Liar's Bench

There are hidden valleys deep in the Appalachian Mountains where the walls of Reality are as thin as the line between man and beast, and nothing is as it first seems.

[Warning: Parts of this story include explicit descriptions of sex between women and men transformed into dogs. If you don't want to read that, don't read this story.]

'There's no place as beautiful as the Blue Ridge Mountains in the spring.' At least that's what my Grandma always used to say. So when she left my wife and I a sizeable sum of money, we decided to use it to buy a little cottage in the mountains she loved. After an exhausting morning touring the county with our realtor, I desperately needed some fresh air. My wife went into the antique shop next the real estate office, but I begged off, opting instead for a stroll in the park across the street. It wasn't much of a park, just a few trees around a grassy square, and an old wooden bench, currently occupied by a local.

"Mornin'. The man on the bench drawled as I approached. Seen from the front, he didn't look as old as the white in his hair suggested. He had gentle features and deep brown eyes. One hand idly scratched the brown and white mutt lying at his feet, who cracked an eye to give me the once-over and promptly went back to sleep.

"Good morning. Enjoying the weather?" I tried to be polite.

"Waitin' for the wife. Kinda like you, I reckon. He nodded at the antique shop my wife had entered.

"Yeah, who knows how long she'll be in there."

"She won't be out for a while, not with all the junk that Ginny's stored up. He shifted position with a chuckle, offering me a seat on the bench. As I sat, I noticed a small plaque screwed to the backrest that read "Liar's Bench." He must have noticed my gaze.

"Liar's bench," he said fondly, "You can hear a lot of tall tales from the old men that sit here most days, but if you want I'll tell you a better one--a true one. If'n ya want, that is."

"A true story?"

"As true as a mother's love, friend.

I had my doubts, but it's not like I had anything better to do while I waited, so I leaned back and waited for him to continue.

"Funny coincidence, some years ago my wife and I arrived in the Blue Ridge Mountains on a day much like today," he fixed me with those dark eyes and began his story, "I had been offered a teaching job here at Northeast Tennessee State University, you see.

All we could afford was a starter home near the Carolina border, backed up against the national forest. There were only a couple other places in our valley, an empty cottage, and a farm about 300 yards uphill along a rugged gravel trail. One morning, the two of us were outside painting our new house. At least I was; Rachel was sitting on the porch swing drinking lemonade and complaining.

"Remind me again why we moved here, Paul. Out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, where the only place to shop is Walmart--or Bi-Lo," She sighed and took a sip of lemonade "Where all the goddamn hillbilly, welfare moms and their bucktooth kids shop." She shook her head again and snorted "I mean really, there's only one gas station in town, and it has a video shop--who the watches video tapes anymore?" She finished with a sneer.

I'd heard it all before, yesterday, the day before, and every other day since we moved in, two weeks early. But what could I say? The job market for biology professors sucks and NTSU was the only one to offer me a tenure-track position. She wanted me to take a one-year contract in Washington, DC instead, but I'd seen enough long-term adjuncts to know where that road led.

"Fuck it. I need some vodka." Rachel scowled into her lemonade and went inside with a toss of her straw-colored hair. I watched her go, thinking about how her quick movements reminded me of the little animals I'd seen around our place. Come to think about it, her face did too, with wide-set brown eyes and a narrow chin.

I knew she wouldn't come out till afternoon, if at all. She'd be on the computer, browsing the reviews for new restaurants and shows opening in DC, where we'd lived while I completed my post-doc. Research, she called it--her dream was to be a food critic for the paper. When I went inside for lunch she would bitch about how long it had been since she'd gone out on a proper date--if she wasn't sleeping off the vodka.

Well, what about how long it's been since we've made love, I wanted to say. Our sex life had been great in DC, but since we moved here she either had a headache or not been in the mood every time I made a move. I got hard at night thinking about the woman next to me, the way her t-shirt hugged her curves and rode up in her sleep to expose her panties. Sometimes I fantasized about putting my dick in her half-opened mouth so she'd wake up horny and give me a blowjob, but I never had the courage. In the end, I usually jacked off into a sock and dropped it in the washing machine so she wouldn't notice.

Our valley is dead quiet most of the time. Occasionally we hear a truck engine-braking as it comes down Highway 321, but we're far enough away that we don't hear anything else but birds, dogs barking and sometimes the bleating from our neighbor's sheep. Maybe that was why I jumped when I heard a dented Ford pickup come bumping down the gravel trail from the adjacent farm for the first time. I stopped what I was doing and watched as he turned up onto our drive.

