"In a universe of ambiguity,
this kind of certainty comes only once,
and never again,
no matter how many lifetimes you live."
The Bridges of Madison County, Robert Waller.
The Lucky 8
The first thing I was aware of when I came to was the throbbing in my head. It hurt like a son-of-a- bitch. A fuckin' 10-alarm headache! I blinked and squeezed my eyes shut feeling the pressure thunder across of my forehead, a veritable marching band drumming right out from the center of my brain. And through this dull pounding the events of the previous night came seeping back in threads of loosely knit sequences.
I had stopped at 'The Lucky-8 Bar & Grill' for a drink and a bite to eat when one of the locals took umbrage to my presence. And as luck would have it, he happened to be about the biggest man I'd ever encountered. I'm a shade over six two but this Grizzly made me look like a midget. He was a foot taller and had me by about a hundred and fifty pounds though that really didn't scare me – size was never relevant in a fight. I had fought big men before and possessed an arsenal of techniques to deal with his size advantage. But someone forgot to tell Godzilla that.
He moved in trying to close the distance when a push-kick to his lower abdomen, a little above his groin, followed by a low roundhouse-kick to the outside of his knee stopped him in his tracks. I saw his leg flex unnaturally and his face contort with pain and was about to step in when I was sent flying by the swipe of a huge, gnarly paw. I tumbled over a table and ricocheted off of the wall landing on the far side of nothing, a mile from where he stood. Okay, so this wasn't going to be a walk in the park!
I got up quickly and stayed low ducking under a fist the size of Texas and when he swarmed in I hit him with a short right to the bridge of his nose and followed it with a left elbow to his temple. I could feel the impact running down my shoulders to my feet. The combination stunned the giant and he staggered backwards. There is truth to the cliché that speed kills. I was about to end it when there was a sudden explosion of lights followed by that peculiar weightless feeling as I slipped into unconsciousness. That was the last thing I remembered.
I ran my fingers gingerly over the walnut-sized bump on the back of my head just above the occipital bone, feeling around to gauge the extent of the damage. My scalp was split open and the blood had coagulated and clumped in my hair but I didn't think it would need stitches. I wasn't disoriented or confused which was good – it meant that though I might have concussed, it wasn't too serious. I checked my body for further injuries and apart from some sore ribs and a small bruise on the left side of my face I was okay, disheveled and badly in need of a shower, but okay.
I was lying propped up against the front wall facing the parking lot a few feet away from the stone stairway that led up to the entrance of the Bar. Someone must have carried me out. If they had thrown me down those stairs, I would have surely broken my neck. What can I say; I was dealing with a bunch of spineless but nevertheless, considerate assholes.
I sat up and shielded my eyes from the sunlight, the glare sending stilettoes stabbing through my brain.
"Damn! That's bright ..." I muttered to myself.
It was then that I noticed a piece of paper tucked into my shirt pocket. It was the crumpled tab for my meal. On it was scribbled, in childlike print, "I PAYED YOUR TAB. YOU WERE PREOCUPIDE PLEEZ COME SEE ME. DANIEL BENN". Okay, so I was dealing with a bunch of well-mannered yokels who couldn't spell but had a sense of humor! Nice touch but I was still pissed.
After making sure that my wallet and its contents were intact I got up, dusted myself off and drove a few miles down the road to The Smiling Bear Lodge. It was where I was supposed to hook-up with Rachael, Kyla and a few friends. Rachael was my kid sister and Kyla was a mutual friend we had grown up with. Andy and Sue were friends of Rachael's from college but I had yet to meet them. We had Skyped a few times but the lighting in Rachael's dorm room wasn't the best. I just hoped that they had some experience trekking in the mountains like the ones we were about to explore.
The plan was to use the Inn, just outside Bella Coola, as home base and drive to the mountains in Tweedsmuir Provincial Park to do some rock climbing, trekking and fishing. But my trip had been jinxed from the very get-go. I had left the office late and had gotten stuck in traffic a few miles south of O'Hare airport. Interstate I-190 had become a virtual parking lot thanks to an accident involving a tractor trailer and by the time they cleared the mess, I had missed my flight to Vancouver. The only option I had, in lieu of buying a new ticket, was to detour through Montreal or Calgary. So I flew into Montreal, waited around for four hours chugging stale coffee and browsing mindlessly through every magazine in the bookstore before catching the connecting flight to Sea Island.
I arrived there sleep deprived and hyped on caffeine only to learn that the weekly flight to Bella Coola had left a few hours earlier. Why wasn't I surprised? To paraphrase an old rock anthem: "If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all". But I wasn't going to waste my time bitching about this so instead of twiddling my thumbs for a week, I decided to drive the six hundred odd miles to Bella Coola. Bad idea!
