Ladies of the Lae

Advisory: this chapter does not contain incest; I categorized it as such just to keep the story together. If you haven't read part one, some of this won't make much sense. I urge you to read pt. 1 first, then enjoy this. jb7

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It was just past 10 AM when the couple left. By noon Rick had breakfasted, and arranged for someone to box up his possessions and cart them to the lake house. He had packed his clothes and the few valuables and knick knacks he wanted, then packed the cases in the MG and was on his way.

As he pulled into the driveway, he was again impressed by the sheer beauty of the scene before him, terming it in his mind "magical." There was a palpable sense of peace and well being about the place. Pulling into the parking area behind 'his' house, he saw the sisters emerge from their cottage. He waved and started to unfasten the straps on the luggage carrier. Each of the women grabbed a box or suitcase to carry in. Rick lifted the last two from the boot and followed them into his new home.

When he got into the house, he found Patti and Micki were already upstairs, unpacking his clothes, Bobbi and Stevie were putting the knickknacks he'd brought with him around the house, giving it a sense of himself. It already was feeling like home. Bobbi looked at the two boxes he was carrying and raised her eyebrows, questioning him about their contents.

"My word processor and some LPs I brought that Sharon won't want. She won't be joining me here in the foreseeable future."

"I'm, we're all sorry, Rick. Is there anything we can do for you? Would you like one of us to go shopping for you, with you? Why don't you plan on joining us for dinner tonight? Then we can tell you our stories, the how's and why's we're all here, and you can tell us yours. Okay?"

"That's fine, and I guess I could use some help shopping this afternoon. It's been years since I've set up from scratch alone."

"I'll come with you. The others say I'm a disaster waiting to happen in the kitchen when it comes to anything other than making a salad or cleaning up."

A few hours later, he was mopping up some home made Bolognese sauce with fresh baked Italian bread, washing it down with one of the best Chianti wines he had tasted in years. "Wow! I haven't eaten that much of that good in forever. Which of you do I thank for such a delicious meal? I know it wasn't Bobbi. She was with me all afternoon."

Stevie grinned with pleasure as she answered, "I did the pasta and sauce; Patti made the bread and chose the wine, while Micki picked the lettuce and veggies for the salad."

"You all could open a restaurant in the city and be a four star the day after you open."

"Sounds inviting, but we'd rather just do for us and our friends." She paused to take a sip of wine. "Would it be too much to ask what happened with Sharon?"

Rick's shoulders slumped and he sank back in his chair. "No. I just don't have a good answer. This is supposed to be my wedding night." He gave a short, bitter laugh. " We had the wedding rehearsal last night and had finished dinner. Sharon's step father had just started to give a toast to the occasion when his son, her stepbrother, appeared. He'd been missing in South America for nearly six years, given up as dead, lost in a mudslide along with half the village he was working in. He and Sharon were engaged when he disappeared. Her greeting left no doubt the feelings were still there.

"And then, as I was leaving, strangest damn thing...an older woman, looked like she could have been your mom, jumped in my car. Then I don't remember anything until Sharon was ringing the doorbell this morning."

Bobbi looked at her sisters. Each gave a barely perceptible nod. "Rick, how badly disconcerted will it make you to learn that the woman who jumped into your car last night at Giorgio's Steakhouse was, in fact, me; that it was me who directed you to the park where you were milked of your seed, and then drove you home, and left the deed on your coffee table?"

Rick sat, dumfounded, as he recognized the details he only now remembered. "H... How... Howdidyou...?" he stammered.

Stevie handed him a glass filled with Jack's Tennessee and a splash of water. "Here," she said. "Drink up; you'll need it."

Bobbi continued, "Would you care to hazard a guess about our age?"

"You're going to try to convince me you four are over seventy?"

"Thank you, but we are actually over twice that. Our father was murdered in 1865, two months after our eighteenth birthday."

Rick tried to quickly do the math. Patti helped him, "163."

He sat there, unbelieving. "You're shittin' me! There's no friggin' way..."

"I know it's hard to believe," piped in Micki. "Would you believe us if one of us showed you?"

"Micki..."

