I was normal. I really was. I lived at home in a nice little suburban neighborhood, complete with picket fences, cul de sacs, and crosswalk guards. My younger sister and I walked to school together, our hair in pig tails with little matching outfits. Both our parents worked, but Mom was always home by the time we got back from school and dinner was always on the table a few minutes after Dad arrived. We did our homework, watched half an hour of tele, then went skipping off to bed. This had been my whole life. Everything up to my first year in college was a blur of pastel colors, braided hair, and Americana. Then things got weird. Or maybe the plastic normalcy I had experienced was about to be replaced by sincere naturalism. Oh well. I'll let you decide what was real and what was false. And how the two fit together.
When my sister and I went off to college, we braced for the most foreign experiences of our lives. Conservative households spend a lifetime just preparing and installing a sense of dread for the liberal revolutionaries of the contemporary college campus. I was nineteen; nine and a half months older than my sister, so I was supposed to defend our way of life, should she ever decide to tip toe the line. Our parents were only twenty minutes away, so if ever an emergency came up I could call them in for reinforcements. My sister and I had been very close growing up. We shared everything. We started at school the same year and were never apart from that first moment. Clothes were traded, gossip swapped, and homework copied.
But college would change that. From the first quarter on campus I knew that things wouldn't be the same. Tammy (Tamarin) stopped dressing up and doing her hair. She began to hang out with "alternative" lifestyle people. Left over hippie kids. She started to leave the bras and home and eventually burned them all. Soon it seemed as if I were the antithesis to what she believed in. Whenever Mom and Dad visited she would disappear to some important review or study session. Often she would come back smelling of weed, conveniently after they had given up and headed home. It wasn't bad at first. We still talked about stuff. She kept me involved in her life. But after one particularly ugly run in I had with some friends of hers, I really became the enemy. From then on we shared nothing. Just an empty excuse for a home and the occasional glare.
I wanted so bad for things to be normal again. I really wanted to reconnect with her. But I didn't know how. I tried listening to her music and dressing down a little more. I stopped using aerosol products and things which posed a threat to her beloved mother earth. My biggest surrender was to attend a sustainability commune concert on the Pacific coast of Canada with her. She had jumped on board when one of her friends had persuaded her that sustainability was the key to saving the environment. And I, trying to please, agreed to go along with the little get together described on the green biodegradable handout.
This is right about where my experience seems to go strange. I'll try to keep everything to what I know, if possible, but at points I may be incapable of separating perception from reality. We left on a rainy Thursday before spring break- a bus load of feminist hippies and me, in my newly purchased brand name cargo pants. It became very clear that I wouldn't fit in very well on this trip. Apparently "alternative lifestyle" meant more than just weed and recyclables. Most of the women were gay or bisexual or queer or whatever. My sister seemed to be involved with the one girl who had started the whole trip. And she seemed even more determined to flaunt it in front of me here. I can't tell you how many times I had to sit next to them in the last row of the van as they communed with each other. I tried focusing on the rolling waves of grain, the sun swept plains, the towering Rockies; but it is a little tough with your sister using you for leverage to push back onto the exploring fingers of her partner. Not to mention the less then subtle gasps, sighs, moans, groans, and occasional howl. At one point they even performed oral sex on each other with me only one seat ahead. I quickly learned that sexual restraints such as propriety and modesty were just as evil as environmental destruction. I will probably remember the sounds and smells more than the sights. By the time we reached our destination in the newly protected forests in western B.C. I was eager to spend the night on the ground in a tent woven from naturally grown materials. It sounded like true liberation.