After reviewing the map and checking the net for options, I settled on the Gold Rush Trail, Route Highway 1 to Highway 97 which was the quickest route to Williams Lake. It still took me over 7 hours to get there, but that was the easy part. Highway 20 going west to Bella Coola was in a different league altogether and could have been appropriately named 'The Highway to Hell'! Intermittent construction and the dirt road known as the Hill was enough to test the patience and nerves of the most skilled of drivers. There was a particular 5 mile stretch, riddled with hairpin bends and switchbacks that must have been designed by some sadomasochist or Evel Knievel himself. It was on a 20 degree gradient with sections that literally hung off the mountain's ledge that had my balls shriveling up like chestnuts and had me questioning the sanity of the decision to drive – at that moment a week in Vancouver didn't seem so bad. And it wasn't over. Once I managed to get down the Hill, I still had an hour or so to Bella Coola.
In all, including the break, where I slept in the car, the drive took me a little under 18 hours and this, when added to my transit time, cost me two days. I didn't really blame them for going ahead, I would have most probably done the same, but I was hoping that Rachael would have convinced the others to wait for me. But she didn't. True to her mercurial nature, Rachael sent me a text telling me to catch up! Her exact words, 'Sorry, Luke, would've liked to hang around but we've things to do. We'll see you at Hunlen Falls. Catch us if you can!', and ended it with a smiley. That was so typical of Rachael.
The thing about driving long distances, especially alone, is the cerebral freedom that often accompanies solitude; freedom that allows for the merging of thoughts and sensual fantasies with the reconstituted images of memory. This might explain the thriving flesh trade along the highways of North America. Those truckers have nothing else to do but fantasize about whatever it is they fantasize about and a willing body at a truck stop offers them some sort of temporary palliative. I could certainly appreciate that. My mind was filled, for most part, with thoughts of sex; of the girls I had slept with and those I wanted to sleep with ... and, of course, my younger sister.
After I had programmed the preset buttons on the radio and made the requisite phone call to my parents, I was left with the comfort of a peculiar quietness. It was a state where the soft strains of the music and the whirring sounds of the engine had faded into a soothing white noise and where the quantum of time and space had disappeared into the signs and scenery flashing by. I found myself revisiting secrets that had been locked away, stored securely in some far recess of my mind - secrets that families seldom talk about.
Incest! The word that once conjured images of banjo-playing retards and lewd, older men seducing little girls had undergone a significant change for me. I had researched and read everything I could find on the subject – especially articles delving into the sexual relationships between siblings. The more I read, the more I was convinced that some of the taboos were baseless. Exploration amongst brothers and sisters was a lot more widespread than acknowledged and was even considered normal by psychologists and doctors. What was surprising was that many of these liaisons developed into close, long-lasting affairs that continued even after one or both siblings had found other partners. The other interesting fact was the similarity in the experiences – couples who had indulged in sibling incest could relate closely with others who had done the same. Many also confessed that it was primarily their incestuous encounters that provided them with fodder for their sensual fantasies.
I can vouch for that. I couldn't help it, but the night that had affected both Rachael and me would play in my mind over and over and over again. It was an incident that had taken place on Rachael's Prom night and had changed my predilections forever. I was tied to my sister by the umbilical cord of a salacious memory.
6 Years ago – a flashback to Rachael's Prom Night
"What's up, Bugs?" I asked when Rachael's name popped up on my phone.
It was my nickname for her – Bugs as in Bugs Bunny; she used to remind me of a bunny when she was little with her two protruding front teeth and a cute lisp. That was before the magic of orthodontics gave her the perfect smile. She was eighteen now and all grown up.
"Kyla still doesn't have a date," she said without preamble.
"What? I can't hear you. Let me step outside," I said and made my way to the door.
I was with some friends at a popular Pizzeria and the cacophony of loud music, ribald laughter and clattering dishes was deafening.
"Okay, what was that? You said something about Kyla."
"Kyla doesn't have a date for the Prom," she repeated, "I told you about it ... we are running out of time!"
"I don't get it ... I thought Brian was taking her to the Prom?" I was genuinely surprised.
Brian and Kyla had gone out a few times and it was obvious that Kyla was taken with him. She couldn't stop talking about him and how "cute" he was.
"I know and that's why she said no to the others who had asked her ... but we just found out that he's taking Mary."
Mary was a bimbo on the cheerleading team – big boobs, bubble ass and absolutely brain-dead; she was the epitome of being "clueless"!
Brian was the captain of the football team and was a pompous ass. Girls thought that he was "dreamy". I thought he was a prick and no, I'm not jealous – we'd had our share of run-ins before I graduated. I was just glad that Rachael was never enamored by him.
