Stanley Steamer Ch. 02: Lorna & Babs

Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker is total fiction, except some places. All sexual actors are over 18 and avoid condoms. Tags: clusterfuck, multiracial, bisexual, pregnant, steam engine, Karmann Ghia, Rancho Relaxo, Yucca Valley. If you object to any such, stop reading. Details may be incorrect. Views expressed may not be the author's. Read the prior chapter first. Enjoy!

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Stanley Steamer 02 of 03: Lorna & Babs
Stanley takes the ladies on steamy rides
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LORNA
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We left a well-fucked Jeri at her moldy courtyard apartment in San Boogaloo A.K.A. San Berdoo A.K.A. San Bernardino, California., USA, Earth. Stanley opened his stealthily modified Karmann Ghia steamer named Heidi for us.

Stan, Mariana, and I all fit in Heidi's luxurious front seat, almost a short sofa. I raced to the middle. I bared as much of Stan's leg as I could so my bare leg had as much contact as possible with his flesh and that curly brown leg-hair. I pushed my big Swedish boobs into him, too. I was a bad, bad girl.

Beside me, Mari was even worse. The foxy Latina tart, my roommate, could finger me and herself, while I could not disturb the driver TOO much. I was not ready yet to be crushed under a cargo truck.

"Top up or down on the car, ladies?" Stan asked. "All roads to my place take fast freeway drives. Top up, you can stay as you are. Top down, you might want those tees you brought along."

"Maybe up," I said, "so we can talk."

"Definitely down," Mari said, "so we can suck wind."

"Down she stays, then," Stan said.

Mari and I donned tees over our bikini tops. We climbed in and quietly sped off. Damn, that silent steam engine is great! All we hear is wind and traffic.

"You're going out above Yucca Valley?" I shouted. "Our place in Cabazon is along the way. We could stop in for a minute, grab some fresh stuff. Right, Mari? Okay with you, Stan?"

"Your wish, my command, as long as I'm rewarded, heh heh."

"Oh baby, you'll get yours, don't you worry," Mari cooed. She reached over me to rub his cock under his cargo shorts, going straight for fresh fleshy contact.

"Yeah, he'll get yours and mine, and maybe the neighbor's, too. It depends on how long we delay."

"I have a plan," Stan said. "We won't shilly-shally too long."

Our spin toward Cabazon and the dinosaurs in Whitewater Pass's two-mile-deep cut in the Coast Range mountains did not take long. Gathering a few necessities from the apartment Mari and I shared behind the Indian casino where we worked did not take long.

Stan's slamming doggy-fucks in us both at the apartment delayed us just a bit. I came fast, moaning. Stan grunted when he spewed hot lust-juice into Mari, who only cried a little. Then we cleaned up and rolled again wearing fresh bikinis as tiny as the last. On Mari and me, not on Stan. Although he would have looked good in a bikini bottom. Well, except for the overflow.

We passed the big roadside dinosaurs. I fucked a guy under the T.Rex one dark night. Good thing we had a thick blanket to save my ass. But anyway, we skipped over the pass itself. Its deep cut through tall mountains lets coastal fog and smog into the low desert but also lets hot desert winds blow into Greater Los Angeles, that smoggy toilet bowl. Then we forked off the freeway to Palm Springs and Phoenix, and climbed a steep grade to Yucca Valley and beyond.

We reached the crusty edge of sprawling Yucca Valley, passed the funky Pioneertown road, and took the byway going north and then west, skirting around the tall San Bernardino range. This was a country of big boulders, big gullies and washes, a road of twists and turns and grades, with open high desert stretching forever to the east and north, and rugged peaks just west.

"My place is right at the edge of the national forest. It'll all be national park or monument some day. I might have to move then because they'll shut down many of the back-roads and jeep trails. You'll see why."

Stan left the pavement for a narrow, twisty, but well-graded gravel road climbing westward. His parcel was maybe a mile in.

We passed through piles of huge erosion-rounded grey-white boulders - "quartz monzonite," Stan said - to a sort of clearing lined with stone and yuccas and a few Joshua trees and some plants I only recognized because our office published nature guides for areas around the Cahuilla reservation. I had edited some revised versions so I knew a bit of the vegetation. Mountains rose behind Stan's clearing.

"Welcome to Rancho Relaxo in beautiful Flamingo Heights, California. Watch for desert flamingos. They're vicious here."

I saw a big fieldstone cabin with a red terra-cotta tile roof nestled against an inevitable huge boulder. I guessed the cabin's size at a couple thousand square feet or more, plenty commodious. Nearby were small metal sheds and tanks and a large steel structure like a common warehouse, garage space, or barn.

