tagGroup SexHome Sweet Cave

Home Sweet Cave


Author's Note: I wasn't sure which category this story should have fallen into, so I chose Group Sex because there are three people involved. Like most of my stories, it starts a bit slowly with setting the scene. As always, comments and especially voting are appreciated. They are how I see how I'm doing entertaining you, the reader. Please enjoy...

Home Sweet Cave

Weird Fallout from Being a Good Samaritan

I was sitting in my cave, looking out over the treetops of the valley getting hammered by the thunderstorm and in the flashes of lightning, watching the two miserable, bedraggled human forms trying to scale my cliff.

I call it "my cave" and "my cliff", although in fact, it belongs to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, and hence to the Federal Government via the National Park Service. But my ancestors were hunting and making 'shine in these hills long before the land was set aside in 1934. I'm not interested in any government entanglements, so I'm not going to tell you exactly where it is.

What it is, though, is comfortable. It's been my retreat, my refresh-my-soul getaway since my Old Man showed it to me when I was about three. It isn't easy to get to, so most tourists and the Feds leave it alone. It's got a narrow triangular "front porch" in the side of a cliff and the main room extends about thirty feet back into the mountain. After you clear the entrance, the ceiling is about ten feet up with a gentle arch to it and a couple of fissures that run to the outside and carry out the smoke from my fire. The natural drafts help with that.

I've fabricated a screen from pine boughs, camouflage netting and rope that I can lower over the entrance to hide it from sight, if I want to. Normally, in a storm like this, I'd have the fire up and the screen down and be roasty-toasty warm. The wind could howl, the thunder boom and the lightning rip the sky with blinding flashes and I'd be wrapped in the Stillness of Nature -- no annoying human interruptions. Just the sounds of the most powerful force on Earth.

But in this case, I had the screen up, knowing my firelight was visible to the valley, watching those two wretched souls trying to find shelter from the torrential downpour. They had spotted my fire and were headed my way -- and I let them come. I wasn't worried about a couple of greenhorn backpackers who'd screwed up in my forest and now needed rescuing. They were learning a valuable lesson. And besides, I believe in armed self-defense, and no city-slicker tourist was going to be a problem for me.

I figured if they made it to my cave, I'd help them warm up and dry off, and give them some shelter for the night... and impress on them that if I ever saw them again, I'd shoot first. Same for if they opened their mouths about my little hidey hole and it got back to me, in any form, visits from the Feds included.

So I was watching with a certain amount of curiosity and amusement as they struggled up the face of the cliff. I guess they must have lost most of their gear, or were really stupid day-hikers, because all they had on were soaking wet jeans and hooded sweatshirts and some kind of utility belt, each. They'd gotten to a ledge about twenty feet or so below my front door when I decided to be kind. I tossed down a knotted climbing rope of one-and-a-half inch twisted sisal. It'd hold both their weights, no problem -- even if they were big, burly men, which they didn't look much like. Then I stood back in the shadows at the rear of the cave and waited.

The first one made it to my front porch and came slowly, cautiously, crawling over the edge, easing to the side and waiting for her companion to make it up.

Yes, "her". The first one in was definitely female. She looked like a drowned cat, her soaking wet clothes plastered to her and her hair all messed up and in her face. But even before she pushed the hair aside to look around, I could see she was female. Men don't have curves like that.

And then her companion eased over the threshold and guess what? It was another she. And they were both shaking like crazy as they looked around the inside of my cave. I put my 1911 back in its holster.

"Come on in, into the firelight," I directed them. They both jumped like they'd bumped into the electric fence. "Nobody's gonna hurt you," I told them, "although you have no reason to believe me." I stepped out so they could see me and their eyes went wide like the proverbial saucers. I think mostly they were looking at my sidearm, because I know I'm not pretty enough to warrant that kind of staring. "C'mon," I went on, pointing to the fire. "Over here."

I've got to hand it to them. They may have been scared shitless, but they did manage to follow directions. They eased along the far side of the cave wall until they were opposite the fire. I left them there while I walked to my front door and closed the screen, shutting out the storm and helping the temperature in the cave come up rapidly. Then I turned around and came back, standing opposite them on the other side of the fire.

