The Sidecar Tales 09 - Jenny 03

After about eight weeks, Sophie, (Jenny within her) and I wound up back in New Mexico, leisurely riding north out of Albuquerque, up the old Turquoise Trail. Otherwise known as New Mexico State Route 14.

We ate—well, Sophie ate and Jenny, inside her, appreciated it—lunch at Madrid (say it as MA-drid), and, bypassing Los Cerrillos, were looking for a sunny spot, off the highway, to hide ourselves and have some outdoor three-way-in-two-bodies sex.

Above Los Cerrillos, but before Santa Fe and the I-25 turnoff (and that's all I'll say about the exact location), on a hunch, we turned off on an un-marked side road, which was hard-packed dirt. My motorbike was a Suzuki Burgman 650 with a sidecar attached, and it was a pavement-only machine, so I was taking a chance getting stuck in the dust, but today, things all felt right.

We motored down the track, raising dust but on a surface hard enough that I anticipated no trouble getting back. Sophie was sporting the most minimal of desert clothing, consisting of two silk scarves, tied together to enclose her firm and bouncing boobs, and a tight set of jeans, plus tennies.

Jenny, of course (being our family ghost), since it was full sun, rode well inside Sophie, but probably insured from within that Sophie's nipples stayed erect and sensitive.

I was looking forward to getting some hyper-sexual loving pretty soon, from the two girls in one body. It had happened before. In fact, it'd happened about twice a day, sometimes three times, over the last eight weeks.

That comes out to about 140 fucks, and I was hoping for number 141 soon.

There were some houses scattered around, some appeared inhabited and some not. There was a section of land, just off to my right that looked interesting, as it was enclosed by a small break in the butte, just to the north. Looking at it, and the fairly steep rise to get up to it, I pulled out a set of sunglasses and a little slip of plastic that I'd used before.

The trick is to fool the eyes, by giving up some detail. Human eyes are damn sensitive, even when dazzled, and can pick up far too much detail. The trick, then, is to force the eyes to see less detail, to make what you are seeing a little fuzzy, without taking away any of the color. So I slipped on some color-neutral and UV-coated sunglasses, and clipped on a film of plastic that made everything somewhat fuzzy.

Then, while the girls chattered (two girls, one body, but two different intonations coming out of the same mouth, one after the other), I scanned the area, and in about a minute, made out a faint change in the vegetation and slope. Someone, in years past, had beaten down a winding path to the top of the area. It had been long ago, because the path was overgrown, but also because it followed the contour of the land, instead of bulling right up and over, with the shortest—but most exhausting—route.

I caught Sophie-Jenny with my eye, and, loading up on water, a blanket and a cover-up long-sleeve shirt and long-pants for when she had too much sun, we started up what might once have been a trail. This led up to a flattish area. I kicked lightly at a board, which flipped over, and I saw something that had once been written on it. The printing was all but vanished, but it had been burned, rather than painted, and I made out 'No Agua (something)'. My high-school Spanish let me know that this place was 'no water something or other.'

The mid-day sun was beating down, and I could see why someone, either Anglo or Hispanic, would write 'no water' because there wasn't any there. Just scrub. Down below, there was a dry wash, which probably ran with flash-flood water once in every five years. I put my filter-film back on my sunglasses, and inspected the area again, turning slowly. This way, I made out probably the only cool spot in the baked area, which was off to our left.

The canyon was taller at this point, and there was a little indentation there, in the rock. Walking there, I stumbled over a slight bump, and then, on a hunch, replaced the film on my glasses. I was right. On 'fuzzing' the detail, I could detect the slight, faint evidence of straight lines in the dirt. Someone, in many years past, had probably put in some adobe walls here, and, after abandonment, over time, they had degraded back to the soil for which they were made.

The rock indentation had a slight overhang, and, just out of the sun, it felt cooler. It was also private, as we couldn't be seen for any but directly ahead. Sophie-Jenny noticed this immediately, and responded by untying and flipping off her-their scarf-top. I barely had time to spread the blanket before I was assaulted by my young woman lover and her live-in hundred-and-sixty-year-old mid-20's ghost.

Both of whom, in the same body, wanted it now. RIGHT NOW!

Slow, deep and hard. I sunk into raging, slick, wet, juicy female lust, who both heaved and thrust, calling themselves sluts and demanding to be fucked hard, because they hadn't had any sex for hours and hours. So I fucked them slow and deep and hard, and then I fucked then fast and deep and hard, until I came, and tried to flood them with my rush of jism.

