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Author’s Note: This is a mainstream revision of my incest story, Torrent. I’ve rewritten it so that people who don’t like incest can enjoy this story too.

Also, this story contains cheating. If you find that sort of content offensive, please don’t read any further.

***

“Will, quick! Pull in here,” Katie cried, breaking the droning monotony of the off-road tyres on bitumen.

I stood on the brakes and heaved my maroon Toyota Prado off the road to the right, bumping slowly onto the dirt track between the gates of a vineyard. The name on the sign seemed vaguely familiar, but all of these boutique wineries did. As we crawled up the long, winding drive, I couldn’t see any of the usual signage, flags and fanfare that welcomed the pretentious masses to the cellar door.

“I don’t know that they’re open,” I offered as we pulled up outside a nondescript metal farm shed.

“It’ll be all right,” Katie replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “we order heaps of wine off these guys for the restaurant. They won’t mind.”

“Okay, you go ahead. I’ll try and give Melissa another call.” I flicked and tapped my iPhone until the trill of my wife’s dial tone crackled through the car’s Bluetooth. Looking over the dash, I watched Katie skip off into the shed to find someone. My eyes fell briefly on her cute little ass in those faded denim cut-offs as she bounced out of the sunlight and in through the gaping roller door.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Melissa beamed through the speakers. “Are you guys on the road yet?”

“Yeah, we left a few hours ago. I couldn’t get away until three o’clock.” I sighed, “And now Katie’s making me pay for it. We’ve stopped at some winery just outside Wollombi. Apparently they supply you guys?”

“Gee, Sweetie! That could be anywhere.” I imagined Melissa rolling her eyes with that bemused grin of hers. “We get all our wine from around there.”

“I don’t know. She’s your sommelier,” I spat in mock indignation. “I just want to go camping.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have set her up with your best friend then, should you?” she teased.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. It had actually been Melissa that had forced Rob and Katie together. “Yeah, yeah. So, are you guys at the campsite yet?” I said, watching Katie standing just inside the shed. She was talking to someone who hadn’t yet appeared in the doorway. She moved her hands in animated explanation, and her head tilted to the side, causing her mane of glossy auburn hair to wash across her back from one side to the other.

“We’re not in the usual spot,” Melissa explained. “Ian and Sally are worried about the next few days of rain. You know what they’re like?” she scoffed, no doubt with another eye roll. “We’re about ten minutes further on up the hill. Ian’s convinced the river will burst its banks.”

Katie extended her hand to the approaching stranger, now in my view. He looked about my height, a full head taller than Katie. Although he seemed to have a good ten years on me, in his mid to late forties. He took her hand, and rather than shake it, he pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek. Katie welcomed the attention, smiling brightly and brushing her free hand across her chest. She played with the buttons on the front of her shirt a few moments longer, with more smiles and head tilts, then turned to me and waved me over before she disappeared from view.

“Fuckin’ Ian,” I breathed, shaking my head. Then in my best deep-voice imitation, “Better safe than sorry.”

“What is that? Indian?” Melissa taunted.

“Shut up!” I laughed back. We chatted a few minutes more before the usual exchange of I-love-yous, then I hung up and dropped my phone into one of the cup holders in the centre console, and headed in after Katie.

A quick scan around the interior of the vast shed saw neatly stacked boxes stamped with the vineyard’s logo, and eventually row after row of towering oak wine barrels. Over to the right, a rustic timber bar stood in the front corner of the shed. It was a functional affair, with half a dozen miss-matched stools in front. Behind the unfinished hardwood counter, shelf after shelf overflowed with countless wine bottles, all sporting the same label as the boxes.

I approached the bar and introduced myself to Michael, who already had a clutch of wine glasses on the bar. Reaching for a bottle behind him, he asked, “So, are you two off for a romantic getaway?”

“Oh no, we’re not together.” Katie corrected. ” Will’s wife is the executive chef. A whole group of us are going camping up in the National Park for the next week. I just saw the sign on the gate, and thought I’d pop in to say hello.” Then she smiled and fingered the button that was struggling to hold her shirt together across her heavy breasts. “And maybe pick up a case or two.”

Michael poured an inch of white wine into the last of three glasses that were lined up on the bar in front of us. “I can definitely help you with that.” Michael grinned, then furrowed his brow. “You’re shutting down the restaurant for the week?”

