[Author’s Declaration: I wish to assure the reader that every single character in this story, even if most briefly mentioned, is well above the age of 18.
Author’s Note: Unlike the other stories I have posted on Literotica, this one is not short but instead is a fully fleshed out novella. While highly erotic and dripping with the taboo of incest, I have taken my time in creating what I hope are much more believable and three-dimensional characters. If you’re looking for a “quick fix,” I recommend one of my shorter stories. If you’re interested in taking your time, then read on, my friend, and enjoy.]
“The trick,” I said, scraping my knife briskly against the flint, “is to make sure you have your larger twigs and pieces of wood near you once you get the tinder ignited. It’s a little embarrassing to get your fire started and then remember you still need fuel to keep it going!”
The small group around me chuckled then offered their expected noises of delight and amazement when I finally got my sparks to ignite the small bundle of dried pine needles. I bent over and blew gently on the embers to bring them to a fine glow, then began placing some twigs and larger pieces of wood onto the small licks of flame.
“And voila,” I said, “man makes fire. Now, it’s your turn.”
I stood and watched them disperse, three couples. It was my latest survivor school class. So far my A-students were, surprisingly, among the oldest students I’d ever had, both in their mid-sixties, but both absolute troopers in the harsh summer conditions. They got their fire going in about five minutes. The other two couples weren’t quite as adept. There was a nerdy-bookish duo in their mid-forties, and a young silly pair of lovers in their early-20s. (I could say “young” and “silly” because I was comfortably in my 30s.) The young couple was somewhat quarrelsome, too, which was surprising. I was hoping it wouldn’t get worse as the stress of the hike mounted. All of them, however, had good credit lines, and they’d all paid the healthy fee to hire me, their survival guide, for a seven-day trek through this particularly unpopulated section of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
Just to get here we’d had to hike over 10 miles. As everyone in my group was already in fairly good shape (it’s a survival school, not a fat farm) and had left with full bellies, the hike had been quite pleasant. But now, several hours in, they’d had little food and few breaks. They would soon be in full survival mode, but this was what they’d paid for, so spirits were still somewhat high. It would be interesting to see how they digested their share of the large rattle snake I’d trapped, killed and skinned for dinner this evening. All of our meals on this trek were going to be only from what nature could provide. By the end of this journey we would each burning upwards of 4000 calories per day yet ingesting little more than 500. If they knew what was good for them, they’d enjoy—or at least appreciate—their snake supper.
Eventually, with only a little coaching from me, everyone got their fires going, each proud that not a single match or drop of lighter fluid had been used. And as I suspected, they ate their roasted snake meat with only minimal squeamishness. The evening was made all the more enjoyable when I produced my hidden canister of single malt Scotch whisky, just enough for the seven of us to have a couple of small shots. I told them that this was the last bit of booze they’d be enjoying for the next six nights.
Earlier in the afternoon I’d shown them all how to make simple lean-to shelters with pine branches, sticks and pine needles for padding, and eventually the couples began settling into their rudimentary shelters. Well, that one young couple had gone off somewhere. I’d assumed they’d just been eager to fuck each other in the wild outdoors and I certainly couldn’t blame them. We were in pristine country: forest, lakes and mountains untouched by human industrialization. But I was wrong. I saw the girl, Karin, wander back into the camp area, alone.
I asked her, “Where’s David?” Her husband.
“Who the fuck cares?” she replied.
I looked at her, surprised. She was a cute girl, about five-and-a-half feet tall, short brown hair, brown eyes, nice teeth. Though slightly chunky, Karin had a nice round ass and full, milky breasts, which I’d noticed right away. But she’d come here with her husband. Kind of hard to hit on a girl in a situation like this.
Catching my stare Karin said, “Oh, he’s just over there, near the edge of the lake. He’s okay.”
“Good,” I said. The safety of these six people was my absolute priority.
“It’s just,” she said in a whisper, “he can be such an asshole sometimes!”
I nodded. They’d had a fight. That wasn’t exactly uncommon when couples were subjected to the stress of survival training. I was just surprised they were at each others’ throats on the very first night, but their tepidly argumentative attitude toward each other earlier today had foreshadowed this.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to vent.”