The truck jolted to a stop and a man got out. He was my height, but he packed a lot more muscle on his solid frame. Three days of stubble highlighted the strong lines of his jaw, and waves of brown hair spilled out from under a grungy cap.

"Howdy." His rugged appearance made me, with my Georgetown t-shirt and sweatpants, feel out of place in my own yard. Back then, Rachel always said I was "cute," with a round face and big eyes, but next to him I felt like a 99-pound nerd. My skin was still pasty compared to his and I'd have needed Rogaine to grow stubble on my face that thick.

"I know, I know, I don't look like that anymore, do I?" The man interrupted his story, hands raised to fend off my questioning look. Did he really expect me to believe that his lean and muscular figure had been 'cute' and 'round?' "Don't worry, we'll get to that. He said soothingly.

Anyway, I pushed my glasses up my nose and introduced myself.

"Hi. I'm Paul. Paul Redman. We just moved in here a couple of weeks ago. We...um...I mean, my wife and I. You...ah...live up the road?" I realized I was rambling nervously and closed my mouth.

"Ralph Trivette. Pleased to meet'cha, neighbor. That's our farm up yonder." He lifted his chin towards the gap in the woods from which he'd came. His voice was scratchy like he was out of practice.

"Nice to meet you too. I should introduce you to Rachel. I'll...um..." I stumbled. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea right now.

"No hurry," Ralph said. He didn't seem like a man who hurried. "We just stopped by to say hello on our way out."

"Okay...um..."

"Dammit, Paul!" Rachel yelled from inside. "We're out of vodka."

Ralph's bushy eyebrows rose and the corner of his mouth crinkled.

"Um...going shopping?" I blurted to fill the silence after Rachel's outburst.

"Nope. Heading up to Roan Mountain. To see the rhodos," He explained.

"Rhododendrons?" I asked.

"Yep. Ophelia, she likes 'em." He said, pointing to his truck.

That was the first time I noticed his Doberman. She was sitting tall and primly in the passenger's seat, like a cat, and she stared at me down her long, black muzzle. Her ears cocked forward when our gazes met, and I shivered at the intensity of her gaze.

"She...likes rhododendrons." That made no sense. "To eat?" I joked feebly.

"Ain't no one told you rhodos are poisonous?" He said without smiling.

"Yeah. I meant..." I stopped, embarrassed.

"Well, y'all take care now. If you need anything don't hesitate to pop on over" He said, tipping his cap and returning to his truck. I waved as they left, but my smile faltered as the dog's head swiveled to track me like a gun turret.

Later that evening I tried to tell Rachel about Ralph and his dog, but all she wanted to talk about was the ticks she had pulled out of her hair that afternoon and how much she hated this place. When we went to bed she turned away from my touch. I lay there in the dark for a long time, thinking about Ralph and his dog Ophelia.

In the depths of the night, Rachel shifted positions in her sleep, pressing her legs against mine. Her perpetually cold feet rubbed my calves, and I lifted one leg to let hers slip between mine to warm them.

"Mmmm..." Rachel purred, rubbing the soles of her feet against my legs. Argument or not, I always enjoyed knowing that touching me that way made her happy.

I propped myself up on an elbow and brushed Rachel's hair back away from her face. Freed of the day's cares, her face relaxed into smooth curves. My chest tightened in sudden emotion, and I found myself leaning down to brush her forehead with my lips.

Her mouth bent in a sleepy smile and she wriggled her hips closer to me. Being careful not to let her feet slip from between my legs I snuggled closer and spooned against her soft back. I could feel the rise and fall of her breath against my chest.

My palm glided up her leg and along the curve of her hips, continuing on past her waist--where I suddenly noticed that she wasn't wearing panties anymore. When my hand crept further, slipping around her chest to cup one breast, I realized she wasn't wearing anything else, either. My cock stirred in my briefs and my breathing quickened.

Rachel still hadn't woken, but she was breathing faster too. My hand on her breast climbed to her nipple, rubbing it between two fingertips. As it hardened she wriggled her butt, pressing it back against me. A soft sigh escaped her lips as I kissed her neck. I moved slowly, nuzzling her from behind while one hand caressed her breasts.