Katie jumped in first, “No, Mel’s leaving the sous chef in görükle escort charge.”

“We’re all friends from school,” I added. “We try and get away each year. There’s about eight of us.”

Michael’s brows were still knitted as he looked between Katie and I. “You two went to school together?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “So, I guess I’m not passing myself off as being in my twenties then?” I chuckled quietly as Michael blushed a few shades and Katie looked confused. “Turning to her, I explained, “He thinks I look much older than you.”

“You do,” Katie shot back with a quick grin, causing my own face to warm slightly.

“Nice,” I balked. Turning back to Michael, passing my gaze discreetly across Katie’s toned thighs, which were crossed alluringly under the bar, I went on, “Little Miss Charming here is seeing a mate of mine. It’s her first time coming out with us.”

“Oh, okay. This is last year’s savvy,” Michael announced, as Katie swirled her glass in front of her face and lifted it to her nose.

I watched her slowly close her eyes and breathe in the aroma of the wine. Then she lowered the glass to her full lips, which parted slowly to take in the rim. Katie held the wine in her mouth for a moment, moving it around her tongue, tasting it fully. It was a seductive sight to be sure, and I caught myself holding my own breath as the tip of her tongue flicked across her lips as she swallowed.

Conscious not to stare, I focussed my full attention into my own tasting glass, and threw it down like a shot of something much harder. “Mmm, that’s not bad.”

Katie wrinkled her nose and glared at me with those steel grey eyes of hers. Her expression said it all: Seriously?

I felt my cheeks flush and my forehead prickle with sweat. I hated making an ass of myself in front of her. At least Michael hadn’t seemed to notice. He instead was enjoying the delicacy of Katie’s oral performance.

Katie pushed her glass away, leaving the lion’s share of the sample swirling gently in the bottom. “Have you still got any of the 2009?”

“You’re a tough one,” Michael smiled. “It was a bit wet last year. I should have known better than to try and sneak that one past you.” He lined up three fresh glasses and splashed another tiny sample into each from a new bottle.

I took my time with the second tasting, holding it in my mouth a little longer, before swallowing it down. “Mmm, I think I prefer the first one. It’s a bit sweeter.” But really, what the fuck did I know? I would have preferred a beer.

There was no wrinkled nose this time. The look I got from Katie was one-hundred-per-cent-stink-eye. Her impatiently bobbing hiking boot completed the picture.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Like a dickhead, I kept going, trying to find some safe ground. “Have you got any pinot noir?”

“Sorry, Mate,” Michael replied, as Katie tasted the 2009. “We just do sauvignon blanc here.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” she apologised. “Pinot’s the only one he can remember from the degustation his wife dragged him too a few months ago. He’s more beer and nachos. Honestly, I don’t know how she puts up with him.

“That, however,” she took another slow, seductive sip, “is beautiful. How much have you got left?”

“Actually, we’re coming to the end of that one. The Hilton in Sydney nearly cleaned me out.” Michael went on, telling her all about his monster order and other wine-related business.

I gestured at the first bottle still sitting on the bar, and Michael expertly poured me a full glass as he spoke to her. I didn’t need to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

“You know, the thing about wine,” Michael said, pouring Katie and himself a full glass from the second bottle, “is that it’s all down to how much you enjoy it. All the rest of it…it’s just bullshit.”

I laughed and held my glass out to his. “To bullshit.”

Michael clinked my glass, repeating the toast. Then he touched his glass to Katie’s with a silent nod as she beamed back at him. Katie looked at me with pursed lips and a shake of her head, before we brought our glasses together.

I returned my attention to my own wine, and slowly nursed it during their inane conversation about tannins, oaky lingers and other pretentious nonsense. After lots of flirting and feigned offence, Katie had arranged to buy three boxes of the treasured 2009 sauvignon blanc. I balked at the twelve hundred dollars that she had negotiated him down to, especially as it came off my credit card, but what was I going to do? Melissa’s restaurant was my restaurant too, or so I was often told.

We each carried a box of twenty-four bottles out to the car, loading them onto the floor in the rear foot well. And as I was rearranging some of the camping gear, Michael returned with a fourth box. I could see from the date printed on it, it was my preferred from last year.

“This one’s on me,” Michael smiled. “To bullshit.”

“Oh,” Katie groaned, with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side. “Don’t encourage him.”