"Brian's a fuckin' creep! You tell her not to lose any sleep over him. Why can't she go without a date? Hey, she can hang with you and Gorilla Grodd!" I suggested.
I couldn't help making fun of Rachael's boyfriend. He was a nerd, an extreme geek. He had a condescending manner about him and on more than one occasion I've had to step in to prevent someone from poking him in the eye. He was arrogant and super bright, as in "genius", similar to the anthropomorphic cartoon character. But it was the fact that the nickname, Gorilla Grodd, seemed to press Rachael's buttons that had me staying with it. I swear Rachael had the strangest taste in boys. But the truth was that I was jealous of him, jealous that he was dating my sister. And maybe that was the real reason I picked on him. It was confusing at best. Rachael and I had always been close but this feeling that seemed to crop up from nowhere sure beat the heck out of me.
"Why do you always have to be mean to James?" Rachael asked and I could tell from her voice that she was upset.
"I'm joking!" I protested.
"No you're not! I know you, Luke, and I know when you are kidding and when you're being nasty."
I was quiet. She was right – there was an undercurrent of meanness masked by the convivial cover of my incessant teasing. We had always been open and honest with each other and talked about everything, including sex, but for the first time I was at a loss. I didn't know how to verbalize the feelings inside me. How do you tell your younger sister that you are jealous of the guy she's dating? That it was driving me crazy imagining him doing things to her? I realized that sooner or later someone was going to get her into bed and that she wasn't going to remain a virgin forever but the thought was both sobering and disconcerting. Did I have a thing for my sister? Shit! That would be really weird!
"I... er ... I don't know why. It's not even him, sis ... it's ... it's the fact that you are dating him!" I finally managed to stutter.
"You're dating! And you don't see me making fun of the girls you parade in and out of your room!" she spat back.
"That's different," I squawked with typical male logic.
"Oh, really! How? How is it different? Did you ever stop to think how it made me feel ... those skanks walking around half-naked crawling all over you?"
I was shocked by the passion in her voice. Granted some of them were, for lack of a better word, skanks, and did walk around in their panties, flaunting their boobies (when Mom and Dad weren't around), but it never occurred to me that she might feel uncomfortable or was there more to this? Was she, like me, jealous too?
"I never thought it bothered you," I replied, "... honestly! You never said anything!"
"I hated them! Every single one of them!" She spat out, the passion in her voice surprising me, and then added, "Even Laura, who's really quite sweet."
This wasn't like Rachael at all. She was normally very laidback and easygoing. We were quiet for a while before my curiosity got the better of me.
"But why? I mean, why didn't you say something if it bothered you?"
"What was I going to say? You're my brother and there's nothing I can do about that," she said so softly, I had to strain to hear her. "One of these days you'll find some girl and get married and I'll lose you... I just have to accept that."
"I'm nineteen, Rach; I'm not getting married right now."
"I know, but ..." she said helplessly then she changed the topic, "... oh, what's the point! Just forget it! Can't you ask Kyla to the Prom? Please Luke?"
Me? Ask Kyla? Wow! That came out of left field! I've always liked Kyla and would be lying if I said I hadn't thought of boning her. She was the same age as Rachael and the three of us had literally grown up together, all the way from kindergarten, and, we got on really well. But asking her out on a date and that too on Prom night? That was a bit radical. However, there were some perks. I could keep an eye on Rachael and make sure nothing crazy happens. It was the night where 99% of the boys would be trying to get laid and 80% of the girls would be trying to hang on to their virginity! Any way you sliced it, the math didn't work – roofies and booze notwithstanding. I was going to try and help Rachael and Kyla keep their knickers on!
"I'll ask her but it'll have to be the four of us ... I'd feel really weird otherwise," I said.
"You'd really do that, Luke? Really? I could ... never mind ... you're a real lifesaver! I'll call Kyla," she said, perking up considerably.
"I'd better call her, don't you think?" I asked facetiously.
"Yes, of course ... what was I thinking? I'll let James know. Call me back after you speak to her, okay?" she was excited.
"You be sure to tell James to wear something over that monkey-ass of his!" I said unable to resist the parting dig and hung up before she could reply.
I waited a few minutes trying to figure out why I was doing this. I wasn't really interested in going to their Prom though there was a chance I could get lucky. I had gotten lucky at my Prom so you never know. However, Kyla was a friend, no she was more than a friend, she was like a second sister to me and I wasn't sure I wanted our relationship to change. In any case, I had promised Rachael so I called Kyla and after the usual small talk I got to the point.
"Hey, so who are you going to the Prom with?" I asked playing dumb.
She hesitated then answered softly, her voice trailing off, "I don't know if I'm going. No one's asked me. Well, it's a long story ..."
I paused before asking her. I wanted her to think this was spontaneous.
"How would you like to knock them all dead by taking the next Sonny Crockett to the prom?"
