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Subject: The Wilds (story submission:M/f, nc) by B.B.L.
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		   by B.B.L. (1998)


    The depth of the green across the land never failed to awe me on
spring mornings.  I had stood at the fence rail a thousand times on
this farm, seen a thousand mornings, and always I was enchanted with
the verdant display nature so unabashedly provided when the conditions
were right.

    I'd spent fifty years toiling on this farm; fifty-five living in
this quiet, family place since my birth in the upstairs bedroom on the
southwest corner of the old house.  My mother gave her life pushing me
out into this world, and my father received me with his oft repeated
message: "Push back the wild and tame nature's beauty.  Your momma
died doing it, and I'll die doing it on this farm."

    And after his death and my older brother Henry's death, I took in
Henry's wife Clara and her young daughter Sophia and rallied the
remains of our family to continue our long standing mission.  We tamed
the land, we kept the wilds back from the farm and saw the fruit of
our labors.  Neighbors and friends sold out or moved on, but we kept
the farm alive.

    Sometimes the wilds can creep back unexpectedly; it was just this
that put the tremble in Sophia's voice when it called to me from the
back of the house: "Uncle Curtis?  Momma left a note in the kitchen
before she went out this morning... You want to talk now or over
breakfast?"

    I ran my hands over the splintery wood of the old fence.  It would
have to be replaced soon, but not today.  Today I was going to let the
farm be and try to push the wilds back from my remaining family.
After a moment I called back to Sophia, "No use putting it off, child.
I heard all about it from the Sheriff last night and don't figure
either of us can be at ease until we've set things right."

    I turned and gazed across the back lawn at the porch of the old
house. Sophia stood in the doorway fidgeting and shifting from one
foot to the other. I could recall, like it was yesterday, when she was
but a child.  When she had erred and needed a hand on her backside
she'd stand just like that, her nerves making her hands pick at the
door frame, her feet shifting restlessly.  Those days were gone now.
She was a grown woman by all standards in the county.  Grown enough at
sixteen to sneak out of the house in the dark and crawl into that
Jefferson boy's car.  I saw the wrong in it, but couldn't blame the
young man.  She was so much like her mother, as I recall, when Clara
first met Henry.  The wispy blond hair, delicate shoulders and
freckled nose bore out her mother's blood beautifully. It made my
heart ache that Henry didn't live to see his daughter in full bloom;
made my heart ache that he wasn't here to protect her, to teach her
all the strange and wonderful things in this world.  But I'm my
brother's brother and my father's son, and it fell to me that day to
push back the wilds in this young girl's heart.

***


    "We were just talking when the Sheriff came up on us and nearly
scared me to death," Sophia was explaining.  "We hadn't touched one
another or anything like ya'll seem to think."

    We were walking along the old fence by the pasture land away from
the old house.  Sophia kept her eyes low and tried to make her voice
sound convincing.  I felt sorry for the girl, because there wasn't any
real shame in what she'd done.  She was feeling the pull all men and
women feel and was simply pursuing something.  What made the previous
night's ruckus so daunting was how ill equipped the poor girl was.

    Ultimately I had to blame myself.  I had been married once, but
she'd passed on only a few years after the wedding, god rest her.  The
marriage had born no living children.  I had taken in Clara and Sophia
at Henry's passing, but was not prepared for all the complexities of
seeing a young woman through her growth.  I had neglected her, let the
roses grow wild without pruning.  Her furtive actions the previous
night told me that.

    "Child, I am an old man.  I've seen fifty-five years of this
life," I said to her gently, "and I know full well what young men want
when they cajole you out at night like that."

    She sighed wearily.  "Richie Jefferson is NOT like that.  He's the
nicest boy I've ever known... never said a cross or crude word at
school.  He treats me like a gentleman."