She looked at me up and down. She said, “You’re pretty easy-going, aren’t you, Cal?”
We locked eyes. Something connected there, I was sure. Admittedly, however, I was the first to look away. Having spent a lot of time often alone in the wilderness these last few years, I’d pretty much lost the ability to flirt or seduce. My “people skills” were very rusty. If something was going to happen here, I was shying away from it like a novice.
“Well,” she said at last, “I’d better get back to my little shelter. You said we were moving on at dawn, right?”
I managed to glance back to her face. “Yeah.”
Karin reached for my arm, turning my watch so she could see the time on its luminescent dial. It was a little after nine. Her fingers felt nice. Christ, I hadn’t been laid in a long, long time.
She said, “We’d better get some sleep.” Giving me a strange look.
“Yes.” All I could stammer out.
She moved off and I watched her full round ass, trying to determine if she was wearing a thong despite being in the wild. I hoped so. Then again, what did it matter? She’d be settling down with her asshole husband, I’d be bedding down alone, as usual, as always….
* * *
With those thoughts being the last of my waking state, it was in a dreamy state that I’d been fantasizing about Karin settling down beside me, in my own shelter, reaching under my shirt, under my pants…then it became a waking dream, a highly erotic dream, because I knew I was aroused, fully erect, and feeling the most wonderful pressure from what I imagined to be Karin’s hand….
“There you go,” I heard a soft whispering voice say. “That’s my hard mountain man.”
I opened my eyes, realizing that the dream was a reality. In the pitch dark, under a moonless sky of twinkling stars, I could not actually see—but certainly feel—Karin squirming against me. She had one of her legs over mine as I lay there on my back. Her breasts were squished against my arm, her warm breath on my neck. Her hand was busy in my unzipped shorts, where she’d secured a firm grip on my hard cock. She began pumping more steadily when she sensed that I’d awoken.
“Shh, Cal, shh,” she cooed softly. “No words, baby, just enjoy it.”
“It’s okay. He went to go sleep down by the lake. We’re still mad at each other.”
I digested this, all the while feeling my scrotum contract and my cock twitch in the sheer delight of having a woman’s soft hand stroking me. If her husband was down by the lake, he was a good hundred yards away, well out of earshot. However, the next shelter closest to mine, the elderly couple, was only about fifteen yards. Silence was a necessity.
So I kept silent and allowed Karin to work on my cock. In return, I managed to get an arm around her and began to massage her back and feel her body as much as I could in my position. She was a little plump but she was also soft and warm—and female. I was as horny as hell now.
Eventually, Karin got my shorts and underwear undone and pulled down to my knees. Her stroking was smooth and steady, experienced.
“You’ve got a nice big cock, baby,” she whispered. “Gonna be a nice tight fit.”
My pine-needle bedding poked and itched my naked butt, but as long as this woman was manipulating my genitalia and talking like that I felt like I could tolerate a bed of nails. I frowned when I felt her hand temporarily pull away from my cock, but I soon realized it was only so she could remove her own shorts and panties. She began to straddle me. I began trembling with excitement. Here I’d been only childishly hoping for a simple hand job, but it turns out I was about to get laid!
As Karin slid her body on top of mine, I began to feel her up more aggressively. She still had a tank top on, but she’d removed her bra, and now her huge tits squished and swelled in my hungry grip. Her nipples were rock hard. Lower down, I felt her stomach brush against mine, and there was a further smoothness…she was fully shaved down there! Her baby-smooth pussy was now rubbing against my throbbing cock. How she had planned on keeping that thing shaved so nicely over the course of a hike through the wilderness was neither here nor there at the moment. What mattered is that it was smooth now, and it was grinding against my cock. She let the moisture of her slit lube my shaft as she slid up and down, letting out little quiet gasps as our privates heated with sexual friction against each other.
“Try not to cum too soon,” she whispered in my ear.
Considering how horny I was, and how long it’d been since I’d last fucked a girl—months at least—there was no way I could guarantee how long I’d last, but soon we’d find out because I now felt Karin lift her hips slightly as she reached down for my cock. With the tips of her warm fingers, she angled me slightly. She began to lower herself down.
