The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The confrontation took place against a picture-postcard backdrop of vast, snow-covered mountain dwarfing rustic, alpine town.

The young woman was startlingly lovely in face and form, transforming her arctic leggings into the stuff of men’s dreams, and the utilitarian upper garments of a lumberjack into a highly promising gift wrapping.

The man facing her, the proprietor of snowmobiles, was almost her diametrical opposite: squat, toad-faced, grizzled, uncombed, unwashed, and unkempt.

It was like a scene out of mythology: a nymph facing a troll.

“You ever run one of these before, girly?” the troll asked, his manner clearly dismissive of any knowledge and experience she may have accumulated in her relatively short lifespan.

Rarely at a loss, the young woman quickly took up the gauntlet.

“I bet you’ve got a whiz-bang time machine, Alley Oop,” she countered.

The troll looked her in puzzlement. She could sense the antiquated machinery of his brain grinding slowly into motion, in a futile attempt to decipher her remark.

“Huh?” he managed eventually.

“Never mind,” she said, somewhat miffed at her failure to pink him. She hated to waste a perfectly good insult on someone too obtuse to comprehend it.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, answering his original question. “I’ve used a snowmobile before. Plenty of times.”

Completely ignoring this assurance, the troll ran through his usual introduction for greenhorns, in a gratingly condescending fashion. It was part of his unconscious revenge against feminine youth and beauty for failing to swoon at his feet. Ironically, his manner only ensured that he would remain forever exiled in a lonely hell of his own making, never to experience the miracle of a woman’s love.

Minutes later, the unnecessary tutorial over, the young woman stashed her small pack in the snowmobile’s cargo box and seated herself on the saddle. The motor, already running, burbled throatily, awaiting her will.

The troll, instinctively feeling that he had not adequately dominated their interaction, was running his brain hot, trying to manufacture a telling parting shot.

“Go easy on the throttle,” he grumbled at last.

And this was the best he could manage, she thought. Truly a sad case. As a rearguard, he would have served the enemy well.

The young woman laid her right hand against her heart and lifted one corner of her mouth slightly.

“I promise,” she said solemnly.

The troll gave a distempered grunt. Having performed his function, he turned without farewell and began trudging away.

Before he had taken three steps, a merry call reached his ears from behind.

“Hey, asswipe!”

This level of subtlety the troll could comprehend. Through sheer incredulity, though, it took him several seconds to react. At last, outraged, he swung around to confront her.

The young woman was regarding him wryly.

“Don’t call me ‘girly’,” she said in a sweet voice.

Before the troll could think of an appropriate response, she awarded him one of the most dazzling smiles he had ever seen, gunned the motor to maximum, and roared off toward the mountain that loomed above the town.

“Where are you, Mister Matthew Quinn?”

Too long later, the young woman, unsure of her bearings, had halted atop a ridge, from which vantage point she now surveyed the snowy landscape, without helpful result.

Though the afternoon was now well advanced, the mountain was still bathed in sunshine, and she felt comfortably warm.

She mentally reviewed the directions she had received in town, and shook her head ruefully. They had seemed perfectly clear at the time. Now, however ...

She also recalled the advice she had received, and ignored, to the effect that navigating the mountain could be tricky ... even dangerous.

Not for an instant did she consider turning back. In all ways a passionate woman, and never more so than about her current mission, she was utterly determined to see it through, come what may.

Pick a direction, she thought, any direction.

Trusting instinct, as she so often did, she buzzed off anti-clockwise along the mountain’s expansive midriff.

Minutes later, a clump of trees forced her into a circumnavigation. Without slackening speed, she powered around them ... only to be confronted by a house-sized boulder lying in ambush beyond.

Too late to veer, too late to stop.

Instinctively, the young woman’s legs straightened with all the strength she could muster, launching her upward in time to depart the careering vehicle before it crashed. She landed with a fair thump, but safely, tumbling and sliding to a halt.

For a moment she lay still, breathing heavily into the snow, then got up to survey the damage.

Fortunately, the boulder’s base was shielded by a thick build-up of snow, and it was into this that the machine had ploughed.

The vehicle appeared undamaged, though the motor had stalled. She hauled on the starter cord several times, but, while her efforts caused her mount to grunt and sigh, no other sign of life was forthcoming.

On her final attempt, the pull cord snapped, leaving her spread-legged on her rear end.

She stared in disbelief. A smile of wonder broke over her face.

“I’m fucking screwed,” she said cheerfully.

That she had reached this state of affairs did not entirely surprise her. She had known all along that she should have prepared better, should in fact have had someone who truly knew what they were doing ferry her to her destination.

As she had done innumerable times before, the young woman shook her head ruefully at her inability to rule her own impulses.

This attitude endured only a moment, after which she squared her shoulders determinedly. Impetuous she might be, but she was also nigh-indomitable in character. Shaking off self-recrimination, she got to her feet and looked around.

She was surprised to notice that she could still see the town, far away and far below.

Something in that scatter of buildings was glinting, reflecting the light of the declining sun. She squinted, and decided it was probably the church spire. From this distance, it was little more than a needle to the eye.

She looked mock-mournfully at the inoperable snowmobile. Some people, she knew, would be inclined turn to prayer in such a case. Well, why not? Diverting her thoughts might give her unconscious mind the opportunity to come up with an effective next step.

She rummaged through her memory, but the prayers she found there aroused only deep irritation at the well-meaning but simple-minded—or possibly cunning and self-serving—clerics and teachers responsible for their presence.

With a sense of irony that pleased and comforted her, she gave her creativity a stir, and improvised.

“Jesus loves me, this I know, coz some moron told me so.”

“Now I lay me down to sleep ... I pray the Lamb don’t fuck the sheep ...”

In order to thumb her nose at religion more even-handedly, she included a couple of the world’s other major faiths.

“Allaaahuuu ... snackbar!”

“Om mani padme humble pie.”

Hmm. She had to admit, they were all a little lame. She should practice more.

Her pseudo-religious impulse exhausted, she subsided, trusting that she had covered all relevant bases.

Whether she had or not, she felt significantly better.

The hoped-for inspiration regarding her current situation, however, remained absent.

Undeterred, she extracted her pack from the snowmobile and set off through the snow on foot.

An hour later, her elevated mood was no longer in evidence.

Darkness had descended, bringing with it an awesome frigidity that bit like a school of piranha.

Despite her hooded jacket and gloves, she was inadequately clothed for such conditions, and was soon shivering woefully.

As a navigational aid, her small flashlight was proving next to useless. Still, at least it illuminated her way a little.

On she trudged through the snow, though with little notion where her steps might lead.

In an attempt to keep up her spirits, she mentally ran through some of her extensive vocabulary of obscenities, always a rewarding pastime.

By the time she abandoned this activity, her shivers had become shudders, the sign of a desperate body hitting survival mode.

Her obstinacy still served her well, though, coagulating into a mass of irrational defiance. If her tryst with Death was to take place here and now, she was determined to greet him with a merry obscenity on her lips.

As if on cue, the darkness to her right spoke in a deep voice.

“Evening, ma’am,” it said.

Sheer surprise momentarily disrupted her control over her body. Her legs gave way and she sat down heavily. From this position, she managed to turn her quaking head toward the sound. Some paces away, a light hovered, shedding a white radiance that pooled on the snow.

She tried to speak, but her teeth would not co-operate, chattering wildly, chopping every word into incomprehensible fragments.

The light drifted closer, until it illuminated her feet.

Celestial? she wondered. Not infernal, at any rate. Wrong colour.

Though unable to properly see the bearer of the light, she sensed that she was in the presence of an unusually lofty creature. Her imagination flicked from one improbable image to another: Death himself, perhaps? Alternatively, a yeti?

At this point, she scarcely cared which. If the first, she already had a juicy curse prepared. If the second, well and good: she was quite willing to be carried off to its lair for some abominable interspecies snuggling, if that’s what it had in mind. Anything for a little warmth.

Her thoughts being somewhat befuddled by cold, it did not occur to her that neither Death, nor indeed yetis, are reputed to carry any source of illumination.

The light descended to the snow, then something huge, warm, and soft wrapped itself around her, pack and all.

“Pardon the familiarity, ma’am,” the creature said, “but we’ve really got to get you indoors.”

A response occurred to her, but remained unspoken: Into thy paws I commend my bod. For what I am about to receive, may the Lord make me truly thankful.

Then, hey-hup!, the creature laid hold of her and slung her over its shoulder, turning the world upside down. With her nose nuzzling the beast’s broad back and her torso and arms hanging as limp as a skivvy on a clothesline, the world made even less sense than it had before.

Deprived of any usable visual input, the woman’s mind took refuge in blessed absurdity.

Close of business, she thought. Happy hour.

A sudden profound drowsiness saturated her bones.

One final thought arose: Time for a nap, methinks.

Seconds later, she was asleep.

An unknown time she drifted upon the measureless seas of dream, witnessing an assortment of absurd and irrelevant visions, before the lapping waters gradually morphed into something bearing a passing resemblance to solid ground.

Judging from her physical sensations, she concluded that she was reclining on a surface that had some resilience to it; a giant mushroom, perhaps.

Her left side was bathed in a delicious warmth. The right felt a little deprived, though not excessively uncomfortable.

Turn me around, she thought. I’m done on this side.

Sounds impinged upon her hearing: a secretive whispering, occasionally accompanied by a party popper going off. She was puzzled for a moment, until she understood that she was listening to the hissing and crackling of a fire.

Realising that the gears of her mind were not fully engaged, she determined to rouse herself to full wakefulness. No more dreaming for now. Time for a little reconnaissance.

For this, one required eyes. Heavy though they were, she managed to hoist the lids of hers far enough to take in a useful amount of light.

Above her, a timber ceiling with a dark skylight. Still nighttime, then.

She rotated her eyes downward. There was herself, swathed in blankets, atop not a mushroom, but a broad sleeping pad.

Beyond her feet lay her pack. That was good. That would be needed.

Rolling her head leftward revealed a wood heater housing a lively yellow blaze; rightward, an enclosed space, identifiable as the unpartitioned interior of a wooden cabin, measuring perhaps fifteen generous paces from end to end. Rectangular, sparsely furnished, neat and tidy.

Footsteps approached, sharply focussing her attention. A figure of human form hove into sight.

Her rescuer, she felt bound to assume.

Neither Death nor a yeti, then.

The woman’s pulse quickened as she identified the figure as the goal of her journey.

He was as foretold. A tall man, but young, perhaps five years her junior. His hands seemed a trifle overlarge in comparison with the rest of him: still a little filling out to be accomplished, it seemed.

The thought urged itself upon her that he was rather a comely fellow; attractive, even.

Stick to what’s pertinent! she scolded herself.

In those large hands, he bore an object of immediate interest to her: a large pot of something steamy. From it protruded a hooked handle, perhaps that of a ladle, leaning against the brim.

The man glanced toward her, nodded in acknowledgement of her regard, then looked away again.

His expression seemed preoccupied, she thought. Inward. Even standoffish.

Something on his conscience, perhaps.

“Evening, ma’am,” he said. “Uh ... again.”

She nodded slowly, but made no verbal response. Nor did he await one, instead crouching and setting the pot on the floor, then disappearing whence he had come.

A moment later, he returned, bearing a brace of bowls and spoons.

As before, he glanced at her, then away. Definitely averse to eye contact, she thought.

“Might be an idea to get some hot food into you,” he said. “Need help sitting up?”

From the tone of his voice, she inferred that he would prefer she get up by herself. This suited her, so she shook her head, and thought he looked a little relieved.

“Got hot stew here,” he said. “You can serve yourself as you like. You may want to choose the vegetables instead of the meat. Easier to digest. Probably better not to eat too quickly, too.”

The woman was about to speak in response, but her stomach commented first, emitting a muffled but clearly audible grumble of discontent.

For just an instant, the barest hint of amusement ameliorated the man’s sombre demeanour, then fled away.