"You're going to need to strip out of those wet clothes," I told them. "I don't want any hypothermia on my watch. Pick a couple of things that'll dry quickly, like panties and a T-shirt or something, and set 'em aside. Everything else goes in a separate pile." I didn't wait to see if they were going to do as I told them. I went back to my "bedroom" and dug out a couple of dry towels. My bedroom is actually a small alcove off the main room where I've built up a nest of furs and padding I call my bed.

I went back to take them the towels and discovered they hadn't moved.

"I'm serious, ladies," I told them, holding out the towels. "That wet stuff needs to come off and then dry off with these. I'll rig up your clothes so they'll dry. But you need to get close to the fire and get warmed up. Unless, of course, you want to come down with something like pneumonia."

The Alpha of the pair, I guess, was the one to move first. She got a kind of determined look on her face and slowly got to her feet.

"Thanks," she told me, putting on a brazen attitude as she started stripping off her boots and socks, sweatshirt, cargo pants and a flannel shirt. Those she dropped in a pile at her feet. Then she took a deep breath and looking me square in the eye, pulled off her tank top and stepped out of her undies, dropping them in a different pile and holding out her hand for the towel.

Which I gave her, without comment. In my head, of course, I was thinking damn nice body!, but I wasn't going to voice anything crude. Not with the attitude she was wearing. She began toweling off and moving nearer the fire.

"C'mon, Chrissie," she told her companion, with just a bit of sarcasm. "Do what the nice man told you." She wrapped the towel around her and sat down on one of my makeshift chairs near the fire.

"Chrissie" got up slowly and did pretty much the same thing as the Alpha Bitch, but without the attitude. She looked a lot more subdued and scared, but she did lose the wet clothes and I handed her the towel. She went to join her friend at the fire.

"You drink coffee?" I asked as I went over to my "kitchen" -- another small alcove where I kept my larder, fresh water and cooking supplies.

"Oh, God, yes!" Chrissie exclaimed, then suddenly looked surprised that anything had come out of her mouth.

"Okay, that's a fresh pot on the fire -- you'll have to use the hot-mitt next to my chair," I told them. "And here's cups, sugar and fake cream, if you want it," I added, walking over to them and giving them a couple of mugs and a box of packets. "I'll start workin' on your clothes."

I was studiously avoiding staring. I wanted to stare, sure -- I mean, I'm a red-blooded American guy with the same testosterone poisoning the rest of us have -- and these two were lookers.

They were young. At least to me. Early to mid-twenties to my jaded eyes. One blonde, the submissive, with blue eyes and one brunette, the Alpha, with green eyes. Both were close to 34-24-36 at a guess, and around 120 to 130 lbs., a lot of which was muscle. Cup size was probably C or D. Certain parts of my nethers were definitely taking notice, but I knew I needed to concentrate on business. I mean, I had decided to be the nice guy, you know?

I went and retrieved the mesh grille I used for drying out my own wet clothes and put their shirts and panties on it, then put it over the fire. Five minutes on a side and in ten, they'd be dry. The girls watched me with a mix of apprehension and curiosity while staying huddled near the fire with the towels wrapped around them, sucking on coffee. Which was fine by me. No matter how horny I was, I had decided to be the Good Samaritan.

A quick word about me... most people know me as Charlie, and I've lived in these hills all my life -- except for six years in the Navy on a submarine and two years at UT Knoxville getting a bachelor's in engineering. I'm forty-five and single, in decent shape and mostly stay to myself. Because of being the favorite nephew of a bachelor uncle who died and left half his estate to me, I'm pretty much set. I don't have to work if I don't want to.

"So, what your story?" I asked them as I made sure I didn't burn their clothes. Alpha decided to answer.

"We were camping in the valley, near the river, when the storm broke," she told me. "The winds whipped through and pretty much tore everything down and sent it downriver. Then the rains soaked everything else. We had our packs and decided to hike up to the highway, to try to thumb a ride. Chrissie fell in a ravine in the dark and lost her pack. I fell in trying to help her."

"Because of the rain and the mud, we couldn't get up to the highway. Then we saw your light. We figured there might be help. We were going to freeze to death if we didn't do something about shelter. Then I fell on that escarpment by the big clump of birches and got my pack torn off. We were pretty damned desperate when you threw down that rope. I guess we ought to thank you."

