NOTE: This story is in the 'fetish' category, as bodily fluids and unwashed women are the main topic. But there is also some mild bondage, and a bit of lesbian incest. If that bothers you, you may want to read something else.
I have always loved hiking, in particular in the mountains. So when I had a business meeting Thursday and Friday in Colorado, it was natural to stay for the weekend to walk in the mountains. Normally, the end of November is a bit too late for hiking, but the fall had been warmer than usual, and the weather forecast was excellent. I had searched the Net for good hiking trails, and picked one of the lesser know, the Antler Lake Trail, expecting to have it more or less for myself this late in the season.
Early Saturday morning I checked out of my hotel and put most of my stuff in my car. The hotel charged a surprisingly large parking fee, so I had just left my car on a public parking lot a few hundred feet down the street. I then took an Uber to the trailhead.
My plan was simple. I would follow the main trail, probably eat lunch at Antler Lake, and then continue down the other side of the mountain. I expected to reach the road by mid afternoon, and then walk for perhaps half an hour to a small town, where I had booked a room in a bed-and-breakfast.
The first hours went fine. The landscape was beautiful, the sun was shining from a blue sky, and there was almost no wind. I put my jacket in the backpack, and enjoyed walking in solitude. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of two people further ahead on the trail, but they were far away.
By noon I was approaching the highest point on the hike. A small side-trail on the left led down to the lake itself. It was less than half a mile detour, and I was early, so I decided to eat lunch by the lake. Once I reached it, I saw that the two persons I had seen ahead were already here, unpacking their lunch. It was two young women in their twenties, one of them looking pregnant.
We ate our lunches together, and small-talked. The pregnant woman was called Cindy, and expected to give birth by the end of January. Her friend, Mary-Ann, had until recently been a park ranger in Yellowstone, and was now looking for a similar job. Both were nice people, and we got along well.
Suddenly Mary-Ann pointed at the mountain across the lake, "I don't like those clouds!"
We could all see the white cumulus clouds appearing from behind the mountain, growing rapidly.
"The weather forecast said sun all day," I said.
"Yes, Indeed. But I still don't like those clouds. They are probably harmless, but still..."
We finished our lunch, perhaps hurrying a bit more than we would otherwise have done as the clouds were growing surprisingly fast. By the time we were back on the main trail, the sun had almost disappearing behind the clouds. By unspoken agreement, we stayed together as we continued the hike. Half an hour later, the first snowflakes appeared and soon the ground was covered with a thin white layer, melting almost as fast as it was falling. There was no point in turning back, we were more or less at the halfway point, and the path ahead would be more sheltered than the path behind us. But it was with some worry that we trotted ahead.
We soon entered a small wood, giving us temporary shelter from the snow, but as we left the trees again the snowfall was heavy enough to be worrying, already an inch or more had accumulated on the track. That was when we saw a small mountain cabin, and decided to seek shelter.
The cabin was deserted, and the door was locked. We decided to try to find a way in anyway, if necessary by force, for now the snowfall was heavy and we could not deny that we were in trouble. There was no key below the doormat, and while the girls investigated the windows, I looked at the small tool shed, and tried to image where I would hide a spare key. It turned out I was thinking in much the same way as the owner, on the top of one of the small beams holding the roof there was a key.
We opened the door, and entered the hut. It was relatively large, with a single room serving both as living room, bedroom and kitchen. There were three beds in one corner, two bunk beds and a normal bed. Five chairs were placed around a table, two more chairs were by the beds, and a old but comfortably looking armchair. And along the wall by the windows there was a small kitchen with sink and a stove. In the wall furthest from the entrance there were two doors. I opened one of them, it led to a small bathroom with a toilet and a shower, and a pile of four blue plastic buckets in the shower.
"Jesus H. Christ!" I head Cindy exclaim. We all rushed over to her, she had opened the other door. It was a pantry with enough food to feed an army, or at least a small family for a year or two. Canned food and dried food, every kind of food that would not spoil, and no small supply of wine.
"This place must be owned by some kind of survivalist freak who expects to outlast the Zombie Apocalypse. Well, if we have to stay overnight, we will not starve."
"And God forbid you get out of shape while waiting for the Apocalypse to pass," Mary-Ann added and pointed to the training bike and the elliptical cross-trainer next to the beds.
We settled around the table, and decided to make coffee. Unfortunately, there was no water in the taps. A switch in the kitchen was labeled "Water pump", but flipping it had no effect. I investigated, and found that the cable from the switch led below the sink, where there were pipes but no pump - it looked like a pump had recently been removed, perhaps for repairs. Ah well, no coffee.
A little later, the snowfall stopped and the sun broke through. We opened the front door, everything was covered by maybe five inches of snow.
"It's our lucky day, let's get down while we still can," I suggested.
Mary-Ann looked worried, "I don't think so. Look at the clouds coming there. In half an hour it will be snowing even worse than it just did. I suggest that we stay out of trouble and wait it out here. It won't kill us to spend the night."
You really should listen to a park ranger when you have one, so we did as she said. We filled two pots with snow, and put them on the stove to get water. Less than twenty minutes passed, then the sun disappeared and it started snowing again. The wind picked up, and the weather turned really nasty, but at least we would soon have water for coffee.
"There is someone out there!" Mary-Ann exclaimed. She rushed to the door, opened it, and flicked the light on and off rapidly to attract their attention. And moments later Cindy and I could see three people approaching the cabin through what was now almost a blizzard.
It turned out to be three women on a family hike. Heather, the grandmother, was 55 but did not look a day older than 45. She had an athletic build, and her hair was relatively short, light brown with the first streaks of grey in it. Sarah, the mother, was 37. She was slightly chubby, with long, straight red hair that reached halfway down her back, and a very nice bust. Tracy, the daughter, was eighteen. Clearly her father was dark-skinned, maybe African-American, from India, or something like that, for her skin was very dark and her hair was black and fell in beautiful curls down her back. She had inherited her mother's large shapely breasts. Although the three women were quite different, nobody who saw their pretty faces could have the least doubt that they were family.
We invited them in, and made coffee for the six of us. The cabin was still quite cold, but the electric heating was working, and in a few hours it would be pleasant. We all sat around the table and chatted, praising our luck for finding this place as we watched the blizzard rage outside. By evening we cooked some food from the pantry, and opened a bottle of wine. We planned to track down the owner of the cabin the next day, apologize and pay for what we had taken.
There were three beds, and bed-linen in a cabinet. On top of the sheets Cindy found three thick and heavy sheets, and asked if we knew what they were for.
"It is bed-wetter sheets. Some people just use them to protect the mattresses," Tracy explained.