    I stopped my slow walk and caught her eyes with mine.  I let her
fidget in that stare for several quiet seconds while I made up my mind
just how to put my thoughts into words.  She was still convinced of
that old girlish tale of handsome young boys with only honor in their
heart.  I spoke slowly and evenly: "Richie may well be a nice boy.  He
may court your properly from here out, he may propose after high
school, he may make the finest husband this county has ever seen; but
I do KNOW what moves young men.  I was one once.  At his age I spent
about every waking hour trying to find a way to get my sweaty, clumsy
little hands up some fine lookin' girl's skirt.  Right now, Sophia,
you are the finest lookin' girl Richie knows."

    She flushed a bit with those words and looked down, tying her gaze
to the buttons down the front of her sundress where her fingers
wandered nervously.  "Richie never tried anything like that," she said
with a tone of petulance.

    I sighed heavily and put my hands gently on her shoulders.
"Sophia, do you think I was never young?  I sat in my bed at night,
like every other young man, dreaming of what special secrets girls
held under their clothes.  When I was in school, I swear I pulled the
most damn fool stunts just for a grope or two behind the barn or, if I
was lucky, down in the woods somewhere.  I was just as led about by my
nethers as this Jefferson boy is."

    Despite her nervousness she managed a short giggle.  I suppose
she'd never heard her old uncle speak so frankly about matters below
the waist.  I smiled down at her and knew by her crimson cheeks and
hesitant grin that my sudden brusque comments had won at least her
attention.  She was as lovely and sweet a girl as I'd ever seen, and
it was my firm conviction that she'd never find herself at the mercy
of some young man's irrational bravado and urges.  She needed to
understand how the world worked and how to enjoy her young life
without letting the wilds overrun her fragile heart.

    "I swear, this is the most you've said to me in one sitting in my
whole life, Uncle Curtis," she giggled, "And to hear you use the word
'nethers'... ".  She broke into a sincere smile of affection.  "I
promise I didn't mean to do anything god awful last night.  It's
just... It's like I need to see him... and him me."

    I nodded and put my arm around her.  We continued our slow walk by
the fence, away from the house and toward the heavy green peninsula of
woods at the lower edge of the farm.  "I want you to know, darlin',
that I've seen and done all the things you young people are thinking
about.  I know maybe you think this need to see Richie is spiritual or
love or whatever the songs sing about nowadays.  It's mostly from
nature though.  It's what happens to young folks at a certain age;
pulls them to do the damnedest things.  What you have to be mindful of
is that you rule your passions, and that they don't rule you."

    "Me and momma had this talk, Uncle Curtis," Sophia interrupted, "I
know all about the birds and the bees."

    I chuckled and stroked her hair gently.  "I'm not talking about
how it works; I'm talking about what to do with it.  You're not going
to up and stop having nature want to pull you into the wilds.
Everyday those urges will keep at you.  I want us to talk about how to
rule your passion, not let it rule you."

    She peered up at me, squinting slightly in the morning light.
"You mean like being mindful of who I spend my time with?  Being
mindful of what a boy has on his mind?" she asked.

    "That's part of it, yes," I replied, "But you have to remember,
when you're in a certain situation, things are going to happen that
you can't stop.  If you can't stop them, the least you can do is
control them.  You can take nature and make her produce for you and
not let the wilds have the upper hand."

    We had reached the corner of the pasture where the old fence took
a sharp turn off to one side.  I looked up at the deep green of the
trees at the farm's lower edge and watched the branches sway lazily in
a morning breeze.  I thought back to days past and recalled all my
adventures of youth in that strip of woods.  "Let's go on and talk by
the old pump house in the woods," I suggested, "I spent many a fine
spring afternoon there when I was young.  Seems to be a good place to
talk about being young."

    Sophia nodded her assent, and we continued our slow walk into the
thick woods.  I rested a hand upon her lower back, guiding her along
an overgrown, half-forgotten trail.  I do admit, at that moment I
began to look forward to our talk by the old pump house.  It would
give my old heart great joy to show this young flower how to follow in
the family tradition; how to push back the wilds and make nature do
your bidding.

