Chapitre 1029: LISA
As we took the lift to the hospital car park I could see she was upset, and I guess I was too. I mean, who wouldn't be when they've just watched their father die, even one as unforgiving as him? She never said anything though - at least, not then. She walked beside me with her head held high and her mouth set in a firm line for all the world like she was feeling good - but her brown eyes were dulled with fatigue and when I put my arm around her I could feel the tension in her body. I squeezed her shoulder and she turned to me with a grateful little smile, and when she spoke her voice was husky with emotion.
'Let's go home, Michael. It's done now, and he'll never bother us again. Take me home.'
I nodded without speaking and we made our way to the car, watching as she slipped into the seat beside me and buckled her belt, sitting still and silent. I reversed out and headed slowly down the ramps to the exit and then we were out on the open road. In keeping with our sombre mood the sky to the west was leaden - a sullen grey that stretched from horizon to horizon obscuring the sun so that the light was heavy and diffused. Even though it was only two in the afternoon cars had their headlights on, and I could see the little cafes on the sidewalks were taking their chairs inside in preparation for the coming storm.
'Looks like rain' I said, unnecessarily.
Lisa stirred beside me. 'I guess.'
'I mean heavy rain.'
She leaned forward to look up through the windscreen and I saw a flash of pale satin skin above her collar before the thick mane of dark hair swung forward again to obscure it. The glimpse caused an unexpected twist of emotion in my gut - a sudden memory of that night.
Do you remember, Lisa? Six years ago when you and I were alone in the house, drinking Jim Beam and telling stories as the rain poured down? Remember the conversation we had? A brother and sister talking about our pathetic love lives, who we liked and who we didn't, and who we would fuck if we had a magic wand...drinking from the bottle and whispering our little stories about lost virginity and life and love and sex. By the time we'd done talking there were no secrets left: only the pouring rain and you and me, touching, touching, your lips as soft as gossamer and my fingers on your skin...
I forced the memory from my mind and focused on the road, thinking of the drive ahead. It had been a long time since I allowed myself to remember but I felt the same old pangs of longing. Some things you never forget.
'Do you think it will be a problem?' she asked.
I shrugged. We had eighty miles to go and the storm was ahead. Lisa lived in Eglington with her husband and I'd have preferred not to stay the night there.
'We'll see.' I turned on the radio. 'Let's hear what they have to say.'
But there was nothing about the weather on the radio and so we headed west toward the storm, the car silent as we each thought our own thoughts, watching as the sky turned from molten pewter to a sort of bruised indigo - heavy and sullen and oppressive. The streets of the outer suburbs were almost deserted now, just the odd person hurrying about with their collars turned up against the spiteful little wind that swirled the dust on the streets and flung leaves and scraps of rubbish into the air. Even the traffic seemed to have disappeared and we drove through empty streets, as if everyone knew that something bad was about to happen and had gone home to shut themselves away.
The rain started just after Dunmore in a sizzling curtain of grey and white that obscured the road and almost sucked the air out of your lungs. I slowed to a crawl, inching forward though the maelstrom with the headlights and the hazard flashers on, using the edge of the road as a guide. I was aware of Lisa beside me, tense and watchful, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen and I heard her voice thin against the drumming of the rain.
'Pull over, Michael,' she urged. 'We can't drive in this.'
But I couldn't stop. I knew this road and I remembered how it would soon dip into the valley beyond Dunmore, crossing swampy ground intersected by creeks and gullies before it climbed towards the escarpment. There were at least three bridges there - little ones not much higher than the fields on both sides and I thought that if the rain persisted they would soon be overcome. And so we pressed on into the storm, the wipers barely coping with the deluge and the roar of the water almost deafening, creeping forward for what seemed an eternity until we were down in the valley. There was water on the road there, running diagonally across the slick black bitumen and the flood indicators were leaning like drunken men so I couldn't tell how deep it was. I felt the car lurch sideways once or twice and for a heart-stopping moment I thought we were gone, but at last the angle of the road changed and we started to climb towards Thirlmere.
I could feel Lisa's relief as she sat beside me. 'We have to stop, Michael,' she said again. 'Stop in the next village.'
I nodded. There was another river twenty miles beyond and I wasn't going to risk it again. 'Right.' I glanced across at her. 'We'll try for a room in the pub,' I shouted. 'I don't think we'll make it to your home tonight...are you OK?'
She nodded, although her face was pale and her eyes huge. 'I think so. I'm just tired.'
I reached across and touched her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin through the material of her blouse, and I was rewarded by a thin smile. 'Hang in there, Sis. It won't be long and you can have a rest.'
It took us another forty minutes to reach Thirlmere, a pretty little place when the weather was nice, mainly given to tourism. There wasn't much to it through, and as I drew up outside the pub and saw how many cars were there I wondered if they would have any rooms left. I told Lisa to stay in the car and I dashed inside. The public bar was busy but I pushed my way forward and made eye contact with the publican. I'd spoken to him before once or twice and I could see he recognised me.
'I've got one room left,' he said in answer to my query. 'It's been a bit busy, like, with the rain.' I could see him appraising me, working out if I would be worth a bit more. 'It's the good room, mind,' he continued, 'got its own bathroom and all.'
'How much? If we stay and have a meal as well?'
'Sixty quid.' His eyes were on my face and he read my expression. The sign outside said fifty. 'With breakfast thrown in,' he added hastily, 'but dinner's extra.'
I nodded. It wasn't like we had a lot of choice and he knew that, and besides, I was tired too. The prospect of a hot meal and a decent sleep suddenly seemed wonderful. 'I'll take it,' I said, and I went out into the rain to get Lisa.
*
I hadn't even asked about the bedding arrangements, and the room turned out to have a double bed and a sagging sofa in the corner. I could see Lisa eyeing it as soon as we entered the room, and I cut short her question.
'It's all they had, Sis. I'll take the sofa.'
She walked over to it. 'Really? If you were a midget that might work.'
'Maybe they'll have a fold up bed then.'
'Whatever.' She moved over to the bed and sat down. 'Lord, I'm tired...I never knew watching someone dying could be so taxing.'
I let that one go. 'You haven't slept properly since yesterday morning. Why don't you have a rest now, and then we'll have dinner.'
'I'm not sure I want any.'
'You need to eat. Besides, I'd like to take my little sister out to dinner...it's been...how long?'
'A long time.' Her eyes were on my face, and I could see that she was uneasy. It had been years since we had been alone together - not since that time.
'So have a rest now, before we eat. We've got an hour or two.'
She smiled at me gratefully. 'I will, if you don't mind. What will you do?'
'Have a drink downstairs.'
'Could you wake me at six, then?'
I left her then and wondered downstairs to the bar. The crowd had thinned out, although it was still raining heavily, and I sat chatting to the barman as he poured me a Scotch.
'I've seen you here before, haven't I?' he asked. He was a heavy-set man with whiskers on his chops and a protruding belly, probably from tasting his wares too much.
'Yep. I live in Oystermead, but I come through here from time to time on my way to the city. You're well placed for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.'
He nodded. 'I thought I recognised you, although I haven't seen your wife before.'
I realised that he'd mistaken Lisa for my wife, which was understandable - we were about the same age, and she was wearing a wedding ring. We didn't look alike either: Lisa was dark like Dad, whilst I had our mother's fairer hair and grey eyes. I opened my mouth to correct him but realised that I liked the thought of being taken as a couple. She was upstairs in bed and I was down here, but later tonight we'd be sleeping in the same room, and I felt a glow of warmth at the thought. Let people think we were together, just for this one night.