Kyla thought that I looked vaguely like Don Johnson of Miami Vice fame, a dark haired, taller version. I was hoping to get a laugh or some witty retort but no cigar. There was only silence on the other end.
"Hey, Kyla, are you okay?" I asked when she hadn't said anything.
"I'm not a charity case, Luke," she said in a somber tone, "Rachael should learn to keep her mouth shut!"
Okay, so the gig was up.
"She was only trying to help." I answered weakly, "Brian's a creep – I know that firsthand and he doesn't deserve you! Listen, if it's any consolation, I'm not doing anything and I would be flattered if you'd let me take you ... who knows, we may actually have some fun!"
"You're just being nice," she said softly.
Chicks! Nothing's simple ... they just had to do it; they had to draw you into more chatter. I would have been happy with a simple "yes" or a "no" or even a "mind your own fuckin' business and leave me alone!"
"Listen, Dumbo, you know me ... I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to no matter what Rachael said! You're gorgeous and the only reason that someone else hasn't asked you is that those punks in your class lack the balls to step up to the plate! Come on ... it'll be a blast! We'll make it a foursome with Rachael and Gorilla Grodd!" I countered.
She giggled, "Don't let Rachael catch you saying that ... you'll be dead!"
Okay! Now we were making some progress.
"We can watch him make the moves on Rachael! Hey, that's worth the price of admission right there! Come on, what do you say, Kyla ... it'll be the Three Vaqueros all over again and of course, the big monkey?"
The nickname for us came from her mother who was from Spain and had grown up on a horse ranch.
Kyla laughed, "Okay, if you're sure I'm ..."
I cut her off, "Great. I'll come and get you at 6 ... is that okay?"
"Sure. And Luke, thanks!" she said quickly and hung up.
Mom and Rachael spent the rest of the week shopping. All I wanted them to do for me was to buy the corsage for Kyla. What I saw were hundreds of dresses come parading in and just as many going out. I had half a mind to yell: "make up your fuckin' mind already!" but eventually, Rachael did pick a dress and though Dad and I wanted her to model it for us, we were told we had to wait. It was a secret only to be revealed on the big day.
Mom was thrilled that I was taking Kyla and wanted me to rent a tux but that was out of the question – once was enough. I was wearing a jacket and that's as far as I was willing to go. I was going to leave it to James to put on the monkey suit.
On the evening of Prom night, I was in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, shaving and getting ready when I heard Rachael calling.
"Luke! Luke, can you help ....please?" she yelled across the narrow hallway that separated our rooms, "Luke!"
I rinsed the foam off my face and sauntered across to her room to see what the frigging emergency was all about. Her door was ajar so I peeked in before entering. Rachael was standing in front of the mirror with the dress on or should I say half on. It was a black, strapless number that clung to her body like a second skin. The back was open all the way down to her coccyx.
"Wow, sis, you look ..." I paused, hands akimbo, at a loss for words, "... damn, girl, you look absolutely stunning!"
And I wasn't lying. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, the color of the dress contrasting with her thick, flaxen hair and those big, blue eyes. She had just the right amount of makeup on and I could see her smile in the mirror, happy with the reaction she had elicited. All that was missing now was a friggin' halo around her head.
"I bet you say that to all the wabbits!" she replied imitating the famous Warner Brothers character.
"No ... no, Rach, you are really beautiful!" I reiterated remaining serious.
"Why, thank you, kind sir and if I may be so bold as to say: you don't look too bad yourself!" she said tongue in cheek and giggled and went back to imitating Bugs Bunny, "Lose the towel, Doc, and it would be poifect!"
I know she's my sister and I may be a tad biased, but Rachael had to be one of the prettiest girls in our town. However, unlike most of the girls her age, she seemed disinterested in her appearance. She rarely wore any lipstick or makeup and went out of her way to down-play her physical attributes. I had gotten used to seeing her lazing around in baggy tee shirts and frumpy-looking trousers. But even the most unflattering haberdashery couldn't hide the changes that had taken place over the last year – the fleshy fullness and sweet, seductive curves that had replaced the skinny legs and flat body of a tomboy.
It was at the local Y when the evidence of her metamorphosis finally struck home. The tribe of troglodytes (my buddies) and I were at the swimming pool when Rachael walked by. No sooner had she settled into one of the lounge chairs than I sensed a shift in the mood. The horseplay and lewd, moronic banter had ceased and I was now surrounded by a bunch of dumbstruck Neanderthals. Believe me, if you knew these clowns you'd know that the only time this happens is when they are checking out a babe or sizing up a prime rib! It was as if they had just seen Bo Derek waving a giant steak at them and she was stark, fuckin' naked! If you don't know who Bo Derek is, Google the movie 10 ... you'll know exactly what I mean!