"It's okay, Bobbi. I just will miss out on the ceremony tonight, and need to tap into my reserve, but I'm sure we'll be able to replace it. I'll just have to be first tomorrow night so I can possibly get a double dip."

"If you're sure. Well, Rick? Micki is offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity. Would you like to see how we look without the enchantment of the lake? Do you want to see a hundred sixty-three year old woman?"

He sat there, mouth agape, shaking his head no. "Ho...How? Who are you? What enchantment? H...H...How?" He saw the whiskey in his hand and drank the whole glass. "How have you lived so long, stayed so young looking?"

"It is, as they say, a long story. I'll keep it as short as I can and still make sense.

"Without putting too fine a point on it, our father, Judah Cartoffel, was a warlock, a male witch. Quite a powerful one, it turns out. In the Spring of 1845 he was traveling throughout the Western Plains, east of the mountains, trading with Indians. He would use his ability to convince the natives his goods were worth more than they actually were. In a Shoshone village, he noticed a white woman, dressed as a native.

The young Indian watched with satisfaction as the old trader stirred the red and yellow ochre powders into containers of rendered buffalo fat, creating face paint for ceremonial occasions, or for battle. When the trader was done, the brave pointed to some brightly colored beads he had decided his woman needed. The trader placed them next to the face paint and looked up at the brave.

Behind him, passing through the camp he saw a slender woman with hair the color of a ripe wheat field. When she glanced his way he saw she would have been pretty except for her broken nose. He looked back at the brave and muttered something under his breath. The brave said, "Enough for five skins?"

"Six," replied the trader.

"Five," returned the brave.

"Five," agreed the trader, "plus some information."

"What?"

"Who is the woman with the yellow hair?"

"You need to ask Chief Running Bear. She belongs to him. Lives with old warrior, Black Elk."

"Appreciate the information. May the mother of all bless you with sons."

When the young brave left, the old trader packed up his goods and made his way to the fire of Running Bear. After the greeting ceremonies had been completed, Running Bear asked why the trader had come to see him. "I want to know about the young woman with yellow hair."

"My burden? I should have left her on the prairie where I found her," the Indian chief replied. "I was leading a hunting party three, four suns to the south. That was the last year the river over ran its banks, ten winters, no, twelve winters past. We came on a wagon train which had been attacked and burned. She was the only survivor, four, maybe five winters in age. I brought her back to our camp. She has been a major source of problems since.

"She needed beating often by the women of the village until she learned to understand our ways, and enough of our language to get along. When the children saw her being beaten, they would join in, and then they started the beatings when there was no one to stop them. That went on until she learned to fight back.

"I know she can understand and speak our tongue, but when young men approach her, she jabbers back in some other talk. One fearless brave asked for her to be one of his wives. I thought it a good match. When he tried to take her to his blanket, she fought him, made him look small. It took four of his friends to hold her down for the deflowering, and she still resisted. He was angry and hit her, broke her nose. The next day, he returned her, looking worse than her.

"After that no one else would want her, so I gave her to Black Elk to cook and keep his camp. He is too old to make any other demands on her. Why do you ask?"

"My fire needs tending, my blanket gets lonely. Sometimes I long to hear the talk of my people."

"All good reasons, but what of Black Elk? He has grown accustomed to the comfort of a woman in his tipi."

"I have an extra pony; he could trade for another woman."

"Pony and two blankets."

"Pony and buffalo skin, the woman could make a robe for him."

"Done. First, you must prove you can tame her. If you can mate her, you can make trade."

"I'll take her tonight." The Indian nodded, a skeptical look on his usually stoic face.

The young woman saw the trader walking toward Black Elk's fire. She was stirring the pot sitting over the flames, stirring the ragout which would be his evening meal. Seeing the white man, for some reason, made her uneasy. When he stopped across the fire from her, she grabbed a piece of firewood and stood up, ready to fight. He spoke first. "Howdy. Do you remember any of your people's talk?"

She nodded. "IpracticeevrydaysosIdontfergit," she offered, the tone flat, the words slurred together.

"Good. For not bein' with your people so long, you don' soun' too bad. I seen you earlier, and spoke with Running Bear. I want to take you with me. I offered him a trade for you. He took the trade, but first I have to prove I can tame you. He said when one of the men of the village tried to make you his wife, it took five of them and a beating before you gave in."