'No, she doesn't come here often. Her job keeps her busy.'
He nodded again. 'She looked about all in when you arrived.'
'She's just tired. We've had a difficult few days in the city.'
'Right - well, look after her is my advice. She's a good looking girl if you don't mind me saying.' He set my drink down on the polished wooden counter. 'That'll be four pound ninety thanks.'
I waved away the change and he moved away to polish glasses. I sat sipping my drink, thinking about Lisa and what had happened. He was right, she was a good looking girl - good enough to make your mouth water. She'd been nothing special when we were growing up, but one summer I came home from boarding school and she suddenly wasn't the awkward clumsy kid with nobly knees and a flat chest anymore: she'd filled out and her dresses seemed to caress every curve, and the face that I'd thought plain was as pretty as a picture. She had these amazing brown eyes as soft as molten chocolate, bright with intelligence and filled with laughter and compassion - her best feature, really, aside from the shiny lustrous hair that framed a little oval face that was as sweet as a baby rabbit's. But it wasn't just her looks that were arresting: it was her aura - a sort of bubbly effervescence that drew you to her - the feeling that when you were with her life would be filled with fun and laughter.
Those summer weeks were probably the best time of my life. Each morning she'd appear from her room looking even more delicious than the day before with her long tanned legs and cut off shorts and those soft toffee eyes with their little flecks of gold that sort of drew you into her soul, and a voice as smooth as liquid butter. I found I was resenting time when she wasn't around, and I'd make sure I was there for every minute of her day. I started watching her surreptitiously, loving the way she moved and the things she did, wanting to be close to her - to smell the warm fragrance of her skin, and to hear her laughter. She seemed happy to be with me too, and so we shunned other company and hung out together all though the long sunny weeks of that vacation.
And then I started dreaming of her at night, alone in my stuffy little room. She'd be leaning over me and smiling down at my face, and her hands were either side of my head and her breasts were hanging down like two luscious melons cupped against the fabric of her blouse. In my dream I'd reach up and touch them, feeling their weight and warmth and the hardness of their nipples in my palms.
They were the happiest days of my life, I think, and in my ignorance I thought it would never change - but suddenly it did. I sat at that bar with my beer in front of me, and I remembered.
Mum and Dad had gone out to dinner and we'd come in from a day at the beach. She'd showered and was dressed in a blue dress, loose around her body, and her hair was a shining curtain around her shoulders.
'What are we going to do?' I asked.
She shrugged. 'I don't know. How about a game of cards?'
And so we sat on the sofa and played cards and the level in the Bourbon bottle dropped, and we spoke more freely and laughed just a bit louder at each other's jokes. She had her legs up on the sofa, long shapely legs sort of folded underneath her, with the dress rucked up in her lap. I could see the satin skin of her inner thighs, reaching upwards to a mysterious pool of shadow at their juncture. God, she was gorgeous! How would I ever find another girl like this?
'It's been a good summer, Lisa,' I said softly.
'Mmmm.'
'Being with you, I mean. You made it special.'
'Thanks. You too. Being with you was special too.'
There was a moment of silence and I regarded her, not wanting the thread of this conversation to end.
'If you could wave a magic wand, who would you like to be with now?' I asked.
'I'm with him already.'
'No, I mean someone else. Anyone at all.'
'Shit, I don't know. Um, Chris Hemsworth, maybe.'
'Really? Why him?'
'Because he's ...ah, cute.'
'How cute?'
Her eyes met mine across the table, the dark pupils dilated by drink and she giggled softly. 'Cute enough for me to give him a really good time.'
A vision of her moving on top of him entered my mind. Breasts full and heavy, swaying slightly as she lifted and fell, the nipples stiff and pink. Her bottom lip held between her teeth and her eyes closed as she savored the sensation of being filled. I wondered how many guys she'd been with and a sudden pang of jealously surged through me. My little sister, fucking other men. It didn't seem right.
'How about you?' she asked. 'Who would you like to be with, Mike?'
'The chick from Game of Thrones...you know, the one who plays Daenerys Targaryen? I'd like to meet her.'
'Why? What's so good about her?'
'She's stunning. Dark hair, gorgeous skin. Beautiful face, hair, eyes, lips. One of those girls that turns you on from the moment you see her...and nice tits, too.'
'Would you...fuck her?'
I laughed. 'In a heartbeat. 'Till her eyes popped out. What about you?'
'I doubt it. She doesn't sound my type.'
'No, I mean, who would you shag?' I regarded her for a moment. 'No, that's too easy. 'Who have you shagged?'
Lisa's eyes moved to my face. 'Wow,' she said. 'That's a leading question. How long have you got?'
'I'll tell you if you tell me,' I said. 'The first you ever had.'
'Michael, I'm not sure -'
'Go on. It'll be fun.'
For a few moments I thought she was going to refuse, but then she nodded. 'You first then.'
I sat back, thinking for a moment. How much detail should I tell her? Lisa wasn't prudish but I didn't want to turn her off.
'So?' she urged. 'Who was your first?'
'Phillipa Boswell. What about you?'
She laughed, a brief tinkling sound. 'Not so easy, buster! Tell me about it. Was she any good?'
'Well, you'd remember Pip?'
Lisa screwed her face up, thinking back. 'Red head...thin - nice smile. Grade 12?'
'That's the one. I found out afterwards she was working through all the guys in the class.'
'So she should have been good, right?'
'Apparently she went for quantity not quality. It was like rooting a dry well.'
Lisa laughed again, her eyes bright. 'So you like your women wet, Michael! What else was wrong with her?'
I thought back for a moment. 'She didn't move or make a sound,' I said. 'Not one. I was there doing all the grunting and groaning and she just lay there until I'd finished...and then she got up and said 'See you later', or something like that, and left with her knickers in her hand. I felt like...I was just another notch on the bedstead.'
'Poor baby.' Lisa reached out and touched my arm, her fingers warm on my skin. 'So you like noisy, wet, wriggling women.' She stared at me a moment, thinking back. 'Mine wasn't much better.'
'Who was he?'
'Actually, it was Jimmy Witts.'
'Jesus! Jimmy Witts!' I paused for a moment. 'Did you know he was Sarah Witts' half brother?'
'Half brother? What's that got to do with -'
'He was a half Witt.'
Lisa laughed at my joke. 'That's shit! Bet you didn't think he got into my pants, though.'
'Christ, no! Wasn't he that little guy with goofy teeth? What the hell caused you to hit on him?'
'I heard some of the girls saying how great he was in the sack. Apparently he had a big...thing, and knew how to use it. It was more peer pressure than anything else. Something to tell the other girls about.'
I stared at her, imagining her on her back with Jimmy Witts on top, her hands guiding him inside and her long, golden legs curled over his back and her cunt stretched around his thick, slippery shaft. The image excited me despite myself, and my cock stiffened in my pants.
'We were in the back of his car,' she continued, 'and the seat smelled of dust and old leather, and there were empty Maccas containers all over the floor. It hurt when he first went in, but he didn't seem to care. He wanted to...cum into me but I told him not to. I wasn't on the pill or anything so I told him to stop. I finished him by hand, eventually.'
'That doesn't sound like much fun.'
She smiled. 'I guess not, looking back. I didn't have much to compare it to.'
'And now?'
Lisa laughed. 'Now? Well, I do alright.'