I could see them undressing Rachael with their eyes.
"Wow, dude! Your sister's changed!" one of the primates managed to croak.
"You had better watch yourself, Dave!" I threatened, "Stop staring and close you fuckin' mouth! That's my sister, you little prick!"
"Yeah, asshole!" one of the others chimed in.
"I'm just saying ... come on, guys, give me a break, she's fuckin' beautiful!" he stuttered and looked around hoping for some support only to be met by indecipherable mutters and grunts.
Some of the guys rolled their eyes and others just looked away. It was an unwritten rule – your friend's sisters were off limits. But I had to admit that she had changed. I'm not sure why I felt badly that my friends were attracted to her but I distinctly remember the feeling. It was the beginning of our "innocence lost". I could never think of her in the same way again. She had ceased to be my kid sister, the annoying little brat who had, at times, made a nuisance of herself, and had become this thing ... this mysterious, alluring being. She had become a woman. I wondered if all brothers go through this or if it was just me.
From that day onwards, I looked at her differently. There was something very sensual about Rachael and I wasn't immune to it. As her brother I thought I should be but I wasn't and that in itself was confusing. But what really bothered me was the shift in the power structure – until then, as the older sibling, I held control but I sensed it slipping away and there was nothing I could do about it. In some quirky, unfathomable way she was now the puppeteer manipulating the strings of our relationship without even knowing it.
"Zip me up," she asked breaking into my reverie.
I stood looking down the yawning V of the dress teased by the glimpse of her black, satin panties and the sensual curve of her ass. I fumbled with the buttons at the bottom, the ones below the zipper, and while pulling the dress together, my fingers brushed against the bare skin. It felt warm and soft and firm and when I made contact with her panties it sent shivers racing down my spine. I wondered if she could sense my excitement.
She moved a little, adjusting her stance trying to make it easier for me. She seemed oblivious to the effect she was having on me as my cock lurched and pushed outwards against the towel. I was eighteen and it really didn't take much to make the little monster raise its angry head. I kept telling myself: 'Hey, she's your sister! Stop that!' but to no avail, 'it' was determined to reach out and touch her!
"Stand still," I mumbled, my voice sounding surprisingly distant and hoarse.
I saw her looking at me in the mirror.
"Are you okay?" she seemed bewildered by my sudden lack of coordination.
"I'm fine! Just stop moving ... shit! This is tight," I muttered as I pulled harder trying to line up the button with the button-hole.
"Do you want me to bend over?" she asked noticing me struggle then added, "It might make it easier."
And before I could reply she leaned forward gripping the sides of the dresser and in doing so, thrust her ass right into me.
What happened next surprised the both of us. We froze. It was a combination of Murphy's Law and the Perfect Storm. Her actions had inadvertently brushed the towel aside and by sheer happenstance, my cock bounced free and nestled in between the shrouded cleft of her ass.
This was awkward. We stood still and then I heard her stifle a groan.
I studied her reflection in the mirror to gauge her expression, my heart pounding with both excitement and trepidation. There was no way she could have missed what had just happened. I mean, she had to feel my boner wedged in her ass! Would she ignore it or would she think that I was disgusting? What the fuck was going on in her head?
It was hard to tell; her hair cascaded around her shielding most of her face but I could see that she had her eyes closed. Her breathing had definitely quickened but the arcane expression hadn't changed.
I, on the other hand, was lost, gone, devoid of any higher thought. I was driven solely by the urges of my body and had pushed my hands inside her dress grabbing her hips pulling her backwards into me. She offered no resistance, allowing me to manipulate her and in a gesture that can only be construed as quiet submission, she lowered herself further leaning her elbows on the dresser top so that her body was almost parallel to the ground.
This was incredible! Here I was with my cock sticking into my sister's ass and she seemed okay with it. It was now or never. If I was going to do anything at all it would have to be now. So without waiting I reached up under her dress and placed my hand over the gentle swell of her right breast all the while watching her face in the mirror to gauge her reaction. I was certain that at any moment she would come to her senses and recoil in horror or for that matter turn around and attack me. But she did nothing; she remained crouched over, unmoving. With the fear of retribution gone and encouraged by her quiescence, I began my assault on her body.
Her skin was like that of a baby's – so smooth and soft and warm. It was amazing. I began to squeeze and knead her breast and could feel her nipple turning hard and pointed. I kept pinching and pulling on it gently, fondling her without discretion. Her breathing was shallow and ragged interspersed with soft whimpers and I wondered what was going on in her head. Was she really enjoying this or was she just too surprised to do anything? Well, it didn't matter, I was too far gone. I kept squeezing and petting and fondling her, alternating between her breasts while using my left hand to hold her against me.