Rachel had other ideas, however. One of her legs rose to enfold mine, opening her thighs, and her wriggling escalated to grinding against my stiff cock. My fingers traced curves down her chest to her mound, stroking the top of her bushy hair.

"Uhh..."

Emboldened, I let my hand rest on her crotch, squeezing her pussy lips together.

"Uhhhhh..." Rachel moaned loudly as I massaged her pussy from the outside, stroking and caressing her skin. She rolled on her back, and splayed her legs, letting one hang off the edge of the bed.

I slipped from my position alongside her to crouch between her widespread legs. Lowering my head to her pussy I nibbled at her lips, just the way she always she likes it. Nibbles turned to kisses, and the kisses deepened into languishing licks. My world narrowed to the salty tang of her arousal on my tongue and her hairs in my teeth.

"Oh...oh...yes, baby," Rachel called out, putting her hands on my head. I'd spent enough time between her thighs to learn the signals: her movements would start slow, she would run her fingers through my hair. They move faster as she becomes more excited, first in my hair and then tracing her fingernails along my scalp. When she gets close they turn insistent, pressing my face against her crotch.

"Oh....OH!" Her muscles would contract as she comes, pinching my head between her thighs and her hands. My mouth gets forced against her pussy and her wet sex fills my breath. She loved the long, slow build of her orgasm as I took my time lavishing her with my tongue.

Yet things weren't going as they normally did. This time as I slowly lapped at her wet folds, instead of gentle movements, her fingers were instantly digging into my scalp as she went crazy from just a few licks.

"More!" she demanded "Give me more!"

Urged on by her unusual behavior, I lashed at her small bundle of nerves, my hands having to snake around her legs to hold her hips against me.

"OH GOD YES!" she screamed, shocking me even more. She was no stranger to loud, lusty moans, but screaming? This was all new.

Something inside me seemed to snap. An animalistic urge surged forth. I found that I wasn't just satisfied licking her, I needed more too. Going out on a limb, I grazed my teeth against her bud, a growl escaping me. My growl was quickly covered up by a loud, high-pitched wail as my wife came harder than I'd ever seen her cum. This time, her sex gushed against my face, drenching me, her, and the bed sheets. I was floored by the reaction as I lapped up everything she gave, not caring that she was still sensitive.

"Oh...Paul..." She exhaled.

As her blissful sighs faded, I felt a chill sweep over my body and goose bumps covered my flesh. Where had that animalistic urge come from? I was always a gentle, kind lover, never someone who would even dream of biting my wife, let alone on her clit. Sensing a presence, I turned my head and saw Ophelia's glittering eyes staring at me from the bedroom door. Her fur was blacker than the moonless night outside, broken only by the ivory gleam of her fangs.

Her attention pinned me in place like a captive butterfly. Curling back her lips to expose more of her fangs, she radiated a menacing hunger. I sat paralyzed and my cock shriveled as if trying to escape inside my body. I wanted to cry out and warn Rachel but I couldn't.

At that moment, something inside of me responded again, and I knew that she was the cause of my sudden baser needs and instincts. I felt myself attune to her signals--not as food, but as a fellow predator, like a pup learning from its mother. The smell of our arousal was flooding her sensitive nose and she quivered with tightly controlled energy. Her lust filled my senses with a carnivore's appetite for flesh and my cock re-awoke. I could feel her trying to guide me, show me want to do as she sat in the corner.

Slowly, as if in a trance, I turned back to my wife, who was lying, panting for breath. I looked down at Rachel with new eyes, predator's eyes. Until that moment, she had been my wife, a woman who I respected and loved. Whose will I bent to in hopes of securing her approval, her happiness. Now all she was to me was prey. She was flesh to be taken at my will. Her lidded eyes and supine pose once meant that her passion was spent and her thighs closed, but now they signaled vulnerability. They meant she would be defenseless when I mounted her, taking my own pleasure from her without a second thought. I snapped, I quickly grabbed her hips, impaling her onto my throbbing cock in one thrust. She moaned, half in pain, half in pleasure. She reached up to push me away, but I pinned her arms to the bed and thrust my cock deep inside her body, ignoring her while she cried helplessly.

Behind me, Ophelia's jaw opened in a doggie laugh and her eyes gleamed.

I growled and continued to plunge myself into her body. My orgasm built quickly, my thrusts short and powerful. I growled low and long as I took what I wanted. I could feel the tingle shoot down my spine as my balls tightened and----

--I woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed as my body spasmed and I soiled the sheets.