'I bet you do.' I drained my drink and there was silence for a few moments. We'd never spoken about sex before and I realised that the whole atmosphere in the room had changed: a sort of tension, as if we'd crossed into new territory and neither knew where it would take us. I glanced at her and she met my eyes, her face flushed and her eyes bright.
'Do you like doing it?' I asked.
'Sure.'
'Why?'
Lisa shrugged. 'The same reason you do, I suppose - it feels good.' A sideways glance. 'Girls get horny too, you know.'
'I'm sure they do.'
'Especially me.' She paused a moment, thinking, trying to find the right words. 'But its more than that - it's about the power you have over guys, you know, whether you decide to fuck them or not and whether you'll let them ejaculate inside you... and then, when you do, there's sensation of being taken - of being possessed. You know, like... um, subjugated. The female being dominated by the male.' She shook her head. 'Sounds like conflicting views, I know - on the one hand being in control and then being possessed.'
'Really? I never thought I'd hear you say you like being a possession.'
'No, I didn't mean that I like being owned. I mean the whole sex thing. The woman can be as domineering as she likes but once the guy's inside her she's always the one who's being fucked. She's the one who's taking it, who has to accept his seed into her body.'
'And you like that?' I could feel my cock throbbing, pressing hard against my jeans.
'Yeah...yeah. God, why am I telling you this?' She glanced at me and I could see she was aroused, wanting to tell me but worried about what I'd think. Worried she was going too far.
'So you like it,' I said softly. 'Tell me why, Lisa, and I'll tell you about the time I fucked Sarah Calthorpe in the ass.'I could see my words strike home. There was a flare of lust in her eyes at the thought of me sinking my cock into her friend's bowels, and her voice was husky and hesitant. 'I... I love the feeling of being taken,' she whispered. "Having someone inside me, doing what he wants, stabbing me, using me... squirting inside me -' she broke off suddenly, and gave a little self-conscious laugh. 'Christ - I'm getting horny just thinking about it.'
'Not as much as me.'
Her eyes flickered back to my crotch, lingering on the shape of my cock pressed against the denim. Her tongue flicked over her lips leaving them wet and shining.
'Have you ever done more than one person?' she asked.
'You mean at the same time - like a threesome?'
'Yeah.'
I shook my head. 'Only in my dreams. I'd imagine two tight little nubile chicks over me like a rash...bending over, taking turns. I'd like to -'
'I nearly did, once' she interrupted.
'What!? When -'
'A couple of months ago...when you were away. I met them at the pub - an Irish guy and his brother - Jesus, they were gorgeous! Just their accents made me want to bend over.' I could see she was thinking back, remembering. 'You know how it is when you just click with someone? Well, it was like that...a few laughs, a few jokes...just innocent stuff to begin with but then they started telling me how they shared things...shared everything, they said, and they made it clear that included women.'
'Christ, Lisa. I didn't know you were into that stuff.'
She smiled. 'As it turns out, I wasn't...but I don't mind telling you I was tempted.'
'Perhaps you should have done it then.' I could feel a tightness in my belly at the thought of my sister fucking two guys, and I felt my cock throbbing.
Lisa shrugged. 'Maybe. I'll never know. And maybe I'll regret it one day, when I'm married and wondering where the magic of my sex life went.' She laughed softly. 'I guess the moral of the story is that you should seize the chance because it may never come again.'
'So what would you have done if you'd gone with them?'
'Everything' she whispered. 'I would have used very orifice I had. There wasn't anything we couldn't have tried.' She closed her eyes, thinking about it and her fingers crept below the hem of her skirt.
'Tell me what the best bits would have been,' I said. My mouth was dry.
'The best bits?' She thought for a moment. 'I guess it would have been never knowing who was going to do what to you next...one moment there would be a cock inside my pussy and I would just getting used to it and then the other one would suddenly slide into me somewhere else and there'd be a whole new sensation.' She stopped suddenly and closed her eyes and her hand moved against herself, pressing up under her skirt, lifting the hem so I could see her little white panties. Her fingers were rubbing against them, moving rhythmically, and her breath hissed through her lips for a moment at the intensity of the sensation. 'I could have been a slut for the night,' she continued, and her voice was low and husky, filled with imaginings. 'Fucking two guys...and I didn't even know their names. Can you imagine how much fun I could have had?'
I envisaged Lisa's slim body, moving in slow motion as the two men took her. The glorious mane of hair swirling about her face and her breasts swinging rhythmically. Her mouth full of cock, slippery wet, dripping spit and love juice, and her body twitching as the other guy pumped into her. Her cunt stretched and her eyes suddenly wide as one of them took her in the ass.
'Jesus, I wish I'd been one of them.' My voice was thick with longing.
Lisa opened her eyes, the lids heavy and hooded, and I could see the flare of interest in them. 'What would you have done, Mike?' she whispered, 'If you'd been there? Tell me.'
'Joined in. I'd have joined in.' I watched her fingers pressing against her sex, lifting the gusset aside. A glimpse of dark curls in the shadow, gleaming wet; oozing, dripping. I could smell her, too - the sweet odour of her warm, aroused sex, thick in my nostrils. My cock was so hard I thought it would burst. God, she was beautiful! My beautiful little sister, talking to me about fucking. Playing with her tight little pussy right in front of me, with her eyes full of desire. All my dreams coming true.
'Would you, Michael?' she whispered. 'Would you have joined in?'
'God, yes. In a heartbeat.'
'Tell me,' she demanded. Her eyes were still on my face, the pupils dilated with booze and lust. 'Tell me how you would have fucked me.'
The picture in my brain shifted - her and me, just the two of us. Lisa on her knees, hair loose around her shoulders and the satin gloss of her skin shining in the flickering firelight as she looked over one shoulder. My delicious little sister with her knees apart and her buttocks thrust back, each cheek firm and clearly defined: perfect globes of warm, living flesh, framing the thick wet lips of her sex. My knob against them, rubbing, the tip burrowing between them to enter her tight little body. I imagined the rubbery grip of her vulva as I entered her. So fucking tight.
'Doggie,' I whispered. 'I'd fuck you doggie first...on your knees, bending over, taking me into your body. Christ, you'll be so tight! Fucking my sister.'
Lisa's breath hissed briefly at the image and her fingers rummaged deeper. I could hear the soft wet noise of her sex as she frigged herself, and her eyes on my crotch again to see the outline of my cock stretching the front of my jeans. I wondered if she noticed how I'd changed the tense. Not talking about what I would have done, but what I'd like to do.
'God yes...oh, yes, I'd like that, Mike,' she whispered. 'More... uh, tell me more. Touch your prick. Do it for me.'
I imagined my fingers easing aside the firm round globes of her ass, watching as my cock burrowed into her: the tight ring of her cunt stretched around me, oozing white cream as I fucked her. My knob huge and purple, disappearing up towards her belly. In my mind I touched the tight crinkled portal to her bowels and she twitched and moaned underneath me.
'I'm so fucking deep, Lisa. Can you feel me inside you? You're creaming me, and I've got my fingers in your ass. Fucking you...so deep. Jesus...you're so tight.' I reached down and unzipped myself, shucking open the belt and drawing out my shaft. A dribble of lubricant oozed from the tip, gleaming softly in the light, and I began to stroke it.
