Glq

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

*****

Oh my Darling, Oh my Darling,

Oh my Darling Clementine.

You are lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

In a cavern, in a canyon, on a wild river far away, Daphne did for her hard working widowed father, Mitch McFee, and her younger sister, Clementine. She had done so for most of her life. Daphne smiled to herself as she darned one of her dad's socks. "He is such a good man," she thought, "Never complaining, always looking out for us, providing for our needs, working day in and day out..." She put down the sewing basket and rolled her neck, imagining Mitch's strong, stubby fingers working themselves along her shoulder tops. She shivered as small flashes of energy coursed through her body and collided in her groin. Her pussy squeezed itself and she felt her juices begin to ooze. "Oh, Daddy!" She breathed aloud softly, "How you do take care of me!"

Suddenly a high voice cried outside the rough hewn cabin wall separating the huge cave from the white rock beach and the river which ripped, roiling, from the side of the mountain at the boxed end of the canyon. Daphne rose and crossed the worn plank flooring to the great picture window. Mitch had labored long to bring the plate glass safely unscathed upriver and installed it as his gift to her for her 21st birthday. She pulled back the bold peony-patterned chintz curtain at the window edge and peeped out, wondering about the commotion.

A girl, really a young woman, a month past her 18th birthday, ran pell-mell toward the front porch. A flock of assorted ducks and geese half-flew and half-hopped close behind. "Momma! Poppa!" She yelled, excited, yet oddly not in an alarmed manner. "Momma! Poppa! Someone's comin'! A man on a horse... with a MULE!" Breathless, the girl skipped onto the porch as Daphne opened the door.

"Clemmy!" Daphne exclaimed. "My goodness, slow down and catch your breath, child!" She hugged her sister lightly to her and soothingly rubbed her hands over Clementine's back, sliding the homespun dress fabric easily over her daughter's otherwise bare back.

Clementine calmed down yet still panted somewhat. She sucked in a big breath and aspirated, "Where's Poppa? A man... a visitor... is a-comin' up the trail! I seen him on a tall horse, trailin' a pack mule, too, at the river bend yonder!" She looked up questioningly at Daphne. "What do you think it means, Momma?" Her chest heaved less against her mother's bosom and her pulse quieted. She was comforted by Daphne's steady heartbeat and easy caresses.

Daphne released Clementine and ushered her into the safety of the cavern. "I'm sure I can't even guess, honey," she answered quietly with no note of concern. "Why don't you just go to your room and wait for a bit, though. Will you please? There's my girl."

Clementine felt reassured by her mother's smile and hand, now soft upon her cheek. "Yes'm, Momma. I'm goin' right now." She turned and moved with quick determination through the main room and down a passage to her private area. She lit a lantern, bolted her door and sat on the thick mattress on the oak bedframe, pondering the portent of the visitor's arrival.

Meanwhile, Daphne pulled sharply, three times, on a sash cord beside the doorway, signaling Mitch by a system of wires, pulleys and bells, deep within their mine. Reaching above the door she pulled down a rifle from its rack, stepped onto the porch and closed the cabin door behind her. The stranger may present no threat, but that could not be assessed for several more minutes. Daphne sat, centered on the porch swing, against the solid log wall on the opposite side of the door from the big window. She laid the gun across her lap and waited patiently, unafraid, yet cautious. She heard a horse snort before she saw the rider and his pack animal break through the trees at the trailhead. He rode, unhurried, across the clearing straight for the cabin.

About twenty-five yards out, the man reined up his mount. He raised his right arm and tipped his hat back on his head before waving to Daphne. "Hallooo! Missus!" He called, clearly announcing himself.

Daphne squinted and stood, holding the rifle low. It was ready, but still crosswise to her body. She stepped to the porch rail, beside a post supporting the overhang, and answered with a strong voice. "Halloo, yourself! Rest easy right there, Mister, and state your business."