My cock lay pressed against her round, callipygian behind as I continued to manipulate those soft, spongy mounds of flesh and I had begun thrusting against her simulating the back and forth of a fucking motion. My brain was now in a total fog. The frottage of our bodies was so intensely thrilling that my dick felt like a steel rod, harder than it had ever been before. But as pleasurable as it was, I knew we had to hurry; we didn't have a lot of time and I needed to maximize my advantage; take this to the next level so to speak. If I could only fuck her before we went to the prom it would be perfect!
I moved my hand down her body, along the slope of her lower abdomen and could feel the firm, flat muscles tapering into the valley of her pubis. I ran my fingers down over the front of her panties and began rubbing along the length of her slit. I could feel her tremble and when I found the little pea-shaped nub perched at the summit of her cunt, she let out a soft, distinctive moan - it was more like a cry. But her dress was so tight that I was having a hard time maneuvering my hand to gain full access to her.
"Wait!" She gasped, "Wait, I'll ..." and did something to her dress, tugging at it and wiggling her hips.
I felt it loosen and quickly plunged my hand down, into her panties. The feeling of Rachael's skin against my palm and the silky caress of the satin pressing against the back of my hand were beyond what words could express. It was a combination of the newness of her and the fact that she was my sister that honed the experience to an intense, red-heat. Her skin was warm and smooth and I could feel the muscles quivering under it. Her downy patch of hair was soft and sparse and she was wet, very wet. I ran my fingers along her slit and felt her spreading her legs to allow me better access to her pussy. Her lips were swollen and puffy and when I pressed my fingertips against her clit, she groaned loudly. This was unbelievable! My sister was allowing me to explore her most intimate and forbidden of places! That in itself was a head-trip.
The other aspect of this encounter that buzzed in the back of my mind was just how acutely aware I had become of her. My nostrils were filled with the heady aroma of her smell, a spicy fragrance mingled with her perfume, subtle hints of jasmine and rose, that had me wanting more. My ears were ringing with the sound of her labored breathing and I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts straining against the tenuous embrace of the fabric.
I wet my lips in anticipation. I had to taste her. It was a primal, atavistic drive that had me wanting to suck on her cunt and drown in the nectar that was flowing from her. I kissed the curve of her neck, trailing my tongue down to the small birthmark on her shoulder and thrilled in the flavor of her. I felt her tremble and wanted more – I wanted to possess all of her. I was totally lost in this crazy 'Rachael in fuckin' Wonderland' world!
I kept thrusting involuntarily and felt her brace herself pressing back at me. The feeling was like nothing I had ever felt before; the silky softness of her dress, soaked and slippery with my precum was augmented by the fact that I had my finger buried inside her ... the thought buzzed absurdly in my mind; I was diddling Rachael's pussy; finger fucking my sister! It was driving me insane.
Then somewhere through the somatic fog which had isolated us, I heard sounds of footsteps coming up the stairway. Sounds that got closer and louder by the second.
"Rachael, are you ready, honey?"
It was Mom! The diesel roar of her approach crashed through our miasmic passion startling us into reparative action.
"Oh shit ...!" I gasped and jumped back, reaching for the towel that had made its way to the floor.
And as I was wrapping it around me, Rachael straightened up and turned around. The front of her dress was hanging down exposing her breasts to the nipple while the middle was bunched up around her thighs. She stood there looking at me for a moment, her eyes locked onto mine with her lips slightly parted. What a sight she was - even though we hadn't really fucked, her face had that 'just fucked look'! Then waiting until the very last second, her timing impeccable, she turned and hurried into the adjoining bathroom. The last thing I noticed was the shadow of the stain glistening darkly across the center of her butt.
I had just enough time to sit on the bed and grab a magazine when Mom came in. I was hoping that she wouldn't notice the musky odor that seemed to have permeated the room and that was so obvious to me.
"Why aren't you dressed?" She asked, then looked around, "Where's Rachael?"
Was I imagining it or was there an accusatory tone underlying her questions? It must have been an adjunct to a twisted, mangrove, conscience.
"She's in the bathroom. She wanted me to help her zip up!" I answered trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
She must have suspected something. She assessed the room with the quick, precision typical of parental scrutiny and then studied me for a moment, "I'll help her. You should go and get ready ... James will be here any minute."
I tossed the magazine down and stood up, "Don't worry, Ma, I'll be ready in no time ... knowing Rach, she'll keep Gorilla Grodd waiting for an hour!"
And as I walked out I heard her say, "Be nice to him, Luke, and wear something nice, we'll be taking pictures!"
Photographs! Again! I hated them. Don't ask me why but I always ended up looking like a wooden Indian unlike Rachael and Mom. They were fuckin' photogenic to the max. But, what was really worrisome was the telltale stain of my precum on her dress. How was she going to explain that to Mom? But that was for later. Right now I needed to jerk off before my sperm sack exploded causing internal hemorrhaging!