With a little cry Lisa flung herself at me, her lips pressing against mine. Her hands cupped my face and I could smell the delicious fragrance of cunt on her fingers. She thrust her tongue into my mouth and her teeth nibbled at my lips and she moaned into my mouth. My hands were on her waist, acknowledging the firmness of her flesh and the smooth curves of her hips, and I pulled her on top of me, feeling her weight, feeling how she moulded to me. Ah, Jesus God! My cock pressed against her mound, her body wriggling seductively, and then she lifted her mouth from mine and stared down at my face with her eyes dark with desire.
'So you would have fucked me, would you, big brother?' she whispered. 'Put your hard cock into your sister's pussy? Tut, tut! Nice brothers don't do that.' She shook her head and the curtain of glossy scented hair brushed over my face. 'Are you a nice brother, Michael, or can you be bad?' Her hips moved in a hard little circle, rubbing against me, pressing down on the logjam in my pants, and she giggled softly. 'Would you have fucked me?' she said. 'Would you?'
The last two words hung on her lips and I glanced at her sharply. Were they part of our fantasy talk or an invitation? Her eyes were on mine but they were inscrutable, the pupils dark as obsidian. For a few moments we stared at each other and then her fingers slid over my belly to grasp my shaft, and she moaned again in her throat - a little purring sound like a cat. 'So would you fuck me, Michael?' she asked again.
I pulled her head down and our mouths met again. Kisses as hot as coals - her lips burning, pressed hard against mine, her tongue playing, slippery and urgent, pressing into my mouth. She moaned again, deep in her throat. 'Ah, Jesus,' she whispered. 'Fuck, Michael...what are we doing?' and her mouth pressed against mine again before I could answer. My senses were full of her: the taste of her mouth and the way she moved against me, breasts pressed hard against my chest and her hips undulating in a parody of the act. God I needed her! The time for talking was done and so I reached up and pulled her dress over her head and her breasts sprang free, the tips thick and stiff, and they swung languorously as she moved. Her nipples were as hard as pebbles and I sucked them, one and then the other, nibbling at them like ripe raspberries in my mouth. Ah, Lisa, Lisa! Your tits in my mouth and your hand on my cock and your lips crushed against mine, and only the gossamer threads of your little white panties between my straining cock and your grasping little cunt! A wave of white hot desire surged through me, a desperate need to be inside her - to feel the cloying grasp of her pussy as it stretched around my shaft. God help me, I was going to fuck my sister.
But she wanted to play first. She suddenly slid back along the sofa and her hands seized me, lifting the shaft. Her hands so small and white against the swollen flesh. Fingers curled around me, grasping, squeezing. She watched with hooded eyes as a fresh dribble of juice oozed from the tip and she moaned at the sight, and as I watched she bent and took me into her mouth.
How many times have I remembered that moment? A million, perhaps? The indescribable feeling of her warm, wet lips engulfing my knob, gripping it as it popped into her mouth - and then the long glide upwards into the narrow confines of her throat. I'd made out with a few girls in my time but none even came close to the sheer fucking eroticism of watching my cock slip into my sister's face. I could see her lips stretched around me and the beads of spit and love juice oozing at their corners, and her Adam's Apple moving - gulping, almost, as she tried to take the full length. I remember staring down at her, trying to capture the little snapshots of what she was doing: how she turned her face slightly as my cock slid out so the soft inside of her cheek rubbed against me; the way her lips gripped the bulbous head for a moment before it bobbed free; how small her fingers looked, curled around the base; and how she flicked her tongue over the stretched, purple flesh before opening her mouth to engulf me again.
And all the time her calm brown eyes were on mine, watching, watching as I gasped and groaned at the exquisite sensation, a gleam of laughter in their toffee-coloured depths at the thought of how easily she'd taken control. I'm usually the bossy one but suddenly it all changed. I was putty in her hands - a complete puppet, twitching and groaning as her mouth and lips and little white teeth worked on me. I remember telling her how great it was, how much pleasure I was getting, and how I loved her...but she didn't answer. How could she, with her mouth full of my cock? In the soft light from the coffee table lamp she looked so beautiful, crouching over me with her hair around her face and her slim body rocking back and forth. I wanted to fuck her then, but I couldn't stop what she was doing for a single moment, and so she took me to where she wanted to go.
The need to cum started deep in my balls, a tingle at first, and then a tightening ache, spiraling upwards like the birth of a tsunami: like the ocean being sucked back off the beach to gather into a growing, uncontrollable force. I groaned at the sensation and my hands reached up to pluck at her head, and my voice was broken.
'Jesus, Lisa...ah, fuck! I'm close...God - stop! I'll cum into your mouth. Stop -'
But she didn't. Her tongue swirled around the head as it slid back and forth in her mouth, and her eyes were on mine, willing me to fill her, waiting for the storm. Her fingers tightened on the base of my rod, gripping hard, and the spiral of my pleasure grew, spinning upwards, seizing my mind and my senses until there was nothing else except my cock and the soft, wet warmth of her mouth sucking me into the back of her throat.
The heat and the tightness suddenly tripped me over the edge and I came. The soft subdued lighting in the room flared brightly, a searing white that illuminated every detail of her face, shot through with flashes of bright colour as my brain exploded in ecstasy. The first surge of cum burst into her mouth, a fountain of hot salty fluid spraying into her, coating the walls of her mouth, and I heard her cry out in surprise. She jerked my cock free and a second jet splattered over her face - a long streak of opal over the smooth golden skin of her cheek and the dark pool of one eye; and then a third, even stronger, streaking over her forehead to lie in sparkling creamy drops in her thick mane of hair. It seemed to go on and on, and I saw how she moved my shaft over her face and how the long ribbons drenched her mouth and cheeks and nose, gathering in long ropes on her chin, mixing with the dribble of jism leaking from her open lips.
And at last the storm ended and colour and form returned, and Lisa was silent, staring into the room with her mouth open, an expression of shock on her face. I could see traces of my sperm on her lips and tongue, and the shiny enamel of her teeth was dulled by it. Globs of cum were caught in her hair like glistening pearls, and a rope of jism hung from her chin like bizarre jewelry, spinning slowly, shining in the light. Jesus...the light! A hard, bright light that filled the room where before there had been only the soft glow of a table lamp; and Lisa was captured in its glare like a deer in the headlights of a hunters truck, her eyes shocked and staring and her mouth agape as she stared across the room towards the door.
And in that instant of awareness I heard the sudden gasp behind me and I knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that it was them...my parents - our parents, home early; and that nothing, nothing in the whole world would ever make them understand what they had just seen. I knew, without even looking, what the expression on my mother's face would be - horror and disgust and loathing as she'd watched her daughter with her mouth stretched around her son on her sofa, in her house, and his rampant cock spraying and splattering long jets of scalding seed over her little girl's eager face.
And there was nothing I could do. Lisa leaped off me and ran from the room, her breasts bobbing and a strange keening sound coming from her mouth, and I just lay there, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. I tried to sink into the sofa. I prayed to God to swallow me up into the earth, but of course He didn't, and I heard the heavy footsteps of my father as he strode towards me to throw me out - this interloper in his house, as yet unrecognized; and I watched as he realised who and was, and his world collapsed.
A sudden shout of laughter disturbed my thoughts and I looked over at the group sat near the window beyond the bar. Four younger people, eighteen or nineteen perhaps, their faces happy and shining. I doubted if they had ever been burdened with shame and disgrace as we had been - why should they have been? It had been six years since that day, but it had changed everything. Six years of exile from love and respect and, for me at least, six years of worrying about Lisa, hoping that she could forgive me for what I'd done.
