P01E02

As could be expected in a mansion like this, the guest room was luxurious and stylish. There was a double bed, a private bathroom, a refrigerator, and a corner with three comfortable chairs around a glass coffee table, everything overseen by a huge TV screen. A large window offered a view of the horse pen, and the landscape of rolling hills disappearing in the distance.

But there were also some strange quirks in the room - for instance, what was that small rack of whips doing here, didn't it belong in the stables? And what about the other rack, with metal and leather items hanging from it, which seemed to be part of a horse's rein or harness? And didn't they seem to be too small for a horse?

I decided to leave these questions for later, plumped down on the bed and drew my phone. I sent three messages to Emily, saying how much I loved her, that I had met my aunt, and omitting all of the content of the conversation we'd just had. She texted back that she was happy that I was enjoying myself, and that she had already started missing me; I then said I would be back before she knew it and that was the end of the chat. I threw the phone aside and forgot about Emily for the time being.

I got up and took a shower. Wearing only one of the soft bath towels around my waist, I then inspected the fridge. Someone had forgotten that there would be a guest staying who wasn't of legal age yet. Apart from soda there was a six-pack of beer in it, and a further half liter of vodka in the freezer. I decided that chances like this were rare, and I opened a can of beer; then I sat down in one of the chairs, looking out the window without seeing anything. My mind couldn't keep away from Marcy - the image of her wiggling ass was burned into my retina. And that suggestive conversation - heck no, it hadn't even been suggestive. She had said in so many words that if uncle Howard gave his permission, she would spread her legs and accept me into her womb. Now that I thought of it, she hadn't even considered the thought that I might not want to - and she was right, of course. Not a **** in the world would stop me from fucking this tempting sex goddess, when given half a chance. My cock had stepped down from full alert by now, but was still hard enough to hum a confirmation to that.

I pulled down my pants and released him. As I held him in my hand, I said out loud to him: "You're going to bang a sexy chick tonight!"

He didn't reply, but he continued humming at a notch of extra volume. I felt horny as hell and under normal circumstances I would have jerked off now and spilled my teenage libido into a shot on my stomach; but I was afraid it might affect my performance later in the evening, so I restrained myself and pulled up the pants to lock him up again. "I don't mind", he hummed to me, “later is fine. “

My thoughts swirled back to Emily anyway. Was I betraying her, preparing myself for having sex with someone else, later on? I told myself, it wouldn’t have happened if she had been more accommodating… after all, what is second base when you’ve been dating for a year and a half? Could she really blame me for taking the shot at a home run? Besides, what good would it be if, when we finally would make it back to the home plate, we would be lying next to each other without any idea what to do? Maybe it was better if at least one of us knew how this thing actually worked?

Even as I was telling myself all these things, I knew I was only justifying myself. Maybe nothing would even happen at all. It was all good that Marcy was saying these things, but what if she was just joking, or teasing, to see my responses? A strange test, or playing some kind of scheme? What if uncle Howard knew nothing of these weird ideas of his wife; what if he disapproved of them?

I should get my bearings back; I was probably misinterpreting things, maybe my fantasy was taking a spin with me, maybe I had heard things in her words that simply weren’t there?

As I was sitting there, staring out of the window, I noticed a cloud of dust appearing on the driveway in the distance. As it was approaching, I could see the car that was causing it: a large SUV, driving up to the house. It got out of view when it came close to the house under the edge of the window, but I could hear the gravel squeaking as it parked; then a door slammed and manly footsteps came up to the house, went inside.

Five minutes later, the landline phone in the room rang. When I picked it up, a man with a kind and gentle voice said: “Hello Jason, this is Howard. I’ve returned home; maybe you would care to join me downstairs for an aperitif?”