tagMatureHooters

Hooters

byRejectReality©

Clint cruised slowly down the gravel road, leaving only a thin, short-lived trail of dust behind his RV. Born and raised in just such an area, he knew to avoid kicking up a dust storm if he wanted to remain friendly with the locals. He absolutely wanted to remain friendly with the locals.

Doing exactly that was why he had access to most of the properties in the area, giving him the best possible chance of accomplishing his goal. If the stories he'd heard were true, and he could prove it, there was a chance of attracting grant money or donations to the foundation.

As he drove, he mentally mapped the locations he had recently stayed overnight, trying to decide where to set the night's base camp. Naturally, the next logical place was one of the few properties the owner wouldn't allow him on. He'd asked the previous year, and been refused in a vehement — even threatening — manner. The property was huge, and left a giant hole in his coverage of the area. The man's driveway was fast approaching, and he glanced that way as he passed.

He immediately let off the accelerator, having seen a woman he didn't recognize walking down the lane toward the mailbox. He'd also noticed flowers growing next to the house, and those certainly hadn't been there when the crotchety old man had chased him off the property the previous year. He pulled as far off the side of the road as he could and stopped.

God damn! he thought as he got his first good look at her in the rearview mirror. The white t-shirt she was wearing looked as though it was ready to explode from trying to contain her tits. The rest of her wasn't bad, either. She had long blonde hair, and a pretty face. Her shorts showed off her nice legs, and a butt that was big, but not too big. He guessed she was about his mother's age.

He took a moment to compose himself, and opened the door. The heat and humidity hit him like a sledgehammer. A thunderstorm had popped up earlier, drowning the area in a downpour. The clouds had barely passed before the temperature had skyrocketed once more. All the evaporating rain water made the air feel as thick as soup, and it was the absolute hottest part of the scorching summer day.

"Afternoon," she said when he climbed out of the RV. "You lost? Afraid I may not be of much help. I barely know my own way around."

"No, I didn't recognize you, so I thought I'd stop. Isn't this..." he trailed off as the old man's name escaped him.

"Hibb Keller?" she prompted.

He snapped his fingers. "Yeah, I think that was the name. Did he move?"

"Passed away at the first of the year."

"I'm sorry."

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, then used it to wipe the sweat from her brow. "He lived a full life. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't seen him in over ten years."

He walked up to her and asked, "Related?"

"My uncle. He left the place to me." She chuckled, shrugged, and clarified, "Well, he left it to the family, and nobody else wanted it." She held out her hand and said, "I'm Alice Keller."

Clint shook her hand and said, "Clint Drake."

"Let me guess. You want to look through all the junk he had stacked everywhere?"

That explained the old man's territorial behavior. If he was a collector, having some stranger on the property with his treasures was absolutely intolerable. He knew the type quite well.

He shook his head. "I work with the Raptor Research Foundation. People in the area have been telling stories about a strange owl. I've heard what I believe were calls from Boreal Owls in the area a couple of times, and it always seems to come from this direction."

"I've certainly got some hooters," she said.

You can say that again, he thought, having to fight to keep his eyes from dropping down to her breasts.

She continued, "They're living in the barns and out in the woods. Hear them all the time and see them once in a while."

"Those are probably Horned Owls. Boreals make a completely different sound, and if they're actually here, they're an oddity. This is easily two hundred miles south of their normal breeding range."

From farther up the drive, he heard a man's voice say, "You again?"

Shit, Clint thought, recognizing the old man as Hibb's friend, from his previous stop at the property.

Shaking his finger as he approached, the gray-haired man said, "If you think you're going to take advantage of Alice here because Hibb passed on, you best be rethinking it."

"It's fine, Floyd," Alice said. "He's looking for owls, not uncle Hibbs collection."

The old man walked up next to Alice and stared daggers at Clint. "Hmph! Owls. Big load of hogwash, I say."

"We're trying to sell things, remember?" Alice said, and then patted the old man on the shoulder.

"Sell them for what they're worth. Not peanuts or pilfering."

Hearing that they were selling sparked an idea for a possible inroad. "If you're looking to sell, I know someone who buys. They call themselves Barn Owl Treasures."