I thanked him warmly, shaking bursa görükle escort his hand, then climbed in behind the wheel. As I clicked on my seatbelt, I watched Katie hug him in the rear view mirror, pressing her breasts into his chest and planting a kiss on his cheek. It was the platonic version of her affection, I knew. I often enjoyed it myself.

It was the passion she gave my best friend, Rob, that ripped at me with pangs of unreasonable jealousy.

Once we were back out on the highway, Katie broke the silence, “Oh my God. That was such a good deal.”

“Good deal? That was twelve hundred dollars. For only six dozen bottles!”

“Will,” she explained seriously, “we sell that for ninety-five dollars a bottle at the restaurant. Michael can easily sell a single box for twelve hundred.”

“Whoa!”

“Exactly. Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”

“Hey, that’s Melissa’s thing.” I shrugged. “You can serve it out of a box for all I care. I’m an economist.”

“You’re hopeless,” Katie giggled. She shook her head to herself, then turned away to look out her side window.

We chatted and joked as we drove. But before long, the conversation gave way to silence, as the valley of farms gave way to national park, and the clear blue sky gave way to clouds, and then torrential rain.

“Well, camping in the rain should be fun,” I mused as we pulled onto another dirt track, or more accurately, mud.

“Yeah, there’s nothing like being trapped in a tent with Ian and Sally for a week to unwind. It should be fun,” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, they’re something, all right. He’s a good bloke, but he’s pretty full-on.” Then I imitated his voice, “You’ve got to take this seriously, Will. People die in the bush.”

“What is that, Irish?”

“Oh, get fucked,” I laughed back. Apparently nobody thought I did a good impression.

“I’m glad we’ve got the wine,” she retorted with a smile.

I pulled up as the track disappeared into the river, the heavily wooded mountains looming ominously above us. It wasn’t a big deal, I’d done this crossing dozens of times over the years, often in less capable cars than what I had now. It was a shallow crossing. But the water was flowing a lot faster than I ever remembered it.

The white noise of the driving rain on the roof competed with the roar of the river in front of us. The whole time, the sound of the wipers on full bore fought to be heard above the din. The voice inside my head told me not to attempt crossing in such heavy rain, and Ian’s deep tones joined it.

I knew I shouldn’t, but like a dickhead, I had to impress the gorgeous twenty-five-year-old woman sitting next to me.

I stole one more glance at Katie’s shapely thighs, then lifted my foot off the break and eased the nose into the fast-flowing river. It was always a bit unnerving driving into water, but if I kept us pointed at the track on the opposite bank, I knew we’d be all right.

A thick, white, foaming bow wave formed around us, before being carried off downstream on my side of the car. We were getting buffeted a little, but I could see the water was only half way up the body of the Prado. But we were still going down slightly. About a third of the way across, I saw the water in front of us glow as the headlights dipped below the waterline.

“Are we okay?” Katie asked in response to the car being rocked more violently in the deeper water.

“As long as the water doesn’t come up over the bonnet, we’ll be fine,” I replied. I began to wonder whether I should have bought the Landcruiser instead. It was a more serious four-wheel-drive than the Prado, and if I’d got the optional snorkel, it could have coped with having its engine dunked. Rob had been an insufferable ass about it when I had made the decision at the dealer, I remembered.

As it was though, we seemed to pass the centre point of the river, with the water only coming up to just short of the window line. We were heading up, much to the relief of both of us. But all of a sudden, about three quarters the way across, we lurched violently to the right, my side of the car dipping down sharply about forty-five degrees. The side of the track must have eroded under the extra force of the river.

The fast-flowing water started pushing us over.

“Will?!” Katie’s hand shot up to the grab handle on the pylon in front of her as our world tilted sideways.

I threw the steering wheel to the right in an effort to throw the Toyota’s weight back into the oncoming river, and gunned the engine to get more force behind it.

It worked, the car tipping back upright. But we were well off the track and now driving with the flow of water. I stomped on the brakes, but it was too late.

The bonnet plunged down beneath the surface of the river. The entire windscreen filled with white foam, then murky green water. But thankfully we were stopped. Unfortunately the Prado came coughing and spluttering to a halt as the engine sucked in nothing but water. We were done.

“Oh God, Will!”