"Let me do a little business, grab some things, and then we can take a ride unlike the last."

Stan parked by the 'barn'. Mari and I trailed him through the massive wooden doorway into his magic lair.

Stone walls enclosed the house; brick walls partitioned the large space. The layout: livingroom-parlor, kitchen-dining-greatroom, bedroom with lavish bath, all expansive. Light came courtesy of clerestory windows set high, unseen from the ground outside, and heavy shuttered windows framed in the walls. The guest cells and his office were all small, cozy, with vestigial window panes set high for privacy and ambiance.

Not much stone or brick was visible inside. Most walls were lined with bookshelves, or hung with paintings or ethnic weavings and hard goods.

"Make yourselves homely, ladies. I'll be out in a minute."

He went into his office. He left the door open. I peeked and saw him tapping at a computer workstation. The office walls were covered with charts, diagrams.

We made ourselves homely. Mari's artistic eye examined exotic wall hangings. I scanned the bookshelves. Lots of science fiction, mostly 'hard', little fantasy. Coffee-table books of places and technologies and people, naked or otherwise. A library of atlases. Old volumes of etched illustrations. Sets of nature guides, including from my publications office. Puzzle books, histories, and shelves of sheet music. I saw a stringed instrument leaning nearby, not a small guitar.

"That's a mandola," Stan said, escaping his office. "Mandola, not mandala or Mandela. A violin is a small viola. A mandolin is a small mandola. Violin family and mandos, they're the same except mandos have frets and more strings. I'll take it along." Into its case it went. "Let me get a few things and we'll roll."

A medium-size plastic cooler sat open on the shelf next to the refrigerator. Stan plopped items into the cooler. "Snacks, sodas, beers - nothing any stronger, I can't get too drunk this afternoon - that'll do."

He took a small duffel from a closet; from another closet, he stuffed in what looked like towels and blankets.

"Okay, grab your purses and come on out. I have a treat for you,"

We followed him to the 'barn'. He keyed the big door open. Inside were worktables, metal shelves and cabinets, bikes, odd machines, and... something...

"Hang on a moment while I park Heidi." He silently rolled the Karmann Ghia steamer inside beside that... thing. "Well, what do you think?"

"What the holy fuck?" Mari said.

You have seen those monster trucks on massive tractor wheels. This machine looked like a thin long pickup truck riding on impossibly huge bicycle wheels.

"What the holy fuck?" I said.

"That's another steam buggy," Stan said, "a high-wheeler. She started as a small stretch-cab four-wheel-drive Toyota pickup Jeri expected. You recall my guy in Stuttgart? Waltzing Matilda here runs on another ZEE, Volkswagen's elite steam Zero Emissions Engine. The ZEE pretty much plugs right in. Her fenders had to be reshaped to fit her five-foot wheels. Those are for farm machines that ride over crops without wide tire prints. Tilly's reinforced tires are only four inches thick. A guy up in Barstow put her together for me."

"What the holy fuck for?" I asked.

"Her wheels and tires put her undercarriage two point five feet above solid ground. That means Tilly climbs right over logs, gullies, boulders, stumps, washouts, any obstacle not too big. Her power winch can haul her out of indiscreet places. She's just perfect for climbing these mountains or crossing that desert. She's legal for highways but she prefers dirt. She's like daddy-long-legs with wheels."

"Does this mean we're going to rough country?" Mari asked.

"Not too rough. I know a totally private pond with an awesome view up on Red Mountain. It's a pretty easy drive for Tilly but hard for anything else but stupid hikers or a noisy mountain bike. We won't need her winch."

Not needing a winch is a good thing, I thought.

"Anyway, Tilly is the reason I might eventually move. Once they turn the up-country over to the National Park Service, they'll close most mountain tracks to any motor vehicle, and Tilly will have only desert to play in. But that may be years away yet. We'll see."

He lowered a step-ladder at the passenger door and folded forward the back of that part of the bench seat looking almost as comfy as Heidi's luxury.

"How about somebody climb in? I'll hand up the stuff we'll take. Just put it in the back area. Make sure there's a blanket open there, okay? We'll strap that down to hold everything in place. Tilly tends to bounce."

I volunteered. Stan 'helped' me in by rather gently boosting my almost-bare ass - not much more than a thong down there. The backs of my legs got rubbed on my way in.

"Here goes." He handed me the cooler, duffel, mandola in its case, our purses, and his day bag. "Slide over." I took the driver's-seat. He climbed in back after.