Sitting up slowly, the young woman pulled her legs into a cross and, with a nod of acknowledgement to her benefactor, cast a cautious glance into the pot. A little mushy looking, she thought. Not bad colours, though.

Her host lowered his sizable frame to the floor so that the pot stood between them.

She ladled a measure of stew into her bowl, taking care to include an unfairly large share of meat.

Motionless and silent, apparently more interested in his folded hands than in her, her benefactor waited for her to serve herself, then filled his own bowl.

Her rescuer tucked into his food. Surreptitiously, she watched him eat for a few moments, then cautiously took to her own serving.

She started with the broth, drinking slowly spoon by spoon, letting it complete from within the warming work of the fire. Afterward, she scooped up the vegetables, nigh soft enough to swallow without chewing. A standard male culinary effort, she thought. Not too abysmal, though. Hot. Nourishing. Efficacious.

He ate far more rapidly than she, downing two bowls of stew before she had dealt with one. Soon enough, though, her labours brought the bottom of the bowl to light once more, apart from the numerous chunks of meat, which she then tackled with the will of a wolf. Always save the best for last.

She set down the vessel, suppressed a sigh of contentment, and took stock of herself.

Hypothermia dispelled: check.

Hunger sated: check.

Energy levels: not optimal, but sufficient for the moment.

Purpose reasserting itself: check.

Satisfied, she turned her attention upon her saviour.

“So ... what brought you out of seclusion, just in time to succour the damsel?” she asked, having decided to skip the customary formalities.

If the man found her manner abrupt, he gave no indication of it.

He shrugged.

“Saw your flashlight,” he explained briefly.

She looked around.

“From in here?”

“From outside.”

Counting the stars? she wondered. Looking out for yetis?

He made no comment on the fact that she had not identified herself. Nor did he seem inclined to do so himself.

Conversation flagged then. Silence ascended the throne, reigned uneasefully for a few moments.

For no reason she could discern, the man gave a decisive nod.

Without looking at her, he rose to his feet, crossed the room, took up a small backpack and began moving here and there about the cabin, picking up various items and stuffing them into it.

Strange time to go for a stroll, she thought. And anyway, where was there to stroll to?

His preparations complete, the man approached her once more, still avoiding any lengthy eye contact.

“The fire should last for a few hours,” he said. “There’s extra wood when it gets too low. If you need anything else, have a poke around. Make yourself at home. Use what you want. Bathroom’s through that door. Camping bed’s over there.”

His piece said, her host lifted his greatcoat from a nearby hook, shouldered his way into it.

“Making tracks?” she queried.

He nodded.

“Is this you being a gentleman,” she asked, “or are you that averse to company?”

He hesitated, then answered obliquely.

“There’s a hut with a wood heater not far away,” he said. “I’m going there for the night. In the morning, we’ll see about getting mountain rescue up here, to extract you.”

“Like a bothersome tooth?” she asked.

He stared at her in silence for a moment, then shrugged again.

“No bother,” he said.

He turned toward the door.

She spoke from behind him: “Stay a while.”

He paused, but did not turn.

“Better I leave,” he said.

“I insist,” she responded.

The sudden metal in her tone did not escape him. Mystified, he turned slowly to regard her.

His gaze fixed on her right hand. Gripped therein was a silvery object, undoubtedly a gun. It was aimed steadily at his torso.

He raised his eyes to hers. His judgement had been correct: there was steel there. She wasn’t kidding around.

“I’d much prefer you remain, Mister Matthew Quinn,” she said.

Matthew stared at her for a long, tense moment.

He wondered how she knew his name, but did not ask.

Eventually, unable to make sense of the situation, he shrugged uncomfortably.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

He hesitated, then complied, laying down his pack, dropping his coat to the floor and sitting down on it.

He showed no fear, only puzzlement.

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said slowly, “but I strongly suggest you let me leave, for your own ... uh ... welfare.”

She smiled without humour.

“As threats go, that’s kinda milquetoast,” she said.

Not a threat, he thought, but said nothing.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

Her response was cryptic.

“Ever seen me before?” she asked. “Look at my face. Look carefully.”

Matthew hesitated, then did as instructed.

The moment when his eyes widened in recognition did not escape her.

“Oh, Christ,” he murmured.

She nodded.

“Coming back to you, is it, Mister Quinn?”

“She said she had a twin,” he said, as if to himself.

“And I am she.”

“She said identical. You don’t look exactly the same as her,” he said.

This comment drew no response.

There were some subtle differences in nose, lips, and chin, he thought. Caused by environmental factors, maybe? Or ... plastic surgery?

“I want to talk with you, Mister Quinn,” she said, “about what you did to my sister.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows a little.

“You’re making an assumption there,” he observed carefully.

“I’m not convinced you deserve the benefit of any doubt, Mister Quinn,” she said.

She hesitated a moment, then spoke again.

“Still, be it so, for the sake of justice: I want to know what took place between you and Amy.”

“You have questions?” he said. “Ask them.”

She shook her head.

“Yes,” she said. “I have questions. But, since we are avoiding assumptions, let me hear your side of the story first.”

Her expression hardened.

“But I warn you, Mister Quinn,” she said, “I’m going to be watching you while you speak, to see if I can catch you lying, telling partial truths, or skipping anything. I’m very good at that.”

Abruptly, equanimity seemed to desert him. His face twisted for an instant in apparent anguish, and she thought to detect in the sudden tension of his body a powerful urge to get the hell out of there.

Jesus, she thought, how fucking chickenshit can you get?

She thought of a comment trenchant enough to please her. Before she could deploy it, the man responded.

“Okay ... alright,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”

He fell silent a moment, then sighed, as if suddenly weary. When he spoke, it was in a low, halting tone.

“I was headed to university. My first year. I needed accommodation. There was an ad posted in student services. ‘Grad student needs flatmate.’ Turns out, your sister posted it. I contacted her, visited, took a look at the room. We swapped questions and ended up finding each other acceptable, so I moved in. I went to my classes, she conducted her research. We didn’t have a whole lot of contact with each other; only briefly, mostly in the mornings and evenings.”

He shook his head, as if mystified.

“I always thought I was a good judge of people ...” he said softly.

He looked her in the eye briefly.

“After about two weeks,” he continued, “her behaviour started to change ...”

He continued speaking for several minutes, becoming perceptibly less comfortable as he did so. Her tension grew visibly as she listened, her expression darker.

“Enough!” she said suddenly.

Matthew fell silent. He bowed his head as if in shame.

The woman’s gaze turned inward for a moment. She took a moment to calm herself.

“I’m going to ask you some questions now, Mister Quinn,” she said then. “As before, I’m going to be watching for any hint of a lie in your answers.”

He spread his hands.

“Ask away,” he said.

“Did you drug her?” she said then.

And already, it seemed, she had touched a sensitive spot: he did not respond, and she thought she detected indications of uneasiness in his face and body. Her suspicions burned stronger.

Rather than insist on an immediate answer, she decided to see what further non-verbal information she could gather.

“Did you hypnotise her?” she said.

Again, silence.

“Did you try to control her, or change her behaviour in any way?”

No reply. Yet still, the unease.

“I’d like to hear some words of response now, if you please, Mister Quinn.”

He hesitated, then answered.

“You’re asking if I tried to influence her,” he said carefully. “The answer is, I didn’t. Not by any means.”

“Do you have any thoughts, then, about why she started behaving ... like that?” she asked, her scepticism clear in her voice.

Several heartbeats worth of silence.

He looked at her, at the gun, drew a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

Her eyes widened.

“First, though,” he said, “I want to ask you something. Just one question. I promise I’ll answer you after that.”

She did not reply, merely observed him. Matthew waited a moment, then decided to take her silence as consent.

“You may not like what I have to ask, so ...”

He looked at her weapon, sighed, then slowly moved one hand to indicate his heart.

“... if you decide to shoot me,” he said, “don’t miss. Hit something vital. Make it quick. Will you do that?”

For a moment she was at a loss. This statement seemed very much at odds with his previous display of cowardice. As far as she could tell, though, he was serious. Did the guy have a death wish? Was he racked with guilt, maybe?

“Can’t promise anything,” she said at last, tonelessly.

He hesitated, shrugged, then plunged.

“Well, then ... does your sister have any history of mental or emotional illness? Any history of erratic behaviour? Has she ever been prescribed any psychiatric medications?”

At this, the young woman’s face turned truly thundercloud. Matthew heard her teeth grinding.

Anything else he might have had to say, he decided to keep to himself. For the moment.

“Bring it on, Mister Quinn,” she grated at last. “Disrespect her again.”

“Okay, forget it,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I had to ask. I just hoped ...”

He trailed off.

“I don’t have much else to say on the subject,” he said, “except ... you asked me if I tried to influence her. As I said, the answer is no. I didn’t try to influence her ... but, if she didn’t have any prior issues, the only possibility I can think of is that ... that I may have influenced her without trying to.“

Her eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

“I ... don’t know for sure. I just noticed that, the more time she spent near me, the more ... extreme ... her behaviour became. Like a proximity effect.”

“What ... you think you’re Don Juan on steroids?” she scoffed.

“I didn’t want to believe it either,” he said, without looking at her. “But the evidence was right in front of me.”

“And now,” he continued quietly, “I’m very much afraid of the same thing happening to you.”

She gave a huff of cold amusement.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t concern yourself. I’m not that susceptible to men ... far less to you, Mister Quinn. And the same goes for my sister.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Have it your way,” he said quietly.

He glanced at her again.

“Any more questions?”

“That’s all,” she said, “for the time being.”

“So ... what happens now?” he asked. “You planning on holding that gun on me all night?”

“You think I’m not up to the task?” she said.

Despite her defiant tone, he thought he detected a hint of discomfort in her demeanour. She had clearly been at the end of her tether when he had found her in the snow, and less than one hour of sleep was not enough to fully recover.

Matthew decided to run a risk, to try to take the advantage a little.

“Ma’am ... don’t take this the wrong way, but ... you really didn’t think this little outing through, did you?” he said.

“Hell, no,” she said. “If I did that, I’d never get anything done.”

“Impulsive type?”

“That’s right,” she said, the steel in her voice again.

Her eyes dropped to the gun for an instant, lifted again.

“Often enough,” she said, “I don’t know myself what I’m going to do next.”

Matthew understood the hint.

Introducing a hint of amity into the exchange couldn’t hurt, he thought.

“I’m getting a little tired,” he said. “Do you mind if I hit the sack?”

He risked the tiniest of smiles.

“You can shoot me more easily if I’m unconscious.”

“Please don’t try to cutesie up to me, Mister Quinn,” she replied. “It’s insulting.”

He dropped the smile, looked her seriously in the eye.

“Let me go, ma’am,” he said softly. “I promise it’ll be to your benefit.”

Keeping her eyes locked to his, the young woman shook her head, very slowly.

“What does your radar tell you?” he asked, showing a little frustration at last. “Am I lying?”

“If only radar were one hundred percent reliable,” she countered.

Matthew sighed. His shoulders drooped resignedly.

“On your own head be it,” he murmured.

“Worry about your own head,” she advised shortly.

Matthew thought for a moment.

“I have a suggestion,” he said.

“Fire away, Mister Quinn,” she said.

“In the summer, possums steal from my kitchen garden at night. So, I hooked up an alarm to a proximity detector, to try and teach them to stay away. We can put the camping bed against the door for you so I can’t leave without you knowing. You put the alarm on the floor next to the bed and point it into the room. I won’t be able to approach without setting it off. You get to sleep. I get to sleep.”

He paused.

“What do you think?”

“You could still scarper through a window,” she said.

“Well ... uh ... I can nail them shut, if you want,” he said.

The young woman considered this. She could not fool herself: there was no way she could stay awake all night.

She looked at her captive and reluctantly nodded acceptance of his proposal.

“Satisfied?” he asked, a few minutes later, when he had demonstrated the effectiveness of the alarm and immobilised the windows.