The evening was weird at best. From the moment we picked Kyla up things took on a surrealistic tone. Mom had bought a beautiful wrist corsage of pink roses and lace for Kyla that had matched her dress perfectly and that's when things began to unravel. After I had tied the flowers to her wrist and she had pinned the boutonnière, a pretty white rose, on my lapel, she tiptoed up and kissed me on the lips! I mean kissed me, not a peck but an 'open mouth, all out, tongue wrestling' kiss! She had never done anything like that before and I could see the astonishment on Rachael's face while I struggled to untangle her tongue from my mouth.
I heard them whispering and then Kyla laughed and said, "I've always wanted to do that!"
I could tell, right away, that Rachael wasn't happy – not one bit. She glared at me and I gave her a helpless shrug like 'what was I supposed to do?'
It only got worse when we got to the Prom. Kyla was certainly in a different mood. One moment she was all over me and acting silly and then she'd flit off to flirt with some other blokes or chat with her friends. Rachael just got quieter as the evening wore on. Not that she was ever the life of the party but I knew her well enough to know that she was in a funk.
James was the only one who was acting normal – which wasn't good. Each time the Grodd made an obscure advance Rachael would squirm and give Kyla and me the 'evil' eye. Granted, it was juvenile but we couldn't help but laugh. He was totally inept when it came to girls but I knew that it was the earlier incident in her room that was messing with Rachael's mood. It had to be. It was messing with mine.
Through the entire evening, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what had transpired between us. The feel of her breasts, her silky, soft skin, her ass; the sounds of her breathing ... my cock would twitch in my trousers each time the thought crossed my mind. I was constantly searching her out and would catch her looking at me when she thought I wasn't aware of her.
At one point Kyla looked at us and asked, "Did you guys have a fight or something? What's going on, Rach?"
It was the 'or something' ... definitely the 'or something'! I was curious to hear what my sister had to say.
"Nothing's going on! What's wrong with you? You've been acting strange all evening," Rachael retorted.
"Strange?" Kyla was incredulous, cocking her head like a parrot, "Strange?" she asked again.
"Is there an echo?" Rachael said sarcastically but Kyla ignored the remark.
"Nothing's wrong with me, girl! I'm having fun!" Kyla added and grabbed a hold of my arm leading me towards the dance floor and flung back a parting dig, "You should give it a try!"
And with that I followed her tight little butt onto the dance floor. Rachael was fit to be tied but she sat there quietly, grinding her teeth and glaring at us.
I kept wondering whether Rachael regretted the incident and was having second thoughts or whether she had she wanted it to progress and was jealous that Kyla was all over me. Her expression was an inscrutable mask of indifference at one moment and then cut fierce with anger the next; most of it directed at Kyla.
Brian was there with Mary who looked dazzling in a way a high priced hooker does. She was a pretty little thing with boobs the size of Arkansas Watermelons and a sultry face that provoked lewd and lascivious thoughts. When Brian saw Kyla and Rachael he came over dragging the little doll with him.
"Hi Rachael, you look hot!" He drawled looking her over then added as an afterthought, "You too, Kyla."
He didn't bother to introduce his date, "We're going over to Jason's party ... do you want to come?"
Jason was another jock; rich, arrogant and stupid. His parties were notorious – drugs, sex and rock 'n roll rife with rumors of gangbangs, initiation rituals, orgies and such.
But before they could reply, I stepped in and said, "Mary, Mary, Mary ... when will you ever learn? What are you doing with this clown anyway? You could do better, Mary!"
He hadn't noticed me sitting behind them and couldn't control the surprise on his face. He turned red with anger, the veins popping in his neck, but knew better than to try anything so instead he grabbed little Miss Bo Peep and stormed away. The only thing I noticed was her tits, the way they jiggled ... like extra firm jello! That girl had a pair of knockers that would make the Kardashian sisters look like anorexics on a low glycemic diet.
Kyla laughed, "Brian, come on, don't be like that! He was kidding!"
She elbowed my ribs playfully, "Stop staring! You were kidding, weren't you?"
"No, I wasn't! I'd like to kick his sorry ass if he'd give me the chance! Damn, that gal was stacked! Have you ever seen tits that ...?"
"You're just too much! Don't you guys think of anything else?" she interjected not allowing me to finish.
"Yeah we do. We think of ..." I retorted but she cut me off again.
"Never mind. Let's dance."
We danced and laughed and drew great pleasure in watching Rachael fight off the Grodd taking bets as to exactly when he was going to get slapped. And, Kyla won. Just after the band took a break, James tried to cop a feel and got wacked for his efforts and I do mean whacked! A resounding slap that spun his head sideways! She glared at him and stormed off in the direction of the ladies room.