"The blanket is good. Here's now to secure the stuff. Watch." He tucked the blanket top under the stuff and fixed bungee cords around the ends and two in between to hold the blanket tight. "Voila! Ready to rock! Let's roll!"

He climbed out the passenger door, flipped the seatback up, and 'helped' our Mariana into the cab. She wore as little as me. I smelled her cunny juice as she climbed in. He closed the door and climbed in the driver's side. I was right up against him again, him in only sneakers and shorts, me and Mari in little more than thin kerchiefs.

"Hey, it's my turn," Mariana said. She scooted her bubbly ass and smelly cunt across my bare slightly-tanned thighs and forced me to scoot to the edge. "There." I pinched her near nipple in retaliation. "Hey, play fair," she whined. I pinched the other nipple. Hah!

Stan laughed and started the weird silent beast. He drove out the barn door, jumped out, keyed the barn closed, and climbed back in.

"Ready?"

I looked Mari in the eye. We nodded. We pointed to the front.

"Forward, into the past!" we chorused.

The drive was easy and eerie. Easy, because what passed for roads and trails were choppy but no problem for Tilly to traverse. Eerie, because no engine noise, only narrow tires crunching dirt underfoot, and whatever breeze was in the trees, and birds singing, and... sounds out there. Not human sounds.

We arrived at Stan's secret lake, nestled in a scooped-out mountainside cove, surrounded by pitch-scented conifers, the pond ringed by a narrow beach of grey sand - pulverized granite I think. The side of this little pocket had fallen away to give a view over hundreds of miles of arid Mohave Desert.

I flipped down the passenger side steps. I waited to climb down till Stan was there to 'help' again. His helpful finger brushed my barely-safed clitoris. Oh!

Mari slid to follow me but Stan said, "Wait. Let's unload our stuff. Hey Lorna, show Mari how to unstrap. I'll be right here."

He walked around back to drop the tailgate, level at four feet off the ground. "Okay, we'll stack it here."

Out came the cooler and bags and the mandola in its case, and out to the tailgate they went. Down came Mari, also nicely 'helped' by Stan's big hands. She smiled.

Out of the duffel came towels, blankets, and a telescoping whisk broom. "I'll get this right," he said. He brushed twigs and pebbles off a level stretch of ground and then spread blankets to make a thick pad. "Now we'll be comfy."

He tipped the cooler on its side. "The snack bar is open. But I bet the water's good." He stripped off his shorts and sneakers and waded in.

Mari and I exchanged glances again. Off came our miniature bikinis. Into the pond went our fine naked bodies. The water was cooler than Jeri's brother's pool down below sea level. It was just a bit brisk. None of us stayed too long.

We toweled-off, harvested goodies from the tailgate, and plopped on the blankets. We all slurped drinks and bites and stretched out on our backs, side-by-side on the blanket, Stan in the middle of course, his thick cock running only partway down his hairy thigh. The sun was warmer than the air. Nice.

We chatted about important trivialities. Arts, sciences, conundrums, music - Stan fetched his mandola, tuned it, played something vaguely baroque, then turned to surf music. That was a nice rendition of Misirlu.

"Yeah, I'm the King of the Surf Mandola!" he bragged. Sure he is. Why not?

Our bodies quickly dried. Our topics of chatter dried up. Mari looked around. "What now?" she asked.

"Wayelllll..." Stan drawled, "I kinda though we might fuck some more."

"How could I guess?" I said.

Soon I had the towels rolled under my head as a pillow. Stan was on his hands and spread knees, adroitly working his tongue on my sensitive snatch. Slow, oh yes, his devout oral worship, in and out, up and down, slowly around, aahhhhh, but bumped by jolts from Stan as Mari lay stretched on her back under him, sucking him, biting him, a little too much at times, poor baby.

I know what we looked like as they slurped. His eyes wide open, capturing mine. My fingers on my nipples while my big boobs bobbled around. Mari's tasty tits jiggling too as she tongued and swallowed Stan's lust and diddled herself. All stretched in a lusty line. Quite a vision! Too bad we lacked a video camera and tripod.

We gals timed it nicely. My and Mari's first orgasms came close together.

"Time to swap," Stan said.

Now Mari laid back and pinched her nips, and I did slid fully under Stan, 69-like, my pussy below his chin, doing my oral best while Stan rocked into my mouth. I loved that blast of semen when he came. He tasted good. He must eat chicken, not beef, and drink clear liquor.

We crawled apart and crawled together. Mari and Stan nursed on me - damn, they felt great! - while their fingers alternated in gently pushing into and strolling around in my overflowing cunt. The sun had moved; we were in shade; and I felt tremendous.