“It will do, Mister Quinn,” she said. “You can go and sleep now. We’ll talk again in the morning. I anticipate a fruitful conversation. Perhaps by then you’ll see fit to tell me what you did to Amy, and how to undo it. Alternatively, we can discuss the topics of police ... judges ... prisons.”

“Very well, ma’am,” Matthew responded quietly.

He turned away and headed for the other end of the cabin.

Her apparent failure to perturb him bothered the woman, made her wonder whether he had something up his sleeve.

“Even if the alarm doesn’t work, I’d hear you coming,” she called, as an extra piece of insurance. “I’m a very light sleeper.”

He paused and nodded, without turning toward her.

“Understood, ma’am.”

Serious matters postponed, the woman considered her bedtime needs. She ran her tongue over her teeth and discovered an unpleasant film of slime. Gah.

She regarded him: her host and hostage both.

“You wouldn’t have a spare toothbrush, would you?” she asked.

Having supplied his captor with the requested item, as well as several others she had overlooked, Matthew retreated to his end of the cabin.

He fed the fire, adjusted the flue for a slow burn, then settled himself on the sleeping pad. The lights at his end were already extinguished. A flashlight lay close by.

Head resting on his hands, he lay gazing pensively up through the skylight into night. The odd soft sound reached his ears as the woman moved around, presumably doing whatever women do to prepare for sleep. After a few minutes, her end of the room darkened also, and silence fell.

Matthew recalled childhood days, when no one in his house went to sleep without a kind wish.

“Good night,” he called, urged by force of habit. “Sleep t... uh ... yeah, good night.”

No reply.

Perhaps, he thought, she was already asleep.

He decided not to think about their impasse. There was nothing to be done about it at the moment, anyway. Better to sleep on it.

Despite this resolution, his mind roiled mercilessly, until a new and unexpected sound diverted him. Unmistakably, she was snoring, cute as a dormouse. Despite his disquiet and unhappiness, Matthew couldn’t help smiling a little.

He found the sound soporific. Minutes later, he fell asleep with it in his ears.

The night still held full sway when the heavy layer of sleep blanketing the young woman lifted a little. She became drowsily aware that she was sleeping fully clothed. After a moment’s reflection, she remembered why: never go naked in the presence of an enemy.

She sat up slowly and listened. The occasional crackle from the fire was the only sound, its light the only illumination, bright enough to identify objects by their outlines, but no more. From this angle, the man was obscured from her vision. Was he still here, or had he outsmarted her somehow?

She carefully felt for and disabled the possum alarm. The camp bed creaked a little as she eased her weight off it. A few steps toward the other end of the cabin cleared her line of sight. There he was, stretched out on one side, facing the fire, motionless.

Okay. He was still there. She could go back to sleep.

She did not do so.

As it had innumerable times before, wilfulness arose within her. She did not question it, but reached under the bed, found her weapon, then soft-footed toward the fire, her socks whispering on the wooden floor, until she was close behind him.

As far as she could tell in the firelight, he was in deep slumber, his breathing slow and regular.

The young woman hesitated, then silently lowered herself to her knees.

What the fuck am I doing? she wondered.

No answer to this internal query arose in her mind. Nor yet did she desist. Instead, she remained still, listening to his breathing. She found the slow rhythm soothing, calming, like occasional wavelets on a sandy shore. The firelight danced mesmerically over his cheek.

Moved by an impulse she did not understand, the young woman carefully laid down the gun, placed both hands on the floor to support herself, then slowly bent over the sleeping man, so that her face approached to within a handsbreadth of his head. She became aware of his odour, and inhaled without thinking. She had a sensitive nose, and he offered a melange of many subtleties; predominantly coffee, perhaps. She smiled. For no rational reason, it pleased her to steal his scent without him knowing.

She reached out a hand, moved it in a caressing motion that came very close to brushing against his face and hair, but made no contact.

I could touch you, if I wanted, she thought. Without knowing why, she exulted in the idea.

A long time she crouched there, breathing deeply, so long that an incipient leg cramp forced her to stand. Even then she lingered a while, gazing down at him meditatively.

At last, she became irritated with herself.

For fuck’s sake, can this crap and go back to bed!

This self-castigation tipped the balance. She picked up her weapon and headed back toward the other end of the cabin.

She had almost reached the bed when she stopped and put her free hand to her head.

“Oh, balls,” she said in a conversational tone, “I’m going to ...”

Her voice fell silent, her eyes rotated toward the ceiling, her legs lost all muscular tension. The gun fell from her hand, clattered loudly to the floor. She sat heavily, then slowly keeled over sideways.

Matthew started up from his slumber. He groped for the flashlight, glanced around in its beam. Nothing out of the ordinary. But, something had woken him. He hesitated, then rose to his feet and padded cautiously toward the door to check on the woman.

Halfway there, he stopped, wary of the proximity alarm he had given her. Careful to keep the beam oblique, he directed his flashlight toward her end of the cabin.

When the light found her still form on the floor near the bed, he inhaled sharply.

Forgetting everything else, Matthew hurried to her side. Tense with concern, he played the flashlight beam over her, from head to foot, looking for any signs of injury. Finding nothing untoward, he crouched down, listened to her breathing, checked her pulse, laid a hand to her forehead.

At last, he settled back on his heels, puzzled. As far as he could tell, she was neither ill nor injured.

What could have happened? Had she fallen out of bed? No, the bed was a good two paces away. Had she been sleepwalking? Was this an aftereffect of hypothermia?

He decided not to try and wake her, but lifted her limp form from the floor, laid her carefully in the bed and drew the covers up to her chin.

Illuminating her face with the sidespill of the flashlight, he stood watching her for a while. She looked peaceful, he thought, though she seemed to be breathing more deeply and rapidly than was normal for a sleeper.

He thought of the possum alarm. Why hadn’t it gone off? He picked it up, saw that it was disarmed. Had she switched it off? If so, why?

He held it for a moment, thinking, then replaced it on the floor without turning it on.

He pondered. If he was going to leave, now was the time. He was confident he could make it to the hut, though it would be very cold outside now; dangerous, if you went astray.

On the other hand, despite her hostility toward him, he felt concerned for her, wanted to make sure that she would be safe. She was impulsive, had been through mild hypothermia, and had clearly just had some kind of ... episode.

Pros, cons: he weighed them up as best he could.

It had taken two weeks for her sister to begin to ... change. It seemed very unlikely that ... whatever it was ... would affect this woman before he could get her evacuated and out of his vicinity.

At last, he shrugged. On balance, it seemed best to stay. Let the morning bring what it would.

He turned away, then caught sight of the gun on the floor. He hesitated a moment, then picked it up.

The safety was off.

He thumbed it on, ejected the magazine, saw that it was at least partially loaded. Certainly, the weapon was in shape to kill.

He glanced back toward the sleeping woman. Would she really have shot him?

At the time, he had been quite convinced of her determination to do precisely that. For some reason, though, the thought just hadn’t bothered him as much as maybe it should have. A touch of fatalism seemed to have infected him. Not surprising, given the misery he had been feeling recently.

Or, maybe it was her demeanour that had disarmed him a little. Now that their first confrontation was over, she reminded him of a tiny terrier defending its domain. Such an animal would surely bite without hesitation. Ultimately, though, its aggression only added to its charm.

Matthew examined his feelings and was surprised to discover that he already had a soft spot for his bold-hearted captor. He wondered what her name was. Her sister had never mentioned it.

Perhaps it was foolish, but he found that he wanted to trust her, to leave his fate in her hands. His ... problem ... had burdened him greatly, even to the point of despair, yet he had been unable to think of any solution but complete isolation. Maybe it was time to see what other people might be able to come up with, even at the cost of submitting to a punitive process.

Accordingly, Matthew did not empty the weapon, nor take it with him, but reinserted the magazine and laid the gun on the floor under her bed.

With a final long look at his slumbering captor, he returned to his end of the cabin, fed the fire, then lay down on his pallet once more. He remained wakeful for a long time before sleep took him.

Morning was here.

She knew it, both by intuition and by the quality of the light filtering through her eyelids.

Her body demanded stretching, and she complied, luxuriously.

She felt rested and refreshed; ready for the day.

Taking pains not to make any noise, she sat up and glanced around, seeking the other occupant of the cabin.

There he was, in profile, busy in the kitchenette.

As silently as she could, she slipped out of bed and crept carefully up behind him, circling to avoid detection. He seemed oblivious of her presence. Good. For a moment, she enjoyed observing him without being observed, watching the motions of his arms, the small movements of his head as he worked.

She gave a happy sigh.

How utterly wonderful it was that, out of all the girls he could have had, he had chosen her.

A sudden powerful rush of affection for him welled in her heart. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressed her body—cheek, breasts, belly, and all—warm and soft against his broad back.

“Morning, love,” she said, her voice replete with tenderness.

The man started violently, almost causing her to lose her balance.

Taken aback, she released him, withdrew a little.

He turned slowly to regard her.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” she said softly.

He stared at her wide-eyed, but did not speak.

For an instant, she was at a loss. Then, she decided to try and make up for the shock she had clearly given him.

Rising on her toes, she drew his head down, formed her lips into a soft and tender pout, the way she knew pleased him, and kissed his mouth for a loving good morning.

Touching him like this spread a warmth through her body, a warmth that quickly became a heat. In the space of a single breath, she knew that she wanted him ... and wanted him to want her.

But ... something was wrong. He wasn’t responding as he normally did.

Fighting her desire, she broke the embrace and stepped back in order to see his face.

She did not know what, or why, but she could see that something was troubling him deeply. His expression was as sombre as stone.

In an attempt to defuse the tension, as well as to distract herself from the strong arousal of her body, she turned her attention to his culinary efforts.

He had bread in the toaster, she saw, plus coffee cups and makings standing by. Strips of bacon half done in the frying pan, eggs waiting to be added.

“Have a seat, love,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice from trembling. “I’ll do the rest.”

He hesitated, then crossed slowly to the table, sat down heavily. She sensed him watching her closely.

Trying to ignore his disturbing regard, she busied herself in the kitchenette, finishing what he had started, and cutting fruit to add to the breakfast array. The idea that she was serving her man brought pleasure to her heart, made her feel at least a little better.

Within a few minutes, all was prepared. She laid breakfast on the table for the two of them, and sat down opposite him.

Self-consciously, she began to eat, taking a few bites of food, a slow sip of coffee.

Having taken the edge off her hunger, she sighed ostentatiously.

“Wow, I needed that.”

Still he did not reply, only continued to observe her.

His unresponsiveness and heavy mood were beginning to distress her. She felt a little like crying.

“What’s the matter, love?” she asked unhappily. “Talk to me, please. I ... I’m so sorry if I’ve done anything wrong.”

Matthew stared at her a moment longer, then sank his head into his hands.

“Too late,” he murmured, then groaned as if in pain. “Too damned late!“

The young woman had no notion as to his meaning. She sat silent and sad, not knowing what to do next.

He took his hands from his face, and looked at her determinedly.

“Have you noticed anything strange about your behaviour?” he asked bluntly.

The woman was nonplussed.

“You ... you’re overwrought, love,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

She reached out, intending to take hold of his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” he said quietly.

This rebuff had an inordinate effect on the young woman. She quickly drew back her comforting hand. Abruptly, she could no longer restrain her emotions. Her body, that worshipped him, felt alien and useless to her. Her eyes brimmed with tears, then overflowed.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” she implored brokenly.

Despite his dismay, her distress touched Matthew’s sympathetic heart. He could not be intentionally cruel to a fellow creature.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I’m very sorry. Go ahead. Do what you have to do.”

Sniffling a little, she palmed the tears from her eyes. A trembling smile crept over her face.

She reached out, took hold of his hands with both of hers and drew them to the centre of the table, then bent forward to kiss them tenderly, first one, then the other.