"Okay, so she's Chrissie," I nodded. "And you are?"

"Aine. But nobody ever pronounces it right, so I usually go by Anya," she told me.

"Driver's licenses," I said, holding out my hand. "And are you hungry?"

"What?" Anya asked while Chrissie just looked confused.

"I'd like you to show me your driver's licenses and tell me if you're hungry," I iterated, walking over to my jacket and pulling out my cell phone. No good as a phone here, but the camera worked.

"Um, yeah... I guess we're hungry," Anya answered, then added suspiciously, "why do you want to see our driver's licenses?"

"You do all the talking for the two of you?" I asked, walking over and holding out my hand again.

"Um... no..." she said, looking a bit intimidated. "I mean, not usually... not all the time..."

"I want to see if you are who you say you are," I told her. "I'll fill you in on the rest of it later. Driver's licenses."

It was actually Chrissie who stood up, went to her pile of wet clothes and -- doing a valiant job of trying to keep her towel around her -- fished out her wallet. I was amused to see that she carried a guy's style wallet in her jeans. She tried extracting her license, but being wet, it was stubborn and it wasn't any easier trying to hang on to the towel at the same time.

Finally, she gave up in frustration, dropped the towel as she stood up and dug out her license, walked over to me bold as can be and handed it to me. I think she was almost daring me to comment on her nudity.

"If you're a rapist, it pretty much doesn't matter if I'm wearing a towel or not," she stated.

"I'm not a rapist," I told her as I took a picture of the front of her license. "I only believe in consensual. Including in a marriage." She looked very confused as I handed her back her license.

"Yours?" I asked Anya. She looked at me for a long moment before standing up, dropping her towel, retrieving her license and handing it to me.

"So why do you want our license information?" she asked as she waited for me to take the picture and give her license back.

"Go sit down and wrap up," I told her. "Your T-shirts and panties will be ready in a few minutes. I'll answer your question after I get some food into you two."

I went and checked on their clothes and confirmed that my estimate had been right. Then I went to my larder.

"Either of you have a problem with meat?" I asked over my shoulder.

Chrissie shook her head and Anya said "no", while shaking her head.

I fished out some venison sausage, cheese, crackers and some "doesn't need refrigerating" fruit cups, then handed it over to the girls along with a cutting board, a knife and some spoons.

"It's venison," I explained. "Pretty tasty. My Old Man's recipe. Go ahead... eat."

It was obvious they were starving and didn't want to admit it. I turned my back on them and went to make sure the front door screen was securely lashed down -- the storm was not abating -- and then pulled the grille off the fire and started shaking out their clothes. I noticed in my peripheral that Chrissie was the one to start cutting up the sausage and cheese and making little cracker sandwiches out of it. I figured she was the domestic one.

I pulled out my clothesline while they ate, strung it up and hung up the rest of their clothes to dry. And started having a really strong talking to myself about whether I wanted to hit on them. They looked good. From the cherubic faces to the shaved pussies and tight asses, they looked good. And they knew it. I figured they must be a Sapphic couple. Hitting on them might prove pointless. I figured I'd wait.

"Wash up?" Anya asked, indicating her slightly greasy hands.

"Water's in there," I told her, pointing at my kitchen. "Waterless hand cleaner, too, if you want. And hand towels. Help yourself." I dropped their clothes on the edges of the seats they were in.

"Not sure what we're going to do about sleeping arrangements," I told them as I went back to my nest. I usually didn't keep extra sleeping bags or furs around. This is the first company I'd had overnight in a very long time. I noticed both Anya and Chrissie parading naked over to the kitchen to wash up, almost as if they'd decided to tease me or something. After they washed up, they put on their dry clothes.

"Where do you usually sleep?" Anya asked as the two of them walked over to join me.

"Here," I pointed to my nest. "A comfortable pile of padding and furs. Don't have any extra though, nor any sleeping bags. Got a few extra blankets..."

"Well, that sure looks big enough to me!" Chrissie exclaimed, kneeling down and feeling the fur. "What is this?"

"Mostly bear," I told her.

"Wow... that's really soft..." she murmured as she ran her hand through the bearskin. "You know, it's big enough, all three of us could fit. If you're not a rapist..."

Anya had been looking between Chrissie's delight in the bearskin and me. I would guess she was sizing me up.