Stan suckled me a lot but he also kissed my mouth faithfully. Tit-sucking is sexy. Face-kissing is friendlier. It's good to be friends. I don't mind friends mouthing me just about anywhere. But I digress.

We heard branches crunching. Footsteps. We all looked in that direction but no lips left my body. We saw two hiking figures, both bright redheads: a young woman and man, laden with heavy backpacks.

"Oh, we're sorry, we didn't mean to-"

Mari sat up. "Are you horny?" she asked. "I'm still horny. Do you guys want to fuck? Get naked and jump in the water first, then get over here. We have more towels on the tailgate. Want a beer? They're up there. Help yourselves."

Mari moved from slurping my tit to sucking Stan's limp-ish but still-thick cock as he continued suckling me. She rolled over and stuck her butt in the air. I think that was an open invitation. The couple stared at her.

The guy looked at the girl. The girl looked at the guy. She said, "I'm hot and sticky. I'm for the pond. Maybe a beer first."

The two noticed Tilly the High-Wheeler for the first time. They did classic double-takes, glancing at her, looking away, and then snapping their heads back, mouths open. Stan explained briefly while they stripped.

The girl shucked her pack, her sweaty trail blouse and sports bra, and boots and socks, followed by shorts and panties. She grabbed a beer from the open cooler and did a great naked chug-a-lug with flying boobs. She ran to the pond, jumped in, and belched.

"Oh wow!" she yelled - "Come on in, dear, the water's fine!" - and cackle-laughed at her slowly-undressing partner.

He undressed slow, revealing a long ruddy dong, but he chugged beer just as fast and uncaringly, and swam and belched just as soon. He stabilized for a few moments. I think he peed in the pond. I will not go back in today.

The young woman came to shore, shook herself off, fetched a towel, dried her long red hair more than her freckled body, and looked at us. "So?"

"How about this?" asked Mari. "Girl, you look adventurous. Lay down here. I'll suck your tits and you'll suck mine and I'll finger you till you squeal while your guy doggy-fucks me to death. Or I lie back and you eat me while Stan here wolf-fucks you to oblivion. Lorna gets the leftovers either way. By the way, I'm Mariana. Call me Mari. Do you guys have names?"

The Celtic girl laughed again. "I'm Anathea, call me Anny, and this is my lazy cousin Lazlo. We thought we'd find some quiet private space way up here."

"We just finished fucking my cousin for a few days. Ain't no big thing," Stan said. "Cousin-fucking is a fine old tradition. Ask Darwin. Are you friends too?"

"Well, I hope so," Lazlo said, "I've sucked her wonderful titties enough." He reached for a towel. His cock was impressive but not bizarre. "How about that position where I fuck, what's your name? Mari? while you and Anny nurse?"

"No," I said, "then I'm stuck with Stan, and Stan just fucked me. How about Mari rides your tongue while I ride your long red cock there, or vice versa, maybe both, hmmm, lazy Lazlo? Anny can have fun with Stan then. I see hot 69s and missionaries in your future, kids. Or hey Lazlo, you and me can 69 and stuff. I'm good for tit-fucking too if that's what you like."

Anny said, "Well Lazy, you want to fuck these girls while I massacre Stan?"

I did not worry much about fucking strangers. These guys did not seem TOO odd. Should I have fretted? No. Worry and guilt are the rents you pay for spaces you will never occupy. That is a metaphor.

The situation became complicated. Lazlo got me and Mari riding his cock and tongue, and then we switched - while Stan 69-slurped and then priest-fucked Anny to a bloody pulp - at least her screams sounded like that. Mari blew not-so-lazy Lazlo back to hardness while Anny tended to Stan's mighty member. Yes, Lazy fucked my tits awhile, too, long and slow and nice. Then he flipped me around and spurted in my mouth. I kept those spurts going awhile. It's all in the tongue and fingers.

Lazy and Stan firmly double-ended me - me on elbows and knees between them - first one at each end, then at the other - and then they doubled-down for the other double penetration, Lazy on his back, his greased dick up my uneasy ass, while Stan pumped my pussy and kissed my mouth. It was hot. But I usually skip the anal.

Anny was busy just then, slurping used juice from Mari's snatch. I could not help but notice. I tapped them after Mari pulled away gasping.

"My turn, huh Anny?"

I pushed Mari away from Anny and pulled the redhead's mouth into my crotch. I liked her exploring tongue.

I noticed Mari getting the double-dick treatments from the guys. Good on her!

The guys eventually ran out of juice and we all ran out of energy. Good thing some beers were left. Stan only drank cola now. "My bloodstream needs caffeine, not alcohol, to make it back down the mountain."