"Holy Mother of Jesus," I whispered, trying to catch my breath as my body shuddered from the biggest load I'd ever spent. "What--"

A chill swept across my body again and my heart raced even faster as I looked at the bedroom door. It was securely closed, as we'd left it when we got into bed. A quick glance around the room found nothing out of the ordinary and Rachel lay peacefully beside me. It was just a dream, I told myself as I tried to breath deeply and slow my frantic heartbeat, but I had never had a dream like that.

I could still feel her hair in my teeth. I could still feel the pitiless hunger that came over me in the dream, and when I turned my head and saw the sheets draped over Rachel's ass I realized that I was hard all over again. It strained against my skin, as hard as I'd ever felt it. My hand moved on autopilot as I stared at my wife's sleeping body. The newly awoken animal in my soul said ravish her but my conscious mind refused, and the struggle played out in violent jerks at my cock. The bed shook as I frantically tugged at myself until my body quivered in orgasm. My head snapped backward and I saw stars as my cum exploded in spurts, doubling the amount of spunk that now covered the sheets.

"Ohhh..." I lay panting as my passion faded, praying that Rachel wouldn't wake up and ask what happened. I wanted to believe that it was just a nightmare, maybe brought on by the afternoon's encounter. 'That wasn't me,' I told myself. 'That's not how I treat women. I'm not an animal,' I repeated to myself over and over as I tried to go back to sleep.

The next morning Rachel bitched about how I'd dirtied the sheets. I wanted to point out that if she were more amenable to my advances then this sort of thing wouldn't happen, but I kept quiet for fear of her reaction. Instead, I got a lecture about doing my business in the shower where she wouldn't have to clean it up--and anyway, why wasn't I helping more with housework?

My face heated in a flash of anger and from a shadowed alcove in my soul came a bestial urge to bend Rachel over the mattress and ream her from behind. Let her clean her own damn stains off the sheets. Luckily she was too busy yanking off the bedcovers to see my face contort, and I quickly suppressed the thought. I left for work in a bleak mood.

That evening after school I stopped at Southern States, the local farm supply store, to pick up some lime and straw bales for the yard. The man behind the counter wore overalls, dirty enough to sprout seeds from his pockets, and his ragged white beard framed a face full of wrinkles. When I gave him my address for the delivery he squinted up at me and spat into the brown sludge at the bottom of a Coke bottle.

"You done move into the Jackmans' old place?"

"I...um...I don't know who lived there before." I admitted.

"Next to that feller, what's his name, Trivette."

"Ralph? Yes, he's our neighbor."

"Hm." He grunted and spat again.

I waited, but nothing else appeared to be forthcoming.

"Why?" I finally asked.

"Nothin'. Just, well, take good care of yo' wim'n folk." He said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Eh, hard to say." He stopped for more tobacco, snapping the can with a strength that he didn't look to have. Taking a pinch, he put it in his lip and peered up at me, as if surprised I was still there.

"Last two men that lived there, their wives done run off. Just vanished, some say. Sheriff couldn't find hide nor hair of 'em. Sold the house and left, the men did."

"Vanished?" I felt a pit in my stomach. One day Rachel would threaten to leave. That's how she'd manipulate me into quitting NTSU and moving back to DC. So she could go shopping, I thought bitterly. I didn't know which was worse, knowing that she'd do it or that I'd be weak enough to give in.

"Yup. Same thing happened to that boy Trivette, you know." The old man brought me back to the present. "A woman by the name of Ophelia owned that property back when I started working here. That was 1953, right after I got back from Korea. She must have rented a room to hired help, 'cause I remember a string of young folk, maybe students at the college, who'd come down to the store and pick things up for her. But they'd never last long. Sometimes they'd leave normal-like, and sometimes they'd disappear, like Jackman's wife. When that boy Trivette showed up I allowed he do the same, but lookit here, he's still around. Funny thing is, I ain't seen that Ophelia woman since."

"Ophelia?" He must have named his dog for the woman who lived there, I thought.

"Yup. A looker, too. Long black hair, the kind you want to run your fingers through, and curvy too." His hands traced an hourglass figure in the air. "She was always comin' in without underthings so we could see exactly what the good Lord done give 'er." He cackled at the memory and spat into his bottle.