I picked up my beer and sipped it, thinking about her lying asleep not far from where I sat. For the first time in six years we would spend the night together under one roof with no other family around. I thought of the double bed and how nice it would be to spoon up to her, to kiss the back of her neck and perhaps do more, but I knew the chances of that were zip. At least I'd be able to speak to her, which was more than had happened in the last six years. It wasn't that she'd avoided me or anything: she was just - well, distant, I suppose. As if she'd built this fucking great emotional wall between us that filtered out anything remotely intimate.
I wondered too about her husband, Chris. He seemed a nice enough guy, if you liked them vanilla with the personality of a doorknob. She'd met him a year or so after that night and it had been a whirlwind romance and a quick wedding. God knew if they were happy - she never said much about him and there didn't seem to be any magic in the union. I sometimes thought that she'd married him just to get away, to put another wall between the present and the past. Walls behind walls...there didn't seem much hope of ever getting close to her again.
And then the barman came over and gave me the phone, and it was Lisa telling me she was awake.
*****************
Hannah Rosenberg awoke to the front door slamming as her husband left for work. She often reminded him to be quiet but somehow he always forgot, and so every morning the bedroom reverberated and the pictures hung crooked on the walls until she dutifully straightened them before going downstairs.
Hannah lay in the warmth of her bed for a few minutes, thinking fondly of him. Her parents had moved to Eglington when she was just six, taking a vacant house in a leafy street not far from the centre of town. The house opposite was bigger than theirs with a large sign on the front gate: Benjamin J. Rosenberg, Plumber and Gasfitter and within a few weeks the Solomons and the Rosenbergs became firm friends because they were neighbours and of the same church, and each had a single child.
And so little Hannah Solomon had grown up with Gideon Rosenberg - a pale and rather shy boy three years her senior who was socially stunted by the cloying love of his over-protective mother to the point where he was devoid of any friends. The introduction of the dark-eyed little waif into his life was welcome, and they became inseparable to the point that everyone knew they were destined for one other.
Gideon qualified as a plumber not long after his 20th birthday and they were married soon afterwards. Ben Rosenberg's present was to make his son a partner in his business and to lend him the company van for their honeymoon and Ruth Rosenberg presented Hannah with a croqueted christening gown in a not-so-subtle hint of what she expected of the union; and after a flurry of hugs and tearful farewells the young couple disappeared for three days to a quiet holiday resort not far from where they lived.
Hannah smiled when she remembered the first night of their married life. She had been nervous, of course, but it quickly became evident that Gideon was equally so. The brief coupling that consumed their virginities was awkward, but had gradually improved so by the time they came home each wore a glow of sexual awareness. Now, just a year later, Gideon had developed to the point where he was aggressive in his bedroom activity and Hannah, who was naturally passive, was beginning to wonder where it would end.
But she was happy. Gideon was a hard worker and planned to do much with his life, and if the cost was long working hours and a little worry about his sexual appetite, wasn't it all worth it? The deposit for their first house was growing and they had talked about starting a family in the New Year, and Hannah had a part time job in the newsagent that paid enough for the groceries. Sometimes Gideon didn't get home until late and so she'd recently started studying in the evening with the hope of becoming a Pharmacist, and she knew with absolute certainty that their lives were on the right road and success and comfortable living would follow.She climbed out of bed and slipped on her dressing gown and went downstairs to the little kitchen to prepare her breakfast: a bowl of light cereal and a coffee, and she carried them to the table where she would eat and watch the morning news. She saw Gideon's cell phone almost at once and realised that he would need it for his work; and so she picked it up and took it to the hallway ready for when he came back.
If the message had not come in at that moment, she would never have found out. She would have put the phone on the hall table and eaten her breakfast and gone upstairs to shower and change, smiling at his uncharacteristic forgetfulness; and by the time she came downstairs he would have collected it. But it chirped in her hand and the screen lit up and she could not help but look. A single message lay in the inbox:
Alone 2day. Can u help a lady in need?
The letters leapt out of the little glowing screen as if they were six foot tall and Hannah's heart lurched, as if someone had punched her in the gut. The phone told her the caller's name was Judy and the emoticon was a smiling face blowing kisses, and suddenly she knew her world would never be the same again.
She carried the phone to the kitchen and sat at the little table, her mind racing. Surely there was a simple explanation: it was a client who needed his professional help...a burst pipe or a leaking tap, perhaps. A woman just like her, waiting to get to work but with a disaster that needed a plumber to fix it. But the words were damning...alone today...alone today. No client would ever say that.
Hannah tried to quell the racing of her heart and think logically. She knew he would be back soon, running into the door in a flap to find his phone, his face red because he was now late for work. She accessed his address book and scrolled through it quickly, scanning the names. Many were people she knew or were businesses he used: JK Plumbing... Bunnings... Pipeworkz... Reece. But in the list were names she didn't know - women's names characterised by a single word: Cassie, Dora, Judy, June. Names of clients of a different kind, names that hinted of shame and betrayal; names that took her heart and wrung it until it bled drops of living blood in her heaving chest.
With trembling fingers Hannah returned to the original message and entered a reply. Sure. What did you have in mind today? An innocuous reply but enough to draw out more, if there was more to hear. She pressed the send button and waited.
The reply was all that she had feared, and with trembling hands she set the phone down and stared at the screen.
Everything, just like before. Kids gone by 9. I'll be upstairs naked. J xx
With a sinking heart Hannah typed another message, a collective one to the other girls in the address book: something that would tell her whether she should worry about them too - although, God knows, she had enough already. Her fingers hovered over the send button before pressing it.
Within an hour she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that her husband was a serial womanizer who had taken advantage of the lonely housewives available on his calls. She knew who he did and when, and she had a good idea of what he did to them too. And so she erased her messages and left the phone for him as she had found it, and she went to work and thought of what she might do to pay him back.
******
I expected Lisa to be up, but she didn't answer the tap on the door so I opened it quietly and stepped into the room. She was still in bed with her back to me and I stood for a moment looking at her. The room was dim: only the fading daylight from the little window illuminating it - a dull, grey light diffused by the rain streaking the window... but it was enough to see the spread of her hair against the white sheets and the shape of her body under the covers.
I crossed the room and sat on the far side of the bed, and she smiled at me: a small smile, but more than I'd seen in a while.
'Put the light on, if you like,' she said.
I clicked on the little bedside lamp and the room was illuminated in a soft glow, the shadows retreating to the corners of the room.
'You look cosy,' I said. 'Did you sleep?'
She nodded. 'Yes. I didn't expect to, but I dropped off straight away. How long have I been out?'
'A couple of hours.'
'God. I feel drugged. Better, though. I feel...better.'
'That's good.' I reached forward and brushed a comma of dark hair from her forehead. 'Do you feel up to a bite to eat?'
Lisa nodded. 'God, yes, I'm famished.'
'Good,' I repeated. 'I've made a booking for seven. 'Is that OK?'
'Sure.' She regarded me, her eyes calm. The dark bruises had faded from under her eyes and she looked more rested than any time over the last week. 'Is it still raining?' she asked at length.
'Yep. Pretty much non-stop. Not as heavy as before, but still full-on.'
'Do you think we'll get out of here tomorrow?'
'Only if it stops raining. There's a couple of creeks between here and your place that will take a while to go down. Are you in a hurry to get home?'
She shook her head. 'Not at all. I told work I'd be away for a week at least.'
'What about Chris? Won't he be expecting you?'