The contact caused her sexual heat to flare again. It was very hard to ignore it, but she knew he wasn’t ready.

See what you do to me? she thought. See how much I love you?

She cast about for some means of altering his mood.

“We ... we should have breakfast, love,” she said at last, indicating their food. “Before it gets cold.”

Still acutely mindful of his demeanour, she resumed eating, holding back her growing desire for him as best she could. After a moment, Matthew followed suit, though without seeming to pay much attention to the food.

Breakfast proceeded in silence, but with many an unobtrusive glance, in both directions.

When they were done, he looked at her seriously.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” he said.

His gaze was so purposeful, she found it almost hypnotic.

“Of course, love,” she said softly. “Anything you want.”

“Do you recall why you are here?” he asked.

The question took her aback. Was ... was she suddenly unwelcome?

“You ... you invited me to come stay with you in your cabin ... remember?”

He nodded, as though he had expected her to answer as she did.

“Do you remember what you did yesterday?” he continued.

“We ... we drove up from the city together, hired a snowmobile and ... and motored up here.”

Matthew took a moment to digest this response, then spoke again.

“During the night,” he said, “a noise woke me up. I found you passed out on the floor and put you back to bed. What had you been doing, just before that?”

“I ... what? Passed out? No ... I ... no ...”

“What do you remember?” he interrupted.

“I remember ... I remember getting up in the night. I do remember that. I ... I got out of bed, and came to see you. I ... I wanted to see you. That’s all.”

“And when you saw me, what did you do ... exactly?”

She blushed and averted her eyes.

“I ... I knelt down behind you. You were sleeping. I ... I leaned over and I ... I breathed you in. You smelled good and so I stayed there ... and breathed you in.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A while, I guess.”

Matthew thought for a moment, then rose from the table and headed toward the door, where her bed stood. When he returned, he carefully laid something on the table between them.

It was a gun.

“Remember this?” he asked.

The young woman frowned, puzzled and alarmed.

“You keep a gun in the cabin?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“It’s not mine,” he said. “It’s yours.”

“M-mine? That can’t be. I—I’ve never owned a gun. I barely know anything about them.”

“You don’t remember pointing this at me last night?” he said.

“I ... I ...”

She was shaking her head, but awareness was dawning in her eyes, awareness of a memory she didn’t want to face.

“Do you remember your sister?” he said. “You came here yesterday to confront me, because you thought I’d ... you thought I’d done something terrible to her.”

“I ... I remember,” she said. “I remember. But ... but it wasn’t me! It wasn’t me! It was ... it was ...”

Abruptly, she fell silent and still. Her gaze turned inward.

Then, like a projector changing slides, her expression altered again, to one of incredulity and outrage. The change was so dramatic, Matthew started in surprise.

“What ... the ... merry ... FUCK?!” she enunciated.

As if exhausted, Matthew sighed and sat back in his seat.

Her eyes focussed on his. He gazed back steadily.

She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to utter a tirade.

“Mister Quinn, you ...” she began, then broke off.

Something was happening inside her.

A deep blush coloured her skin from throat to forehead. Even her ears burned pink. Her breathing accelerated and deepened to the point where she was almost panting.

Why the hell was she suddenly so unbearably horny?

“You ... you want to tell me what the f-fuck is going on here, M-mister Quinn?” she stammered.

Matthew sighed heavily.

“I ... I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I truly am. What I warned you about last night ... I’m afraid it’s happened.”

“Th-that camel shit again? Spare me. You ... you did something to me!“

Matthew’s eyes turned despairingly heavenward, then regarded her once more.

“Ma’am,” he said, “whatever you may think, I do not get off on destroying the lives of other people. If you still think I’m a predator ... the gun’s right there. To tell the truth, I ... I’d almost rather you used it than not.“

She drew breath for an acidic reply, then paused. There was a desperate weariness in his voice and manner that penetrated her emotional turmoil.

The anguish she had fleetingly seen in his face the night before had returned. Now, however, she saw that it was not cowardice. It was grief.

Despite her initial suspicion, she found that she could not doubt the obvious pain in his demeanour. It made what he said ring true.

My God! she thought. He really didn’t mean to do it.

An abrupt surge in the sexual desire she was feeling made her whole body tremble. She braced one shaking hand on the table, put the other to her forehead.

“This ... this is what happened to my sister? The ... the hunger?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matthew replied. “That’s why I wanted to leave last night ... even though I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. It’s why I came up here in the first place. I didn’t know who I might ... infect ... next. I had to get away. Try to work something out. Either that, or ... or take a walk in the snow.”

“And I ... I stopped you from leaving.”

“Yes, ma’am, you did.”

She groaned.

“Architect of my own d-downfall. You ... you warned me. And I didn’t believe you.”

He shrugged sadly.

“Who could blame you? It’s a crazy story.”

“So ... wh-what happens now?” she asked plaintively.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, ma’am. Thing is, I really don’t have any idea where to begin.”

“H-help me,” she said. “I mean, ‘you’ll help me’. That’s good. That’s very, very good ... because I could do with a little h-help right now.”

She looked at him with the expression of a lost child.

“Given the c-circumstances,” she continued, “this may seem overly familiar, but ... but ... could you ... could you hold me? P-please?”

“Ma’am ... I ... I really don’t know if that’s a good idea. It could lead to ...”

“I won’t try anything,” she interrupted. “I promise. I only want to be held. Please, Mister Quinn! You d-don’t understand what this feels like. I ... I’m losing my shit over here.”

Matthew looked into her tormented eyes. He was empathetic by nature, and her obvious suffering evoked pain in his own heart. He had refused her sister, and the result had been catastrophic. He wanted desperately to prevent the same thing happening to her.

Despite his reservations, Matthew acquiesced with a slow nod.

Instantly, the young woman rose from her seat, physically dragged the little table away from between them, straddled his legs, threw her arms around him, and pressed as much of her body as she could against his: head, pelvis, and everything in between.

For a moment, Matthew did not move. Then, he hesitantly embraced her, hoping to comfort her. The contact caused her to moan wordlessly and writhe in his embrace.

Quaking with desire, she turned her head upward, in order to see his face. Her heart actually pounded like a hammer as she suddenly realised how incredibly beautiful he was. But, his expression was tight with worry, full of concern for her welfare.

She needed to do something to dispel it. She needed his thoughts to turn away from concern ... to turn toward ... toward ...

Her promise already forgotten, she reached up, tried to draw his head down to hers. When he resisted, she felt the rapid resurgence of desperation.

“M-mister Quinn,” she begged, actually gasping with the intensity of her need. “M-mister Quinn.”

Moved by her plight, Matthew allowed her to close the space between them.

Their lips met and she began kissing him voraciously.

Matthew had never experienced anything like this before, and the longer she kissed him, the more self-conscious he became. Worse, his penis was stiffening swiftly, humiliatingly, and he knew no way to prevent it.

The feeling of his erection pressing into her sent another unbearable wave of desire through the young woman. She was hungry, hungry, hungry for him. She had to ... had to ... !

“M-mister Quinn?” she said, gazing up at him with a pleading expression.

“Y-yes, ma’am?”

“I know we b-barely know each other ... and I know I haven’t been quite as friendly toward you as I might have been ... but please, Mister Quinn ... can we fuck? Please? I ... I’m dying here. I ... I’ve never been this horny. H-help a girl out?”

This put Matthew in a very difficult position. He wanted her ... how could he not? She was an extremely beautiful and desirable woman, and she was touching him as he had never been touched before. But ... it just wasn’t right!

Summoning all his resolve, he managed to withhold a little longer. He knew it was probably useless, but he attempted to recall her to reason.

“Try not to forget what’s really going on here, ma’am,” he said softly.

“I know, I know, I know, I know, I know!” she babbled desperately. “And I will do everything I can to help you fix it. I swear I will. But, for now ... please? ... please? ... please? I need you so b-badly I can’t think.”

Torn between virtue and desire, Matthew groaned inwardly.

What should he do? What could he do?

He knew virtually nothing about this woman, but he did know that, right now, she was not in command of herself. How could anything she did be consensual? It was only his presence that was compelling her to behave as she did. In effect, her lust was urging her to violate herself.

A choice lay before him. He could give in to her demands and take the unknown consequences. Or, he could deny her what she craved and watch her plunge, like her sister, into profound misery and despair.

He sighed ... and chose what seemed the lesser evil.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked resignedly.

Exultation filled the young woman. He would help her!

Instantly, her hands flew to the buttons of her shirt, but they were shaking too much to be of any use.

“C-can you take my clothes off me?” she begged. “I ... I can’t bear them. I’d really, really appreciate it ... if you could strip me n-naked.”

Matthew swallowed nervously.

“Uh ... yes, ma’am. Uh ... maybe you should stand up.”

Trembling, she did as he suggested.

Matthew raised his hands to her buttons, then paused uncertainly.

“Just t-tear it off!” she begged.

“Did you bring any spare clothing?” he asked.

“N-no.”

“Then, I think we’d better preserve what you’ve got, ma’am.”

She groaned desperately.

“Hurry! ... Hurry!”

With fingers completely unpracticed in the disrobing of another, Matthew began clumsily unbuttoning her. He had never seen his hands do anything like this before. It was as though they belonged to someone else.

Her hands fluttered feverishly around his, trying to accelerate the process, but only hindering his efforts. Matthew tolerated this for a moment, then decided, if he was going to do as she wished, he did not want to prolong it unnecessarily. Better to do what needed to be done as expeditiously as possible.

“Ma’am?”

“Y-yes?”

“Quiet down and keep still!”

The young woman started in surprise at this unexpected vehemence. Her hands dropped to her sides. Though she still trembled and her eyes were still haunted by a profound yearning, she seemed somewhat calmer.

“Yes, M-matthew,” she said in a quavering voice.

Matthew looked at her. The only time she had used his first name was at breakfast. He realised slowly that he was no longer talking to the woman who had held a gun on him, but to a second personality, a second person that had developed within her, just as it had done in her sister. Also, just as with her sister, that person was utterly devoted to him ... and utterly vulnerable.

He would have to tread carefully; he had already learned how easily he could hurt her.

“Forgive me, ma’am. I didn’t want to be mean. Are you okay?”

“N-no,” she murmured. “No, I’m not okay. But I do feel a little b-better now. Thank you, love. Thank you. Can you please keep going now? P-please?”

It took Matthew some time to finish undoing her buttons. When he was done, he paused, then gently peeled off her shirt, revealing her swelling bra, another layer of feminine mystery.

He hesitated, then remembered: they were usually fastened at the back. How, though, he had little notion.

Reaching around her brought him disconcertingly close to her body. Trying to focus, he fumbled clumsily at the bra clasp, but his fingers could make little sense of it.

“I’ve never ... uh ... I’m not too good with bras,” he said. “Maybe you should do it.”

“Don’t want to do it myself,” she said softly. “Want you to do it. Want to be taken.“

Matthew grimaced. Having assumed the dominant role, it seemed he was stuck with it, at least for the moment.

“Then, would you mind turning around?” he asked.

The rest was awkward, but ultimately manageable. As soon as the last catch was released, the weight of her breasts pulled the ends of the bra several inches apart, which did nothing to reduce Matthew’s nervousness, or his own lust.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped the garment off her shoulders and arms, fully exposing her torso. It was the first time he had seen this much of any woman’s body. The unprotected skin of her back made him think of innocence and vulnerability, but also of wild sexuality. He felt deeply protective, yet at the same time the strong desire arose in him to take possession of everything she had to give.

“Uh ... it’s off,” he said, unnecessarily.

She turned to face him, eyes shyly downcast, still trembling with need.

Sweet Jesus, Matthew thought. Her breasts were epic. She hadn’t looked anywhere near that big, clothed.

Stop that! he told himself. Don’t stare at her.

With a great effort of will, he averted his eyes.

“No,” she said huskily, “look at me.”

Matthew carefully turned his attention to her face.

“No,” she said. “My breasts ... look at my breasts.”

