This one was inspired, in part, by several of the entries to the Literotica Halloween contest.
As always, all characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
They'd come from the east, from where the sun dwelled, on ships which rode the wind and with wonders unimaginable. The priest, like his people, had been mesmerized, questions forming only after The People began begging for the stranger's drink that made them say and do things sacrilegious, only after the diseases spread, only after the strangers defiled the sacred glen.
The People were dying.
They'd been born when the Spirit of the glen passed through a man, a man both good and evil, into the womb of his daughter, who was pure and full of love. She, The Progenitor, bore the first, then more children came and they, like this verdant land, were prolific and made many children, and The People multiplied and thrived.
He had spent weeks in the temple reading the ancient inscriptions, searching for the words that would awaken the Spirit, entrusting his daughter to his novitiates, heeding them to keep her from the strangers. Now in the glen, her by his side, he said the words, but when the Spirit flowed through him he saw the world as the Spirit saw the world and knew his daughter was no longer innocent, that she and the novitiates had been seduced by the strangers. She had drank their liquors, shared her body.
The priest died that night. His daughter called together the novitiates who, respectful of the old priest, immolated him in accordance with the rituals.
Awakened, its calling unfulfilled, the Spirit waited in the glen. Occasionally people entered, but they, like the priest and his daughter, were both good and evil and did not interest the Spirit.
Then she came.
* * * * *
"Daddy, it's beautiful."
Aaron Voss smiled. While his daughter was a young woman, when excited her voice rose in pitch and bubbled with the enthusiasm of a twelve year old girl. She was standing at the crest of a ridge - she'd rushed up to see what was on the other side - the family trailing behind. Aaron looked to his wife, who slipped her hand from his and said, "Go ahead dear," and he trotted to the top, the pack on his back no impediment for the experienced hiker.
As he did he thought of the resemblance of his wife and daughter. California beach girls, taut fit bodies, long athletic legs. His wife Abigail, called Abbie, had long ago trimmed her reddish-blonde hair to a sensible shoulder length, but Deborah's wavy hair still hung to the middle of her back. Their round faces featured hazel eyes that glittered when excited or happy, which was almost always, long lashes, arched brows, straight noses, wide cheekbones. There were differences, his five foot nine inch daughter had several inches on her mother and had developed the full round bosom Abbie had always said she wanted, but to see them was to know they were mother and daughter.
He reached the crest. His daughter gave him a hug and repeated, "Isn't it beautiful?"
It was Edenic.
* * * * *
Since discovering the Native American sites near her home in Las Cruces as a child, archeology and anthropology had fascinated Deborah. When asked what she wanted for her eighteenth birthday she said for the family to explore a little known site in the Honduran jungle: the remains of two villages of a tribe that had called itself The People and disappeared with the Spanish incursion. The trip would require several days of hiking and camping, but the outdoors had always been part of her family's life. Her parents, inveterate tinkerers, held several patents for camping gear that generated the royalties that allowed them to focus their considerable attention on their children. Home schooled, Ben the eldest, and the two sets of twins Becka and Charity, Christian and David, found college undemanding, with Ben, an aspiring architect, graduating in three years as valedictorian.
In four days of hiking and exploring the family found the two villages and a third, previously unknown, but not the temple assumed to be near-by. Now returning to the river - they'd rendezvous with the boat tomorrow - they'd been looking for a place to camp when Deborah impulsively decided to look on the far side of a near-by ridge. Her instincts, as usual, were impeccable; the small valley was paradisiacal.
No one finding a reason they couldn't - there were no posted limitations and the government issued map contained no restrictions - they erected three tents in the glen, one for Aaron and Abbie, another for the girls, Deborah, Becka, and Charity, and a third for the boys, Ben, Christian, and David, cooked dinner, told stories, thanked Deborah for choosing such a wonderful present they could all enjoy together.
Sleep came quickly; it had been a strenuous four days.
And the Spirit, seeing that the youngest one, the one they called Deborah, was pure and good and full of love, flowed through them.
* * * * *
Aaron was dreaming. The kids were off exploring and he was on his knees behind his wife, holding her slender hips, driving himself into her. She came, came again, then he did, and as his dream body jerked forward so did his sleeping body, waking him.
As his disoriented mind returned to reality his wife whispered, "Hey honey," and he said, "I was having this dream, sorry to wake you."
"You didn't, I've been up. I was dreaming my husband was making love to me," then ran a finger on his erection and said, "The way you were moaning, it seems you were dreaming the same thing."
"Yeah, I was, how weird is that?"
"Not very," she said, working her hand inside his boxers, "We've gone without for four days, what was the last time that happened?"
Slipping a hand under her white tee-shirt to her braless breasts, finding her nipples hard, he said, "Last time we went camping with the kids."
She peeled his boxers down his legs saying, "Four days is way too long. It's two in the morning, if we're quiet we can get away with it."
He pulled her tee-shirt over her head, leaned in, licked her breasts, said, "You sure? I'm not my cleanest, only been bathing in streams."
Twisting her hand on his shaft, pre-cum dripping from him, she said, "You'll owe me a trip to the spa," kissed him, straddled him. With a fingertip he traced a line from her neck between her breasts, over her stomach, stopped at her panties, circled around to her back. She leaned forward and looking in his eyes said, "Falling in love with you was the best thing that ever happened to me."
He said, "You, the kids, I'm the luckiest man in the world," lifted his head, his lips grazing hers, then capturing her lower lip between his, stroking it with his tongue. She lifted a leg and worked her panties off; he caressed the hollow of her thigh, pulled her close, kissed her mouth, neck and collarbone, licked her nipples. She reached for him, placed him on her sex, whispered, "Let me," rolled her hips on him until he was all the way in, withdrew, did it again, kissed him muffling his moans, reached back and massaged his balls.
They made love with oft-practiced skill, pacing their movements, dragging it out, letting it build. When it was time he grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, his shaft and head dragged over her g-spot. She tensed, came, felt him his body tense and jerk as his thick warm seed coursed into her body.