'Not really.' Her eyes slid away from mine. 'He's...away at the moment.'
'Really? Where?' I'd never known him to be away. Chris was the original Eglington Troll - born there, lived there, worked there and, I had no doubt, would die there. Even though there was two-thirds of fuck all in the place, even on a good day.
'With work. A work thing.' Lisa said. The tone of her voice suggested she didn't want to talk about it.
'Ah...well,' I glanced at my watch. 'We've got about an hour before dinner. I need to make a few calls, if you don't mind. If you want to use the bathroom first I could come back at - say, half past? Is that OK?'
She nodded. 'Sure.'
'Right.' On impulse I leaned forward and touched her face lightly. 'I'm glad you're feeling better, Lisa,' I said softly. 'I've been worried about you.' My fingers rested gently over her cheek and I could feel the glossy warmth of her skin.
For a moment there was a look of tenderness in her eyes but then her expression changed and she pulled away.
'I'm fine,' she said. 'You shouldn't worry.'
'Sometimes it's nice to have someone care.'
'Really?' she whispered. 'I guess I'd forgotten.'
*
The little dining room was crowded and noisy, but the young waitress showed us to a small table under the window in a relatively secluded corner of the room. She lit the candle and handed us a menu each. 'Do you want more drinks first?' she asked. 'I'll bring them and find out what's left on the menu.'
I ordered two more whiskeys and watched my sister as she settled herself and looked around the room. She'd put on a little black dress that hugged her curves and she'd spent time on her make up.
'You look good, Lisa.'
'Thank you,' she said. 'I wasn't expecting to socialise and only threw this dress in at the last moment. Does it look OK?'
'It's sensational.'
'You're just saying that because you're my brother.'
'Actually I'm not. You do look good, trust me. As a red blooded male I'm qualified to judge.'
Lisa nodded without responding but looked pleased. 'It's been a while since I went on a date,' she said at length.
'Is that what this is?'
'Well - no, but you know what I mean.'
'So doesn't your husband take you out?'
'Sure - but that's not a date either. Mostly it's to the local pub if we can't be bothered to cook at home. We don't dress up for that.'
'Doesn't he cook?'
She shook her head. 'I do everything in the house and he brings in the money.'
'But don't you work as well?'
'Yeah, but apparently that's not the same.' She shrugged. 'You get into a routine...it's not a big deal.' She looked around the room. 'Interesting crowd in here.'
'I noticed when I came in - half local, half rich kids.'
She smiled. 'And us. We don't fit either category.'
'No. A couple of outcasts. I...ah, here's the waitress. Have you chosen what you want?'
'A steak will do me. Medium - with salad.'
The girl brought our drinks and I watched as she carefully wrote our order down before scurrying away. I raised my glass to Lisa.
'Well, here's to us. To happier times.'
She sipped her Scotch and regarded me for a moment. 'Did you mean what you said?'
'About happier times? Absolutely.'
'No... about being outcasts.'
'We've been outcasts for six years, Lisa.'
Her eyes flickered over mine. 'I figured it was only me who thought that.'
'Really? We were both punished, you know, one way or the other. No doubt our dear parents thought it was character-building, but for me it just sucked.' I sipped my drink. 'You know, I've thought all these years that you blame me for what we did.'
Lisa stared at me. 'I've never blamed you for one moment,' she said simply 'I wanted it as much as you - perhaps even more.' She shook her head to emphasise the point. 'No, it wasn't you...it was them. The way they punished us... it was like having this constant shadow hanging over us...watching everything we did or said, where we went and who we met. I sometimes used to wonder how they did that - you know, it wasn't like we were kids anymore. I used to dream about telling them to fuck off and let us live our lives, but I never did.' She smiled ruefully. 'I guess parental authority is deep rooted.'
'But getting married must have helped.'
'I suppose.' She laughed. 'Do you remember the wedding? Mum wouldn't let me invite more than five people so she could watch us and even then she wouldn't leave me alone with you for one second. Even going down the aisle she followed us. She must have thought you were going to leap out of the congregation to jump my bones.'
I laughed with her. 'Dad watched me like a hawk too. I had that skinny girl with me - what was her name? Cindy? Cynthia? Whatever. I think he figured she was just a cover and I was secretly planning to drag you to into the transept for a quick blowjob or something. If it weren't so tragic it would have been funny. They were pretty sad people.'
Lisa took another sip of her drink. 'We should have done it, you know.'
'Done what?'
'A blow-job in the church. You did owe me one.'
The vision of Lisa's face with my cum dripping over it suddenly popped into my mind. I'd often wondered what would have happened if the parents hadn't come home...would it have stopped with my eating her out, or would it have gone even further? She'd been ready, that was for sure, and I had been too. And if we'd done it, how would it have changed our lives? Would we have lost those six years? Would we be apart or together?
Lisa's voice interrupted my thoughts. 'So what are you thinking?'
'I was wondering how our lives would have been different if they hadn't come home that night.'
She nodded. 'I sometimes wonder that too. I doubt I'd have married Chris, for a start.'
'Really?'
'I think so. I guess he was just an easy way to get the hell out of home, you know...so I took it. I was young and stupid then.'
'But you're happy now, aren't you?'
She caught the waitress's eye to order another round of drinks and waited until they arrived before she spoke again. 'I guess a better word would be to say I'm content. I know he's not the most exciting guy in the universe and we have our ups and downs but he's honest and hard working and I won't cheat on him.'
'I'm glad to hear that.' I wasn't, but it seemed a good thing to say.
'Are you? I got the impression you didn't care for him much.'
I shrugged. 'I don't mind him, but we really don't have much in common. And he took my little sister away.'
She laughed. 'Somebody was always going to do that. We couldn't have spent the rest of our lives together.'
'Maybe not. But we were pretty close, Sis. Do you remember how we used to do everything together? You and I were inseparable, and I've never found anybody to replace that. I sort of figured Chris filled that space for you, and I was jealous...I am jealous.'
Lisa sat back in her chair and regarded me. 'Well, well! I would never picked that, Mr. Roberts. You, jealous? I didn't think you had a jealous bone in your body!'
'Jealous is good. It means I care for you a lot...maybe more than anyone else.'
Her expression softened. 'That's a really sweet thing to say - and you're right, we haven't seen much of each other in the last few years but you shouldn't take that as meaning anything...it was just the way it was.' She lapsed into silence and I could see her thinking, wondering if she should say more, wondering if it was better left unsaid. 'You know we've never spoken of that night,' she continued suddenly, 'but I want you to know I've never forgotten it.'
'But do you regret it?' I asked softly.
Her eyes met mine, lingering for a moment while she thought about the answer. 'Never,' she said. 'At least, not insofar as what we did. I regret our parents treated us like shit for the next six years, and I regret a bunch of things that happened because of that...but I've never been sorry for doing it, not for one moment.'
'To be fair, it must have been a hell of a shock seeing us like that.'
Lisa shrugged. 'Maybe, but they took a sledgehammer to our lives and there was no need. They turned into truly miserable people whose only joy was to make our lives miserable too.' She took a mouthful of her drink and I could see her thinking, remembering. 'When Mum died I thought things might change, you know, but they didn't. Pa was just as bad...worse, maybe.' She shook her head. 'How did he do that, Mike? How could one miserable old bastard cast such a shadow on our lives?'
'Stuffed if I know. I ask the same question myself.'