Thus commanded, Matthew looked. To him, her breasts appeared so perfect, they seemed more like the product of a master artist than part of a real human body, at least until he noticed one or two absurdly cute little hairs sprouting from her areolas.

“Do you ... do you like them?” she asked.

“Ma’am, they’re ... they’re magnificent.”

She blushed and smiled.

“Would ... would you like to touch them?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she husked. “Yes, I do.”

Matthew reached out slowly. His hands, he saw, were quivering nervously. He hesitated, then cupped her. The contact sent a wave of lust through him.

“Pinch my nipples,” she whispered.

Matthew hesitated, swallowed, then complied, applying moderate pressure with thumbs and forefingers.

These tentative attentions seemed only to frustrate her deep craving. As before, her expression underwent a startling alteration, and suddenly, without doubt, he was once again looking into the fiery eyes of the determined young woman who had threatened him with a pistol the night before.

“I said pinch them!” she hissed. “Squeeze the tar out of those little fuckers. Give it everything you’ve got.”

Out of fear of doing her harm, Matthew couldn’t quite bring himself to fulfill this command, but he did apply a fair proportion of his strength.

The woman moaned loudly. Her head lolled back and her knees gave way. He only just managed to catch her before she could drop to the floor.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she sighed.

Matthew realised that he had begun to perspire.

Limp in his arms, she issued another surreal command.

“Take my pants off, Mister Quinn. Take my pants off and then fuck the living Christ out of me!”

Matthew had never imagined that a woman might one day address him in such terms. The experience only intensified the sense that he was treading the ground of a fantasy world.

He tried to drag himself back to reality.

Take her pants off, take her pants off. How was he to do that when she was too limp to stand?

In the end, he repeated his manoeuvre of the previous evening and laid her over his shoulder, allowing him to hold her in position with one hand, while the other delved between the waistband of her leggings and the generous flesh of her warm backside.

Having established a handhold, he eventually managed to pull away all of her lower garments. Panties, leggings, and socks dropped to the floor in a tangle, leaving her, at last, completely disrobed.

Now standing with an utterly naked young woman slung over his shoulder, Matthew found himself at a loss. After a long moment of inaction, he heard her make a noise of impatience. Feeling foolish, he glanced around for inspiration, then gently laid her on the sleeping pad in front of the fire.

Before he could straighten up, she grasped his shirt with both hands and pulled with such surprising strength that he had to drop to his hands and knees to prevent himself collapsing atop her.

Curling her legs around his waist, the young woman contrived to lift herself bodily from the pad. Looking into his eyes from a distance of mere inches, she spoke in a voice thick with passion.

“You’ll forgive me if I hurry things along a little,” she said.

“Uh ...” he began, but she interrupted.

“Lie down on your back, please, Mister Quinn,” she said. “It’s time to get serious.”

She lowered herself to the floor, then rose to her knees and watched impatiently as he slowly and reluctantly obeyed her command. When he had done so, she looked with deep disapproval at the clothing barring her access to him. Turning her attention to her quivering hands, she gave them such an intimidating glare that they actually seemed to calm somewhat. Satisfied, she tackled the fastenings of his clothes.

The speed with which she stripped him astonished Matthew. He doubted that he himself could have removed his clothing so quickly.

Lying naked on his back with his stiff penis saluting the ceiling, Matthew felt supremely self-conscious and uncomfortable. If he feared ridicule, though, it was for no valid reason: when she caught sight of his erection, her eyes widened, apparently in awe. She murmured something he could not catch, but he was pretty sure he recognised astonishment in her tone.

Still trembling with desire, she mounted him, unceremoniously took hold of his penis, and guided him into the sweet spot between her legs.

As she engulfed him, a weird thought occurred to Matthew: was this how it felt to be swallowed by a python?

Groaning, she descended upon a gasping Matthew, until there came a point where it seemed to him that she could go no further, though he could feel that his member was not fully enclosed.

A strong shudder passed through her body. In its wake, she seemed much calmer.

“I’m fucking filled,” she breathed triumphantly. “Christ Almighty, that’s a relief!”

She shuddered again, and relaxed even more. Now, she seemed composed enough to function almost normally. She looked down at Matthew and smiled.

“Having a good time, Mister Quinn?” she said.

Matthew blushed deeply, and looked away.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

The young woman found his shyness enormously cute. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d fucked a blusher.

The thought gave her pause. She examined him carefully, reading his facial expression and body language, and came to the delightful conclusion that she was dealing with an actual sexual newby.

Double cute! she thought ... then frowned. He must be feeling horribly self-conscious.

Gentle empathy was not her forte. Yet, neither was she devoid of human sympathy.

“I know you’re breaking new ground here, Mister Quinn,” she said slowly, trying to summon words of comfort. “Don’t worry. I promise everything will be okay. Just relax and enjoy the dance.”

His secret exposed, Matthew gazed up at her with an expression of such bashful trust that she found her heart unusually moved.

She recalled the circumstances leading up to their tryst, and, uncharacteristically, found herself feeling compassion for him. After all, he had not planned or initiated any of this; not consciously, anyway. Whether by choice or no, it had all come from her side.

“I guess I have to thank you for going along with this, Mister Quinn,” she said slowly. “I know you didn’t ask for any of it to happen.

Then she smiled.

“Still’n’all, it’s high time someone took you in hand and showed you the ropes, a man of your stature.”

“It’s alright, ma’am,” Matthew said, “but ... uh ... maybe ... maybe you could tell me something about yourself. It feels strange, having ... uh ... making love with a woman I know almost nothing about.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “As long as you don’t mind me riding you while we talk. I have a feeling I’ll start going cross-eyed again if I don’t.

He blushed again.

“I don’t mind,” he said quietly.

The young woman smiled, rose up, then slowly filled herself once more, making Matthew gasp again.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“How about we ... start with your n-name?” he managed.

Up again, and s-l-o-w-l-y down.

“Christ, that’s right, I never told you. It’s Jill. My name is Jill.”

Without thinking, Matthew put out his right hand.

“Good to meet you, Jill.”

And up ...

Jill took hold of the proffered extremity.

... and d-o-w-n.

“Likewise, Mister Quinn,” she said. “Ungggh!”

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

“F-f-f-fine. Only ... that battering ram of a cock of yours gave the cervix quite a nudge there, Paul Bunyan. If you were any bigger, you’d be dislodging internal organs.”

Matthew looked worried.

“Do you ... do you want to try a different position, ma’am ... ah ... Jill? Or ... whatever people do in a situation like this?”

And up ... and down ...

“Fuck, no! This is perfect. Depth control is my department. I just need to get used to the size of your meat.”

She winked.

“For future reference,” she added.

Future reference? Matthew thought. What did she mean by that?

“Am I ... am I ... uh ... unusual?” he queried.

“Oh, no, Mister Quinn,” she sighed, once again on the downstroke. “You’re beyond unusual. You’re exceptional.”

Over the next few minutes, until she felt too high to keep talking, Jill sketched a brief outline of her life for Matthew’s benefit, and he shyly told her a little about himself in return. The exchange was liberally punctuated by sounds of excitement and delight not normally heard in polite conversation.

And it helped, Matthew found. Now that she was no longer a complete stranger to him, he felt less self-conscious, more justified in participating, more permitted even to look at her incredible body.

There came a moment when Jill felt the need to devote her entire attention to the pleasure building within her.

“It’s been nice chatting with you, Mister Quinn,” she said, “but I’ll have to ask you to excuse me now. Booty calls, if you’ll forgive the expression.”

She did not wait for a response, but laid her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and began working her pelvis with stronger, more vigorous motions.

Left to his own devices, Matthew almost forgot about his own arousal and simply watched her in fascination. Soon, though, he had the creeping feeling that he should be contributing somehow.

In the end, he returned to familiar territory by reaching for her breasts. After a little indecisive cupping and stroking, he dared once more to nip hard at her nipples.

The tactic proved effective. She gave a startled whinny, bit her lip, and redoubled the pace of her pumping hips.

Matthew became aware that something was intensifying inside her. Unmistakably, she was building toward a crescendo.

Her movements became so wild and uninhibited, her face suffused with such passion, she seemed to Matthew like some jungle denizen that knew nothing of civilised behaviour, only the most primitive animal drives.

So enchanted was he by his first up close and personal view of a rutting woman, Matthew took little note of his own sensations, but watched in awe as her climax came upon her, flooding her with such intense pleasure that her body simply could not contain it, and she had no choice but to part her lips and release cry after fervent cry of extreme ecstasy.

So this was the mysterious female orgasm, Matthew thought. It was an astonishing phenomenon to witness. Were all women this uninhibited during climax? Was she feeling pure pleasure, or was there pain as well? Her expression seemed to reflect both.

Whichever the case, she didn’t seem at all inclined to stop. In fact, her orgasm continued so long, Matthew began to have the surreal impression that the two of them were caught in a time loop.

Yet at last there came a moment when Jill had wrung out every last drop of pleasure her body could generate, and came to a halt, swaying drunkenly and panting like a hound.

Automatically, Matthew raised his knees to support her, and she closed her eyes and leaned back against his thighs. As her body calmed, her face settled into a smiling expression of profound, peaceful bliss.

The thought occurred to him: She’s in heaven.

Even though his own contribution had been minimal, Matthew felt a certain sense of pride and accomplishment in the idea.

Jill remained atop her spiritual mountain peak for a long time before she returned to her senses, opened her eyes, and smiled down upon him like a beneficent angel descending from heaven.

“Mister Quinn,” she said softly. “That was ... incredibly ... fucking ... awesome.”

Matthew blushed self-consciously.

“Uh ... my pleasure, ma’am ... uh, Jill. Uh ... are you feeling ... better? I mean ... not so ... uh ... desperate?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you very much. Don’t know if I’ve ever popped that hard before. Orgasm like a goddamn freight train pile-up.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“You and your superpower really put me through the wringer back there, Mister Quinn. I thought my brain was going to start leaking out of my ears. Lucky I was able to fuck it out of my system ... temporarily, at least. Interesting way of breaking the ice, though, I have to admit.”

She laughed out of pure joy.

“You know, Mister Quinn, after that roller coaster ride, I might just decide to keep you.”

You might not have any choice in the matter, Matthew thought heavily, but did not speak.

Her gaze glided appreciatively down his torso, until she reached the area where their bodies were still conjoined. Her forehead wrinkled a little, and she squeezed Matthew’s cock with the muscles of her pelvis.

“Poor boy,” she said, sympathetically.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“Ah ... uh ...”

“And after my mama put in so much effort teaching me to think of others,” she scolded herself. “It just isn’t polite.”

“Don’t you worry, Mister Quinn,” she said. “We’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

Placing her hands on his shoulders,

Jill lifted her hips a little, then began to move in such a way that Matthew felt a particularly sensitive area being stimulated.

Her technique was so effective that it was like being taken unawares by a flash flood. In just a matter of moments, Matthew felt his climax approaching.

Jill, smiling at him as she worked her pelvis, seemed to detect it, too. A look of concentration came over her face, and Matthew soon saw that her own arousal was intensifying once more.

As the incoming wave of Matthew’s orgasm approached landfall, Jill leaned down, laid her cheek against his, and began whispering passionate obscenities into his ear, without interrupting the work going on lower down. Perversely, this only served to excite Matthew even further.

A moment later, Matthew’s climax broke upon him, and the sensations were so exquisite, it seemed to him that his guts were liquifying. At the same instant, Jill began to cry out again, and he knew that she was peaking for the second time.

Through some sorcery, she had managed the two approaching orgasms so that they occurred together, and it was this most intimate sharing that truly took Matthew’s pleasure beyond the physical, cracking open his heart and flooding it with warm and blissful feelings, all directed toward his lovely partner.

Even after their two bodies had calmed, Matthew delighted in their closeness, content to lie there and revel in the feeling of simply being with her.