It wasn't possible, of course, because both my lovers—though inhabiting one lover's body—were utter sluts with utter zero inhibitions and utter unlimited abilities to receive male attentions. Gasping and moaning, I pretended to be a death's door, whimpering about my deflated and de-tumesed manhood, that felt like it would never recover. All a bunch of bullshit, of course, but it made them happy to tell me I was full of shit and that they both wanted to suck my cock tonight, and swallow every drop.

Sophie-Jenny lay back on the warmish rock, and threw her hands out, one over her head and one out to the side, near a crack in the overhanging rock. I knew that Jenny couldn't come out of Sophie's body, because there was too much sun around. I also knew that I was being non-verbally told to look at Sophie's post-sex body, which I lusted for and loved to look at.

Abruptly, she said, "Yuk, it's all muddy," and sat up. There was a distinct mud-stain on her left hand, the one she'd thrown out to one side. This was unusual, as the area of New Mexico we were in was one of the driest in the state, and water was at a premium. I slithered over Sophie's body—being grabbed at, and giggled upon—and looked at the place, just under the overhang, where her hand had landed.

Yes, there was a small muddy patch. As I felt around, I felt a drop of cold water drip onto the back of my hand. Twisting my head around, I saw a very small crack in the rock face, and, sticking a finger cautiously up it, brought it back with the fingertip wet.

I looked closer at the rock platform that we were on. There, on Sophie-Jenny's left side, was a slight circular depression, carved or ground into the rock, and with a suggestion of a channel leading down the rock face, to a slight drop-off, with a flat rock placed underneath. Looking at it with my filmed glasses, I could see what had been a free-flowing spring, with a water channel leading down to what must have been some kind of a container.

I looked around with more of a critical eye, and I saw that, if I did a lot of guessing, were some faint lines radiating from the spring area, and out to the flat place in front of the approach to the spot where we were.

It was my Jenny, in Sophie's guise, who put the final piece in place. She said, "Its afternoon, now. The sun is going down. I think I can come out now." She did, wearing exactly nothing, which I knew was for our benefit.

Then she said, "You know, I passed through rock to get to the other side of the ridge, back home, and then 'party' with the other guys, absorb all their spunk, and grow strong. I wonder if I could do that, and maybe find water here."

Before I could yell 'wait,' Jenny had flowed out of Sophie, then turned to mist, and flowed into the rock, at the point of the muddy crack. Both of us waited what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes.

Then we jumped, when Jenny emerged from the rock face behind us and said, "Boo!"

I knew that I had a heart, because I damn near swallowed it, and Sophie jumped a foot off the rock, just with buttock contraction.

Jenny giggled, and then sat down, legs drawn up, so that her ghostly but oh-so-solid-fleshed pussy showed. She said, "There's water there. So much water, I couldn't find the end of it. There's what seems to be, to my inner touch, a little rock blocking the opening, just inside. If that can be knocked loose, I think this place might turn green again."

That gave me the germ of an idea, and, in a couple of hours, we were packed up. I took a reading off my GPS, to get the center and all four corners of the land we were interested in. Then we drove into town—Santa Fe—to find a realtor and the local records office.

No Agua Canyon did have a history. First an Indian outlying settlement, which was abandoned when the spring failed, and then the residence of a local Spanish small-farmer. The land was abandoned again when the local spring failed for a couple of generations, leading down to the present day. Thus, the name: No Agua = No water.

The original deeds were lost, but some records indicated that it was included in a local ranch, which was being sold piece-by-piece by heirs, for summer homes and houses of the rich.

Working carefully, through anonymous bidders, I arranged to buy the Noagua Canyon site, including several acres of land there. The sale caused no stir, because others were doing that, for the land around Santa Fe. I arranged to have electricity delivered to the site.

Then, working by hand, with some long-shaft 'star drills' and a hammer, I started to 'drill' (i.e., bash with a hammer and then with a little pneumatic tool) a small hole into the rock that was blocking the spring's flow. My Jenny melted into the rock ever hour or so, and reported on my progress. After about three days, I had a tiny trickle, and after two more days, I had a steady flow, about the diameter of a large pencil.