But I was very very wrong. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Every single woman (and they were all women) was entirely nude at the eco site. Some of them were tastefully covered in tons of body hair, but for the most part they were entirely naked. Now the weather was great for BC but it never really gets warm enough up there to go entirely naked (at least not in my cultured mind). So here I found myself, amidst a swarming throng of nude, nipping women, accepting hugs from girls with names like Rayne and Sunn and probably even a Cloude or two. You better believe that I spent the next three hours setting up my tent as close to the camp perimeter as possible. I skipped the opening ceremonies of song and dance and sharing only to be drug from my tent by my enthusiastic and now very naked sister. By that point I had shed my clothing down to my undies. I had seen a few other girls in them so I figured I wouldn't be too out of place. Course theirs were very plain Jane and mine were lacy Victoria Secret hipsters (why had I worn those?!?) and support bra. Any stranger catching an eyeful of my sister clinging to my arm and dragging me to hippie central would have seen the similarities between the two of us, despite our lifestyle choices. Both of us are tall and slim, with long brunette hair and amber eyes that go well with the locks. Our bodies were soft and distinctly feminine and with curves that were definitely there; just not over the top. We used to be so proud of the looks we had in high school. We had it all then. Now perhaps our looks are all we share.
Dinner was an odd assortment of organically grown roots, nuts, and vegetation, which could apparently be gathered from the natural growth around us. I was impressed by the robust taste that it carried for something so simplistic. A certain type of root, which I am unclear on to this day, was my favorite. It had a rich earthy taste that just addicted you. The texture of the exposed center was equally appetizing and I found myself ignoring the rest of the treats on my plate for second helpings of that root.
It wasn't until my fifth or sixth handful of the stuff that I began to feel queasy. And my head started to spin, my vision blurred, and my skin burned. I managed to push myself up from the ground and stumble back towards my tent. I was about half way there when I pitched forward into the soft green grass of the meadow we were situated by. But as if in a dream, my sister was there, helping me to my feet and half carrying me to my covers. I flopped onto my sleeping bag and lay there squirming with the rolling of the ground trying to find some gravity to cling to. The tunnel I was in was miles away from reality and everything was a mural of odd colors and sights and sounds.
The first real thing I felt was the tightening of the hemp rope around my arms and ankles. At that I managed to still my vision long enough to see my sister laying beside me, her hand gently petting my stomach, and her partner standing between my squirming legs with a sadistic leer on her face. I can still remember the soft whisper of my sister's breath on my neck as she said; "You have raped the mother, so you must first understand what you have done and then you must be reminded of your role within the sacred feminine." It wouldn't be till later that I realized I had been drugged. Organically of course.
By now my flesh was burning and my mind didn't have enough strength to make any distinctions between right and wrong or what was happening to me. My sister's hand moved more purposely down, trailing fingers over my belly button and down to the lacy edges of my scintillating underwear. She propped herself up on one arm and stared at my face, analyzing the enemy, seeing what I was feeling. Then her fingers dipped beneath that dark, thin cloth protector; my last semblance of society, and found my cunt. She touched me as if she were touching herself. I assume that she masturbated me as if it were her own body- because she knew exactly what it was that excited me and exactly what it was that would push me over the edge. Her soft fingers began circling my clit, applying little pressure and relying solely on the texture of her skin to arouse. Her partner was now sitting beside me on my other side. Her eyes were a glazed over look of lust and control as she fingered herself lewdly. She was thin and boyish in her figure. I am sure that she would be considered cute by many, but her short hair cropping and lack of makeup marked her apart. I couldn't handle the perversion of my sister's steady gaze as my lips began to moisten with their juices. I tried glaring at her partner, but couldn't manage it.
Instead I was hypnotically transfixed on the urgent plunging of her fore and middle fingers into the pink depths of her pussy. The soft slurping noise as they emerged and the heady scent of the arousal within lured me. So much so I did not feel Tammy shift to kneeling between my legs. So much so I did not notice her slice my expensive panties in two places and pull them free of my hips. It wasn't until I felt her long ladylike fingers slip inside me and begin the same rhythmic pumping that I was spell broken. But a new one had been cast. Those two digits seemed to fill me like no boyfriend ever had. I could feel the slight jab on my sensitive inner folds as her nails found a way deeper. I shuddered in pleasure as her long slender fingers began their journey out, dragging themselves over my inner walls. My sister lay sprawled between my outstretched writhing thighs, her lips just mere inches away from my labia. It was as if I could only see that hand, driving me crazy, as the fingers reappeared and then disappeared within my own treacherous body. By now my pussy lips were covered in juices both sweet and salty and Tammy was eager for a taste. I stared as her mouth moved closer and closer to the peak of my slit, waiting and wanting them to embrace the apex of my womanhood. Those inches took eternity and I could not wait that long.