“I think I’m going to have to rephrase what I said before,” Jill said softly. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to let you go, Mister Quinn. I think I might already be addicted.”

Whether she meant this literally or not, it was a serious matter to Matthew. He began to worry again.

“Ma’am,” he said quietly. “That’s what I’ve been afraid of from the start. I wish I knew what to do about it.”

Jill sat up and gave him an amused smile.

“Such a solemn fellow you are, Mister Quinn,” she said. “There’s no need to be.”

Matthew gave her a surprised look.

“Doesn’t it concern you?” he asked. “Being ... well, being enslaved, to put it bluntly?”

“If that’s the way it’s going to be, Mister Quinn,” she said, “we’ll just have to accept it, and work with it, at least for the moment. Or did you think you could somehow worry up a solution?”

“Uh ... no, ma’am.”

“But that’s what you were going to do, isn’t it? Worry yourself to distraction? Be honest.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“You know I’m right.”

To this Matthew found nothing to say, though he found her apparent equanimity astonishing. Her reaction was the last thing he had expected. Could it be that he had been too pessimistic from the start?

There was silence for a time.

“By the way,” Jill said at last, “have you decided what you’re going to call your new playmate?”

Matthew looked at her questioningly.

“You know,” she said. “Little miss body-snatcher.”

“You know about that ... uh ... about her?” Matthew said.

She smiled.

“Of course. Kinda hard to miss being back seat in your own body. Little hijacker took the wheel when I wasn’t looking.”

“You’re not ... uh ... upset?”

“What did I just say about accepting things the way they are?”

“Uh ... yes, ma’am.”

“Why not call her ‘Lily’?” Jill suggested.

“Lily?”

“Sure. Means ‘innocent’, according to some.”

“Well ... uh ... yeah. Why not?”

Jill nodded. That was settled.

Suddenly, her gaze turned inward.

“Whoops,” she said, “looks like she’s woken up.”

She looked thoughtful, then smiled down at Matthew.

“She’s got something important to say to you, Mister Quinn,” she said.

She leaned down and kissed him, then relaxed against him, laying her cheek on his shoulder.

She sighed and became so still that Matthew presently began to wonder whether she had fallen asleep. He was about to speak to her, when he became aware that she was weeping softly.

“You ... you’re crying,” he said. “What’s wrong? I ... I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, love,” she said softly. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful. I’m just crying because I’m happy. I’m so happy that my first time was with you.”

First time? Matthew thought in confusion. With that level of expertise? Ah, no, of course ... another personality swap had occurred. The other side of Jill ... uh ... Lily ... was back again.

Why did the one arise and the other recede at that particular moment? he wondered.

He shrugged mentally. Right now, he had no way to answer that question.

Still, at least it should be simple to tell them apart: their personalities were as different as those of ... of a lioness and her newborn cub.

Occupied with his own thoughts, Matthew almost missed her next utterance.

“I love you, Matthew,” she murmured. “I love you so much, I can’t even say.”

Matthew became very still. He had already seen at breakfast how devoted she was to him. Hearing it put into words, however, made it far more real. She was baring her heart to him. How was he to respond?

Before he could think of an answer, she spoke again.

“Matthew?” she whispered.

“Yes, Lily? Ah ... do you mind if I call you ‘Lily’?”

She hesitated, then kissed him.

“If it pleases you, love, then I am Lily,” she said softly.

“You were going to ask something?” Matthew said.

“Do you think ... ?” she said, then abruptly fell silent.

Matthew heard her swallow nervously.

“Do you think,” she continued, “that we will be together forev... for a very long time?

Although he had no firsthand experience of the love between a man and a woman, the unspoken heart of her question did not escape Matthew. He knew intuitively that he could not take it lightly, that she was hoping for a promise ... a very great promise.

He would have to tread carefully. If he were to evade her question, or answer casually ... he shivered inwardly ... he truly didn’t want to go down that road: he had already seen how emotionally defenceless she was before him. He had the power to wound her deeply.

I created her, he realised suddenly, then found himself following this unexpected thought. I didn’t choose to do it, but I did it nonetheless. Without me, she wouldn’t exist. I’m ... I’m actually her father ... and you don’t bring a child into the world and then abandon them, or neglect them, or hurt them. No. You protect them, and take care of them. So, it’s my duty to do that for her.

Matthew had always been content enough alone, and maybe he would have stayed that for the rest of his life. Now, however, it seemed that life itself had other plans. The question was, whether or not he chose to walk the path laid out for him.

If he refused it, what would be the consequences?

He already knew part of the answer: like her sister, Jill would be emotionally crippled. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t done it deliberately: the result would be the same either way.

And the consequences to him? Of course, he would have the freedom to live his life as he chose. But he knew his conscience would never rest easy. If he abandoned them, he knew he would torment himself daily, for the rest of his life.

On the other hand, if he answered as Lily clearly hoped, then he would be assuming a responsibility that would change his life fundamentally and forever, especially because he would also be taking on Jill, and all the challenges she would bring.

So, he knew he had to consider Jill’s needs as well. How could he promise Lily a future together without knowing how Jill would feel about a long-term relationship?

But then, he realised, it was not only Lily who had brought up the subject of the future. Jill herself had spoken of being unable to let him go. At the time, he had been unsure how earnestly she had meant these words. Now, though, he wondered whether she had been giving him a broad hint.

Despite the seriousness of the matter, the thought of Jill made him smile. He had never known anyone like her before, so independent and fierce of heart. She was like a temperamental young mare that would never willingly accept any kind of harness. By comparison, he was like a patient draught horse. No wonder he found her so engaging, so intriguing. She had in abundance what he most lacked.

Matthew tried to turn his mind toward the positives. Up to now, his life had been ... well, monkish. Bringing Jill into it would certainly put an end to that. But, maybe that would be good for him.

And maybe he would be good for Jill, too. Maybe he could be her protector. He had already seen how her impulsive behaviour could get her into trouble. If he hadn’t found her in the snow, she would almost certainly have died. He was surprised how deeply that thought hurt him.

Matthew reviewed his line of thinking. It seemed to hold up under scrutiny, as far as it went. The problem was, none of it added up to love. It was simply too soon to expect himself to be in love with them ... either of them. And without love, their relationship would be harder ... a very great deal harder.

The question Matthew had to ask himself, then, was not whether he loved them, but whether he could love them ...

Matthew made his decision. He drew in a deep breath, to try and calm himself.

“Lily,” he said.

“Yes, love?” she murmured.

Matthew could feel her body trembling as she awaited his answer.

“I don’t know the future,” he began. “Whatever people plan, there is no guarantee it will work out. Whatever people promise may not stay true.

“And, you must understand: I am barely a man. I don’t even know if I’ve finished growing yet. I have so much more to learn, so much more developing to do.

He tightened his arms around her, then spoke his promises, hoping fervently that he would be able to make them come true.

“Still, if I can,” he continued, “I’ll stay with you, if that’s what you truly want. I’ll eat with you. I’ll sleep with you. I’ll share everything I have with you. I’ll help you cope with the world in any way I can. I’ll do everything I can to make you feel loved and cared for.

“But, you know, I’m going to need a lot of help to make it work. I’m going to need every bit of help you can give me. I ...”

Overcome with emotion, Matthew suddenly ran out of words.

Lily had listened, hardly breathing, until he fell silent. Now she sighed, and curled herself up in his arms, and wept with joy, and kissed him over and over.

Afterward, she murmured, “I only want what you can give, love. I won’t ever ask for more than that. All I want is to stay with you, and love you, and give you everything I have, yes, and help you in every way I can.”

She fell silent a moment, then spoke again.

“I ... I want to give you a gift,” she said. “To show how much I love you. Can I?”

A gift? he thought. What could she have in mind?

“Uh ... of course.”

Lily lifted her body from his and rose to her feet, then took hold of his hands to urge him also to stand.

She looked up at him for a moment, smiling shyly, then unexpectedly sank to her knees on the bedding at his feet.

Kneeling naked, she parted her legs widely, fully exposing her vulva, then crossed her wrists behind her back, and bowed her head. Matthew realised that she had adopted a classic slave posture.

“I give myself to you, my Matthew,” she said softly. “Do with me as you wish. I exist to please you. Give me any command, and I will gladly obey.”

‘Any command’, Matthew thought. My God!

He could not doubt her sincerity. She would wholeheartedly strive to fulfil any task he gave her, as well as—he gulped—any fantasy, any erotic scenario he could imagine.

A long moment she held her position, then lifted her head and turned her eyes toward his resting penis.

When he realised what she had in mind, Matthew blushed ... then blushed deeper when she softly pressed her lips against him.

Over and over, Lily kissed him, continuing her labour of love until he was once more fully erect. She paused then, and gazed enraptured at the result of her work.

“Oh, Matthew,” she sighed. “It’s so beautiful!”

Reverently, she wrapped both of her small hands around him, leaned forward, and began to lick him delicately.

Her technique was simple, but so tenderly done that he knew her whole heart was in the act, and this was exciting and arousing in itself.

Matthew couldn’t take his eyes off her, so he saw the moment when her face changed, became exultantly predatory.

Gentle Lily was in abeyance. The surging vitality of Jill sparkled in her eyes once more.

“This is all proceeding a little too sedately, don’t you think, Mister Quinn?” she said archly.

Bending forward, she resumed Lily’s work, except that Lily’s straightforward but effective technique turned into Jill’s wild kingdom. Her hands, lips and tongue seemed to be dancing everywhere at once. Now his penis was being teased with lips and tongue at the front of her mouth, now lodged deep enough that he could actually feel the blood pulsing in her throat with the head of his cock.

In the midst of this astonishing experience, she halted and smiled at him—only with her eyes—her lips were stretched too widely to participate in the expression.

Her gaze turned purposeful.

She leaned forward and, bit by bit, walked her lips along his penis, taking him ever deeper, until at last there was nothing more to swallow. Incredibly, she had taken his entire shaft into her mouth and throat.

Having accustomed herself to him, she now began to rock back and forth, so that his full length pistoned in and out of her.

In a matter of moments, Matthew felt his orgasm building and wanted to warn her.

“Jill ... Jill ...”

Without removing her mouth from him, Jill nodded in acknowledgement, then pulled back until the head of his penis was once more at the mercy of her tongue.

Of mercy, though, she showed none, but drove him the rest of the way at a wild gallop, over cliff’s edge and into freefall.

Groaning, Matthew fountained into her mouth, over and over, and she greedily gulped down everything he had to give.

Even as his climax slowly subsided, she stayed with him, sucking softly at his relaxing penis, letting not a drop of his ejaculate go to waste.

When she was done and Matthew was completely drained, Jill lifted her mouth from him with a playful smacking of the lips, knelt back on her haunches and smiled up at him.

“Happy, Mister Quinn?” she said.

Matthew, utterly unable to find words to match his feelings, had to content himself with bestowing a pleasure-drunk smile upon her.

Jill took this as a compliment and, from her kneeling position, made the semblance of a gratified curtsey.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. We aim to please ... both of us.”

Matthew focussed on the sobering words, ‘both of us’.

It was going to take a lot of getting used to, he thought, this unpredictable duality.

“Ah ... does Lily know ... that you finished what she started?” he asked.

Jill considered this, then shook her head.

“She doesn’t even know I exist.”

Matthew took a moment to digest this, then realised he had many more questions waiting in the wings. He sat down facing her.

“Won’t she be confused, then, that her memories aren’t complete?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Jill said thoughtfully. “She seems to clone what she wants from my memories and adjust them to suit herself.”

Matthew nodded pensively.

“Why does she have different memories to you?” he wondered.

Jill took a moment to consider this.

“The unconscious mind justifying her existence ... and her personality, I expect,” she said, in a casual tone.

“I don’t understand how you can take it so well ... all of this,” he said.

“All of what, specifically?” Jill queried.

“The ... uh ... craving,” Matthew said. “And ... uh ... Lily.”

