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This is my entry for the 2015 Literotica Nude Day Story contest. I tried to squeeze it into three pages but it bulged over onto a fourth, so my apologies in advance to any readers who find four pages too long. For those who do make it all the way to the end, I hope you enjoy the story! All characters involved in sexual situations are eighteen years of age or older.

He moved the candle closer and let its light spill across her lifeless form. He didn't want to miss a single detail. His gaze slid across her swollen belly as the taper's glow flickered against his cold gray eyes, turning them the same silver hue as the small, sharp tools clutched in his hands.

He touched her delicately, not wanting to damage her. She spun slowly toward him and the lambent flame turned her gossamer wings golden. Will's eyes flashed as he dove into the taped-together shoebox beside him, keeping one eye on the female caddisfly floating in the small glass container as he pulled out the materials necessary for his work: hackle, thread, dubbing, a size twelve hook and straw-blonde bull elk hair for the wings.

A skillfully executed improved clinch knot secured the newly-tied fly to his tippet and Will grabbed his fly fishing rod, blew out the candle and stepped out of his camper into the pre-dawn darkness. Sunrise was only minutes away. The chill of night still hung heavy in the air and a thick fog blanketed the lake.

He turned toward the water but had barely taken three steps when he stopped. A monstrous shadow loomed in the darkness at the water's edge, a car, rising like a phantom from the mist. Will blinked in surprise. He hadn't heard anyone drive in during the night.

Based on what he'd been told this was hardly unusual and was the exact reason he'd chosen this remote, lonely place. But there it was, less than fifty feet away. He could only see its silhouette but knew it was one of those landyachts from the early seventies, a ghost from a time before the oil embargo hit, waiting at the edge of the lake like a beacon from the past.

The car appeared black in the darkness and wispy strands of fog snaked beneath its dark belly like pale tentacles. But a soft, rising halo above the dark, thickly-forested mountains lining the eastern horizon announced the approaching sunrise and dispelled the shadows cloaking the car. The mist also retreated before the encroaching rays and in the weak blue light of dawn Will finally recognized the make of the car, a Plymouth Fury.

There were no tents nearby and Will could only assume whoever had driven it there was sleeping inside. He shook his head, amazed they'd found their way safely through the woods in the dark. Even in daylight the forest road leading to the lake was dangerous and there was one turn near the end that was particularly treacherous.

He'd been warned about it and had still nearly driven over the edge, more than a thirty-foot drop to the water's surface and who knew how deep below. Will crept closer, hoping to peek inside the dark windows. Something crunched underneath his foot. A beer can.

In the growing light he spotted more and more of them littered around the car. Partiers, he should have guessed. Probably teens from the town he'd driven through on his way up to the lake. He was surprised he hadn't heard them.

. . . .

Categories: Incest