"I din't givin. He beat me...so I dint know wha happend. I heard him promise his friends they could use me. I din't see that happening with the other women, 'n' I din't want it to happen to me."

The old trader chuckled "Slow down, girl. Tell me the name your ma give to you.. She muttered something. "Piggy? No ma would call a baby that. You mean Peggy?" She nodded, smiling.

While she talked and got used to listening to the cadence of his speech and copying it, her ability to speak his language gradually returned

She cocked her head to the side, looking at him, judging him. "How will you show Running Bear you've tamed me?"

"You'll share my blanket tonight, and we'll need to mate so he can see. I promise you, it won't hurt; you may even like it. Will you come with me?"

"When would you be leavin'?" she asked.

"I got 'nother day o' trading, and a day to pack. Daylight, the next day." She dropped the firewood and turned to enter the tipi. When she returned, she was carrying a small hide bag.

"I'm ready," she said. "Do you have meat for supper, or should I take some from Black Elk?"

"I got a rabbit stewing at my fire. I reckon I'll need to trade for some provision for our trip."

Upon reaching the trader's fire, she put her bag in the tipi, then sniffed the stew. When she asked if he had anything to flavor it, he pulled a thong of rawhide from one of his packs. The thong had several small bags tied to it, each containing dried plants which could be used to add flavor to the stew. She opened each of the small bags and sniffed or tasted each, her smile growing wider with each of the bags.

While she tended the stew, the trader put on a pot of water, then pulled two metal cups from one of his packs and threw some dried leaves he found, tied to another thong among his provisions, into the cups. When the water was hot, he poured some in the cups and offered one to Peggy. She sniffed, dubiously, and made a face. She started to take a sip, but was stopped by the old man. "'S too hot, wait a bit."

When they were done with the stew, he motioned for her to try the brew. She made a face at the first sip. He pulled another bag from his pack and sprinkled some granules into her cup, muttering under his breath, and motioned for her to try again. This sip caused her to smile and drain the cup.

"When did you want to tame me," she asked him.

He looked at her, at the smile on her face. In spite of the broken nose, she was pretty as a picture he thought. "You clean up our dishes, I'll get our bed ready. Then I know a place in the river where we can clean oursel's. We'll both like it better after a bath."

Without a word, she threw some dirt on the fire, and using a square of hide as a hot pad, grabbed the pot with the little bit of stew and carried it to an area reserved for feeding the camp dogs. When she returned, using a combination of sand and water she cleaned the pot and their plates. Looking around she saw an open bag with similar utensils and stowed them away.

She was about to enter the tipi the trader used when he came out carrying some large torn up blanket pieces and a hide container with a whitish cream. He took her hand and led her to the spot he had mentioned.

He set the blanket pieces and container on the ground next to the river. Pulling off his buckskin shirt, he motioned to the young woman she should do the same. Growing up in the Indian camp, privacy was not something highly valued. Body modesty, even less so. She pulled the ties holding her hide garment together and slipped it off her shoulders. The trader caught his breath at the site of her nudeness.

Still clearly Caucasian, her skin was the color of a walnut hull, with dark brown areolas setting off her medium sized breasts. She was taller than most of the women in the village, slender as a reed with hips that promised a comfortable bed during coupling. The bush sitting atop her thighs was dark, attesting to the effect of the sun on her hair. As he watched, the breeze cooled her breasts, causing her nipples to stand out. The sight of her standing there in the woods had its predictable effect.

He let go the shirt he was holding, as well as his breath. "My Gawd, girl. You are just about the prettiest thing I ever seed." He loosened and dropped his britches, and taking her hand, led her into the river.

He grabbed the container of soap, and taking a handful, started washing himself. He handed the container to her. She sniffed it, and smiled as it brought back memories of her mother. She copied the trader and smoothed the creamy goo over her body, wincing as she rubbed it between her legs. "Oops, sorry. I shoulda warned you 'bout that. Squat in the water and rub the soap away. It'll stop right off."