"Are you horny?" she asked out of the blue. I looked at her like she had two heads.

"Of course, I'm horny," I told her. "What normal, intact, American male wouldn't be, with you two around? But just bein' horny doesn't mean anything's going to happen. And besides... I don't get between couples. Straight or gay, doesn't matter. I don't work like that."

The two girls looked at me... then at each other... then back to me before breaking out in laughter.

"You think we're lovers?" Anya managed to ask.

"Well, yeah... aren't you?"

"No... well, yes... but not like you're thinking," she told me. "We're very close friends, but we're not a 'couple', if that's what you're thinking. But that's okay. If you're as good as your word, it'll work out. It's obviously going to be hours before our clothes are dry and we're not going anywhere with the storm raging as it is, so... you have anything to put in the coffee to make it a nightcap?"

"Whiskey, vodka, rum... no ice at the moment," I told her. "Name your poison."

"Whiskey," Anya told me.

"Same," Chrissie murmured.

I nodded and went to dig out my bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. It'd make 'em feel warmer, even if it wasn't doing anything long-term useful. I figured they'd get lit, crash out, and I'd sleep on the other side of the nest. If I slept at all. I made sure, before I joined them back at the fire, that I'd secured my weapons locker. The only operable firearm was my .45 and the 8 rounds in it. And it was staying with me.

"So, turnabout is fair play, or whatever," Anya told me when I sat down. "What's your story?"

"I'm an Electronics Engineer by trade, working when I want to work, spending some of my time in Knoxville and some here," I told her. "I come here to get away from people." Chrissie grimaced.

"Not very successful tonight, huh?" she asked quietly.

"You didn't have to help us," Anya pointed out. "Why did you? If you wanted to be alone, you could have just dropped your camo screen and ignored us."

"I don't know," I admitted. "Felt like being a White Knight or something. Saw you trying to work your way through my forest and decided you needed help. Didn't even know you were pretty women at the time. Just dumb tourists."

"Not exactly dumb tourists," Anya snorted. "But close enough from your point of view, I suppose. We're T-A's at the University. In Knoxville. We like to get away and go camping on a regular basis. We're usually prepared for the crap. This one caught us flat."

"What do you teach?" I asked.

"I'm going for my DVM," Anya told me. "I'm a T-A in Large Animal Clinical Sciences, most recently in Equine Surgery."

"Okay, that's impressive," I admitted. "And you?" I turned to Chrissie.

"I'm going for my Masters in Nursing," she told me gently and I suddenly realized how perfectly her personality would dovetail into taking care of others. "I'm a T-A in the Clinical Practice Lab."

"Wow... that's pretty impressive, too," I told her. "So here's the deal on the licenses. I took the pictures so I'd know who you were and how to find you. I don't want anyone, and I mean anyone, knowing about this place or opening their mouths to the Feds or any number of other unscrupulous people. I like my privacy. This has been 'my place' since my Old Man showed it to me, and it goes back in my family a lot farther than this place has been a National Park. So when you leave, you'll forget you were ever here. You won't mention it to anyone. Period. Understood?"

"From a man who wears a sidearm," Anya pointed out. "Yeah, I think it's understood."

"So who are you, then?" Chrissie asked. "What's your name? And how would we contact you if we wanted to, sometime in the future?"

"Most people know me as Charlie," I told her. "And I'll give you a cell number and an email before you leave... if I think it's a good idea. In the meantime, eat if you're hungry, drink if you're thirsty, and take the right side of the nest if you're tired. I'm going to go meditate on the storm for awhile. Your clothes should be dry by morning."

I got up and stretched, then headed towards the front door, leaving them with the bottle of whiskey, the pot of coffee and their own counsels.

* * * * * * * * * *

The storm was going to be a long one. From my perch looking out over the valley, I could see the thunderheads moving in as others were moving out. Lightning was providing a rather surreal, psychedelic view of the middle of the night and the incessant rain was coming in from behind my cliff, so at least I wasn't getting soaked.

I looked at the pictures of the girls' licenses. Aine Mairead O'Connor -- definitely Irish -- and Christina Suzanne Blackbourne -- Scottish, maybe? Or English? -- both lived at the same address. So, roommates. They'd said they were close friends but not a couple. I suppose it could work like that.

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