The old man snorted and rolled his eyes.

Alice said, "I actually called them. They said they'd put me on the list, but I haven't heard anything back."

Clint smiled and said, "I know the owner's son, though. Looking for owls, I spend a lot of time in barns. When I see something interesting, I pass along the tip. I've hit pay dirt often enough that he takes me seriously."

"Really? It would be nice to clean out at least a little of this stuff," Alice said longingly.

Knowing the type, Clint tossed a trump, hoping to take the trick. He addressed Floyd and said, "You probably know the collection like the back of your hand. You could pick out some things you know are really valuable, and I'll take pictures for him. That's sure to get his attention."

The old man's eyes lit up, and Clint knew he had him. Floyd folded his arms across his chest and grinned. "Oh, there's a few pieces here and there that'll make a man piss himself, if he knows what he's looking at."

Clint said, "Point them out, and maybe I can help you sell a few things. In the meantime, I'll keep my eyes on the rafters to see if I can find what I'm looking for."

"Sounds like a good deal to me," Alice encouraged the old man.

Floyd's brow wrinkled, and he grunted. "I've heard they pony up, and deal fair. That's why I had you call them, Alice." He turned his attention back to Clint and said, "If you think you can get them here, I'll show you a few things."

"Put the right stuff in front of them, and they'll stop whatever they're doing to come try to buy it," Clint said.

Alice clapped her hands, and rubbed them together. "Let's get to it, then. Clint, why don't you pull up to the house?" she said while leading Floyd back up the lane.

Clint climbed back into his RV with a victorious smile.

****

After wiping his shoulder across his brow, Clint took another drink of the ice-cold lemonade Alice had brought out, and sighed in relief.

He was drenched in sweat, covered in barn dust, and losing daylight fast, but at least he was on the property. Floyd had instantly lost his surly attitude and grown animated once he started talking about the items from the collection he wanted to show off. Even with his limited knowledge, Clint knew the old man had reason to be proud of the valuable items.

After snapping pictures of the specific treasures Floyd had selected, he took some wider shots inside of the two barns as well. He then sent a message to Justin, describing the property, and attached the pictures.

It had only been five minutes, but he received a reply that read, "Holy shit. Get them to save that Sinclair sign for me. I'm a couple of days out. Can you get me a number?"

Clint gestured with his phone and said, "Justin just texted me. He's interested in coming out. He wants a contact number."

Alice offered a brilliant smile and said, "Sure. Let me know when you're ready."

Clint typed in the number as she said it, and sent the message. Justin rapidly responded with a request to call her immediately. Alice agreed, and only seconds after Clint sent the message, her phone rang.

"Okay, I'll talk to you then. Bye," she said as she ended the call. She then explained, "He's going to call me as soon as he gets home from his trip, and make arrangements to come out. He asked if we'd save that Sinclair sign for him."

Floyd offered a wicked, knowing chuckle. "He's hooked. You'll make a pretty penny off that." The old man then yawned and stretched.

"Go ahead home, Floyd. I'll call you to let you know when he's coming out," Alice suggested.

The old man yawned again. "I'll drive a hard bargain, and make sure old Hibb doesn't start spinning in his grave. You take care." He gave Alice a familiar pat on the butt, and then walked toward his pickup.

"Thanks for making the connection for us," she said to Clint.

"Happy to do it." He gave Floyd time to get into his truck and start the engine before asking, "I was wondering if you'd mind me parking here tonight? I'm hoping to hear that Boreal."

She didn't hesitate at all when she answered, "No, that's fine. Do you need to plug in? My uncle had an outlet put in."

Pleasantly surprised, he said, "If you don't mind. That would save me some gas."

"No trouble at all. And don't worry about waking me up. I keep late hours, and I sleep like the dead once I do go to bed. Are you hungry?"

"Not really. I ate just before I got here" he answered. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to walk around the property and get my bearings before it gets dark."

"Make yourself at home," she said as she turned back toward the house. "The RV outlet is right next to where the bug zapper is plugged in. If you change your mind about having a bite, just come knock on the door."