My heart, was it my heart? Thumping that hard? Who cared, I didn’t care. I was ready to insert myself into a pussy. A wet, willing and equally horny pussy. I got a grip on her naked hips now, trying to force her on to me. But just as Karin lowered herself down so that the lips of her pussy only just began to split slightly against the tip of my penis, she paused.
Thumping. Louder. Thump, thump, thump…
We both cocked our heads. What the hell was that? We could feel it in the ground, in the air. It wasn’t a stampede, there were no elk or horses or cattle around these parts. It wasn’t someone running; it was too heavy and all-encompassing.
Jesus, the head of my penis was virtually inside this girl now, this wonderfully plump and squishy and warm and wet girl. If only she would lower those strong hips down on my—
Thumping became chopping, became loud, very distinctive chopping.
“Oh no,” I uttered.
“What is it?” she asked.
Our answer was given in the form of a blast of wind and sound and light. But not from any natural phenomenon. It was a helicopter, which burst upon the scene with a hideous thumping and chopping noise as it came up over a nearby mountain and into the little valley where we were camping. It’s search light was piercing the darkness, its strobes were winking, and of course the sound of the chopper blades cut through the peaceful night. As it approached, the search light became more precise in its arching back and forth, until it found our camp, until it found me.
“Oh fuck!” Karin gasped.
She scrambled off of me, clutching excitedly for her shorts. I lay there for a moment, my aching cock exposed to the world and this spotlight. But soon I covered up and stood. Karin had run back to her own shelter. I wasn’t sure who in the camp had seen her with me, but I suspected the elderly couple had.
In a clearing about fifty yards away, the chopper set down and someone jumped out, immediately jogging directly in my direction. Before he said anything, I knew it was my business partner and fellow survivalist, Kevin.
“Hi, Cal,” he shouted cheerfully over the sound of the chopper. He glanced toward the camp, then back to me, grinning. “Who was that?”
“No one,” I grumbled. “What the hell—”
“Sorry, dude,” Kevin shouted. “You got an emergency call, but I couldn’t reach you on the SP.”
I glared at him. In the event of a dire emergency—broken leg, food-born illness, bear attack, etc.—I kept a satellite phone in my pack. But there’d been no reason to turn it on. Kevin must have found me through the emergency GPS chip I also kept in my pack.
I shouted, “What the hell could be so important that it can’t wait a few days?”
“Your sister,” Kevin replied. “She’s been trying to reach you urgently since shortly after you started out with this group.”
I frowned. My sister was half a world away, conducting research in New Guinea. What would be so urgent that she’d leave the jungle to reach me in an equally remote location?
Kevin put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take over here. Joe will fly you back.” He jerked the thumb of his free hand toward the waiting helicopter.
I glanced around. Everyone in the camp, including Karin and David, were watching. I exchanged a brief glance with Karin in the dim light. She looked disappointed. I knew I was, but of course I was curious about my sister.
Kevin said, “Don’t worry. I’ll explain the situation and take good care of them.” I nodded, shrugged a sort of apology to my group, then began trotting over to the helicopter, leaving my gear behind for Kevin’s use.
I could just hear Kevin’s parting words following me as I headed away, “Did you save any of the whisky?”
* * *
An amazing fact about living in the 21st century is that it is very realistically feasible to get from any random point on the planet to any other in about 24 hours. Sure it could cost a hell of a lot, between booking last-minute commercial and chartered flights, but as I stepped from the hatch of the small twin-turboprop onto a gravelly tarmac outside Papua, New Guinea, just over 23 hours from the moment I lifted off from my Northern California camp site, I was proving this theory sound. Ironically, I was even early! When I made my way to the little weather-beaten single-story building at one end of the runway—what passed for a terminal—I saw no sign of my sister.
Inside this building, there was no relief from the blast of heat and humidity that had pummeled me upon egress from the plane. It felt like about 90 degrees with easily 99% humidity. Pretty damned sticky after the more comfortable dry heat of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m desperate,” she had said last night—well, a day ago. Her soft voice had sounded stressed over the crackling of the satellite phones we had been using.