Jill shrugged, making her breasts jiggle delightfully.

“My life’s been a wild business pretty much forever,” she said. “So, even though this episode is a bit more extreme ... and certainly not something I could have foreseen ... it fits pretty well into the general craziness.”

“That’s a very ... tolerant point of view,” Matthew said.

Jill smiled.

“It’s one of the benefits of spontaneity, Mister Quinn,” she said. “Most people get terribly upset when the world doesn’t match their hopes and dreams. I’m a different kind: more willing to accept what comes, then work with it.”

“Just the same, I’m sorry that it had to happen to you,” Matthew said.

“Don’t be sorry when it’s not your fault, Mister Quinn,” Jill said. “That’s not logical.”

“I ... I guess you’re right,” Matthew agreed slowly, though his expression remained somewhat sombre: privately, he was not sure he could refrain from punishing himself for his effect on Jill and her sister.

“You seem preoccupied, Mister Quinn,” Jill said. “Still got concerns? Line ’em up. I bet you a dollar apiece I can knock ’em flat.”

“Okay,” Matthew said.

He thought for a moment.

“So you don’t mind having ... uh ... multiple personalities?” he asked.

“Now, there’s a question,” Jill said. “And my answer is, maybe I don’t ... have multiple personalities, I mean.”

Matthew looked at her quizzically.

“You ... you don’t?” he said. “But ... I thought ...”

Jill interrupted him.

“Maybe,” she said, “sweet little Lily and I are really just two aspects of the same person. Maybe she’s always been there, hiding in a corner of my psyche. You never know.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Maybe she’s a mood.”

“You don’t think of her as a separate person?” Matthew asked.

“If a person exhibits two disparate moods,” Jill countered, “do you think of them as two different people?”

“Ah ... no, I guess not.”

“But, why not? After all, their behaviour is completely different.”

“You make a good point.”

“Well, then, there you have it,” she said.

“Oh, and before you ask,” she continued, “I’m not concerned that her memories are different from mine.”

“Uh ... why not?” Matthew asked. “It seems to me ...”

“Memories are uncertain creatures, Mister Quinn,” Jill interrupted. “People are always disagreeing about who did what, and how. She only does what we all do: adjust the past to suit ourselves.”

“But, if she’s not a different person,” Matthew asked, “why did you suggest giving her a different name?”

“Just to keep you from getting confused,” Jill answered, and smiled.

“That seems ... a bit illogical,” Matthew said.

“Huh! Don’t apply logic to me, Mister Quinn. You’ll only come to grief. Whenever logic dares to cross my path, I run it down and slaughter it. Leaves a huge strawberry stain on the freeway.”

“But you were the one telling me to be logical a moment ago,” he protested.

She smiled.

“See what I mean?”

He couldn’t help smiling back. Her maverick approach to life was so refreshing.

After a moment’s thought, another question occurred to him.

“So you don’t mind not being in control?” he asked.

She gave him a hooded look.

“Oh, I’ll be in control, Mister Quinn, when I really want to be. I know how to handle her now. That’s why I don’t mind letting her take the wheel now and then. Under close supervision, of course. Apart from anything else, it’ll be good for a change of pace. Just me all the time might be a bit overwhelming for you.”

Matthew looked at her thoughtfully. He tended to agree. She was a wonderful woman, but he strongly suspected that she could be a real handful as well.

He was glad to know, though, that she could take charge of Lily if needed. It scared him to know that Lily had absolutely no limits when it came to fulfilling his wishes. He didn’t want to be tempted by that kind of power.

Another question occurred to him.

“So ... it doesn’t bother you that you didn’t choose this?” he asked.

Jill let her eyes run over Matthew’s body, then grinned.

“From my point of view, Mister Quinn,” she said, “it feels kinda like being forced to accept first prize in a lottery.”

Matthew blushed, flustered. To distract himself, he tried to think of any other objections.

“Well then,” he said, “what about ... uh ... free will?”

Jill tossed her head dismissively.

“If that idea ever starts to bother me, I’ll think about it,” she said. “Anyway, I’m fairly convinced that people in general are far less free to choose than they like to think.”

Matthew shook his head admiringly. She seemed to have an answer for everything.

“Miss Jill,” he said, “You are a very remarkable woman.”

She smiled.

“I know,” she said simply. “I’m a rare prize. And, it looks like you’ve won me, Mister Quinn. Congratulations.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“But, you’re quite a guy yourself,” she said. “All those sweet promises.”

“You heard?”

“Of course,” she said. “I hear what she hears. I know what she feels, too. Oh, how your romantic words melted her heart!”

She clasped her hands over her left breast and sighed theatrically. Then, she laughed.

“She’s such a fucking marshmallow,” she said. “But, I like her. She brings a certain balance to our jolly little threesome.”

“I’m sorry I told her those things without consulting you first,” Matthew said. “I just felt I had to say something. I couldn’t leave her hanging. She’s too easily hurt.”

“I get that, Mister Quinn,” Jill answered. “What I want to know now is, were you only thinking of Marshmallow when you gave your vows, or were you including me as well?”

“Ma’am, I was talking to her,” he said, “but I had you clearly in mind too. So, yes, everything I said goes just as much for you as it does for her ...”

“There’s my good boy!” she interjected approvingly.

“... as long as we can do something about that astonishing mouth of yours,” he finished, and gave her a gently teasing smile.

Jill didn’t miss a beat.

“You don’t like the way I use my mouth?” she fired back mischievously. “I can always stop, if that’s what you really want.”

Delighted by her quick wit, Matthew chuckled and put up his hands.

“Ma’am, I surrender. You’ve outmanoeuvred me. I have absolutely no complaints about your oral skill sets ... either of them.”

His forehead wrinkled.

“You look like you’ve got another question, Mister Quinn,” she said. “Out with it.”

“Yes ... uh ... well, since we’ve touched on the subject of ... ah ...”

“Fellatio?” she finished, completely unembarrassed.

Her forthrightness brought yet another blush to Matthew’s cheeks.

“Ah ... yes ...” he stammered.“So ... when you ... ah ... when I ... ah ...”

“Came in my mouth?”

He nodded.

“Didn’t it ... didn’t it taste ... unpleasant?”

Jill licked her lips thoughtfully, as though the idea hadn’t occurred to her.

“Well, I won’t lie, Mister Quinn,” she said, “it’s not vanilla fucking cream.”

Then she smiled.

“But, what the hey!” she said. “Wanna go again?”

Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over, lowered her mouth to his resting hero and with an enthusiastic ‘Shlup!’, sucked him back through the gates of paradise.

It took some time to revive him, but soon enough, she was once again gulping down burst after burst of his hot sperm.

Hour after hour, as the sun wheeled slowly across the sky, the lovers kept up their play. They were engaged in the most intimate, gratifying sport available to humanity, and with every passing moment, Matthew’s heart felt more at ease, more close to his lovely partner.

If Jill intended to bind Matthew to her with love, she was certainly treading the right path. He had known almost nothing of what intimacy with a woman could be. Now, he was being drenched in it, flooded with it.

She regaled him with all the wit and heart at her command, charmed him in a hundred different ways, fanned his feelings and emotions to an intensity far beyond his experience, until he was blissfully adrift in the ocean of Jill, and felt no desire at all ever to come to shore.

The sun was well into its daily decline when, sated at last, the lovers rose from their bed, washed, dressed and cooked together. Tipsy on each other, they shared the evening meal, and talked, and laughed, and kissed, and caressed, until the hour was so late that yawning had largely supplanted conversation, particularly from Jill’s side. Then, they added to the bedding in front of the fire, assembling a simple but more comfortable sleeping place for two. After a moment’s thought, Matthew placed a lantern within arm’s reach on the floor.

How it filled his heart to be lying on his side so close to her, face to smiling face in the golden light of fire and lamp.

“Want to play a lullaby game with me, Mister Quinn?” she asked, then stifled a yawn.

“Anything you want, Miss Jill,” he replied softly, though he didn’t fully grasp her meaning.

She thought for a moment, then looked at him dubiously.

“Know the names of any cocktails?” she asked.

“Uh ... I might have heard of a few.”

“Okay,” she said. “This is how it goes.”

She leaned forward and planted a slow kiss on his mouth, then withdrew.

“Hmm,” she mused, licking her lips. “Tastes like ... Virgin Daiquiri.”

Matthew puzzled over this for a moment, then understood. He chuckled.

“Not any more, I guess,” he ventured. “You made sure of that.”

Jill smiled cryptically. Indicating her own lips, she beckoned.

“Your turn,” she said.

Matthew smiled, then obeyed.

“Golden Dream,” he said reverently, after pulling back.

Jill smiled.

“Such flattery,” she said. “Not entirely realistic, though, perhaps.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

“Shirley Temple,” she said.

“You’re making me nonalcoholic,” he said, a little indignantly.

Jill chuckled.

“You noticed!”

“My turn,” Matthew said, and touched his mouth to hers once more.

“Brandy Perfect,” he said.

Jill pouted playfully.

“Always the gentleman,” she said. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Cinderella,” she said, after taking her next turn.

Matthew rolled his eyes.

“That’s another mocktail,” he said.

“I think I’m beginning to understand what you really think of me: innocuous and boring.”

“Just teasing, Mister Quinn,” she said. “It’s one of my favourite things, you know.”

She glanced down at her loins.

“Besides, the pussy gets the final say, and I think you already know well enough what she thinks of you.”

Matthew kissed her again, to conceal his embarrassment.

“Paradise,” he said then.

“Stop it!” she said. “You’re going to turn my head.”

Matthew could scarcely believe it, but his barrage of compliments seemed to be having an effect on Jill. She was actually beginning to look a little bashful.

“You have to be honest next time, Mister Quinn,” she demanded. “I know well enough that I’m not all sweetness and light. If I hear another compliment, I’m going to start thinking that you’re teasing me.“

“If that’s what you want,” Matthew said. “But, I don’t take back any of my choices so far.”

“Faux Fizz,” was Jill’s next contribution.

Still teasing, Matthew thought ruefully.

He kissed her again.

“Kamikaze,” he said softly.

Jill spluttered with laughter.

“That’s more like it,” she said. “But, where did you learn that one from, Mister Quinn? You don’t strike me as any kind of bar fly.”

“I ... uh ... read a lot.”

“Bees Knees,” was Jill’s next contribution.

“Four Horsemen,” Matthew countered.

“Now you’re talking,” she said, and grimaced theatrically. “Beware, lest we fuck your world to the point of destruction.”

“Your t...” Jill began, before an enormous yawn caught her off-guard mid-sentence.

“I’m ... sleepy,” she said drowsily. “Have to get some shuteye, so I’m fit to fuck again in the morning.”

She cuddled up against him and sighed.

“Sweet boy,” she said softly.

Jill seemed to be teetering on the edge of either kissing him once more, or giving in to the urge to sleep. Her eyes decided the issue, finally drifting closed entirely.

“...ve you, Mister Quinn ...” she murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

Matthew wasn’t sure he had understood her correctly.

“You ... love me?”

“In...” she began, then gave another huge yawn, “...sanely.”

She sighed deeply, then spoke no more.

His heart overflowing, Matthew leaned over and whispered: “I love you too, Miss Jill ... insanely.”

Jill lips parted, almost as if to answer. Instead, to Matthew’s renewed delight, she began to snore again.

Despite his deep drowsiness, Matthew stayed awake a while, watching her sleep, enjoying the music of the dormouse, mentally replaying over and over her sleepy declaration of love, and marvelling at his good fortune.

Lying there in the intimate company of the most amazing woman he had ever encountered, the realisation came to Matthew that, despite everything that had happened, despite all the uncertainties of their future together, he had never before in his life felt so happy.

For the first time since he had begun to suspect its existence, he actually felt grateful for the strange phenomenon that had brought them together.

Much later, Matthew’s sleep was interrupted by a hand shaking his arm. A quiet yet desperate voice was calling his name ... his first name.