***


    Sophia sat upon a fallen log in the shade of the tree canopy.  I
sat across from her and casually inventoried some items I had
discovered within the gloom of the old pump house.  At some time past,
someone had left and old horse harness and some leather oil just
inside the doorway.  No doubt, the final remnants of this place's
final use after the old well went dry, and a new pump was installed on
the other side of the farm.  It had become a place of easy leisure.
Even into my twenties I'd come here on occasion to sit in the green,
speckled half-light and think.

    "...and it was then that I knew Richie and I were right for each
other," Sophia finished.  I'd wheedled her into talking about the
first time she had romantic contact with that Jefferson boy.  They had
met briefly at a high school dance, a friend of a friend situation,
and danced the last few slow dances together.  Sophia's words had made
it like the joyfully teary moments at the end of a romantic film.

    "I suppose it had nothing to do with his stiffy up against your
thigh?" I said sharply.  Sophia's hurt reaction did nearly put me off
my way for a moment, but important matters such as this day hold the
attention well enough.  "Don't act like I just called up the devil,
girl," I tried to assuage her shock, "I said as we sat down that we
were adults here; least ways, that you'd be one in my eyes after our
talk today.  I'm just an old man with no notion of sin to accuse you
of in no ways; an old man that's seen plenty, done plenty and ain't
shocked by any sort thing anymore."

   Again her eyes shot down to the row of buttons up her light
sundress.  My comment had been an abrupt one, but I knew it to be
true.  I know what my member did when near a girl at Richie's age, and
it seemed by Sophia's ashamed expression she'd found out the same that
night at the dance.  This was the track on which I needed to be with
Sophia.  She needed to push aside all the romantic or frivolous
notions that a young girl has and face up to the ugly, natural truth;
only then can one separate weeds from blossoms.

   "Sophia," I said gently, "don't be ashamed.  We need to talk
without shame.  This is an important time in your life, and if you
face facts head on, likely as not you'll grow up to be a damn strong
and beautiful woman."  I watched her eyes lift to meet mine, and her
severe blush lessened just a tad.

    "It's just that even me and momma haven't talked like this," she
explained.  "We talked 'in general', you know?  We didn't talk about
'me' or 'her'... just general talk."

    I nodded sympathetically and gazed up at the filtered sunlight.  I
needed to removed Sophia from the intrusion of a real face peeking
into her private moments.  I needed to relieve her of the burden of
shame this damnable world puts into young people.  "Sophia, darlin',
close your eyes for a moment.  No, don't be silly about it; this ain't
your eighth birthday, girl.  I mean close them, put your mind out with
the wind and the tree branches, feel the sun on your face for a while.
Forget I'm here."

    I watched her sigh and roll her eyes beneath closed eyelids for a
moment, but the lure that kept me on the farm all these years was in
her blood as well.  It wasn't long before she was up with the wind,
feeling the gentle rocking of tamed nature.  I quietly narrated for
her the scene, talking about smelling the still dewy grass off the
pasture, hearing the gentle creak of old, weathered tree boughs,
sensing the wind stroke her hair lightly.

    I silently moved beside her on the fallen log and whispered my
next words.  "Sophia, let me tell you a little story.  It'll help you
understand, I think."

    "Years back, this place is the very spot where two young lovers
used to meet.  All those romantic and pure ideas you have about love
were there; they had them too.  The young man and the young woman
would come to this very spot, sit much like this and hold one
another's hand."  With that, I took her delicate young hand in mine.

    "They'd talk about how much they loved one another, how it would
last forever, and how they'd always be beautiful together.
Occasionally they'd sit looking up at the moon and indulge in kisses.
Mind you, this was a time back, so that was quite a special thing for
young folks then."

    I saw Sophia smile slightly at the image, and she squeezed my hand
gently.  I felt bad for the direction this story would go, but it was
an important one.  Sophia had to understand the events of this
particular morning.

    "As nature would take it, Sophia, the two young lovers didn't stop
at kissing.  I know you say there was no touching in Richie's car last
night, but you do admit to feeling his excitement up against your leg
at that dance.  You know how those two lovers felt, don't you?  You
know the crawling urgency they both felt, moving from just below the
heart down to their thighs; how it made their knees weak, how they
suddenly could feel every shift of shirt or blouse, every odd caress
of pants or skirt on their legs."

