Moe Lester

Murkwood Manor

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Drew, her mysterious urge to fuck becoming almost uncontrollable, needs time to be alone. She needs these quiet moments for thinking and hanging on and making her spinning universe settle. This wild point of land seemed not only to defy the shape of reality but also to twist feelings and behavior among whatever humans dare invade it. Surf curls onto the beach before her, its gray-green wall toppling in slow motion, so she caught herself holding her breath while she waits for the thud that seems to shake the balcony floor beneath her feet. The dying hiss of each breaker draws itself out like the prolonged sigh that follows orgasm, amplified a thousand times.

This is the whole problem, she thought.

The whole scene throbs with sex. The harder Drew tries to escape its erotic message, the more tightly it seems to enclose her. The pulse of the surf feels like a majestic beat of the climactic waves of contraction. A lone seagull, soaring with motionless wings, reminds her of the full-curved silhouette of her own proud-standing breasts. The spray-laden breeze plays over her body with the intimate caresses of a lover.

Where else, she asks herself, would I ever consider such a weird notion as this: to come out onto the observation deck naked and stare at the scenery?

More than anything else about Murkwood Manor this behavior of hers is a symbol of the way the place is warping her impulses.

Drew loves the other two couples; she and Lance had spent happy hours wondering lazily how many people were lucky enough to enjoy the kind of friendship they had with Kiri and Miles Fonda and Willow and Jude Pickering. She had concluded long before the feeling is love that mere ‘liking’ could never be as deep and satisfying as the feelings shared with their friends. However, loving can be a nonphysical thing too. At least, its physical components can consist of pleasant warmth in the harmless embraces they share upon meeting or leaving each other and the occasional quick hugs that came spontaneously when delight bubbles over.

What’s happening here isn’t like that innocent fairy tale she and Lance had been living. Something (maybe it is the isolation from civilization, or the primitive savagery of the landscape, or the chemistry of pure, human nature) is reaching through the social fabric to awaken instincts and desires belonging to the prehistoric ancestors of man.

A flicker of movement in the undergrowth beyond the corner of the house to her right snaps the spell. She tenses in momentary panic, cringing inwardly and ready to scramble back into hers and Lance’s bedroom. However, Drew relaxes when she makes out the head and shoulders of the wolf-like Sergeant, the strange, surly brute who had survived his master’s death and continues to course the wild point in search of intruders.

*****

Willow and Jude Pickering had been as surprised to find themselves heirs to Murkwood Manor. Willow had known nothing about any recluse uncle, and she had clearly been stunned to learn about the lonely way he had spent the last twenty years of his life.

“A retreat,” Willow said to the others when the facts had begun to sink in. “We can all use it for a retreat.”

That idea had sprouted and taken hold until all six feel as if there’d been no other alternative. Therefore, the six are all here, airing the two-story lodge and turning it into a livable place to spend long weekends or vacations.

*****

Willow’s mother had confessed the family’s conspiracy against Uncle Dan. They’d excluded him when he came out as Gay and moved in with a black man. As if Dan had never existed, they shut him out of their memories and away from mention. Until his death, thirty-six years later, they had known nothing of his whereabouts, not knowing Murkwood Manor existed, and never hinting to the younger members of the family that one of their own was a homosexual.

“Cruel,” Drew said softly. “How could Willow be part of a family like that?”

Sergeant is the only moving creature in her field of vision, except for the solitary gull, and she finds her attention drawn to the ghostly, gray beast as it weaves its way among the huge boulders. The dog’s nose is close to the ground, and its tail tucked close to its hind legs while the canine works whatever old trail it has uncovered.

Drew shivers and runs her hands slowly over her naked hips and thighs. The luxurious warmth of her skin sends thrills of pleasure through her fingertips and a brief giddiness to her head.

“Good God, Drew,” she scolds herself. “What the hell’s wrong? Pretty bad when you’re so horny even the sight of a dog makes you think of sex.”

They arranged their vacations together all three couples, the way they’ve been doing for the past six or seven years. Only this time they’ve come to Murkwood Manor with a purpose. The strange thing is now, by the middle of the third day, the spell of the place has them on edge. Drew knows the others were feeling it as acutely as she was. They gave themselves away by the way they keep glancing furtively at each other out of the corner of their eyes and the way they’ve begun avoiding the regular physical contacts likely to occur among close friends.

“Everybody’s frightened one of those accidental touches is going to explode into an orgy,” Drew tells the seagull. “It’s like threads connecting us are carrying currents.”

Willow and Jude mumbled something about inspecting the spring and left the house right after lunch. Kiri and Miles used the excuse of exploring the surf cave on the north side of the point. Lance said something about the fence and asked Drew to go, but she recognized her need for some alone time to think.