“Ji... uh ... Lily?” he said, sleepily. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, love,” she said, her voice full of weeping. “It’s just that ... I need you. I need you terribly. Can we? ... Can we?”

It took a moment for her meaning to become clear to Matthew. When it did, and he understood how deeply she was suffering, his worry returned.

“Oh ... uh ... yes ... of course ... of course.”

Matthew rubbed his eyes, rose to hands and knees, then eased himself into position atop her in the firelight.

Lily bent her knees high and wide to give him access to her sex.

Worry and drowsiness delayed Matthew’s arousal. He thought for a moment, then used his hand to draw the head of his penis up and down along her vulva. Immediately, her natural lubricant coated both his penis and his hand, showing how ready she was for penetration. She must have been actually dripping with arousal. Despite his concern, Matthew found this incredibly exciting, and he hardened quickly, dipping deeper into her as he did so.

Soon, he was fully erect and ready to take her. He plunged in steadily, as far as he could go without hurting her. She gave a sobbing sigh as he did so.

Responding to her desperate need, Matthew deliberately adopted a rapid pace, and Lily responded passionately. She clung to him like a woman drowning. Her whole body writhed beneath him, and she cried out his name continuously.

Her orgasm arrived only seconds after he entered her, and she sobbed vehemently as she came.

When he thought she had calmed a little, Matthew eased his pace, wondering whether he should withdraw, but she immediately clasped her legs behind his back to keep him inside her and cried out, “More! More!”

Matthew obliged, trying to keep his attention away from his own arousal. Almost as soon as he resumed pumping her, she orgasmed again. This time, Matthew did not think of stopping, but put as much energy as he could into alleviating her intense craving. And so did she, coming loudly so many times in quick succession that her voice started to become hoarse.

At last, Matthew could not hold back his own orgasm any longer. Hoping to satisfy her completely, he began fucking her as hard and fast as he felt he safely could, and when he sprayed into her, she came as well, one last time, uttering a vibrant cry of pleasure and relief as she did so. The ecstatic call continued for so long that Matthew marvelled that her lungs could sustain the effort. At last, sated, she relaxed back on the sleeping pad, murmuring her gratitude over and over.

“Thank you, love. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you ...”

Gradually, her voice became softer and softer, until at last she lay still and silent beneath him, and Matthew realised that she had already fallen back into sleep. Her crisis seemed to be over ... for now.

But, for how long? he wondered.

He checked the time. It was close to three o’clock, perhaps four hours since their last intimate contact, during the kissing game, but much longer since they had actually had sex.

Matthew withdrew from her and settled back onto his side of the bed. Out of concern, he held her hand a long time, thinking. Was this to be the pattern of their relationship? Would she need to make love every few hours in order to keep her sanity?

He worried himself to sleep thinking about it.

The cabin was brightly illuminated when Matthew awoke again. He opened his eyes to the sight of a sunlit Jill, lying gloriously naked on her back, gazing through the skylight with a dreamy, contented smile on her face. Somehow, he knew it was not Lily. He could not quite put his finger on it, but the distinction was clear. Perhaps it was a hint of irony in her demeanour.

For a while, he did not move, but simply watched her, half-convinced that he was still asleep, that everything that had happened since her arrival was a wild fantasy.

Jill became aware of his gaze and turned her head to look at him.

“Morning, Mister Quinn,” she said, and gave him a smile fit to rival the sunshine.

Matthew beamed delightedly in response.

“Morning, Miss Jill,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Not ... uh ... desperate?”

“No. Why?”

“Uh ... in the night ... you ... I mean, Lily ... you don’t remember?”

“Oh, that. Sure, I remember. Yeah ... it got pretty torrid there for a while. All good now, though.”

“I thought you might be starting to ... uh ... suffer again by now,” he said.

“No ... no, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Matthew felt both relieved and puzzled to hear this.

“You looked so peaceful lying there,” he said, after a moment’s silence. “What were you thinking about?”

She smiled.

“Nothing much,” she said. “Just imagining myself with an enormous fucking belly, full of your baby.”

Whuh ... nothing much?! Matthew thought.

“You ... want to have a child?” he said, trying to hide his consternation.

“Yes, please,” she responded, without hesitation. “Do you mind?”

“That’s ... uh ... moving a little more quickly than I had anticipated,” he said.

She looked at him.

“Of course,” she said sympathetically. “Poor boy. I forgot how new you are to all of this. Don’t worry, Mister Quinn. Your needs will be taken into account, every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” he said, a little ironically, not entirely sure her answer had addressed the heart of the matter.

Pregnancy, Matthew thought. Leading to parenthood. For a moment, he felt he knew how a fish must feel, suddenly ripped from its natural habitat by the talons of an eagle.

Then he focussed again on the woman beside him, who had declared profound love for him in both her aspects, and a deep contentment blossomed in his heart, washing away his trouble and doubt.

What would it be like, he wondered, to see her with a newborn baby in her arms? How would she look?

As happy and fulfilled as a woman could be, he imagined.

Abruptly, a new thought occurred to him, and Matthew’s smile slowly faded.

“Jill?” he said.

“Mmm?”

“I think I know ... I think I might know what’s going on. I mean, I think I might know what’s happening to your sister ... and to you.”

She rolled over toward him.

“We already know what’s happening,” she said. “You cast the woowoo on Amy and me. What we don’t know is what to do about it.”

“I have a theory that might cast some light on that subject, too,” Matthew said.

“Okay. Tell me.”

“Actually, it’s just a hypothesis,” he said cautiously.

“Yes?”

“You ... uh ... you’re probably not going to like it.”

“Fucking tell me!”

“Imagine being pregnant again ... heavily pregnant.”

“Okay ... that’s no chore.”

“How do you feel?”

“My back hurts and I’m tired. Apart from that, fucking great!”

“Yes, but what about your ... uh ... libido? Do you feel like ... making love?”

She looked him in the eye.

“Yes, Mister Quinn, I do. I want to fuck you seven different ways before sundown.”

“Oh,” he said, nonplussed.

“But,” she continued, “I don’t feel like I’m going to start pounding my head against the wall if I don’t.”

Matthew brightened. He nodded.

“It fits. Female ferrets can d... can have a severe reaction if they don’t mate. It’s a good example of how powerful biology can be. If I’m right, the key here is pregnancy.”

She looked at him.

“You mean ... you’re putting out some kind of signal that sends women into heat until you knock them up?”

“I ... I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it seems ... uh ... disrespectful.”

“Never mind that; keep going.”

“Well ... my idea is that the ... craving stays intolerable until it is ... ah ... fulfilled ... by pregnancy.”

“You think I’m pregnant already?” she asked.

“I ... uh ... I don’t know. Probably not, I guess. Maybe ... maybe making love has the same result, but only temporarily.”

“And imagining myself pregnant also does the trick?”

“Well ... I had half-expected you to ... uh ... be in trouble again, by this morning. Maybe, your ... uh ... daydream of pregnancy had an ameliorating effect.”

He shrugged, suddenly crestfallen.

“It doesn’t hold up too well, does it?” he said.

Jill looked thoughtful.

“To the contrary,” she said. “I have a strong feeling that you’re right. It’s just normal human drives, only multiplied by ... by a large number. Certainly explains my urge to eat you alive yesterday ... and why I’m starting to feel like having at least a piece of you for breakfast this morning.”

She looked at him.

“But ... why did you say I wouldn’t like it?” she asked. “The hypothesis, I mean.”

He shrugged uneasily.

“Because ... to help your sister, I would have to ... uh ... get together with her.”

“Well, of course you would!” she said, surprised. “What else? You give Amy what she wants, namely, fuck her silly several times a day, with a view to planting a calzone in her kiln, and she’ll be cured.”

“Ah ... if I’m correct ... but ...”

She looked at him.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, puzzled.

“Well ... it could be ...”

“Are you trying to say you don’t want to fuck my sister?” she asked, suddenly outraged.

“Ah ... I only thought that ...”

“Yes?!”

“... you might be jealous.”

She stared at him, then laughed.

“Don’t worry, Mister Quinn. Amy and I have shared everything conceivable since day one. We can certainly share you.”

This was a little too much for Matthew. Her casual assumption that she could parcel out his ... uh ... sexual attentions ... as she wished challenged his composure.

“Give her a try, Mister Quinn,” Jill continued, clearly oblivious of the effect her words were having. “She’ll be a sweetheart in the sack. I guarantee it.”

“There is also the question of love,” he said, taking care to remain civil.

“Oh, that really won’t be a problem,” she said lightly. “Men have a way of falling for women who give them heaven in bed, as long as they’re not completely unbearable out of it.”

“We’re going to have to take pains to isolate you from other women, though,” she said, thoughtfully. “We don’t want to start an epidemic. Maybe Solomon had hundreds of wives and concubines. I don’t see it working out in our case.”

By now, Matthew was feeling a little outrage of his own. Despite the love she had already inspired in him, he was forming the opinion that she could do with a little correction from time to time.

“It seems to me, Jill,” he said slowly, “that you could stand to think about my feelings a bit more. You can’t just share me around as you want. I’m a person, not a ... a pound cake.”

Jill looked at him, mildly surprised, then gave him a crooked little smile.

“You know, Mister Quinn,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. I let my temperament run away with me ... as usual.”

“Is that an apology?” Matthew queried hopefully.

She grinned cheekily.

“Fuck, no! I never apologise,” she said.

Matthew nodded solemnly.

“Of course you don’t,” he said.

Without warning, he reached out, captured her legs with one powerful arm, and began tickling the soles of her feet mercilessly.

Instantly, Jill dissolved into helpless, hooting laughter, and struggled like a wildcat, and swore like a pirate, and swore, and struggled, and hooted, while Matthew discovered just how incredibly arousing it could be to wrestle with a nubile, naked woman.

At last, Jill freed herself, but not before approximately half a jigger of pee had escaped her bladder.

“Quinn, you motherfucker, look what you made me do!” she cried.

Her discomfiture struck Matthew as incredibly funny. He laughed delightedly, a series of hearty guffaws.

Mortified, Jill clambered to her feet and set off for the bathroom. Before she could take more than a single step, Matthew jumped up, took hold of her naked hips with his powerful hands, and hauled her back with such strength that her torso performed an involuntary bow. Taking advantage of her position, he bent his knees, thrust, and with miraculous aim, or miraculous luck, filled her from behind.

Jill groaned lustfully and sank helplessly to the floor, so that her knees, breasts, and left cheek were pressed against the bedding, while her ass was hoisted high and heavenward. Reflexively, Matthew knelt with her, managing to keep himself deeply sheathed.

“Oh, you bastard!” she cried. “You delicious, overgrown bastard. Fuck me hard. Fuck me senseless.“

Matthew did not quite fulfill the latter of these demands. He was too concerned that he might tear her vagina, or otherwise injure her internally. However, he did fuck her thoroughly enough that she could summon no complaints afterward. She was too busy dealing with a flood of ecstatic tears and tremulous sighs of repletion.

In the peaceful aftermath, with his woman snuggled trustingly against him like a koala joey against its parent, it occurred to Matthew to wonder who they had come from, the tears. So far, Jill had shown no tendency to cry; he felt bound to assume that Lily had come to the fore once more.

He realised that he might never be able to tell beforehand which aspect of his woman was going to be in control at any given moment. It was certainly going to keep him on his toes.

He looked down at her and realised for the first time that he had thought of her as ‘his woman’.

My woman, he marvelled. I have a woman.

Then, he frowned.

Or two women, if you included Jill and Lily both.

Or three, or even four, if you added Amy and her ... uh ... other self.

He massaged his forehead. Gah! It was getting too complex, too overwhelming.

He wondered whether anyone else in the history of the world had ever had to deal with such an odd love triangle ... or quadrilateral ... or pentagon.

He sighed ruefully. There was no doubt about it: this was going to be a truly interesting relationship.

Then, he smiled: it was going to be an interesting relationship.