    With a small measure of satisfaction I saw Sophia's blush spread
down from her cheeks to her collarbones.  She understood the feeling.
She had felt the same at that dance; no doubt felt the same the
previous night in that car.  I stroked her little fingers lightly in
my old, rough hands.  It should always be this way with old folks and
young folks.  The more experienced should do their best to prepare the
young folks for what lies ahead.  The wise should try to keep the
young and foolish from making the great mistakes.

    "There came that night, lovely Sophia, when the wilds crept into
the bodies of those two young people."  I tried to make my voice
gentle yet warning.  "They found themselves on the cool dry leaves
here one summer night, and the passion welled up inside them.  They
had barely begun their usual kissing when hands began to roam.  The
boy saw for the first time the nipple of a young woman's breast, and
the girl discovered the warmth and joy that an avid young man's mouth
can bring."

    I felt a slight tremble of shame run through her fingers.  She
raised her other hand and, still with her eyes closed, fingered that
row of buttons again.  I leaned close to whisper reassurances when I
saw the cause of her disconcertion.  Through the light material of her
sundress, through the conservative material of the underclothes that
lay hidden, her young nipples had responded in sympathy with the
images in her mind.  They had grown swollen and sensitive and were
pushing against her clothes noticeably.

    I reached up gently and smoothed her hair behind her ear.
"Sophia, you are a lovely woman.  I look at you and see the best
qualities of your mother and all the fine women in our family.  You
know that, don't you?"

    She nodded mutely, allowing her posture to relax a bit.  I
returned to lightly patting her delicate fingers between my strong
hands.  "Then you know you should feel no shame in front of me about
being such a fine, strong specimen of a woman?" I asked.  I was met
with another mute nod.  Her eyes remained shut and her breathing was
slow and deep.

    I swallowed and realized that I was now nervous.  As I said the
next few words, I too, though an old man, could feel something of a
crawling urge in my belly.  "Sophia, you can feel now, in your
nipples, what that young girl was feeling with that young boy, can't
you?"

    A small whimper escaped her throat then and she turned slowly
away.  I knew that no words of mine could do away with all her
embarrassment.  Gently I gripped her shoulders and turned her back
toward me.  Her eyes were still tightly shut, and the flush was more
pronounced on her neck and upper chest.  "You do feel that, don't you?
The tingle in your nipples... like that young boy's mouth was on
them?"

    "Yes... I can," she whispered quietly.  "This is why I snuck out
last night.  Lordy, I just burn up sometimes late at night... I can't
help it."  And then a tear emerged from beneath a shut eyelid, and I
knew that we would talk as we should.  She was facing up to those
wilds, casting aside her silly, poetic notions.

***


    I kept talking for at least the next half hour.  I told her more
of the young man's mouth on that young girl's body years back in that
shaded spot by the old pump house.  I told her of the young girl's
first touch of a straining, hard male organ.  I told her of all the
joy that young man felt watching those delicate white fingers close
over his shaft those many years ago.  It was when I spoke of the young
woman's secret parts, and how the young man let his fingers finally
touch those slippery petals that Sophia pulled her hand from mine.

    She leaned forward and hugged her knees tightly, hiding her face
beneath her wispy mantle of hair.  "Uncle, please don't tell me this
anymore," she gasped.  "I think I'm going to burn up."

    I smiled gently and said soothing words as I tried to lift her
back up to face me.  For the first time that morning, she resisted my
touch.  She hugged her knees tenaciously and began to sob quietly in
shame.  I ceased trying to unfold her and instead began to lightly
stroke her back, hoping to calm her.

    "Uncle please," she begged, "I'm so ashamed... oh God... I don't
want you to see me like this."  Her words were muffled against her
knees, and I could see her thighs trembling slightly.  "I'm all mixed
up... I'm aching... I don't want you to see me like this."