When she was close I thrust my hips forward in an act of final surrender to the drug's hallucigenic and aphrodisiac properties. That contact was a starburst and I experienced my first little death of that night. The urgency in her fingers was communicated to her tongue and it swept and darted across the hardened bud of my clit. I was feverish and sweating and intoxicated. Oh, the soft hardness of a woman's tongue teasing and taunting is impossible to describe. It isn't like a penis where there is little control. It was unpredictable and wild, its every movement a surprise and a gift. The urgent union of my flesh to her mouth was perfect. The hot moistness of her breath as it spilt over my crotch and abdomen. The hard curves of her knuckles as they popped free of my lips only moments before stabbing back in. I was entranced by the cacophony of feeling and my voice grew hoarse with indeterminate words of passion. I could have sworn, looking down into my sister eyes that I was seeing a reflection of my own lust. Watching her lips and chin become covered in my own juices was the most erotic of my life at that point. The arching of her two rounded orbs just outside the tent cover in an erotic pose only heightened the sense that this was raw lust. The orange flicker of the campsite fire several yards away seemed to work its rhythm with my cunt. The depths of my pussy longed to be touched in unison with my sister's tongue. My nipples stood hard and erect, pointing skyward as my back arched, with my body stretched between the taut poles of the tent. Oh how I longed to feel the fulfillment of being pleased as well as pleasing.
My opportunity would come a moment later as my sister spun, with obvious experience, till her head was facing the opposite direction. Now our legs were scissored together, her right hooked just beneath my left thigh and buttock, her left just over my crotch and back around my right. The second our cunt's lips pressed together I began to grind my hips hard. The sensuality of feeling my flesh and blood's fragile folds glide across my own was torture. The feeling of her cunt rubbing deep into my own was perfection. I will never forget the moments of cold on my lips before her cunt would come crashing back and the look on her face as the two centers of our heat met. I would not watch for long as her partner intervened in the foray. She straddled my face, her salty scent mixed with the smell of her unwashed body. It was as if she was a perversion, injected into my sister and I's time. She crushed her cunt onto my nose and lips, grinding heavily over my gasping face. Soon I felt her small breasts flatten as her body weight pressed them into my stomach, forcing more air from my lungs. Then the familiar feeling of a skilled and deft tongue tracing my divide. She would dart it in just as my sister's pussy left my own and would hold it there until we were joined again. She fucked us with her tongue, raping our union with the torturous pleasure it brought. I couldn't stop myself from returning the grinds and thrusts of my sister and timing it to the invasion of her tongue. It was too rough to be ignored. I needed it! It is still a betrayal to admit but, I was lost to the power of the drugs and the power of my own bodies lust. I lapped at her cunt possessed of the notion that my tongue could bring cleansing to this night. I sucked her clit, tracing the round bud with my lips and humming softly into it. I bit and pulled at her labia and tried to penetrate her in the same way that she penetrated me.
Everything became a rhythm, a steady unending pulse emanating from the cunt. I was throbbing and each flick of the tongue and grind of Tammy's lips over mine and the moments where the three of us were trapped together were too much. I came in a shuddering climax which filled the small distance between us with my juices. Soon I felt my sister's legs hook against mine and her grip tighten down. She too was cumming and soon her partner's juices flooded my mouth. We lay there for a few moments savoring the last throbs of our clits, the tangy scents and smells of sexual climax, and the last moments of peace before reality hits.
Her partner rolled off me unceremoniously, tweaked one of my nipples (hard), grabbed my sister's hand, and pulled her to her feet. They left me like that for several hours while they continued their sexual congress right outside my tent. When it was all over it was her partner who came and cut me free, with one more appraising look in the early morning darkness. I was too sore to do anything but lay there for the next several hours, my mind numb from the sex, the reality, and the after affects of the drugs.
