Bears, Porridge, and Honey:
A Pair of Goldilocks by The Preve
Story One---The Sticky Cheerleader: Part One
The Gundersson Brothers lived in the forest: Olaf, Sigmund and Gurd. They prospered through honey making, courtesy of Olaf. Sigmund supplemented the income, selling wood supplies to the local furniture company. Gurd's hunting saved on groceries; meat cost money.
The brothers practiced a frugal lifestyle. The forest cost less money than the city. It also helped the brothers conceal their nature as Berserkers.
Berserkers were fierce warriors; some were ursanthropes, were-bears. They terrorized Europe during the Viking period. The Vikings outlawed Berserkers as uncontrollable. Human Berserks disappeared within a few generations. The were-bears learned to blend in, adapt, and become part of the community; but the brothers kept the old traditions, and worshipped the old gods.
Sigmund grunted and growled his way out of bed. "Rumph! My turn to make breakfast, grrr!" Sigmund cooked terrible meals and he knew it. He kept breakfast simple: Quaker oats with bran. A look in the fridge produced leftovers, but not enough for three large men. "Grrrrowl! I'll have to make more, snort!"
"Oi Brother! What be you doing?" Olaf asked, rubbing his eyes.
"I be cooking breakfast, brother, it be obvious," grumped Sigmund.
"Leave off brother and put it in the slow cooker. We have needs to take the honey to Safeway. Wake Gurd to help. We'll break fast at the IHOP."
The brothers woke Gurd, loaded the honey, and climbed into the pickup. "Do remember to put on glamour, brothers," said Olaf, "Lest our appearance cause us a shitload of grief."
"Aye!" Sigmund and Gurd chorused. As the pickup drove away, Gurd asked, "Did you remember to lock the house Sig?"
"Aye," Sig answered, "(I think so)."
......
Cynthia Golding uttered a stream of invectives, using profane poetry, unexpected from a girl of her looks and breeding. She woke this morning, ready to celebrate her 18th birthday with a short hike (and avoid a surprise party from her shallow parents and friends).
The sunny morning gave way to a cloudy afternoon. A sudden rainstorm exploded on her body, soaking the young cheerleader. "Fuck it! Why me?" she groaned. The forest, while thick, did nothing for protection. Cynthia needed shelter, fast; a short time later, "Oh! A house! Salvation!"
The rustic styled house included a driveway and satellite dish. Cynthia counted fifty beehives, lined in neat rows, in the backyard. She smiled. "Beekeepers." Visions of friendly mild-mannered old men danced in her head.
She rushed to the door and rang the bell. 'Brrring! Brrring!' brought no answer. She looked in the window. "No one in the living room." Cynthia tried the door; to her surprise it opened. She debated whether to enter. "Trespassing, breaking and entering, possible jail time." A bright flash and loud boom decided her vote. A tree near the house smoldered, sundered in two by the lightning strike, "Gulp! That's a good an excuse as any!"
She walked down the hall to the living room. "Oh good, a TV!" she grinned. Three large chairs, plus a leather sofa, were arranged around the television. "A wooden bench with a stone seat? That looks way too hard. How can anyone sit on it? That other one looks like a bean bag with pillows, too soft. The leather recliner looks just right, though."
A quick search of the sofa produced a remote. A click of the switch produced the Weather Channel. The Weather Channel produced bad news: storms for the near future. "Great, so I'm stuck."
Cynthia felt ridiculous, standing in the living room, dripping wet. "I need to get out of these clothes," she thought. Cynthia found the bathroom; a large, tiled hangar, almost like a steam room. She stripped off her clothes; t-shirt, khaki shorts, socks, and hiking boots.
She left the bathroom to find the laundry. The clothes went into the washing machine (including her bra and panties for good measure). Cynthia returned to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. "Why not," she thought, "I'm in the house without permission; may as well stick it in further."
She paused to look in the mirror. Cynthia's curvy, athletic body came from good genes and years of cheerleading. "35C-25-36," she smiled with self admiration, "And it's going to stay that way." She undid the pony tails, letting her light golden blonde hair cascade to her shoulders.
Cynthia gazed upon her beauty for several minutes; light blue eyes, beautiful face, ivory perfect teeth ringed by bee-stung lips, flat washboard stomach, muscled sculptured legs, all completed a classic of young hot beauty. A golden sprinkle around her rose, complimented by a light tan, finished the package.
The spacious shower had three nozzles, a shelf on the wall stocked with large bricks of soap, and jars of men's body wash and shampoo. Cynthia noted the jars. "Odd," she thought.
A large drain sat in the middle of the floor. It had no grate, but crossed bars, with clumps of hair on top. "Hairy people, explains the shampoo," Cynthia remarked.
She took a brick and shampoo, turned on the shower, and lathered up. Later, skin flushed pink, nipples engorged, shiny wet and slick, Cynthia stepped out and got a minor surprise. "No towels? That's not convenient."
Cynthia looked around the bathroom and found a hair dryer. "Maybe these people are hair dressers!"
The dryer took care of the water, but the heat re-flushed her skin. "I hope my clothes finish before they get back," she worried, "Maybe the storm will be over by then."
If the occupants returned, a good explanation could keep her out of jail. Cynthia blushed pink at a vision: frowning cops leading her out, clad in nothing but handcuffs, hysterical family shrieking behind her. It caused a strange feeling. Cynthia dismissed it and set off for the living room, ignoring the warm, moist feeling in her pussy.
She pondered her next move; a stomach growl gave her the answer. "Off to the kitchen."
The modern kitchen lacked a microwave. Cynthia saw a crock pot on the counter. She looked inside, "Porridge, with raisins and...jalapeño peppers? Eeew! Too hot!"
The fridge revealed little except cold, curdled porridge, "Yuck! Too cold!" Cynthia explored the cupboard and found raisin bran, a cereal she actually liked. "Just right." She ate two bowls.
The washer still held her clothes hostage, so Cynthia decided to explore the bedrooms. The first was all wood: wood panels, wooden floor, wooden wardrobe, and wooden bed with a thin futon, all very well crafted. Cynthia tested the bed, "Hmmm, well built but too hard."
The next room was the opposite: thick carpeting, cushy padding on the walls, and a thick-mattressed bed piled high with pillows and blankets. Cynthia jumped into the bed and nearly smothered. It took some effort to get out. "'Gasp!' That bed is a deathtrap! Too soft!"
The plain ordinariness of the third room surprised the cheerleader. A large bed sat squarely in the middle; a small rug, a large wardrobe, and a closet placed exactly so, plus beige, plaster walls.
Cynthia looked at the neat arrangement, walked to the bed, and sprawled aboard. "Everything is just right, here," she thought.
She listened to the patter of rain. The cheerleader felt a mild thrill, lying naked on a stranger's bed, in a strange house, without the owner's knowledge. The soft 'ssshh' of the rain sang a lullaby. "I'll just close my eyes for a second," she murmured, "Just for a sec....'sigh!'."
......
The Gundersson brothers pulled into the driveway. "A good day at the supermarket brothers!" boomed Olaf.
"Aye, and a good day at the Titty Twister too," laughed Sigmund.
"Aye, too bad about this rain, brothers. It does terrible things to our hair," grumped Gurd. Sigmund and Olaf often wondered about Gurd. His penchant for soft things and fur seemed a bit...sow-ish.