This sounds small, but the yield was about two or three filled 55-gallon drums per 24-hour day, which was more than enough for drinking, bathing, and making thousands of adobe blocks.

I planned and helped build a fairly large enclosure, facing south, with the butte protecting the construction to the North, and with the rock walls protecting the building to either side. Given lots of labor and free dirt, we planned walls two to three feet thick, in the old style. Sophie-Jenny and I were to have three rooms, with adobe fireplaces, and the kitchen-bathroom.

Then there was to be a large expanse of covered walkway, opening onto a large exterior garden, with plenty of shade for a sun-adverse ghostly slut.

Next, we planned another set of rooms, for 'guests,' now to be occupied by our work crew.

Finally, we were to have a wall around the whole area, and an outer desert garden, with a low wall, more a visual barrier. We put in small water sources for the wildlife that we hoped would come to take up residence.

Under Jenny's rock-diving guidance, we found another 'thin-spot' the rock-face and I 'drilled' another hole in the rock. The water flow was led to a solar collector set on the rock over-head, and that down to an insulated tank. With that operating, we rarely lacked for hot water to fill an insulated hot-pool.

We decided on three 'composting toilets,' vented via solar panels, instead of a septic system, which minimized our water use.

Now, 'adobe' basically means 'dried mud.' There was plenty of dirt on the expanse of ground over the butte, and that, in chunks, went into one cement-mixer, along with big steel balls, which pulverized it fine. The fine dirt went into a second mixer, where the water, mixed with asphalt emulsion, used for waterproofing the mud, was mixed.

Asphalt emulsion is a mixture of asphalt, suspended in very fine droplets and dispersed in water.

When mixed with the adobe mud, it provided good waterproofing when the water evaporated in the very dry, hot desert air. We added chopped-up component strands of poly rope, in 1" lengths, to reinforce the blocks, and help hold them together.

It was a dirty, oily, messy job, and I was shocked when my dainty, small Jenny took over the work. I should have known my ghostly lover had a plan. Part-way into the process, one day, I found her covered with dirt, mud and dust, and liberally smeared with oily black emulsion, as she directed the flow of dirt down a chute into the mixers, set one over the other. After adding the water-emulsion, the smeary mess was poured into the adobe molds, to set. Everything proceeded downward, working with gravity, so no one had to haul the heavy materials or blocks uphill.

My spirit-lover just grinned at me, through a crust of oily black mud, dust and caked-on crud, and dissolved into mist. The mud and oil emulsion crud just fell to the ground, there to be washed away, later. Then she just wafted through the covered passage that led to our large living tent. Once there, she re-solidified, and was a clean and newly-nude as when I first made love with her.

What would have taken you or me a couple of hours to clean off (and miss some spots) took her half-a-minute.

After a few hours of cure, the guys I'd hired to help us build the house dragged the filled block-forms to one side, and emptied the forms, letting the blocks stand to begin drying. They returned the block forms to Jenny's covered tent, for the next batch. I know they did this with enthusiasm, because Jenny insisted on working totally nude, except for sandals and gloves.

I'd hired three young, strong young men, in the prime of life, bulging with muscles, and contracted to live on-site five days a week. We provided them with huge, free meals, lots of evening beer, and a sheltered place to live. I paid the best going wages that were available.

Plus the sexual attentions of a tireless, attractive ghost, for morning wake-up, mid-day siesta, and evening-to-night fucking to exhaustion. I had no problems keeping and utilizing my workforce.

Three times a day, she did this mud-and-black-goo cleansing performance, including the noon to three o'clock siesta, when she re-appeared at the entrance to the second set of rooms, where our workforce of three strong young men lived. After we fed them a huge lunch, they'd hurry back to their multiple-rooms, and both Sophie and I would be 'alone,' until Jenny re-appeared, drifting along the covered passage to our side of the enclosure.

Jenny re-woke them at three, in her usual totally nude and horny fashion, and they worked hard until dinner. Later, at night, Jenny disappeared again, and we heard nothing from the work crew—except groans of orgasm, ending after a couple of hours—until morning. Jenny, re-appearing down the passageway, wafted by each night, looking satisfied with her daily infusion of spurted male life-semen.

Of course, she and Sophie would trade stories and laugh, and then the Sophie-Jenny melted-into-each-other duo would turn to me, and, following their nightly intent to commit murder by fucking me to death, I'd sleep.

Soundly.