'I'm glad he's gone!' she said. She stared at me almost defiantly as if she expected me to challenge her words, but I didn't and her voice changed. 'If only they could have seen that night for what it was,' she said. 'None of what happened would have been necessary.'
'So what was it, Lisa?'
She took another mouthful of whiskey whilst she considered the question. 'I was a pretty bad girl in those days you know, and I don't mind admitting it. I liked guys and I liked what they did to me. I could have filled a book with my escapades.' She giggled softly. 'In fact I did...I had a diary, full of interesting little stories. If they'd found that they would have had something to be pissed about. Maybe I'll show it to you one day, when we're old and grey.' She regarded me almost shyly. 'But with you - with you it was much more than that.' Her eyes flickered over mine, the irises like warm chocolate. 'I would have gone the whole way, you know. I couldn't wait to get you inside me.'
'You weren't bothered about me being your brother?'
'No more than you were bothered about me being your sister.' She smiled. 'The sibling thing was part of the excitement, you know. The thrill of doing the forbidden. It's like shagging your best friend's husband whilst you're on the phone to her talking about going shopping.' She looked at me, her eyes bright. 'But I guess if I was honest it was more than that. It was -' she broke off as the waitress appeared with our meals and we waited in silence whilst she served us.
'So you were saying?' I asked, after she'd gone.
Lisa picked up her fork and regarded the steak on her plate. 'You were special,' she said, simply. 'You were you. I can't say more than that.'
'So special that you ran off and got married and hardly spoke to me for four years?'
'It just happened, Mike. Don't take it personally.'
We ate for a while, each thinking of the past but afraid to talk about the future. Perhaps that had been the problem all along - that and the business of getting on with our lives without thinking too hard about where we were going. I glanced at her face: the firm line of her jaw and the soft curl of her lips and the dark pools of her eyes, and I realised again how beautiful she was.
'So what now?' I asked her.
'Now? Well, now our parents are dead and we'll inherit their house.' She giggled. 'Maybe we should excise the demons by going back to finish the job. It would be a fitting end to that part of our lives, don't you think? We could put a big sign on the window: 'Siblings fucking to unfuck their fucked lives.'
I laughed. 'That would impress the neighbours. So when do you want to do it?'
She gave me a sharp glance. 'Hey, I was joking, right? Don't take it as an invitation.'
'It's not a bad idea, though.'
'Really?' she held up her left hand and the candlelight winked off the gold band. 'Aren't you forgetting something?'
'You said you have your ups and downs.'
Lisa put her hand down. 'And I also said I wouldn't cheat on him, and I think sleeping with my brother would be inconsistent with that notion.'
'Sleep was the last thing I had in mind. Besides, sometimes you have to step outside a relationship to see what's good about it.'
Lisa laughed 'That's complete bollocks, and you know it. Nice try, though.'
'So what is next?'
'We get on with our lives and we see where they take us.' She reached over and grasped my arm. 'But I promise we'll be closer than in the past, Mike. I need a friend and God knows, so do you.'
A friend. Well, I suppose it was better than not being her friend, but at that moment it wasn't nearly enough. As I said, some things you never forget.
*
It was after midnight when we went to bed. We'd had a nice dessert and then gone to the bar where she'd drunk a few more whiskeys and talked a lot of stuff she wouldn't remember in the morning, and then we staggered up the stairs. Well, Lisa had staggered. I'd felt surprisingly clear headed, which is just as well as she was clearly not. I steered her into the room and sat her on the bed, and she'd just flopped backwards with her eyes closed.
I thought she'd passed out, but after a moment she started talking in a loud voice.
'You're a good guy, Mikey...a good guy.' The words were slurred, but they brought back sudden memories. She'd not called me Mikey for years.
'Shhhh, Lisa. People are trying to sleep.'
'Ah, shorry.' She giggled. 'I'm a bit pisshed.'
'I can see.'
'Fuck 'em, Mikey! Fuck our parents for what they did.' A stage whisper.
'Indeed.' I unzipped her boots and pulled them off. 'Roll over, Lisa, and let me take off your dress.'
She stared at me for a few moments, her pupils dilated by drink, but then shrugged and rolled on to her belly. I grasped the zip and slid it down, staring at the creamy smoothness of her back.
'You're a good guy,' she said again. Her voice was muffled. 'Not like...them.'
I rolled her onto her back and threaded her arms through the sleeves and pulled the dress clear, and she flopped back onto the mattress with her eyes closed. Her breasts were held in a little half cup bra, round and perfect, and the nipples peeped from the lacy edge like little ripe gooseberries.
'Are you going to fu..fuck me, Mikey?' she asked suddenly.
'Not tonight, honey.' Little white panties, stretched tight over her mound. A wisp of hair peeping from one side, and the hint of dark lips pressed against the fabric. I could feel my cock stiffening. She was so beautiful, even when she was hammered.
'I want...wanted to,' she said petulantly. 'I waited, and waited...' her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes, and I sat on the bed beside her and touched her hair, smoothing it back, feeling the glossy strands under my fingers. It would have been so easy to take her then...to move aside the gusset of those tight little knickers and press myself into her; to feel the molten clasp of her cunt as my cock slid in.But I didn't. I kissed her lightly on the forehead and pulled back the bedclothes and rolled her into bed, and covered her up. She'd be a mess in the morning and I didn't want the hassle and besides, I wanted her to want me, and not take her when she was drunk.
And so I lay in that bed with my arm around her, listening to her breathing in the dark little room, and I pressed myself against her with only her little panties between us, and I wondered how I could be so close to her and yet so far away.
And after a little while I slept.
*****
Sixty miles away Christopher John Walker, shopkeeper, rugby player and husband to my sister, drained the last of his beer and regarded the young girl sitting opposite him.
He'd told Lisa he was away on business but the rain saved him the trouble for he knew the road would be blocked and she wouldn't get home; and so he'd gone to one of the local pubs, confident that nobody would know him and hoping that the night might bring something a little better than the hard-eyed divorcees he normally pulled. And it looked like his luck was in, for the girl he had found was clearly different.
She was a pretty little thing: a brunette with a bob of hair cut short around her neat little ears and a pixie face that smiled easily, even if her eyes did not. He'd seen her sitting a bar stool earlier in the evening and had struck up a conversation, and after a while she'd joined him at a table. They'd talked about the town and her job and what he was doing on the road but they were just words, for each of them understood that before the night was done he would take her upstairs.
Now the conversation had dried up and she sat and waited. This was the first time she'd done this and she was nervous, but she could see he was clean and well spoken and although she thought he might be married he would serve her purpose as well as any other.
He set down his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'So we could go upstairs if you wanted,' he said. 'I've booked a room.'
She nodded, her eyes on his face. She had wondered why he was in a pub when his home was so close, and realised that he was seeking women for gratification, just as her husband did every day. The knowledge that this man was a sexual predator made what she was going to do so much easier.
Chris took her hand and led her up the stairs, fumbling with the keys before opening the door. She glanced around quickly: a simple room with a double bed with a small table next to it, a dresser and a wardrobe unit. A door led off to one side, which she supposed was to an ensuite bathroom.
'Um - do you want another drink?' he asked. 'There's a mini bar.'
The girl nodded and set her handbag carefully on the bedside table, watching as he turned away to the bar fridge. She opened the bag quickly and pressed the button on the little camera to start it, moving it slightly to make sure it captured the room. The bag's rim was decorated with glass beads and the lens was virtually indistinguishable, and she knew its field of view would easily cover the bed. She stood back just as he turned towards her.