    With a force that made her gasp I pulled her up to face me.  I
looked into a shocked and ashamed face with wide, open eyes.  Her
cheeks were quite flushed, and her breathing was labored.  Little sobs
continued to bubble out of her throat as I shifted my hands to a more
gentle grip.

    "Sophia, don't EVER be ashamed of this.  This is the nature you
have to tame, to keep from going to the wilds.  It's no wonder you
risked everything to sneak out with a boy, darlin'.  You're faced with
all this and don't know how to handle it."  I knew the genuine concern
showed on my face, and she reacted, her harried features softening and
her hands closing over mine.  She pulled close to me and hugged me
tightly.  She'd found a confidant, an unexpected sympathizer with her
plight, her old usually laconic uncle.  Like when she was a little
girl, she wrapped herself around me and held on tight.  I was her
protection and her guide, and she knew I had nothing but concern for
her.

    "Oh god..." she moaned.  A few seconds later I felt it too.  We
ended the embrace and peered at where our bodies had met.  When I had
pulled her upright to face me, the bottom of her sundress had ridden
up slightly.  The embrace had brought her thighs and pantied crotch
against my leg.  We both stared at the dark stain left upon my
trousers and at the soaked, translucent undergarment now obscenely
revealed over her crotch.

    She began to stammer an apology and move away, but I held her as
she was.  "No, no, Sophia, look at it again.  That's right... it's the
most powerful and most dangerous part of nature you have to face as a
young woman."  She complied and stared with growing fascination at her
own slick crotch.  The wetness had soaked the light cotton of the
panties and left her fine curls of pubic hair clearly visible through
the material.

    "At night, in bed, when I'm on fire like this, I can't see it in
the dark," she murmured almost dreamily.  "I don't think much about it
when I shower because the lock is broken on the bathroom door.  It
wouldn't do to be caught."

    I stared at her dazed eyes, riveted upon her own womanhood.
"Wouldn't do to be caught doing what?" I asked slowly.

    Without a word, she slide the palm of her right hand down the
front of her sundress and deftly slipped her fingers inside the
elastic waistband at the front of her panties.  I heard the subtle wet
sounds over her fingers rubbing labia and saw her eyes roll back in
her head.

    I quickly placed my hand on her wrist and extracted her hand from
her crotch, "Not this yet, Sophia, not yet.  We still have to talk.
We still have to come to terms with your natural urges.  You still
have to learn how to master your passions."  She snaked her slippery
hand through my grip and returned it to her crotch.  I redoubled my
grip and moved both her hands behind her back.  "We still have things
to do, darlin'."

    "Tell me, Uncle Curtis, you were the boy, weren't you?!" she
suddenly demanded.  "You were the young male lover who came here for
the girl in the moonlight?"  I was caught off guard by her outburst,
but nodded an affirmation.

    "Yes, my dear, I was that boy.  The girl was my wife to be, god
rest her."

    "I knew this all seemed familiar," she hissed, and her thigh ran
roughly up over mine.  I understood then, for Sophia had felt what had
become of the crawling urge in my belly.  After years of dormancy, my
own manhood had become engorged and swollen along my left thigh.  I
realized the incredible ache I was now experiencing, and my state had
effectively heightened Sophia's already nearly frantic condition.

    She freed a hand and ran her smooth palm quickly up my thigh,
feeling my member strain and throb against my pants.  I felt prickles
of sweat on my forehead and forcefully pushed her hands back behind
her back, holding them there.

    A disheveled angel of trembling knees, damp thighs and flushed
skin, my dear Sophia murmured quietly, "Uncle, you started this to
help me.  Let's finish it, please."

    I'm an old man.  For fifty-five years I've lived on this farm,
toiled and worked to keep nature in her place.  With ultimately only
good in mind for my niece Sophia, I brought her to this spot, brought
her to face her own inner wilds.  While I was not looking, it seems,
my own inner wilds had returned with a vengeance.