He said, "Thanks." Then he thought, I'd love to have a bite of that, while watching her sexy ass sway. He was smart enough to tear his eyes away from the sight before she caught him. He was already parked close enough, so he plugged in the RV, and then turned his attention to exploring the property before nightfall.

He had a solid sense of where all the outbuildings, the pond, and the edge of the woods that dominated the property were by the time darkness descended. Eventually, he hoped to be able to mark trails through the woods, allowing him to find his way at night, but for the time being, he could navigate nearby. The full moon would help with that.

Even with the sun down, he was still sweating. It had been a scorcher, and the night seemed as if it wasn't going to be any cooler.

Clint settled into a lawn chair retrieved from the RV, and almost immediately wished he'd asked Alice to turn off the bug zapper. The periodic buzzing of moths and potato bugs led to their doom by the violet light kept breaking his concentration. His ears were his most useful tools in locating and identifying the elusive, nocturnal owls.

Those keen ears heard the door of the house open, and he glanced that way, only to be nearly knocked out of his seat by what he saw. Alice had exchanged her white t-shirt for a bikini top that left vast swaths of her overflowing breasts bared to his stunned gaze.

"I'm going to go have a dip in the pond," she said as she crossed the porch while whipping a towel over her shoulder. "Do you need anything before I head that way?"

His brain short-circuiting from the unexpected revelation of even more of her huge tits, he seized on the first coherent thought that entered his head — bug zapper. "Would you mind turning off the bug zapper? It keeps distracting me."

"Sure," she said, and grinned.

He had to fight hard to hold back a groan when she bent over, showing off her ass and letting her breasts hang in the sling of her bikini top. Though his first thought was that she was flirting, he dismissed it, unwilling to risk the chance he was wrong. She unplugged the insect executioner, and then walked down the steps with her flip-flops slapping on the wood.

"I'll be back at the pond, if you need anything," she said. She waved as she walked along the front of the house, and then vanished around the corner.

Clint blew out a long, slow breath through pursed lips once she was out of sight. He needed something, but he wasn't sure enough of his instincts to try for it. Access to the property was too advantageous to his quest for the rumored Boreal. He felt it was better safe than sorry.

Of course, he knew he was going to be sorry he didn't jump at even the slightest chance to see the rest of those tits. As flustered as he was, he reasoned that he probably would have made a fool of himself, anyway. Content — for the time being — with that rationalization, he closed his eyes and attuned his ears to the sounds of the night.

It wasn't long before he was rewarded. The hoot was that of a Horned Owl, but it provided an opportunity. While he wanted to confirm the presence of the Boreal, he was documenting the more common types of owls as well. He popped up from his chair and headed in the direction from which he'd heard the sound arise. He had little trouble negotiating the shin-high grass in the moonlight as he walked toward the largest of the barns. Once he neared the structure, the owl called again, narrowing down its location.

Clint scanned the roof of the barn, and spotted the owl at the same time as it called out again. He lifted the camera slung around his neck, which was equipped with a low light lens and set up for same. He snapped the picture, and upon checking it, found it was a good shot. The roof was shingled, and that visible pattern would provide scale to determine the owl's size.

With the owl still in sight, he let the camera settle back around his neck, and reached into the pouch on his hip. He turned on the recorder, aimed the stereo mikes at the owl, and hit record. The owl seemed to be purposely holding back, but he kept the device on target, knowing he had 32 gigs of storage. Finally, the owl rewarded him with a clear call.

Though faint, he heard an answering call not long after. Unfortunately, it was coming from deep in the woods. Not having marked any trails, it wouldn't be practical — or safe — to try to track down the second owl. The first owl chose that moment to leap into flight, vanishing on its quiet wings in search of prey.

Happy with the results, he started back to the RV. He had nearly reached his chair when he heard it.

Clint broke out into gooseflesh, and a chill raced up his spine upon hearing the staccato, high-pitched — for an owl — sound of the Boreal's call. For the first time, it wasn't a rumor, or a distant, questionable tease from far away. It was distinct, unmistakable, and thrilling. He managed to home in on the sound before it faded away, and stalked toward it with purpose.

