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From: "E.Z. Riter" <ezriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: {EZ}MyInhert42 The Hermit (MC)
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The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any
other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission
of the copyright holder, except may by posted as part of a review or
posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sites.
Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.
Please! Give me your comments.
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
This is a mind control, multi person romance with a planned fifty plus
chapters.
MY INHERITANCE
Chapter 42
The Hermit
The truck crawled across the hard packed dirt path toward the
foothills on this high plateau. All three women had been quiet since
we left the motel. It was an uneasy silence. Perhaps I should have
missed the enjoyable banter or sweet sounds they normally emitted, but
my mind had only one focus: the formula.
They had dressed that morning to please me, as they always should.
Each wore a thin, plain white T-shirt with a scoop neck. It was more
sexy than if they were naked with their breasts plainly visible. And,
it was obvious both Mary and Lisa had nipple rings. The T-shirts were
form fitting which displayed their narrow waists as well as their
endowments. All three wore short skirts which came to mid thigh when
they stood, but barely covered them when they sat. No panties or bras
were allowed. Once again, I had hung the bell on its long chain from
the ring through Lisa's vestibule. It tinkled randomly, reminding us
all of their purpose.
Embarrassment is interesting. Lisa, who had been terrible embarrassed
when we arrived at the honky tonk, was thriving, still floating in the
high of her gangbang and actually enjoying the bell between her legs,
which she played with occasionally, keeping herself stimulated. She
seemed delighted to be humiliated. Mary was accepting, neither
embarrassed nor pleased by her display, but sexually open and happy to
please her man, although an undercurrent of quiet despair flickered
across her face. Andy was mortified, blushing whenever anyone looked
at her, even though all of us had seen her being fucked on many
occasions. Don't forget, Andy had screamed to be fucked in the ass at
the B&D club in New York. What had she said? Women are mysterious
creatures. Strange, isn't it?
Me? I did not care if any of them were happy or unhappy, humiliated
or venerated. I was focused on the formula.
Andy was sitting behind me. Once, I glanced at her in the rearview
mirror to see a nice shot of her shaven pussy. She had blushed again
and squirmed to cover herself. She had not spoken since we got into
the car except to ask to pee.
I felt soft fingers stroke the hair on the back of my head. I heard
her move to sit closer behind me as her hand slid down my chest.
"I love you, Davy," she whispered in my ear.
"How is your pussy?"
"Sore and swollen. You really pounded me, sweetheart. Why did you do
it?"
"You need a good, hard fucking to remind you that you are a kitten.
You are made to be fucked and fucked hard and often."
"I know. I never forget I belong to you. I am very happy belonging
to you, Davy, but, well, have I done something to anger you?"
"Sit back and be quiet, kitten."
Had she done something to anger me? No. You know better than that.
Andy was a delight. What was wrong was inside me, where it was
growing, not going away. And, I did not want to discuss it with her
or anyone else.
It was about two in the afternoon now. The desert sun beat down hard
on the Suburban. Even with the heavily tinted windows, the air
conditioner strained to keep us cool. The road dipped and turned,
heading toward a break between the two hills in front of us. Those
hills seemed to be granite, the remnants of some mountain chain long
ago raised by cataclysmic upheaval, only to be eroded by the wind and
primeval waters. There was no evidence of water now. There was no
evidence of life, not even birds overhead.
The road finally petered out. Mary motioned toward a small cut
between the granite uplifts and I pointed the truck in that direction,
easing along slowly in first gear and low gearbox. Approximately a
hundred yards from the cut, rocks had been strewn about to prevent
further vehicle passage.
"Now what?" I asked Mary.
"We walk. It is not too far."
The hot, dry desert air hit like a fire when we opened the doors. With
my three women trudging along behind me, I started toward the cut. I
could feel the heat draining the moisture from my body as if some
giant mosquito had plugged into me and was sucking me dry. I was
thirsty and tired by the time I stepped into the shadow where the
hills hid us from the sun. We were at the start of a narrow path, only
about four feet wide at the widest, with shear vertical walls on each
side.
I could see light at the other end and I walked toward it. I was
halfway through the cut when I heard the cocking of a firearm. From
the bright light at the end of the cut, a figure appeared, a rifle in
his hands with the barrel pointed at me.
"Freeze," a voice cried out, the sheer walls echoing and magnifying
it, making it sound as if it came from a man twenty feet tall.
"Identify yourselves!"
"I am Dave Wilson. These are my women: Mary, Andy and Lisa."
"Well, little Davy Wilson. I have been waiting for you to arrive.
Hello, Mary."
"Hello, Hermit," she replied softly, letting the acoustics carry her
voice to him.
"You ladies just sit there and rest. Do not move. Boy, put your hands
in the air and walk toward me."
Slowly, I walked toward the man with the gun. When I was within ten
feet of him, I still could not determine his appearance because of the
bright sun behind him, but he was not twenty feet tall as he had
sounded.