***


    Looking back on that day, I worry my measures were too drastic.  I
think, however, the fluctuation of shame and extreme desire turned
Sophia from a nervous, exploring youth into a woman who's body was
aflame with need.  Overcome with my mix of frustration and excitement,
I finally could tolerate her actions no longer.  She had to master
those urges, she had to use nature.  I finally resorted to binding her
hands behind her back with the old horse harness I had idling
discovered in the pump house upon our arrival.

    I stood over her as she lay in the fetal position upon the dirt,
desperately rubbing her thighs together and sobbing.  I had to try to
reason with her, to calm her down.  She was where she needed to be;
she was facing what she needed to face.  I simply had to convince her
to hear me again.

   "Sophia, please, listen to me.  I'm not doing this to hurt you, but
I do need you to calm down.  I beg of you, as your uncle, simmer down
and let me explain."

    She did respond to my voice.  She looked at me clearly, though the
eyes still held tears.  She was a creature besieged by the urges of
nature, and I had to help her understand that it could work for her.
"Sophia, I love you very much, and this is all natural.  But we must
take it one step at a time for you to understand how to keep a handle
on this thing," I said reasonably.

    She nodded slightly and slowly found her way back up to her knees.
I leaned over and brushed the dirt off her face and shoulders and
whispered how lovely a girl she was.  I murmured that, given time, she
would be the envy of women and desire of men everywhere.

    "I need to... I need my hands," she stammered at last.

    "I know you do, darlin'," I said gently, "I know what you need
them for.  I promise you'll have them free soon, after we've talked a
bit more.  I want you to understand that what you're feeling is
exactly like what young men feel.  Can you understand how dangerous
that can be to you as a delicate young woman?"

    Her gaze calmed even further, and she nodded her head slightly.
"How I was to you; that's how young men might be to me," she said.
"But I'm not strong like you, so I might get hurt letting those wilds
loose."

    I smiled with genuine joy and kissed her sweaty forehead.  "You
could be hurt, or get pregnant early like your momma or any number of
things.  You have to learn how to control not just your wilds, but a
young man's as well."

    She nodded again and her gaze shifted.  "Why not let me try to
control your wilds, uncle."  It was as if her gaze put a palpable
weight on my crotch.  I knew she was staring at the still urgent need
I had.  I'd hoped the struggle to bind her hands with the harness
would have sapped some of my energy.  I'd hoped that the rational mood
I was trying to set would have pulled my attentions away from my own
condition.  This old body, however, still clung to a seemingly
forgotten motivation.  It is a testament to the force of nature that I
did what I did next.

    With barely a moments hesitation I unfastened the front of my
trousers.  The morning air sent something like a small electric shock
through my body as my cock strained free.  I cannot call my organ
anything else now.  It was suddenly as if I was back in the old days.
I no longer had 'nethers' or 'a member'; I had a cock, proud and
erect.

    I ran my course fingers over the soft, pale skin.  The flesh
seemed more translucent than in days past, the ridges of twisting
veins seemed bluer, yet it was the same joyous cock that had reached
out for caresses so long ago on a moonlit night in this very spot.
"Are you sure you want to help me with my wilds, girl?" I asked
gutturally.  The sound of my own voice startled me, because it told of
those days long past.  It harkened to the untold end of that story of
lovers and moonlight; an end that might not have pleased Sophia.

    Without a word she lurched forward and closed her mouth viciously
over the head of my cock.  I gasped and we both nearly toppled over
into the dirt.  As I held her kneeling upright, I was overwhelmed with
the feel of her tongue rasping against sensitive places so long
neglected.  I wrapped my fingers through her hair to straighten her
technique and allow her to rest her weight back on her own knees.
There, under that canopy of trees, I looked down and watched my niece
Sophia shove her mouth down over my cock, bobbing her head
frantically, pulling still at the old horse harness biting into her
wrists behind her back.