The rider coughed, quit waving and raised his left arm, dropping his reins and holding both hands high and open. "Well, as you can plainly see, I mean no harm, ma'am," he replied with an ingratiating smile. "If this is the McFee place, I have business with Mitch McFee." He lowered his hands to shoulder height and spread his arms wide. "If this isn't the McFee place, then I guess my business is just to ask, could I water my horse and mule, and spread my pack on the ground somewhere for the night before I move on in the morning?" The stranger tilted his head to his left while the question dangled. He saw a man appear in the mine adit between the house and the river. He, too, had a long gun in his hands as he leaned casually against the timbered entrance.

"Step down, sir!" Mitch called from the mine. "You're welcome to water, rest, and civil discourse no matter whose place this is." Mitch stepped from the shadows into the sun and continued, "We don't see folks up here too often." He paused and lowered his shotgun. Sizing up situations rapidly and accurately were essential survival skills he had finely honed in the course of his 61 years and Mitch was satisfied the rider was, at least, neither obviously armed nor overtly hostile.

While he advanced, Mitch called over his shoulder to Daphne, "Fetch Clemmy to come help water the stock!" She crossed the porch and entered the cabin wordlessly as Mitch approached the stranger and said, conversationally, "We can talk after the animals are squared away."

The rider swung out of his saddle and loosened his mount's cinch. "That's fine," he nodded laconically over the pommel, adding an easy grin.

Both men turned as the cabin door opened and Clementine burst on the scene. She scampered to Mitch and clasped her left arm around his waist. "What do you want me to do, Poppa?" She asked, unable to contain her exuberance.

The visitor noticed that was not all she was unable to contain. As Clementine ran, her firm teen breasts, surprisingly full, bounced unbound beneath her flimsy summer dress. When she hugged her father her left nipple and areola proudly pushed out against the cream colored material. The man involuntarily sucked a breath between his puckering lips even as his eyes were drawn from the large shadowed spot to Clementine's right breast, crushed against Mitch's ribs. It bulged and slid beneath her dress, revealing its mass as a clearly defined, barely concealed, squashed hemisphere.

"After we unstrap the pack and saddle, honey," Mitch said, running his right hand lightly down Clementine's bare right arm, "Please lead the horse and mule to the river for a drink." He squeezed her elbow, dipped his head and kissed his daughter's forehead. "Then, tuck them away in the lean-to, give them each a handful of Charlie's grain and toss them a flake of hay." Mitch stroked his hand back up Clementine's arm and gripped her shoulder point. "I promise nothin' excitin' will happen without you, Darling." He chuckled and moved to the mule's pack.

Clementine stood, hands folded in front of her, and acknowledged her instructions. The stranger took his time pulling the saddle from his sweating gelding and surveyed her incomparable good looks. He could not precisely know Clementine's dimensional attributes, but he certainly appreciated how her 142 pounds were proportionately packed onto her 5'8" frame. The westering sun backlit her form, creating a shadow-box effect, and presented her 36-23-35 hourglass physique as if she stood before him nude.

"Come on up to the house," Mitch said, lugging the laden pack as if its 150 pounds were no weight at all. "We'll set your gear on sawhorses under the eaves until we know better what to do." He walked off paying no further attention to the newcomer.

"Right," replied the stranger, distractedly, as he watched Clementine lead his animals away. Her tapered back and round ass swayed beneath her dress; an exclamation point to her undeniable physical statement. He lowered his eyes, admiring her shapely calves below the dress hem. He smiled as he watched her bare heels raise and lower with soft slapping sounds in her strapped sandals. Tearing himself away from the vision, the man followed Mitch up to the front porch and dropped the saddle beside the already placed pack.

As the men crossed the threshold, the visitor realized the structure was not freestanding, but actually three sides, built out from, and affixed to, the great maw of a massive cave. Daylight filtered in from four small windows, two on either side, and from the huge window embedded in the log facade beside the front door. A fireplace between the windows on his left was balanced by a six-burner iron cook stove between the windows on the right. Rough-cut large furnishings dominated the great room, placed so as to divide it into a kitchen, dining area and large lounge. On the whole it was comfortably rude and inviting. "This is very impressive!" the stranger complimented, as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer interior light.