Along the way, he pulled out his recorder, hit record, and prayed the owl would call again. Come on. Come on, he thought as he moved toward the sound. The grass grew thicker as he moved away from the various outbuildings, forcing him to watch his footing more carefully. He slowed as he neared the woods, desperately willing the owl to sound off again.

Then, sweet victory. He silently screamed yes when the owl called again. Reacting quickly, he aimed the mikes directly at the sound. He knew he was capturing something almost unheard of so far south, and everyone at the institute would be just as giddy as he was.

As soon as the call faded, he stopped recording and prepared to play it back, praying the recording was clear.

"What on earth was that?"

Clint's head turned toward Alice's voice in a snap. He had been so intent upon recording the Boreal that he hadn't even realized he was near the pond. Alice climbed out of the water onto a patch of the shore covered in sand, apparently unconcerned with her nudity or his presence.

Glittering rivulets of water streamed down her body in the moonlight. Her breasts were everything he had imagined. They were big and pendulous, but not droopy. He could clearly see her large, bumpy areolas, which surrounded nipples that looked erect. Between her legs was a nest of curls that glimmered from the droplets of water clinging to it.

Clint drank in the sight of her naked body, growing hard at a rapid pace. He only realized he was staring when she chuckled.

Alice leaned on one of the two chairs set on the pseudo beach, and reached up to run the fingers of her other hand through her wet hair. There was no doubt that the pose was meant to show off her body and entice. It was working.

She smiled and said, "Well, it's about time. I was starting to think you were gay. Like what you see?"

The surprise ebbing, and with any doubt about her interest scattered on the wind, he answered, "You're fucking hot."

"Why don't you come here and show me your hooter expertise?"

It was a foregone conclusion at that point. Clint walked toward her, fumbling to put his recorder back in its pouch, but it refused to cooperate. Alice stepped toward him once he was close, took the recorder, and dropped it on the seat of the chair, where her shorts and bikini were resting. He put a hand on her hip, sliding it up her side.

She let out a little moan, and hefted the camera while his hand continued up toward her breast. With a surprisingly deft movement, she swept the strap of the camera over his neck, and it too found a home in the seat of the chair.

Clint growled as he ran his hand over her right breast. The globe was soft in his hand, but his exploring fingers soon enough found her very hard nipple. She gasped when he touched it, and drew his other hand up as well. He filled both hands with her big, soft tits, squeezed them, and pushed them together.

The barest touch of her hand on the back of his neck was enough to encourage him to lean in.

Alice's fingers moved down to his back, curling into claws as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Her other hand soon joined it, and her nails raked his back. Clint took the stiff nipple between his lips, sucked it for a moment, and then moved to its twin. He rolled it between his lips, let it escape, and then swirled his tongue around the other.

Her nails, which had already been tugging his shirt upward, began to do so with intent and purpose. Once she had the tail of the shirt in hand, he pulled away from her breast, and let her jerk the shirt over his head. She draped it over the back of the chair while tracing the lines of his chest with the other hand, and let out a hungry moan. Before he could wrap his lips around her nipple again, both her hands grabbed his belt.

She dispensed with his belt in a pair of rushed tugs, popped open the button, and unzipped his pants. Not pausing in the slightest, she roughly shoved his jeans and underwear down far enough for her to wrap her hands around his hard cock.

A sexy combination of a growl and a moan escaped her as she stroked his erection.

Clint stomped on his heels in turn, allowing him to kick off his shoes, but made sure she had no trouble holding onto his cock.

"Been a while since I felt a cock this hard," she said.

"And I've never seen tits that big for real," he said while trying — and failing — to lift a leg and remove his sock. The encumbrance of his pants at his thighs and his refusal to move away from her soft hand stroking him made it impossible.

"You do love hooters, don't you?"

"I'll show you."

Alice put a hand on his chest, preventing him from fulfilling that promise. "Let me help you out of those pesky pants, first."

He wasn't going to argue with that.

She pushed his pants down, making a show of wiggling her ass and shaking her tits while doing so. Once they were down to his knees, she straightened and said, "Sit down."

Clint looked behind him, located the other chair on the mini beach, and stutter-stepped back to it. As he sat down, Alice sank to her knees in front of him. She jerked off his socks, quickly followed by his pants, and then looked up into his eyes.

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