    It was only a few moments before the overwhelming sensations gave
way to familiar patterns of feeling.  It had been years, long since
before my wife died, that I'd felt such pleasure, but the body has a
long memory.  I begin to scrutinize her efforts, occasionally
muttering instructions: "Careful with your teeth... I love to feel
them, but don't scrape them too much... run the tongue harder on the
underside.... oh god I like that.... can you let it in deeper,
darlin'?"  This running litany of suggestions and comments poured from
my mouth as the old carnal memories pulled me closer and closer to
places I'd not been in years.  As the time passed, however, one
overriding factor became important.

    "Sophia, can you take it in farther.  I know your uncle is large,
baby, but I reckon you could go a bit farther down..."  The plea
became more frequent and more urgent as I realized I was not
proceeding like I once had.  The body was willing, but it was old, and
it seemed I needed more than I did when I was a younger man.  Sophia's
eyes held urgency as well, peering up at me submissively.  I know she
did her best, and she was remarkable for such an inexperienced girl,
but eventually my needs became frantic.  I became as frantic as poor
Sophia had been.  Without regard for her comfort, I gripped her soft,
blond hair and began to force her to comply with my desires.

    "Your aunt could do this when she was a girl," I hissed and began
to plunge my cock viciously into Sophia's mouth.  Her eyes became
panicked, and I could hear her begin to choke and sputter around my
cock.  "You just hold your mouth right, Sophia... just hold it like
that... stop pulling away now..."  And for several moments I jerked
her head back and forth, pushing into her mouth with abandon and
greed.  Sophia's reactions became more violent.  Her throat spasmed
with gags and chokes, and her eyes streamed with tears.  I think at
some point her nose began to run and her cheeks took on a distinct
blue tinge.  It was only my own frustration that ended her torture.

    "God dammit, girl... you're just like your aunt," I hissed and
threw her over by the hair.  My cock throbbed painfully, unsatisfied
and sensitive.  She lay gasping in the dirt again, this time, her own
needs overshadowed by her fear and pain.  She'd mastered her wilds, it
seems, by evoking mine.  I do not wish to recount the remainder of the
story, but I have no choice.  My benevolence and care had turned to
the most awful rage.  I can only justify my actions by saying that,
today, Sophia understands my point about the wilds of young men and
young women.

    She had caught her breath enough to let out cry when I hefted her
over the fallen log.  Her stomach thudded heavily against the old
wood, and she once again was left gasping.  She was so exhausted she
didn't have the wind to cry out when I tore those soaked, dirt smeared
panties off of her.  I was left looking a the pale, smooth flesh of
her buttocks and up across her tensed back.  Her hands still rested
over her spine, the wrists bound tightly with the old horse harness.

    "Well, now we'll curtail your uncle's wilds," I muttered, and she
responded vaguely by kicking her feet.  A sharp slap across one
buttock drew a horrid sob, but her feet stopped kicking.

    "Please... oh god please... you said... you even said... what if I
get pregnant?!" she gurgled.  The mix of tears and exhaustion made her
almost incomprehensible.

    "But you never let me finish the story, Sophia," I said sharply.
"You had to rub that wet little cunny against me, and grab for my old
cock.  The story was the whole point... the story was the lesson for
today."  I stood and left her sobbing there for a moment to retrieve
something I needed.  She called out to me, her head hanging over the
other side of the old log, her ass raised obscenely into the air.

    "I don't understand!  Please...." and she took a moment to sob.
"Tell me... the story..."

    "I was the young man, and your aunt was the young woman," I
sneered, kneeling back behind her and rubbing the aching head of my
cock up over the back of one of her thighs.  "And we laid together
there by moonlight, just a few feet from where you are now.  I put my
mouth on her nipples, down her belly, I licked your late aunt's cunny
until she called out to God that night."  At that moment I spread poor
Sophia's buttocks and roughly jammed my tongue between them, running
it from her anus down between her labia.

    Sophia groaned, despite her battered condition, and I grinned
horribly.  "But when it was her turn, your auntie couldn't return the
favor.  She couldn't bring me satisfaction; not with her hands or her
mouth.  I tried, I tried just like I did with you, Sophia.  In the
end, I had to hold her down and force my cock into that cunny.  She
was so young and so delicate, she wasn't ready.  She screamed so much,
and when it was over she was unconscious.  We conceived a child that
night, it turns out.  Within a few months we were married.  A few
weeks after that, she miscarried.  She never touched me again,
Sophia."