Chris handed her a glass. 'Uh...I forgot your name,' he said.
'Hannah.'
'Well, Hannah, here's to us...to tonight.'
She took the glass and raised it. 'Cheers.' The liquor was neat and she gasped slightly as it burned her throat before filling her belly with warmth. She set the empty glass down and turned to him.
'I'll turn out the light,' he said.
'No, no, leave it.' She lifted her face to his and kissed him, her lips soft. 'I want to see us.'
Chris watched her undress. She was much smaller than Lisa in every way, with tiny breasts and curves that were barely pronounced, and the little cupcake buttocks balanced above her thighs were firm and round and devoid of fat. With her short hair and slender figure she looked almost boyish but for the cleft between her legs. She had carefully shaved her pubic hair so her vulva was fully exposed, the labia so small that her sex resembled a slit rather than a fleshy opening. The juxtaposition of boyishness and pubescent girlhood stirred him and Chris felt his cock harden rapidly.
'How old are you, Hannah?' he asked.
'Nineteen last August.'
He nodded, her word good enough for him. 'You're beautiful.'
She watched as he shed his clothes and she lifted her face to kiss him. His hands held her gently and his lips were much softer than Gideon's. Despite her empty heart she felt her sex moisten in anticipation and she drew herself towards him, feeling the heat of his rigid cock as it pressed hard against her belly, and her nervousness vanished.
It was so much easier than she had imagined. She knew the video must capture as much detail as possible, so she was careful to position herself. She kneeled on the bed with her bottom angled toward the camera and watched his eyes roaming over the slightness of her body and the tiny roundness of each cheek. In her mind she could see what the camera saw: her slender form in passive surrender, legs apart to reveal the tight crevice between them and her face turned to capture the moment of penetration; the man's cock, bobbing and rampant, the tip engaging and his eyes watching, watching, as he pressed forward. She felt her tightness resisting and she pushed back, gasping as the bulbous head crowned into her, followed by the slippery rush of his shaft reaching up toward her womb. Her fingers crept back to hold her buttocks apart to better reveal the image: his rod embedded in her crack and her face smiling as she fucked this stranger in the shabby little room.
'You're tight,' he whispered. His fingers felt rough against her skin and she felt his eyes roaming over her. 'You're so fucking tight.'
His words stirred her and she twisted her face to look back at his. 'Tell me what you see,' she whispered, 'and what you want to do.'
'I see my cock inside you.'
'Yes! Tell me.'
'You're so small,' he said. 'It's...it's stretching you.'
'Pull it out and tell me what you see.'
Chris withdrew his shaft, watching as the glistening head emerged from the girl's body. Her vulva gaped wet and pink for a moment before the flesh crimped closed.
She remembered to talk like a slut. 'Am I wet for you?'
'You are. Wet and ready.' His cock at the entrance again, the shaft shining with her juice as it slid back inside, and he grunted at her tightness. 'Ah, Christ Hannah! Fuck, that's good! Is it good for you too?'
'I love it. I love fucking with you.'
The room was filled with the sound of their union: the wet slap of flesh as he pounded into the slender body and their gasps and groans of pleasure. Each thrust jerked her forward and the bed squeaked loudly so she pulled away and whirled around to kneel before him.
'Lift me,' she demanded. 'Fuck me standing.'
He scooped up her slender body, feeling her legs encircle his waist and her face press into the hollow of his neck. His cock was pressed against her sex and he adjusted it, gasping as it popped back into her warmth, and he cupped each buttock to raise and lower her onto his rampant shaft.
'Move towards the light,' she whispered. 'I want to see us in the mirror.'
He carried her to the bedside table and her sex filled the camera's image: it saw the light froth on the lips of her cunt and his thickness as he slid between them, and it captured his hands cupped around each tiny buttock, his fingers curled close to the point of their union. She gasped as one fingertip touched her anus, and she twisted her face to the camera.
'God, yes! Put your finger in my ass!'
Chris regarded their image in the mirror: the slender white figure in his arms with her legs wrapped around his waist. He slipped the tip of one finger into her rectum, the cloying warmth an additional stimulus, and he pressed his tongue into her mouth. He could see and feel her body accepting him threefold: his cock and his fingers and his tongue. She was so small that he wondered if each would somehow meet in the middle, and the notion that he could so completely possess her triggered the start of his orgasm.
'Jesus, Hannah...I'm going to cum,' he gasped. He felt her tighten her pussy in response and the rush of his semen accelerated.
'Do it,' she said. 'Cum into me. Let me suck your seed into my body.' She swiveled her hips and clasped her cunt tighter, feeling the muscles in his body tighten as he reached for the pinnacle. 'Ah...ah, yes, let it go, honey.'
With a hoarse cry, Chris spurted into the girl. The camera captured the throbbing of his cock and the fluttering of her pussy as it accepted the spattering ribbons of his seed, and it heard her tremulous words. 'That's it! Yes...God, yes! I can feel it...yes, yes...spurting thick inside me...ah, fuck, so deep inside.'
After a while the twitching bodies in front of its little glass eye grew still. It watched as the man's cock slipped free of her body and it saw the whiteness of his sperm dribbling from between the puffy wet lips. And later still it heard the snores of the man lost in slumber, and it saw Hannah's hand put the money into her bag before she picked it up and tiptoed from the room.
*
It was late when Gideon Rosenberg let himself into the house. He'd expected Hannah to be there but it was dark and he spent a few minutes searching for her before finding the envelope propped up on the hall table. He tore it open and saw it contained nothing except a small thumb drive.
The image on his computer flickered once or twice before his wife's face appeared. She was sat in the lounge room and she addressed the camera without smiling, and her words hammered into his skull like the blows of a tradesman's hammer. I know...about Judy and Cassie and Dora...about your fucking, about your betrayal, and this is what you get. The image shifted to a room, and he perceived Hannah there, drinking with a man, and he watched as she shed her clothes and went to him. He saw the thick cock sliding into his wife's body and he heard her cries of pleasure, and he watched her laughing face as she offered herself, and the pain and anger washed through his brain in waves. Hannah, little Hannah, fucking in a hotel room like a cheap whore: the one who was always there for him, the one who was his. He saw the man's organ, twitching as it unloaded into her slender body and he watched as the sperm oozed from his wife's slit, and he thought his heart would break.
The image of the room faded and Hannah's face appeared, her voice like jagged shards of glass. 'So you reap what you sew, Gideon,' she said. 'Trust works both ways, and if you can fuck around, so can I.' An expression of sadness flicked over her face for a moment, but then the scorn and anger returned. 'I've left you, Gideon,' she said. 'It's over. Don't ever try and speak to me again,' and the screen faded to black.
It only took a moment to check she had gone. The cupboards were bare and the drawers were empty and even the pictures of her on the dresser had disappeared. It was as if every trace of her life with him had been erased, and there were only the images on the little thumb drive to remind him of who she had been and what she had become.
For a long time he sat, lost in misery and regret, and then a sudden thought occurred to him. He replayed the video, watching with a beating heart, and he paused it at a particular point.
The frozen image of the man's face stared at him through the camera's lens, and Gideon felt a surge of hatred, for he knew him. It's Chris Walker. Chris Walker, who played rugby at his local club. Chris Walker, who had drunk beer with him and his mates and laughed at their jokes and sung their rugby songs. Chris Walker, with his face screwed up in pleasure as he fucked Hannah, his beautiful wife.
*****
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone