Ian & Sam are inseparable as more surprises are thrown their way.
Ninety seconds later, they parked in front of the ranch house and cautiously opened the car doors.
Mike carried his camera (wearing its wide-to-tele walkabout lens and the ISO dialed up) slung over his shoulder and a flashlight in his right hand, nothing more. Maddy's tooled-leather Mexican cowgirl purse held a spray can of Mace. They were ready.
Across the dusty yard. Onto the covered porch's oak planks. Up to the open door.
And inside. Mike switched on the flashlight and swept the front room. A large, high-ceilinged plaster-walled room, with hewn wood furniture and bookcases, Western paintings and Zapotec weavings on the walls, Navaho rugs on the terra-cotta tile floors, Acoma and Hopi pottery on tables and shelves. Nobody in sight.
All doors from the great room were closed save for one in the wall opposite the entry. Candlelight flickered, illuminating what looked like a den or library. No movement but for the fluttering flame shadows.
Mike looked at Maddy. She nodded. She did not reach for the pistol in her boot but her hand rested on the Mace can in her purse. The walked to the open door, and through it.
Bookshelves lined the walls. Long cowhide-covered timber couches formed an ELL in one corner. Figures sat on those couches, two each. Lean figures, plainly dressed.
The figures stood. "Hello, Madison," her mother said, Maddy's father beside her. "Welcome, Michael," his father said, next to Mike's mother. All four figures stepped toward the cautions couple with arms extended as if to embrace.
"Mommy! Daddy!" Maddy screamed! She would have lunged forward but for Mike holding her arm.
"Wait Maddy! Something's wrong!" Mike aimed the Maglite's beam at the figures' dark eyes. No light reflected.
The four figures of the supposedly dead parents enclosed the youngsters in a hominid barricade, arms interlocked, lips smiling, eyes flat. They held and kissed the students. Mike and Maddy found themselves powerless to resist.
"We did not die," the figure of Mike's father said. "We ran into turbulence and crash-landed in the Dark Canyon wilderness. We were injured, with broken arms and ribs, and Elle even broke her lower leg. Radios didn't work. We used our first-aid supplies, and trapped rabbits and squirrels for food, and found a water seep. We were there for months before we all healed enough to crawl to the outer world."
"We finally made it out," Maddy's father continued the account. "We followed rim trails up the Colorado River till we reached Moab. We got a room and saw a doctor and read the news we'd missed for so long. We thought it best to remain 'dead' for now, to help our business, and to help you both."
"And now we're here with you, and we love you so much!" the figure of Mike's mother said. She held him tightly and kissed him -- not a motherly kiss. A deep, soulful kiss; her tongue probed him and her soft breasts pushed into his chest.
Maddy's father similarly embraced and Frenched his daughter. The other parents held them and stroked them sensuously.
Portions of Mike and Maddy's brains tried to resist the tactile onslaught. Those mental guards were overwhelmed by waves of lust and vetigo and... obedience. Strict obedience.
They MUST do what their parents wanted. Mike MUST grind his mother's breasts with his sweaty palms. Maddy MUST stroke her father's massive erection. They MUST disrobe, and their elders stripped beside them. Maddy MUST bend over a wide leather chair with her father's paternal cock in her cunt and Mike's father's cock in her mouth. Mike MUST lie on a rawhide couch with his mother riding his ramrod and Maddy's mother's pussy poised wet-and-willing over his tongue.
The sex was slow and languorous. The parents were in no hurry, and so neither were their children. Time froze almost to a crawl.
Mike fucked his mother, and then Maddy's mother, with long, slow, deep strokes that seemed to last forever, loading them brim-full with endless eruptions.