“It’s all right, Katie,” bursa eskort I assured her, tapping at the inch or two of daylight at the top of the windscreen, “we’re not all the way under. And we can still get out the back.” I could see it from the mirror, but Katie had to spin around in her seat to see the safety of the grey sky out the rear window.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. And we exchanged a nervous smile.

She was looking to me now for what to do. I told her to crawl out the back of the car, but to wait before opening the tailgate. She unclipped her seatbelt and nimbly climbed up between the front seats. I followed her as she scrambled over the back seats, my view filled with the perfect vision of her ass mere inches in front of my face.

Katie waited for me in the rear compartment, perched on top of all our camping gear. I asked her how it looked outside as I squeezed up beside her.

“It looks like a river,” she said with confusion.

“No,” I chuckled. “Is there any debris or anything floating towards us?”

“Oh, no. There’s nothing. It’s clear.”

“Okay then, out we go,” I said, not quite able to get myself to the window.

Katie swung the rear door open. But as soon as she did, water splashed up from the rear bumper and poured into the car. She squealed, but I urged her on, pushing her out with my hand firmly on her ass. She tumbled, half falling out the back of the car, but quickly gaining a footing.

“Fuck, that’s cold!” she complained, standing in waist-deep water at the rear of the car. The rain was well on its way to soaking her hair and shirt, causing both to cling to her body.

I was quickly out beside her, equally unhappy with the temperature of the water. I grabbed the tent and sleeping bags from the back, and thrust them at Katie, ordering her to the closest bank. I heaved the esky to the edge of the boot, and piled on the blow-up mattress, foot pump, a tarp and some rope. Then power-lifting the load, I used my body to push the rear door closed before following Katie to the shore.

“Get that tent set up as quick as you can,” I puffed, stepping up onto the bank.

“Here?”

“No, up there,” I replied, pointing to a grove of trees on a small plateau about fifty metres up a steep slope to our right. I fought to keep my eyes from rolling as Ian’s voice echoed in my head. “The river might burst its banks overnight. We want to be high up.”

“Overnight?” she reeled. “We’re stuck here?!”

“The others are about another hour further on,” I explained. “Across another river.”

“Shit.” She sighed. She knew as well as I did that Ian would never let the others cross a river in such heavy rain to come looking for us. And given our current plight, he had a point, the fucker.

Katie struggled up the slope, slipping a few times on the wet grass, but she stayed on her feet and got to the level ground up ahead. For me, however, the climb was a lot harder. I was in a painful shuttle crawl, heaving my load an arm’s-length up the slope, then crawling on my knees to follow it.

When I got to our camp site, I saw that Katie already had the tent laid out near the grove of eucalypts, and was threading one of the flexible poles through the sleeve. She’d wrapped the waterproof fly around the sleeping bags to protect them from the rain, and I shoved the inflatable mattress in under the bundle when I dropped my load. When I got to her, she had already started threading the second pole, and I jumped in and guided it through the gap at the top of the dome tent, before threading it back down my side.

With the poles crossed in an X, we both clipped the open ends into the rings at each corner, and the blue dome rose out of the grass in one graceful motion. “That’s a mighty fine barn, English,” I said in God knows what sort of accent as I grabbed the mattress and sleeping bags to throw inside.

“Now what the hell is that? The Simpsons?” Katie asked with a furrowed brow, as she caught the corner of the fly I threw to her.

“Witness, Gen Y” I said indignantly. “With Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis. Oh, she was fine.”

“Who?”

“The chick from Top Gun.”

“How about something that was made after I was born?” she laughed, now in a crouch, securing the fly and hammering the pegs into the ground through the rings.

“Never mind,” I sighed. “Are you all right here? I’ll see what else I can salvage.”

She waved me away with a nod of her head, and I slid back down to the river on my ass, before wading back over to the car. The water had well and truly got inside, with more splashing in through the open rear door. All our clothes and other soft items were drenched, although I did manage to recover a couple of dry towels from on top of the fishing gear. With those over my shoulder, I grabbed the portable Weber barbeque and made my way back to Katie.

Hauling the awkwardly shaped Weber and its stand up the slope nearly killed me. But when I crested the ridge, I was rewarded with the sight of Katie tying off the last corner of the tarp around one of the nearby trees. She was reaching up on her tip toes, the bottom of her shirt pulled out from the waistband of her shorts, revealing her taut stomach. Her sopping buff shirt was almost transparent, clinging to her lean frame. And the little rivulets of water cascading down her body took my breath away.

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