“Just to let the pressure off,” Drew mused. “All of us know we’ve got to find a way to bleed it off. Fuck, what did we have for lunch? I can’t even remember. I have to concentrate too hard on not saying anything sexy. What kind of black magic did Willow’s uncle weave around this place?”

However, she knows it has nothing to do with magic or the supernatural. It’s to do merely with the fact they’re three females and three males, all healthy, vigorous, and attractive who love each other well enough the isolation and forced intimacy are breaking down conventional barriers. Drew has difficulty believing the network of civilized rules can be that superficial. Surely, she keeps insisting to herself, morality goes deeper than this. Nevertheless, there’s no way to deny the thrills racing over her now, and the vivid immediacy of her recurrent fantasies about Jude and Miles.

Sergeant pauses beside a rotted post, sniffs, and cocks a hind leg at it.

“Marking his territory,” she said absently. A finger of wind probes at her, and she flinches at the sudden, hot flush sweeping her skin. “Fuck. Territory…”

The notion of territorial privileges slips into her consciousness. Dogs in the wild, the wolves, for example, were like so many other animals in their territorial habits. Each male powerful enough to defend its territory establishes exclusive breeding rights with whatever females choose to live within his range. For an instant, Drew imagines the feelings of such a female in Sergeant’s domain. Deliberately pretending for a moment to be that female and to thrill to the knowledge Sergeant’s cocked leg is a symbolic demonstration of his exclusive sex rights to the bitch who watches unseen.

Backing silently away from the railing and tiptoeing to the open door of her room. “Fucking fool,” she mutters. “Daydreams about Miles and Jude aren’t enough. You’d have to come up with a stupid idea like that. Now I’ll be having daydreams about being a bitch-wolf.”

Drew fingers her clothes with distaste. Being alone has done nothing toward quieting the hunger eating at her. It serves to focus her attention and make her sharply aware of the dangerous state they’ve all gotten into. The woman is vibrant with desire right now, she realizes; she’ll get through the rest of the day only partly aware of what’s being said, waiting to be alone with Lance, legs clasping him and cunt beating against him. In the morning, after all the fucking Lance can survive, she’ll still be quivering with need.

This morning has been that way.

Yesterday morning has been that way.

“Shit,” she whispers. “It’s gonna be like this all the time we’re here. Maybe we’d better leave while we can.”

Drew studies her panties and bra with growing irritation, thinking of the deadening restriction they represent. Finally, she grabs them and stuffs them into the hamper, hangs her tight dress in the closet, and gets out a soft, loose smock. Shrugging into it, Drew squirms before the mirror and watches the soft folds slide against her breasts. The friction delivers the kind of sensations she wants. Conceding she’s inviting trouble; pampering her appetite is the least likely way to gain control. Drew will be feeding the flames, in a manner of speaking. However, she’s beyond caution.

The afternoon has gotten away from her. Drew hears voices from outside and hurries downstairs to the big room that makes up the entire ground floor. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, the color of ripe wheat and gleaming from the hundreds of thousands of brush strokes she has given it over the years. It seems half to float, half to bounce, as Drew deliberately exaggerates the movement of dropping to each succeeding step. Her breasts, firm, ripe, and taut-nipple, also bounce; what she’s trying to achieve. Drew likes the sudden surge of pressure at the bottom of each bounce and the dry, rustling stroke of her nipples over the inside of the smock.

Now engrossed in her body, the blonde emphasizes the sensuous sway of her hips and tunes her awareness to the complicated grind of her buttocks. Slim-waist, long-legs, and big-chest Drew knows how well she makes out in the sexy department. She likes that always has and knows no temporary tension is going to enable her to hide her sexiness on a moment’s notice. Drew is five feet four of appetizing female (a hundred and five pounds of it), and she’s stuck with the fact.

To Drew’s surprise, Lance is already in the house. He’s pacing with the light-footed springiness characteristic of him, his expression as troubled as she has felt.

“Lance. I didn’t know you were back. How long?”

“Oh … Half-hour … maybe…” Lance said with a shrug.

“Shit. Why didn’t you holler? Or come on up?”

“Huh?” He eyed her ruefully. “For a quickie, you mean?”

“Honey, I don’t know what’s come over me. Yes, a quickie. Anyhow, a half-hour would’ve been time enough to make it good.”

Lance laughs uncomfortably. “Guess so. Figured you’d gone for a walk. Didn’t hear a sound.”

Willow came in kicking her feet against the doorstep to knock the dust off, and Jude follows.

“How was the spring?” Lance asks.

