Back in the hidden recesses of the Tennessee Mountains, those folks that generally listened and said few words were all too familiar with the generations old “Feud” between the Hardcastle’s and the McCoy’s.

Old Granny McCabe was right particular that outsiders not judge the families too harshly for their blood-lust in their never-ending struggle to finish off their opponent’s male lines right down to the last man. Of course, women and children were not included except for those males old enough to shoulder a firearm with some expectation of hitting their target.

The Hardcastle’s had been squatting on Tennessee land since before the birth of the nation and even the American Indians still scattered in the deep forest were not all that sure which of them had come first. Of course, the native Indians had roots back long before any of those explorer fellas left their footprints on the muddy river banks but the ones in these parts were “Johnny-come-lately” residents after being pushed out of settled areas further to the East. The powers that be back in Washington were already plotting on moving them further west just to get them shut away from decent Christian folk with good intentions.

It was rumored that the Hardcastle’s were not above mixing their seeds with a pretty Indian girl here and there and there was a branch of the backwoods family that was a bit more dark-complexed than the others. Jude Hardcastle was one of those fellas and he had a mean-streak that was wide enough to skin a rattlesnake. The Hardcastle womenfolk were generally plain looking with the exception of one or two like Harmony Hardcastle with her firm haunches and pert female breasts that pointed to the heavens without any support at all.

Her younger sister Ginnie was built more like a work horse, than a thoroughbred, but she had all the right curves in all the right places and an attitude that was more receptive than most females with no man to protect them. Ginnie went everywhere with Harmony, just like a shadow created by the sun. It was a standing joke that if you screwed Harmony, you had to do Ginnie as well, because they shared everything, even boyfriends. Actually, that was not the reality, because Ginnie was basically a shy and church-going female, with no need to get hitched too young and very little interest in anything male. That was strange proposition in a place where the girls were having babies at fifteen as natural as sitting down to dinner.

Jonas Hardcastle was a preacher of sorts.

He took over the Sunday meeting day chores with an enthusiasm unexpected from the violent breed of his backcountry family, all things considered. The “Amens” and the calling of the name of “Jesus” were flowing mighty fast and furious when he got his dander up on a Sunday preaching day.

It was rumored that changes were coming to the valley, because the government wanted to flood them out with tons of water for some new-fangled Reservoir to send a flow of water to the folks down in the big city. None of the valley folks thought that was a bright idea, because God sent the rain to take care of things like that. Still, it did send a bunch of hard-working young men up to their area to scout out the possibilities for making them an obsolete branch of humanity for the betterment of other strangers.

Both Ginnie and Harmony were dipping their private parts in the swimming hole down by the creek wearing nothing but their birthday suits, when a pair of the down-country boys came by to cool off from the burning sun.

Now, it was only natural that the totally naked sight of a pair of those mountain gals shaking their God knows what in all directions right out in the open was mighty tempting to normal male humans. Such was the case with Mike and Jack Reilly. They were a duo of brothers recently arrived from the “old sod” with accents so thick that most people didn’t understand a word they uttered.

Their opening salvo sounded something like,

“You girls need any company in your swimming hole, just holler in our direction because we are a pair of swimming fools when it comes to swimming in our God-given birthday suits.”

At least that was the gist of the translation agreed upon by the two girls with their giggly wiggly ways in the ice cold mountain stream water that made their female skin all tingly like they were getting felt up by little fingers from head to toe.

Their smiles was all the invitation that Mike and Jack needed to strip off all their down country duds and jump into the healing waters with their cocks turning stiff at the contact with the miracle waters.

Those two girls were darting left and feinting right and no matter what they did, it was to no avail because both of them were skewered for a fact by down country dicks like pegged pussies pulsating in the echoes of their screams of surprised acceptance.

It was claimed later that one of the girls or perhaps both of them had given verbal compliance for their impalement but the old time regulators of mountain girl contact with the down country males with their horny dicks and love for hunting the wild girls of the mountains were not mollified in the least and they demanded full retribution for the sin of taking advantage of two innocent mountain females in the prime of their nubile status.

They rode them two fellows out of the hollow on a couple of tar-soaked rails throwing chicken feathers at them like they were criminals of the worse sort. In a way it was kind of funny and not at all real nasty like breaking their legs or damaging their family jewels like the boys on the other side of Wolf Mountain liked to do when their dander was up and they was all stirred up like a bunch of rattlers in a snake pit on a hot summer day.