Chapter 42: The Hermit

The truck crawled across the hard packed dirt path toward the foothills on this high plateau. All three women had been quiet since we left the motel. It was an uneasy silence. Perhaps I should have missed the enjoyable banter or sweet sounds they normally emitted, but my mind had only one focus: the formula.

They had dressed that morning to please me, as they always should. Each wore a thin, plain white T-shirt with a scoop neck. It was more sexy than if they were naked with their breasts plainly visible. And, it was obvious both Mary and Lisa had nipple rings. The T-shirts were form fitting which displayed their narrow waists as well as their endowments. All three wore short skirts which came to mid thigh when they stood, but barely covered them when they sat. No panties or bras were allowed. Once again, I had hung the bell on its long chain from the ring through Lisa’s vestibule. It tinkled randomly, reminding us all of their purpose.

Embarrassment is interesting. Lisa, who had been terrible embarrassed when we arrived at the honky tonk, was thriving, still floating in the high of her gangbang and actually enjoying the bell between her legs, which she played with occasionally, keeping herself stimulated. She seemed delighted to be humiliated. Mary was accepting, neither embarrassed nor pleased by her display, but sexually open and happy to please her man, although an undercurrent of quiet despair flickered across her face. Andy was mortified, blushing whenever anyone looked at her, even though all of us had seen her being fucked on many occasions. Don’t forget, Andy had screamed to be fucked in the ass at the B&D club in New York. What had she said? Women are mysterious creatures. Strange, isn’t it?

Me? I did not care if any of them were happy or unhappy, humiliated or venerated. I was focused on the formula.

Andy was sitting behind me. Once, I glanced at her in the rearview mirror to see a nice shot of her shaven pussy. She had blushed again and squirmed to cover herself. She had not spoken since we got into the car except to ask to pee.

I felt soft fingers stroke the hair on the back of my head. I heard her move to sit closer behind me as her hand slid down my chest.

“I love you, Davy,” she whispered in my ear.

“How is your pussy?”

“Sore and swollen. You really pounded me, sweetheart. Why did you do it?”

“You need a good, hard fucking to remind you that you are a kitten. You are made to be fucked and fucked hard and often.”

“I know. I never forget I belong to you. I am very happy belonging to you, Davy, but, well, have I done something to anger you?”

“Sit back and be quiet, kitten.”

Had she done something to anger me? No. You know better than that. Andy was a delight. What was wrong was inside me, where it was growing, not going away. And, I did not want to discuss it with her or anyone else.

It was about two in the afternoon now. The desert sun beat down hard on the Suburban. Even with the heavily tinted windows, the air conditioner strained to keep us cool. The road dipped and turned, heading toward a break between the two hills in front of us. Those hills seemed to be granite, the remnants of some mountain chain long ago raised by cataclysmic upheaval, only to be eroded by the wind and primeval waters. There was no evidence of water now. There was no evidence of life, not even birds overhead.

The road finally petered out. Mary motioned toward a small cut between the granite uplifts and I pointed the truck in that direction, easing along slowly in first gear and low gearbox. Approximately a hundred yards from the cut, rocks had been strewn about to prevent further vehicle passage.

“Now what?” I asked Mary.

“We walk. It is not too far.”

The hot, dry desert air hit like a fire when we opened the doors. With my three women trudging along behind me, I started toward the cut. I could feel the heat draining the moisture from my body as if some giant mosquito had plugged into me and was sucking me dry. I was thirsty and tired by the time I stepped into the shadow where the hills hid us from the sun. We were at the start of a narrow path, only about four feet wide at the widest, with shear vertical walls on each side.

I could see light at the other end and I walked toward it. I was halfway through the cut when I heard the cocking of a firearm. From the bright light at the end of the cut, a figure appeared, a rifle in his hands with the barrel pointed at me.

“Freeze,” a voice cried out, the sheer walls echoing and magnifying it, making it sound as if it came from a man twenty feet tall.

“Identify yourselves!”

“I am Dave Wilson. These are my women: Mary, Andy and Lisa.”

“Well, little Davy Wilson. I have been waiting for you to arrive. Hello, Mary.”

“Hello, Hermit,” she replied softly, letting the acoustics carry her voice to him.

“You ladies just sit there and rest. Do not move. Boy, put your hands in the air and walk toward me.”

Slowly, I walked toward the man with the gun. When I was within ten feet of him, I still could not determine his appearance because of the bright sun behind him, but he was not twenty feet tall as he had sounded.

“Far enough,” he said. “Turn around and drop your pants.”

I was actually relieved he had said that. Showing my ass was far from my favorite thing, but it meant he was checking for the rose tattoo Uncle Bert had his favorite tattoo parlor give me. When I got it, I thought it was a wild thing to do. I did not realize then Uncle Bert meant for it to be an identifying feature of my anatomy. I dropped my pants and boxers.

“Back toward me, boy.”

The beam of a flashlight pierced the air and jumped around until I saw it no more, indicating it was illuminating my ass.

“Now, answer some questions.”

The hermit carried me through a list of questions, the same kind Andy had asked that first day when I met her. The questions were to confirm my correct identity. I answered all of them.

“Mary, you answer a question,” the hermit said. “Is this Dave Wilson, Bert’s son?”

“Yes, Hermit,” she replied.

“Hot damn! You people come on in and let me get you some cool water to drink.”

With the three women right behind me, I followed the Hermit out of the cut into a small canyon. The canyon was probably only three or four acres of flat land. There was a small, adobe hut, probably the size of an efficiency apartment, abutting the highest of the canyon walls. Next to it was a small corral which was empty. On the other side of the hut was a vegetable garden. I could see tomatoes, peas, beans and broccoli, among other things, growing, their shades of green and red a sharp contrast to the brown of most of the area. A well stood by the garden with one aluminum pipe running from it into the garden and another into the house.

I guess the outhouse surprised me the most. It sat far away from the well and adobe hut, but it was clearly an outhouse. No running water, no plumbing, growing his own vegetables. I wondered if he had electricity.

The Hermit watched us, waiting as we took in his small world. When I finally focused on him, I was not surprised by what I saw. He looked like a Hollywood hermit, with a red flannel, long sleeved shirt under faded overalls and heavy work boots on his feet. They were not cowboy boots, but the lace up kind which snugs just under the heavy muscle at the back of the calf.

He was about five four and looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds and not an ounce more. There was not a bit of fat to be seen on him. He was all sinew, muscle and bone. His skin was leathery and wrinkled from constant exposure to the desert sun. He looked a hundred years old. I could not see his hair or his eyes. A wide brimmed straw hat covered his head, shading him from the brutal rays.

He guided us into the hut he called a home. His bed was against one wall. But, there were a few surprises. In one corner was a computer, complete with a LaserJet printer. Next to it was a TV and VCR. He saw my surprise and laughed. He said he had solar generated electrical power. Besides what I had seen he had a microwave, satellite antenna, refrigerator, radiant heat and the pump from the well all powered by electricity. Modern niceties are everywhere, aren’t they?