Jude snorted. “Plugged. Take a whole day to get it cleaned out, I’ll bet.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. Seeping some, but that’s about all. Hey, Miles and Kiri still out?”

Drew nods.

“Hope to hell they know what they’re doing,” Jude said with a deep frown. “I hate caves with a passion. Never know when it’s going to cave-in or something.”

“But that bluff’s solid rock,” Lance said with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s got cracks. It’s not really hard rock, more like sandstone or something.”

Drew hears Kiri’s voice outside, bubbling with laughter. The moment Kiri and Miles come in, she notices their satisfied expressions and semi-exhaustion. They didn’t waste the afternoon, Drew thought, and sighed. They knew what ought to come first.

Willow seemed to have caught the same symptoms. “You guys find the cave interesting?” she asks, a note of skepticism evident in her voice.

Kiri’s face goes a slight tinge of red, but Miles chuckles comfortably.

“Sure…” the lanky Miles said. “Interesting as a cave can be, I suppose. There was a big pile of seaweed like grass at the back. Been there so long there weren’t even any bugs around it. Like a haystack, if you like tumbling in the hay.”

Jude begins to laugh. “You two never can get near a haystack without trying to make out.” “JUDE…” Kiri shouts with a red face, “For God’s sake.”

Miles grabs his wife’s hand. “C’mon, babe. Maybe we’ve got time for a shower before supper.” He grins broadly. “I’m as itchy as hell, after rolling in all that seaweed.”

*****

After dinner when the breeze of the afternoon had died, the air is still and mild, and the landscape has a ghostly appearance under the slanting rays of the nearly full moon. The brush is black, except on the side facing the moon, where it is a soft, silvery hue. The shadows have no halftones, and the moonlight helps the texture of the ground, hiding depressions unless they were deep enough to fill with shadow.

Standing on the balcony, Drew hears the gentle laughter of the others enjoying too much wine and good company. The need for solitude overtakes the blonde again, and she heads down the steps toward the path that goes to the beach.

Without pausing, she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little bit. I’m all right, just going for a walk.”

Drew fled along the path to the beach, slowing when the footing grew rough, and then sighing contentedly when she feels the coarse sand against the soles of her feet, crossing the sparkling beach to a low, flat table of rock. As she expected, the sandstone still holds the heat of the day, and she flings herself onto it and turns over to lie staring at the moon.

“What is it with me?” Drew asks uneasily as if expecting a reply from the silent moon. “Is it something about you? Does a full moon really make people get primitive?” She knows that’s ridiculous. “Hell, you’re full once every month. I don’t get like this every time. So why now? How come I don’t feel like I have enough?”

She gazes along the soft contours of her body. Her pubic hair creates a jumble of little shadows; instead of looking nearly blonde, it seemed like a lacework of silver filigree over a pool of black. The woman caresses the sides of her clit tenderly and moans softly.

“What difference do reasons make?” Drew asks the moon. “I’m always horny lately, that’s all there is to it.”

She hears a scuffing sound and sits halfway up. Sergeant pads across the sand toward Drew sniffing as the big wolf approached. She laughs throatily.

“Oh, it’s you. Why the hell didn’t you knock?”

The great dog stops and raises its head. He appeared to study her, and she tenses as she recalled how little desire he has shown to accept their friendship. As if secure in his prior interest in Murkwood Manor, he has seems barely to tolerate them. Her momentary concern fades, however, when Sergeant continues merely to observe her. Drew decides the dog is unlikely to attack since it has neither growled nor barked.

“Besides,” she said, “why should you get mad at me?” She sits up and stretches deliberately, twisting as if performing for Lance. “After all, now you’re here, I can pretend, can’t I?”

Half in fantasy and defiant mockery, the woman, drops back to the warm, gritty surface and poses. It’s only a dog, she thought. Posturing means nothing to him. Still, he’s a male animal, and I can pretend.

Safe in the knowledge the dog won’t respond, Drew fantasizes to her heart’s content. Maybe she can work off some of the excess erotic drives by imagining it’s Lance. She rests her ass on the edge of the rock and sprawls on her back, arms outflung. The sandy surface has a pleasingly harsh feel to her back. Squirming sensuously and pampering her lust by permitting low moans of enjoyment to slip past her throat. Drew suddenly feels the fur at the side of Sergeant’s head brush the inner side of her knee.

“Well…” she squeals, glancing along her belly at him. “Curious about the pussy smell, boy? Go ahead, sniff.” She giggles. “It isn’t exactly the same, but if a male wants to nuzzle my pussy, it’s fine with me.”

The dog sniffs.

