutch at the waist band dragged between her navel and her pussy. They both draw their extended limbs in and spin faster and faster as the Ocelot eats the Fox.

Suddenly - both throw those limbs out and slow to a stop, then begin to spin in the opposite direction as the hanging ropes un-twist As they do they work themselves up until they are kissing, their tits mashed together, each cunt thrusting against their partner's thigh. They are giving a flying fuck. It is beautiful.

You reach over and rest your hand gently in my lap, my cock pulsing beneath your palm. I look to you and am blessed with your face, glowing with rapture, intent on the show unwinding above us. I wrap my arm around your shoulder in a tender hug and kiss your ear. You don't turn to me. You don't take your eyes off the Fox and Ocelot. You do give my cock a brief, slow, gentle squeeze. I stiffen for you. I like that.

As they slowly rotate, they move their ropes to tuck into the bands just below their tits. When the ropes begin to retwist, they push away from each other. They are now suspended by their tits - or so it appears. The Fox pulls a long, black double-headed dildo from her waist band, it had been tucked in the small of her back. The Ocelot does the same, though hers glistens white in the spotlights. They swing back together gently and each presents their fake cock to the other's mouth. They each take the proffer and suck. They pump the dildos slowly, deeply into their partner's mouths. Their throats? Perhaps.

The Ocelot works the saliva-wet end of her white dick into the Fox's pussy. The Fox works her black dick into the Ocelot's ass. Hanging from their tit-bands, they fuck each other. Increasing speed and depth with each thrust. Soon they are swinging wildly overhead and making wide figure-eights, sometimes moving out of the spotlights into the darkness above. They each pump their dildo into themselves slowly. They lay back, hanging horizontally from their tits and hook each other with their calves. They begin swinging along their line and come closer and closer with each approach.

Their pumping hands guide the opposite head of their dildo to align with their partner's holes. Cunt to cunt; Ass to ass. They continue to swing, deepening the penetration until their crotches meld, grinding above us. As they scissor, they both arch up, lifting their hips. Their legs move to wrap the ropes several times around, capturing both their legs. They hang with legs vertical, trunks horizontal. They each work their hands vigorously on their own tits. The bands under their breasts fall to the stage floor.

They both kip up and wrap their arms around each other, trapping their roped legs between them. This obviously draws the dildos out of their asses. Not completely, but the black bridge can be seen between their taut thighs. They suddenly drop, head and arms extended towards the floor - driving the dong back into their asses deep. And drawing the white double-head nearly out of their cunts. They repeat this several times, kipping and pumping faster each time.

Suddenly, with their heads and hands down, they release their legs and fall to the stage, rolling together Tumbling together towards the front of the stage, crotches still pressed firmly together.

They finish legs stiff, asses high, side-facing to the audience. The Fox reaches up and extracts the double cock from their asses, leaving their pussies joined with the white bridge. She brings it the fat, black cock down and, heads between their calves, they both suck it. They are soon kissing lip-to-lip, bobbing their heads madly and it must be banging into their throats.

You swing a leg over me, roll onto me and settle down to grind your crotch against my iron hard-on and smother me with kisses. I like that.

The crowd gasps and you turn your head to see what's happening on the stage. I watch through a thin veil of golden honey.

The Ocelot is in a shoulder stand; The Fox, still forked, is squatting slightly over her. They are pumping the white dick, knocking pussy. The Fox's tits bounce on her ribs, nipples very prominent. VERY prominent.

The Ocelot lifts herself into a handstand, lifting the Fox onto her toes. She lowers herself and the Fox follows into a deep squat. They repeat this vertical fuck several times. They add some gyrations, some leanings side to side.

You, twisted at the waist to watch clearly, bounce and grind against me. Most delightful.

The Ocelot wraps her legs tightly around the Fox's thighs and pushes off the stage floor into a handstand, lifting the Fox completely off her feet. The Fox wraps HER legs around the Ocelot, who is now holding them both up with her arms. This beautiful tower begins to sway, wider, quicker.

Suddenly, they are pinwheeling across the stage, cartwheeling in a wide circle. The whole time fucking with the double-headed dildo. Half the crowd leaps to their feet, cheering, clapping.

The pair drop to the deck upstage and roll together towards the apron. They end up with the Ocelot on her back, head hanging off the edge of the stage. The Fox sits on the dildo, her shins on the stage, vising the Ocelot's hips. She fucks down as the Ocelot lifts. Very vigorous these two. The Fox's tits are magnificent, firm, yet bouncing like two balls on her chest. And her nipples are huge, big around as my index finger and long as my thumb-nail. I reach around to toy with your rings through the muslin of your embroidered peasant blouse. You turn back to kiss me. You reach down between your thighs and squeeze the head of my cock.

The music, which had been playing continuously, but had faded from my consciousness, rose again and we both turned to the stage.

A chain had been lowered from the cloud. It had a quite stout hook attached at the end. The Fox hooked their wrists bands with this and the music changed - mostly strings and flutes. Angelic, perhaps.

The chain is cranked up, lifting their wrists, eventually, lifting them to stand erect on stage. The chain loosens slightly, enough to allow the Fox, facing the audience, to bow from the waist, forcing the Ocelot to bend backwards, her tits draping slightly towards her head. Her tits are not as dramatic as her partner's, but they have an erotic perfection of their own. You feel my cock twitch in response and turn your head to look down at me and smile. Briefly. Your attention is demanded by the pair on stage.

They turn one-eighty and the Ocelot, now facing the audience, bows. The Fox is nearly folded in half backwards. She reaches up to grab her tits and tweak and tug at her nipples, pulling them as if trying to take them between her lips. No chance of that, but the effort, oh, the effect of the effort.

Your fingers dig into my fly, tightening on the head of my cock.

The chain cranks up again and tightens on their wrists. While our attention was focused on ourselves, their ankle bands had been bound together. When they are lifted by wrists, just off the stage, toes brushing to boards, they intensify their grinding, fucking hard and deep and fast.

They do not stop as the chain lifts them higher. Rather they are energized. Their swaying and gyrations, circlings and twistings get wild until they both explode like fireworks high above us To wild and thunderous applause. They are lifted, weak, collapsed, spent, exhausted, to disappear into clouds