One night, the pattern changed, when I got up in the wee hours to piss. Throwing a double-handful of finely-chopped straw into the composting toilet's maw, I stepped into the covered corridor leading back to our bed.

Suddenly, along the walkway, came a young man's medical wet dream: a tallish brunette, with a slender waist, long tapering thighs, feet encased in high-heels, and a set of nipple-protruding very large, anti-gravity tits. She was wearing a travesty of a nurses' outfit, with the tiny old-style hat and white thigh-highs, and just enough else to barely not expose a protrusive camel-toe of her pussy lips, or the heaving and wavering breasts.

The figure looked at me, and smiled, a long, slow and very seductive smile.

I croaked, "Jenny?"

"None other, my lover," she answered, preening her hands and fingers over her narrow waist, flaring hips and thighs. "Do you like these changes?"

I gasped, and then looked her over carefully, my manhood beginning its inevitable rise. As I was wearing my usual sleeping stuff—nothing—I couldn't hide it.

Jenny looked down, and, reaching out, started her familiar grasping and sliding motion of her hand around my cock, and we both moved out into the moonlit garden area, now half-planted. She slid down to the first sturdy lounge we'd bought, and partly reclined.

She said, "The boys showed me something like this on their computer-thing, before I exhausted them all, and absorbed their man-juices that let them sleep. There was a moving picture—they called it an animation or cartoon—and it was called something like 'Introducing Anesthesia.' So, since I can be anything I want, clothed or not, I thought myself into this shape."

"I excite you, do I not," she said, as the dappled moonlight played off on her sexually-augmented curves. She took my now hard cock, and, dissolving the cloth of the 'nurses uniform,' guided my cock-head into her warm, wet self. Wet because of lusty need—jenny always took all of her lover's spurting life directly into her, using the liquid intent to make their liquid life into hers.

I never got 'sloppy seconds,' because her love canal was always fresh, slippery, warm and clean, no matter how many men had deposited their jism into her, brief minutes before.

I thrust into my ghostly lover, as she grunted and moaned, her now-huge breasts jiggling and swaying, and the nipples trying to force holes in my chest skin. I set up over her, penetrating deeply, and, after her first orgasm, felt my lover changing.

Abruptly, I was possessing and sexually using a large-breasted Asian woman, who writhed and came. Then an olive-skinned Arab, moaning and gasping as she, too, gave me proof of sexual satisfaction.

Next, a blonde Amazon, but with Asian eyes, who heaved me off the lounge and came. Then a blond Marylyn Monroe figure, with frantic thighs and bouncing breasts, her blonde hair cascading around us, who had very vocal sex.

Finally, as I reached my climax and started the last minute, unable to stop, she became my Jenny of the 1830's, naked and writhing with mindless pleasure from my rapid, pounding need. I shouted and emptied myself into her (where did it all come from?), and sagged, finally rolling over to share the side of the wide lounge.

I looked over, to see my Jenny smiling still, in smoky-eyed sated lust (temporarily, I knew), who said, "You did like my changes. I'll do more of these, from time to time. But, it seems, you like your first-met Jenny best, and so, that will I provide to you, as often as you can be done."

As we staggered toward the bed, and our still-sleeping Sophie, Jenny said, "She has a surprise for you tomorrow, and you will like it, as will I."

The next morning, as I opened my eyes, very late in the morning, Sophie chirped, cheerfully topless, "coffee and juice in ten minutes." Sipping my drinks, and knowing that Jenny was doing mud-making already, I looked over the small table at my bare-breasted daughter-lover.

She grinned at me, and said, "Surprise, Tom, my lover. I ain't never gonna wear anything on my tits again, so long as I'm in the house. I hope I never have to wear another bra outside, either, even if I gotta wear a cover-up-something. So, you get to see my pretty titties all day and most of the night. Just me in tits and a little skirt, and you know that I'll be bare under that. All ready to go for being touched and fondled and played with, and ready to fuck any time. I don't have periods any more, so you get total access. Starting right now."

She got up, walked around the table, and planted herself on my lap. Picking up my free hand, she forced it onto her right boob, and clasped her hand around mine. She said, "My, that feels good. I think you should play with my nips. Right now! Jenny told me, last night, that she played around with her body shape, and she fucked you really good this morning, so I don't expect to get some good, bare-breasted loving until, ohhh, this afternoon. But my little titties need attention, and you're elected."