Her butt flinches at the first contact of the wet nose with her labia, but she chortles and steadies herself, straining her knees apart. This isn’t the sort of thing I’d typically do, she thought. A woman just doesn’t let dogs go around sniffing like that. However, tonight is different. Let the dog smell. To her startled delight, Sergeant licks tentatively.

“Ooh … You gonna give it a bath?”

The tongue strokes along the rounded surfaces of her labia in slow, measured caresses. Drew can feel the barbed surface straightening and clean the hairs of her cunt and strip dried residue from the underlying skin. The sensations are amazingly pleasant; thrills of excitement pierces her with each stroke.

“Hey, all right…” she moans softly. “Mmmm… that’s pretty good.”

Sergeant seems to be intent on collecting the juices bubbling their all day. Having apparently removed the traces from one location, he tongued another and another. The outer surfaces of her vulva are soon clean of whatever the dog’s interested in, and the beasts tongue wedges its way along her slit, gently stroking the tender inner membranes.

“Good God, Sergeant. You don’t know it, but the feels amazing. Still, don’t think you’re gonna get another chance to do this, though. It’s wrong, not to mention illegal.”

Drew let her hands rest at the edges of her pubic hair, her fingers aimlessly picking at the fur on Sergeant’s face. The dog seems composed and sure of itself. The animal licks with unhurried thoroughness, its tongue gentle, rather than rough or brutal. Nevertheless, Sergeant displays a degree of insistence that gives Drew the idea he’ll persist until he has found the last, hidden trace of female juice.

The blonde knows what’s happening to her. She recognizes the surging waves of pleasure and understands they’re building on each other, that the intimate scouring is raising the level of her excitement and arousing desire. Knowing, Drew hopes her pace will carry her through to an orgasm before Sergeant loses interest in licking. If the dog continues with the same deliberation it is now showing, it’ll make her orgasm with time to spare. The novelty and wickedness of the situation will produce a climax that fantasy and masturbation wouldn’t be able to match, she thought.

Trying to hold still for if she begins moving in response to the dog’s touch, she might drive it off. However, the higher her excitement rises, the more difficult it is to keep control. Knowing from experience, her body has involuntary reactions to intense stimuli. It’s no surprise to Drew when she realizes her hips have begun a slow, rhythmic undulation. When Sergeant ignores the gentle rise and fall of the playground before his muzzle, Drew grows less apprehensive about losing his attention.

The big dog works its tongue continually deeper into Drew’s slit. The tension and heat of her labia are clear signs of their swelling; the woman’s well aware they’re spreading apart opening the inner recesses of her vulva and inviting even more intimate penetration of the seeking tongue. Feeling as if her entire body has begun to pulse, waves of heat surge through her, and thrills of pleasure races over her flesh from toes to scalp. Drew’s nipples stand erect and hard, dark pillars above the silvery, flattened mounds of her breasts. By raising her head, Drew can see the flutter of her belly and the nervous jouncing of her widespread knees.

Following the trail of tasty residue, Sergeant’s tongue licked along her slit to the folds of delicate tissues around her clit. When the dog begins to probe those tight crevices, the resulting jangle of sensation jerks Drew’s ass into the air. Quivering and writhing inwardly, Drew bridges, her weight supported by shoulders and feet. The highly aroused woman’s hips swing from side to side, and she thrusts her hands beneath the small of her back and interlocks them to prevent from spoiling the incident by inadvertently shoving the dog’s head away.

The undulation of her hips has involved pivoting her torso about the small of her back, her waist acting as a hinge. In her agitation, now, Drew forces her arms further beneath pressing her forearms tightly together and clasping each elbow with the other hand. The urgent jolts of excitement the lapping of her clit produce grow too powerful for self-control. Drew begins to jerk her hips up and down vigorously. Her butt slams the rock bouncing high and then slams the rock again in erratic, desperate jumps. Nevertheless, Sergeant maintains tongue contact as if Drew’s tied down, and the violent sideward lunges fail to dislodge the dog.

When the dog abandons the inflamed little organ, Drew sinks back, shaken and panting heavily.

“Sergeant, you naughty dog,” she whispers hotly. “You really did get me close, that time. A few more seconds and I’d have cum for sure.”

Drew rests thankfully on her forearms, vaguely conscious of a feeling of rawness on her back. Hovering close to the brink of orgasm, Drew enjoys a more profound, steadier stimulation from the caresses now centered on the floor of her slit near her cuntal mouth. Impulsively, to open wider for the probing canine tongue, Drew raises her knees and braces her heels on the rock.

“Ooooo … Sergeant … So good … Oh, lick me there … Yeeeess…” she moans softly.

*****

This is an excerpt (free sample) of Murkwood Manor a 30,000 word novella by Moe Lester. Buy the eBook to read the whole sexy story or join our Members Area.

 

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