    There were tears in my eyes now, and I slapped my niece's ass
again to cover my whimper.  Did she understand now?  Did she realize
how important it was to come to terms with nature?  One had to master
the wilds, or they'd creep in and destroy every chance one had at
normal happiness.  I hoped to God she had learned the lesson.

    "But don't worry, Sophia baby, little fragile girl, my darlin'
niece.  I won't let happen to you what happened to your aunt, my poor
late wife.  You'll be intact and whole.  You'll have a chance to
master your urges with some nice young man.  You won't get pregnant,
and you'll even still be a virgin."  I rambled as I began to smear the
leather oil found in the old pump house over Sophia's soft ass.

    "I don't understand uncle..." she whimpered as I began to pump
some of the leather oil onto my cock.

    "Just hold nice and still, darlin'," I sighed as I shifted into
position.  "Just try to relax as much as you can..."

    Sophia began to scream.  She kept screaming as I slowly slide the
length of my cock into her tight anus.  I gave her no time to rest or
grow accustomed to the feeling.  My glans opened her wide and bored
its way into her.  The poor girl did not even have the strength to go
back to kicking her feet.  Her screams degenerated into wailing sobs
as I began to slowly stroke myself in and out of her.  As I had
expected, she automatically clamped down with her rectal muscles as I
pulled out; the effect was to heighten my sensation as I pushed back
in, and to increase her agony.

    After two minutes or so, she passed out.  It was another five
minutes before I was rocked with my first orgasm in recent memory.
This old body did remember well, and my wilds were tamed as my semen
flooded into Sophia's torn, swollen rectum.  I pumped still for
another few seconds to savor every last bit of the sensation.  My cock
slide out of her with an audible 'pop', trailing a grisly colloid of
semen, mineral oil and blood.  I sat there for an hour, gazing at her
still form, admiring the gashes left by the horse harness binding her
wrists, watching the fluids trickle from her mauled anus.

***


    A few days later, Clara returned to find her daughter looking
worn, but in good health, and, most importantly, not across the state
line with that Jefferson boy.  Clara's observation that her daughter
looked a might drawn was dismissed as a mild case of the blues, with
perhaps a spring cold to aggravate matters.

    Sophia and I did not speak much before that spring day down by the
old pump house, so it went unnoticed when we did not speak at all
afterwards.  It was only a year and a half, and she was off to a
college upstate.  Her father's passing had left Clara a small bundle
of insurance money specifically put to the purpose of Sophia's
education.

    I am not comfortable with the way things were resolved that day.
I suppose, having lived with the experience with my wife for so long,
I've grown accustomed to just ignoring or dismissing guilt.  But that
last year and a half Sophia stayed with us bore me out.  She never
snuck off with young men, she never intimated a desire to do so and
she never even returned to a school dance.  I feel she'll be as sane
and sound in college, thanks to that spring day, however unpleasant it
may have been at the time.

    Since Sophia's departure, Clara and I have become closer.  I had
not looked upon her previously with such ideas because she was my late
brother's wife.  But time heals old wounds and opens new
opportunities.  I have managed to keep the farm tamed and the wilds
back for another year, so it might be time to turn my attention to
domestic matters.  I am becoming a very old man, and it would be nice
to have the comfort of a companion with whom to pass into my golden
years.  I only hope Clara and I do not find the same disappointments
that my late wife and I found.  Clara seems a very strong woman, made
stronger by the passing of her husband and trials of raising Sophia.
Considering her experience in life, I am sure she will be able to
master my wilds better than my late wife or Sophia.

    I believe I will take her for a walk to the old pump house this
spring; perhaps when the morning is bright and dewy, and the trees are
waving in a leisurely wind.

1998, B.B.L.  BÀ!ØÀ!Øÿÿ--====================987654321_0==_
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