"Far enough," he said. "Turn around and drop your pants."
I was actually relieved he had said that. Showing my ass was far from
my favorite thing, but it meant he was checking for the rose tattoo
Uncle Bert had his favorite tattoo parlor give me. When I got it, I
thought it was a wild thing to do. I did not realize then Uncle Bert
meant for it to be an identifying feature of my anatomy. I dropped my
pants and boxers.
"Back toward me, boy."
The beam of a flashlight pierced the air and jumped around until I saw
it no more, indicating it was illuminating my ass.
"Now, answer some questions."
The hermit carried me through a list of questions, the same kind Andy
had asked that first day when I met her. The questions were to
confirm my correct identity. I answered all of them.
"Mary, you answer a question," the hermit said. "Is this Dave Wilson,
Bert's son?"
"Yes, Hermit," she replied.
"Hot damn! You people come on in and let me get you some cool water to
drink."
With the three women right behind me, I followed the Hermit out of the
cut into a small canyon. The canyon was probably only three or four
acres of flat land. There was a small, adobe hut, probably the size
of an efficiency apartment, abutting the highest of the canyon walls.
Next to it was a small corral which was empty. On the other side of
the hut was a vegetable garden. I could see tomatoes, peas, beans and
broccoli, among other things, growing, their shades of green and red a
sharp contrast to the brown of most of the area. A well stood by the
garden with one aluminum pipe running from it into the garden and
another into the house.
I guess the outhouse surprised me the most. It sat far away from the
well and adobe hut, but it was clearly an outhouse. No running water,
no plumbing, growing his own vegetables. I wondered if he had
electricity.
The Hermit watched us, waiting as we took in his small world. When I
finally focused on him, I was not surprised by what I saw. He looked
like a Hollywood hermit, with a red flannel, long sleeved shirt under
faded overalls and heavy work boots on his feet. They were not cowboy
boots, but the lace up kind which snugs just under the heavy muscle at
the back of the calf.
He was about five four and looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds
and not an ounce more. There was not a bit of fat to be seen on him.
He was all sinew, muscle and bone. His skin was leathery and wrinkled
from constant exposure to the desert sun. He looked a hundred years
old. I could not see his hair or his eyes. A wide brimmed straw hat
covered his head, shading him from the brutal rays.
He guided us into the hut he called a home. His bed was against one
wall. But, there were a few surprises. In one corner was a computer,
complete with a LaserJet printer. Next to it was a TV and VCR. He saw
my surprise and laughed. He said he had solar generated electrical
power. Besides what I had seen he had a microwave, satellite antenna,
refrigerator, radiant heat and the pump from the well all powered by
electricity. Modern niceties are everywhere, aren't they?
He removed the wide brimmed hat. It was the first time I saw his eyes.
They were a washed out green with a few random brown flakes floating
in the iris. They were neither cold nor warm, but neutral as if no
message ever was passed by them.
"Mary, honey, how have you been?" he said, gently, taking her in his
arms and hugging her as if he were a long lost uncle.
"Fine, Hermit, all considered. I miss Bert . . . " Her voice caught
and she buried her head in his bony shoulder.
"I know you do, honey. I miss him, too. No one else ever comes to
visit this godforsaken place I call home. Now, introduce me to these
girls."
Mary did the introductions. The Hermit seemed genuinely happy to meet
both Andy and Lisa. They blushed at his florid compliments like school
girls. While florid, the compliments were real. I could see him
appraising each of them as men have always appraised women.
I was becoming irritated at the delay. I had come a long way to
complete the formula and I was anxious to have it. Doc was muttering
to me, advising me to push on.
"Look. I want to get the formula and be on my way."
"Relax, Davy. We have all the time in the world. These women look
hungry. How about it, ladies? Need something to eat?"
The women immediately replied, complaining of their hunger. I
realized I had not stopped to eat and it had been a long time since
breakfast, but food was not on my mind right now. The Hermit led them
outside toward the garden. I stood at the doorway of the adobe hut and
watched the four of them pick fresh vegetables for lunch. They looked
like a mid-nineteenth century oil of a French countryside scene except
for their clothing, all four working the garden, enjoying the feel of
the dirt and the warmth of the sun on their backs.
"Davy, get on with it," Doc said. "We need to get the formula and be
on our way."
"Hermit! I want the formula."
"Slow down, boy. Is the formula so awfully important to you that you
cannot stop for a good meal?"
"It has been a long search."
"You can damn well wait another hour or two," he said, returning to
his direction of my women in which vegetables to harvest.
I was pissed! In fact, I was more angry than Diablo, who counseled we
wait out the Hermit to make sure we got the formula.
"Don't blow it now. Let him give it to us. No telling what traps old
Bert laid in our way," Diablo said.