"Thank you," Mitch responded agreeably, pleased by the sincere comment. "Been out here nigh onto forty years." He reached out and reeled his eldest daughter into a close side-hug. "Daphne, bless her sweet heart, was born right here, when the cavern was just a cave with a clay floor." Mitch dropped his right hand and closed it, out of the visitor's sight, with an iron grip on Daphne's bottom. She snaked her left arm around his waist as she looked up and smiled at his rugged countenance. "That was our first spring... what, 37 years ago... right, Sugar?" He looked into her hazel eyes and kissed the tip of her turned up nose.

"That's right, Daddy... 37 perfect years." Daphne tipped her head back further. Her nose vacated her father's mouth only to be quickly replaced by her full smiling lips. She swiftly kissed Mitch and then beamed at the newcomer unabashedly while he unsuccessfully tried to cover his surprise at their unrepressed intimacy. He could only imagine how Mitch's absent wife fit into the family dynamic.

Just then Clementine entered the house, dispelling the conundrum and re-introducing her magical mystique to the stranger's musing. "All watered, stabled and fed, Poppa!" She bubbled, rushing to Mitch's other side and insinuating her right arm between him and Daphne. Speaking as if the three of them were all alone, Clementine continued, "So who IS he and what's he DOING here?" She rocked up and down on her toes, naturally, and thoughtlessly, hiking her dress up her slim muscled thighs as her hip rubbed against Mitch's blue jeans.

The stranger cleared his throat intentionally loudly. "I'm sorry," he began, "I'm Royce Engel. As I said when I rode into your yard, I am hoping to meet Mitch McFee, because I have an important bit of business with him." Royce grinned at the hugging trio. "I appreciate your hospitality but, could you tell me if I am where I want to be, and, if I am not, which trail in this wilderness leads to the McFee place? That is, if you know?"

Mitch pulled away from his girls and stepped toward Royce, right hand extended for a shake. "Well, Royce Engle," he answered, "I'm Mitch McFee, alright, so I reckon you are where you want to be." He furrowed his brow as he shook Engel's hand firmly. "I don't recognize your face or your name, though... so, maybe you can explain yourself further? It must be pretty important business to bring you into the deep woods, alone, hunting a man you don't know." Mitch pulled back his hand and indicated they should sit in a pair of handsome hide-covered easy chairs in front of the unlit stone hearth. "Why, ANY person could claim to be McFee. It sounds like you would have to take them at their word." Mitch turned his head. "Daphne, Sugar, would you boil some water? I might take a cup of coffee." Returning to Royce, he asked, "Would you like coffee? We got tea, too, or, I could probably find a jug, if you want something a little stronger, Mr. Engel."

"Coffee is fine, Mr. McFee," Royce answered as both women left the main section of the room and disappeared into the kitchen. He watched with interest when Daphne bent over and tossed another stick or two of wood into the stove. More mature than Clementine, she appeared to be built pretty much along the same solid and voluptuous lines. Her full floor length dress was modest enough, but inadequate to entirely disguise her attractive ungirdled bottom. Meanwhile, Clementine was standing on tiptoe at a cupboard, reaching for the coffee sack. Royce's vigilance was rewarded with a quick glimpse of the side of her right breast through the armhole of her dress. Her dress' bottom hem rose provocatively along her extended taut hamstrings, high above her knees, but well short of any indiscretion. Royce sat down, uncomfortably aware of a growing response in his crotch. He crossed his legs and turned his chair obliquely toward his host and the hearth hoping his swelling cock would diminish unnoticed.

"You raised an excellent point, Mr. McFee," Royce began after he settled in against the seatback.

"I'm not a very formal guy, Mr. Engel," Mitch interrupted. "What say you and me talk like we knew each other... I'm MITCH. D'you mind if I call you 'Royce'?"

"Uh... sure, Mr... er, Mitch." Royce hesitantly agreed. Formality was in his training, but so was client service. "By all means, call me 'Royce', and be patient if I slip in a 'mister' here and there." Engel grinned disarmingly and continued. "But, you see, there again, you have managed to hit the nail right on the head. Let's talk 'like we knew each other' and, to DO that, let's make sure it is true."

"Sorry, Royce," Mitch shook his head. "I think you lost me in that last patch of rapids... what are you saying?"