She did, laughing, thinking how the women in the camp would react, wanting to see it happen to them. The trader looked at her, puzzled, and asked what she was laughing at. When she explained, he grinned, saying, "You got you a mean streak, huh?" She just smiled at him.

When they were rinsed, they climbed out of the water and dried themselves with the blanket pieces and dressed. On the way back to his fire, Peggy slipped her hand back into the trader's and pulled on it. When he looked at her, she asked "Name?"

He looked surprised, then grinned. "Judah. Judah Cartoffel."

"Yudah Cartafel?"

He corrected her, and she practiced it all the way to the camp. Meanwhile, Judah, the old trader was doing his best to hide the tent in his 'skins. He knew he would have a hard time 'taming' this woman. His impulse was to follow the course the brave before him had. But if he wanted her to come with him, he would have to be gentle, at least the first time.

Running Bear saw the pair enter the tipi. He told his first wife he had to go witness the coupling of the white man and woman. She told him to wait, it would be a while before he was needed. The white girl had been taken by force her first time, it would take a slow, gentle approach to tame her.

In his tipi, the old trader knelt behind the girl, also on her knees, running his hands lightly over her back, gently caressing her skin. Feeling her relax, he bent forward and started gently kissing the side of her neck. She jerked away, then settled back, letting him continue. She responded with a small mewl. His hands slid around to continue their caresses on her abdomen, approaching, but not yet touching her breasts and bush. The mewls turned to soft moans. The kisses moved up to her ear, then slid down along her jaw to her chin, and then to her mouth. She pulled her head back, her eyes troubled, brow furrowed.

"Din't you ever see yer ma and pa kiss?"

Her troubled eyes closed while she tried to dredge up a memory of her ma and pa together. When they opened, they were still troubled. "It's one of the ways a man shows a woman he likes her a lot, and wants to mate with her. Jest relax, let me show you how." And he leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers, brushing them with his tongue. Instinctively, she reacted, opening her lips slightly. When he tried to push his tongue into her mouth, she jerked back again, shaking her head. Judah nodded and leaned forward, catching her lips again. This time, he just caressed hers with his tongue, then turned her so he could lay a line of kisses and little nips down her neck and chest, to capture her nipple with his lips.

She caught her breath and emitted a soft "oh" as he worked the tips of her breast in and out of his lips, stimulating them to erection, increasing their sensitivity. After several seconds of such caresses, he stopped and looked into her eyes, now wide liquid pools. When he kissed her again, her mouth opened and welcomed his tongue, her arms finding their way around him.

Judah fell back, pulling her down to the blanket beside him, his hands finding their way around her body, lightly petting and caressing her back, arms, ass cheeks, thighs. When they found their way to their goal, they found it damp, and open. Judah moved back to her breasts, kissing and caressing them in turn until her moans were accompanied by hip thrusts into the hand exploring her there.

The old trader grinned. He knew he had her at that point. He also knew his next action would tie her to him forever. He pushed her thighs open and positioned himself on his stomach between her legs. He lowered his head to the moist nest in front of him, sliding his mouth and tongue from her baby chute to her pleasure nubbin. Her scream was heard throughout the camp.

The men were alarmed, until the women reassured them. Morning Dew, Running Bear's first wife, told him, "Don't worry. Broken Nose is learning the pleasure of womanhood. Now we can go wait at the trader's tipi. It will be done soon."

By the time they got to the trader's fire, sounds of mating could be heard inside the tipi. The young woman was uttering words they could not understand, but from the tone of her voice, Morning Dew was sure she was encouraging the man to greater efforts, to continue and to keep on doing what he was doing. In a few minutes, they heard her scream again and the trader give out a mighty groan. Morning Dew nodded to her husband, who called to the trader, "Friend, have you successfully tamed the woman? I am coming in to see."

"Come ahead, see for yourself, my friend."

The Indian couple entered the tipi. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the reduced light. When they could see, they saw the trader lying on top of, now, his woman, his member still erect, still buried in her. Morning Dew knelt beside the couple. "So many screams, Broken Nose," she said, smiling, using the name the children called the young woman. "Screams of pleasure?" The young woman just smiled and tightened her arms and legs around the trader. "Come," said the Indian woman to her husband. "We are not needed nor wanted here."