I took a deep breath and joined the rural scene, gritting my teeth and
trying to smile.
The Hermit was in no hurry, relishing the company we gave him,
particularly the company of three scantily clad and beautiful women.
He was telling jokes and had them all laughing as they returned to the
hut laden with vegetables. Soon, we were eating home made bread (he
baked it himself), slices of cold lamb, and a medley of raw
vegetables, washed down with the fresh, clear water from his deep,
desert well. No wonder the old man was in such good health.
He ignored me and my feeble attempts to bring the conversation back to
the formula. We talked about Uncle Bert and farming and the ways
things were then and are now. Still, he had a clear, neutral look in
his eyes.
Over lunch, we learned the Hermit was only seventy-one. He had lived
out here since he was in his thirties. We also learned he had a
girlfriend, a waitress named Gladys, who was in her thirties and
worked at a small cafe about fifty miles away. He had a motorcycle, a
big new Harley, that he used to go back and forth to Gladys' place.
That was about all we had learned about him.
I wondered how he and Uncle Bert met. Even more, I wondered why Uncle
Bert would trust the old codger with the final key to the formula.
Had I been less anxious, I would have marveled at this septuagenarian
riding a hot Harley into the nearest town to fuck a waitress forty
years younger than he was. Maybe that was what he and Uncle Bert had
in common
It was about four when we finished eating and cleared the dishes. The
Hermit led us outside to a small patch of grass which served as his
backyard. The canyon wall hid the sun, providing a welcome shade. He
stretched out on the grass, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. In
a moment, he was almost asleep. The three women sat in a manner as to
not get their bare pussies on the dry grass, all ending in a half
lying position. I squatted down.
"Hermit?"
"I rest twenty minutes after each meal, boy. You just take it easy
until I wake up."
I wanted to strangle him but the devil dog again was pleading for me
to be patient. I lay down. Andy immediately snuggled up against me,
burrowing her head into the crook of my arm. It was the longest
twenty minutes of my life before I heard the old man yawn and stretch,
signaling his awakening. He scratched himself sleepily and staggered
toward the outhouse.
"Hermit?"
"My bowels always work after my afternoon nap. I will be back after a
while."
Fifteen minutes later I was ready to knock down the outhouse and kill
the old man. My patience had reached his limit.
"How long does it take to shit?" I mumbled under my breath.
Andy, as always beside me, stroked my arm and murmured a reassurance.
Mary was watching me as if she were a mouse avoiding an insane and
murderous cat. Lisa was gently pulling on the chain connected to her
pussy, getting herself hot. The Hermit's eyes never left Lisa as he
walked back from the outhouse.
"Well, boy, let's talk a while," the Hermit said, sitting on the grass
a few feet away from me. "I understand your Uncle Bert left you a lot
of studying to do. All finished?"
"How did you know about that?"
"I know a lot. Answer the question."
"I have read everything Uncle Bert left for me. I completed every
assignment. I have performed every task."
"Learn anything?"
I was dumbfounded. What was this old fart doing wasting my time?
"Easy, Davy," Diablo whispered. "I smell a trap."
"A lot. I learned I want the formula a great deal."
"But, did you learn how to handle it? How to program people in the
right way? How to use the power?"
"What is this programming?" Lisa asked.
Lisa was watching and listening intently. Andy had a withdrawn,
passive expression which is the way Uncle Bert had programmed her to
be whenever he, or I, was working with another programmed kitten, or
discussing the programming.
"She isn't programmed?" the Hermit asked, nodding toward Lisa.
"No."
"Well, honey, why are you here?"
Lisa turned a beet red, quivering slightly as if afraid. But,
subconsciously her hand gently tugged on the chain between her legs,
which sent shocks right through her.
"I like being with Davy," she replied, the sex dripping from her
voice.
"How about with me? It has been a while since I had a young thing
like yourself."
Lisa jerked on the chain and whimpered. She wanted to be fucked and
fucked now.
"Hermit, the formula!" I said.
His head snapped toward me, his eyes icy and bitter cold. I had
underestimated him. He was one tough old bird.
"We will do the formula on my time table, boy. It would not hurt you
to be polite."
"Placate him," Diablo whispered.
"Sorry, Hermit," I responded, trying to look contrite.
"You have three lovely women here. How about sharing them with an old
friend of your father?"
Share them? Of course, I would share them and I told him so. He
wiggled his finger at Lisa, motioning her to come to him. She looked
at me for approval, which I gave. She crawled toward him on all fours.
It was a sensuous, cat like crawl, revealing her desire and enticing
us males watching her. She stopped beside him, moving into a kneeling
position with her legs spread.
"These brad in her tongue. Does it feel good when she sucks you?" he
asked, his thumb in her mouth, stroking her tongue jewelry.
"Yes. Very much so."
"Well, I want to find out for myself."
To be continued . . .
Please! Give me your comments.
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
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