"Alright, try this out," Engel offered. "When I rode in, you admitted you did not recognize me, or my name. I obviously had your name in mind, but I did not know you on sight. Follow?" He paused for an indicator of some sort but McFee was poker-faced. "Well, let me ask you this straight out: Does GLQ mean anything to you, and, if so, what?"

Mitch scratched his burgeoning 5 o'clock stubble and thought. At length, he nodded his head, leaned forward and said, very quietly, "You're from Greene, Lester and Quill...? In Denver?" Royce nodded. Mitch immediately plunked back against the chair cushion and exhaled. "That's right... June 3rd..." he muttered under his breath.

Engel nodded with his client. "That IS right," he agreed. "And, I have been packing around these parts for a month, looking for the landmarks in the file that would guide me to you." He laughed aloud. "You have been very successful at 'laying low,' as you put it, fifteen years ago, when you spoke with Mr. Lester, Mr... uh, Mitch."

Mitch chuckled and added, "Well I am pleased about that. AND pleased, even more, that my money hasn't been ill-spent... or HAS it, Royce? You found me. That's good. The timing's right. That's better. So, you got bad news for me? Or, are we on track?" McFee arched his eyebrows and waited.

Just then Clementine appeared between them with two steaming mugs of fresh coffee. She gave the first to Mitch, then pivoted, still bent slightly at the waist, and handed the second to Royce. Her scoop neckline fell away from her so that her beautiful full breasts were plain to see in all their glory. Royce buried his nose in the rising coffee vapors and studied, as much as possible in the moment allotted, the perfection of her pink-brown pebbled halos surmounted by medium nubs. Her left nipple had a slight concave depression at its tip. Royce fantasized about drawing the exquisite rubbery straw into his mouth and sucking for milk.

"Thanks, Darling," Mitch said. His voice penetrated Royce's mirage and brought him back to reality. "Mr. Engel and I have 'man stuff' to talk about... Go help your Momma get the supper together, please."

"Alright, Poppa," Clementine promptly replied, flashing a hard-to-read smile at Royce and straightening up with a snap and twirl. Her tits bounced and her dress swirled. When she was gone, her delicate scent lingered, weirdly overpowering the coffee's aroma.

Royce's throat was dry and constricted. The coffee was too hot to help. He swallowed what spit he could muster two or three times, aware of McFee's scrutiny. At last he managed to croak, "We are definitely 'on track' Mitch. School is scheduled to start in Boston on September 7th, but her housemother would like to have her in hand by August 23rd." Engel slurped a boiling sip and blew air across his burned tongue. Mitch did not bother to mask his mirth. Instead, he took a gulp of his own coffee, stoically showing no manifestation of the scalding liquid's impact on his throat. "That way," Royce continued, "she'll have two full weeks to acclimate and orient before she gets thrown into the pond, so to speak."

Mitch nodded. "That makes sense alright, but there's work to be done between now and then." He wagged a short index finger at Engel. "I've done some ground training, and the reading, writing and ciphering won't be a problem..." He winked and grinned at Engel. "She's smart as a whip, you know, but I gotta tell you, she is nowhere near broke to ride. Maybe not even ready for a halter." He chuckled. "She is fine, though... and eager to please."

"Hmmmm," Royce blew on the mug this time before testing the contents. "How long before she will be 'ready' do you think? I really need to get back, you know."

"Well, if you can stay for a couple of days," Ross posited, "We can both work with her. Might make the handover smoother, too. Plus, if you want, you will be able to give her a little extra attention, you know, like a finish, for a couple of weeks, even a month, before she gets to Boston. What do you think of THAT?"

Before Royce could express his opinion Daphne walked over and smiled. "Supper's on... don't let it get cold, fellas."

Mitch reached up with his hand and brushed a flour spot from Daphne's cheek. A low laugh lounged in his throat as he said, "I love your warm biscuits, Sugar." Royce was captivated by the three opened buttons on Daphne's shirtfront dress. Like Clementine, she was unfettered by restrictive lingerie. Her boobs rolled as she bent over Mitch and thanked him for his comment. "Let's go, Royce," Mitch said, standing, "We can talk more later."