When I finally broke in an emotional flood I chose flight instead of fight. I bolted from the little A-frame tent and ran sprinting out into the meadow. I ran from the silence, from the lack of pursuit, from myself. My bare toes crushed the dewy grass underfoot and whipped through the tall weeds. Some of the hardier types broke the skin at my knees and calves. It wasn't until my feet began to bleed that I noticed I was lost. I had run into the woods and now had small twigs and stick and pieces of bark stuck in the pampered pads of my naked feet. I found a sturdy tree to collapse against. It would take me fifteen minutes of staring at the small trickles of blood from my toes and heel to inspire me to move again. Meticulously I groomed myself. Pulling first the penetrating pieces of growth and then the things which had gotten stuck in my hair or on my skin. I tried wiping the dirt from my body but only succeeded in smearing it over my thighs, breasts, stomach and crotch. It was here that I fell asleep, comforted by the fact that I was finally alone and that my body was finally cold.
It was here that I was found, by noon the next day. A dirty disheveled and completely nude woman beneath the evergreen canopy of the protected trees. I woke with a start to the touch of hand on my shoulder. But to my relief the person who had touched me was wearing black uniform boots and dark brown pants. A ranger! A hero for me to be carried away from this scary place. Sure he wasn't the most likely hero, but the food stains on his once pressed shirt and the scruffy half-trimmed beard could've been made from gold for all I cared. He may not have been Dudley Do-Right but he might as well have been Christ. Anyone but my sister and those hypocritical wretches was a welcome sight. I tried pushing myself into a sitting position, forgetting that I was exposing my nudity and treating my backside to more than a few slivers.
When I looked back up at him he was definitely ogling me. No shame, no modesty, no sense of duty. Damned if this wasn't my day.
"You one of them wilderness girls?", he said it his charming Canadian English. "We get lots of complaints from families when you folk come up here. Apparently you run around naked and kissing other girls and doing drugs and such? That true?"
He didn't need to wait for my answer obviously. Minus the dirt, I was naked as the day I was born.
"Well, I guess you being naked and such answers my question. Now the question is what I should do about it. What do you think Mr. Oultier?" Another mistake on my part. I hadn't noticed the second man now getting out of their dirty parks vehicle and meandering towards me. His hand was quite obviously entertaining thoughts of what my crossed ankles were trying to hide. It was rubbing a growing lump beneath the tight constraints of his Levis. I could see I was about to be reminded that I didn't belong here. Before Mr. Oultier got to me, Dudley did. I felt his hands on my shoulders straightening out my back and pushing me upright against the tree. With a mumbled, "Don't try anything now", he unzipped his pants and fished his hard cock out. Oultier had managed to retrieve a rifle and a few bungee cords. He tossed the cords to the masturbating Dudley and kept the gun on me. "Be a good girl and we won't have to use this", he said with a helpful smile.
Dudley apparently had paid attention during ranger school and had fastened my arms back around the pine tree I had been resting beneath. He started yanking them higher on the tree, forcing me to squirm upward as my shoulders strained at their joints and my skin tore around my biceps and forearm. Apparently he found the base to a broken branch that hooked me, half standing, half kneeling and thighs all burning. Apparently Dudley had finders fee because Oultier worked on getting his cock out while Dudley started playing with my tits. He paid me a lot of compliments but I didn't hear most of them. I was crying a little and struggling none.
I was tired, exhausted even, and mentally numb from my experience the night before. This almost seemed logical. It was what I got. Soon his dirty hands managed to remind me of what was happening. He began to roughly rub my clit while Oultier picked up the petting and groping of my softer feminine parts. One of their wives must have taught them the value of foreplay because I soon felt a tongue lashing over my soiled snatch. The familiar sensation of the oral digit pressing and flipping over my clit before plunging back into my body caught my attention. It was responding in a big way. I could already feel my deeper folds become flush with moisture and was slightly afraid to see what type of behavior that encouraged from these two. Soon enough Dudley tasted it and pronounced she wants it and boy is she ready. Or something to that effect. And sure enough, my hips were pulled rudely forward and my thighs forced apart by the weight of my friendly park ranger.