Miss Tara Staddon, soon to be Doctor of Anthropology Tara Staddon, was my 29-year-old younger sister. My only sibling. Being no less an adventurer than me, she’d found a post-graduate program that kept her in the field as much as possible, and her latest project was supposed to keep her in New Guinea for the better part of a year. She was only about six months in so far. All I knew about her project was that it required living with a particular group of natives and studying various aspects of their lives. I mused at the image my tall dirty-blond blue-eyed sister must have made mingling amongst what I imagined to be much shorter, much darker members of some backward tribe in the middle of the jungle.
In the “terminal,” I dropped by duffle bag on the floor and stretched. After spending most of the last 23 hours in a seated position, I was happy to stretch to my full six feet and let the legs learn how to walk again. There were only a couple of other people here: an old Asian-looking man sleeping in a chair, his bag between his knees, and a middle-aged woman with a brown walnut-shaped face at the counter of what appeared to be a snack bar. I frowned. I only had American currency and I doubted a place like this would take credit cards. Nevertheless, I was hungry, having had little more than peanuts (and some snake) in the past day. Certainly she’d accept dollars, though I’d probably have to pay five times the normal asking price as an “exchange” rate. The next trick would be how to talk with her, since other than English I could get by tolerably well in Spanish but that was it.
I spun around, ignoring the fact that I hate my full name being used, and was very happy to see my sister already running toward me from the doorway.
“Hey, kid!” I said as we embraced. At five-nine, she did pretty well in keeping up with my height. Nevertheless I used my joy at seeing her as an excuse to lift her bodily against me and swing her around a bit. We kissed cheeks, hugged a long time, leaned back to look at each other, then hugged some more. The lady at the counter smiled. The old man never stirred.
We finally detached and I took a good look at her. She was still the tall and slender girl I remembered, wearing khaki shorts and a white tank top. Looking me up and down as much as I was examining her, she said, “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Cal. You have saved me!”
I thought she was making it sound more melodramatic than it really was. Apparently, the project Tara was on required two researchers. Her fellow grad student and friend, John, had taken a turn for the worse, Tara explained, after a strange spider bite on his thigh had become infected, and he had to be invalided home a few days ago. Tara had gone on to clarify by phone that if she didn’t get a new research partner by her side within a week she’d have to shut down the project and go home. No other students in her class were available—or reachable—and that’s when she’d thought of me.
“But I’m no scientist,” I had said through the phone static.
“You’ll make up for it in other ways,” she had countered. “You are an expert in survival techniques, Cal. You’re used to any array of extreme conditions, and I need someone who’s not afraid to go without running water and can handle getting dirty. Also, from all your excursions around the world, you’ve had all the necessary shots and can acclimatize to the jungle immediately, whereas anyone else would need to prepare for weeks, if not months! And you may not be an anthropologist but you have a good head on your shoulders and can still make good observations. As a former Navy SEAL—”
“I was never a SEAL,” I had said quickly, my ears reddening. “I washed out in Hell Week, remember?”
“Close enough, Cal. You blew your knee out on the second to last day!”
“Well…” It was no use arguing that I hadn’t been allowed to try again, my ACL reconstruction surgery having proven somewhat complicated. Instead, I finished my service in the regular Navy, resigning honorably as a lieutenant after six years. I had wanted to be a SEAL, in Special Operations, not driving a ship. If I couldn’t do the former I was never going to be satisfied with the latter.
In any event, I was now here in one of the last remaining truly remote parts of Planet Earth with my sister who needed my help. Other than having to cancel future survivor school outings back home, this wasn’t costing me anything. Tara’s grant had covered every aspect of the amazingly expensive series of connecting flights to get me here so quickly.
She stepped back and looked at me. “You look tired, Cal, but you look good.”
“You too, sis.” I glanced at the snack bar, then back to her.
She smiled. “I have some food in the Jeep. Let’s go.”
A couple of hours later we were still speeding along a narrow muddy road, the jungle beginning to thicken around us. My lunch had consisted of a can of tuna and crackers. It was the fanciest, most Western type of meal Tara could provide from her camp supplies. She explained that she had long since switched to the native diet of the people she’d been studying, but she figured I’d want to ease myself into that unique diet slowly. I was still yet to learn about whatever that “native diet” consisted of.