"I don't know what's wrong with her!" he lamented and sat down next to me rubbing his cheek watching Kyla as she chased after her.
"Give her time, big guy, don't rush her."
"She won't let me touch her, Luke, I'm in love with her and ..."
I cut him off! Dear Abby I'm not.
"Hey, amigo, I'm her brother! Don't tell me what you do with my sister ... I don't want to go there, you understand? That's too much fuckin' information!"
"Sorry ... I didn't mean ..." he stuttered and had this look, you know, like the one little puppies get.
I actually felt for the bloke.
"Let's forget it, okay ... let's just have some fun!" I replied and wandered off to get a drink.
Later, Kyla plopped herself on my lap. She had been doing shots of tequila diluted with Mountain Dew.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, "Do you want to fuck me, Luke?"
"What?" I was shocked but does a dog want a bone?
"I want you to be the one. I want you to take my cherry!" she affirmed, her words slurring slightly, "I've never been with anyone, Luke."
As much as I wanted to get into her panties – I mean the girl was hot – I wasn't going to take advantage of her.
"You're drunk, Kyla, and you'll regret this tomorrow. I don't want you hating me for this!" I replied not feeling half as convinced as I sounded and, as if to prove the point, the little monster reacted, hardening against her ass. Hey, I warned you – it didn't take much!
"Mmmm ... that feels nice. Come on! Let's go somewhere quiet ... please? I want this to be special and not a quickie with some jerk I don't care for sweating over me getting his rocks off! I don't want that to be my first." She said wiggling her butt against my cock, "I want it to be you, Luke. What do you say, vaquero? "
She sucked my earlobe into her mouth and tickled it with her tongue.
"What about Brian? I thought you had a thing for him?" I asked and felt like an idiot as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
What the fuck was I doing? I was talking myself out of this opportunity to nail this beautiful girl.
"I never liked him! I was flattered that he was paying attention to me ... that's all it was, Luke, I promise!"
I couldn't understand this. I had Kyla asking me to fuck her which under normal circumstances would have had us in a motel room in a New York minute. But things weren't normal – not after what had happened between Rachael and me.
"What about them? What about Rachael and James?" I asked, clinging at straws.
"Screw James!" She hissed and laughed at her double entendre then added, "Not literally!"
She giggled and wiggled some more and then kissed me gently before continuing, "I think Rachael wants you to fuck her too!"
Almost instantly, I felt my cheeks sting with the grimy prickle of guilt but I made a quick recovery, "Now I know you're drunk!"
"It's so obvious, Luke, she's has a thing for you!" she retorted and sat up.
"You're nuts! She's my sister!" I defended, faking shock, but my Benedict Arnold cock lurched rebelliously, bouncing against her ass.
For some reason the fact that Kyla acknowledged this was intensely erotic to me.
"Really? I'm nuts? Your sister wants to fuck you and I'm the crazy one!"
"What are you saying? Come on, let's get you sobered up!"
"Don't you ever wonder why she picked James? Huh? Don't you?" She asked sitting up, "She could have just about anybody but she picks this dork!" She looked straight into my eyes, paused and then answered her own question, "It's because he's safe! He doesn't threaten the fantasy of you!"
She grabbed my face holding it in her hands and stared into my eyes, "Listen, Luke, I may be just a little tipsy but that was so I would have the courage to ask you to do me. Rachael is my best friend and girls talk and confide stuff in each other ... things that would blow your mind! So-o-o, about me being crazy, let's not go there! Now what do you say? Do you want to fuck me or not?"
I was dumbfounded and sat there with her nestled on my lap. My mind was spinning with the possibilities. I knew I wanted to fuck her but I wanted to fuck my little sister even more! Could I manage a ménage à trois? That would be something. I held her tightly calculating the odds and trying to figure out what my next step should be when I saw Rachael and James coming towards us.
My sister gave us a disapproving look and then said, "It's late. Let's go home ... I'm not feeling well."
"I told you not to do that stuff," James exclaimed in his usual avuncular tone, "she's been doing tequila shots with those idiots in the corner!"
"Let's get a hotel room ... you can do tequila shots off my belly!" Kyla interjected trying to remain lively.
James looked at her, "Wow! Really?"
He looked at me hoping I would go along with Kyla. The prospect of licking the sweat off Kyla's stomach and throwing back shots of tequila seemed to appeal to him. He had been striking out and this would give him another opportunity to do something ... anything and maybe even make Rachael jealous.
I was still harboring the possibility of a ménage a trois and wondering how we could lose the Grodd when Rachael settled the issue.
"You get a room if you want. I'm going home!" she said with finality that killed any debate at all then added, "Take me home ... James!"
The way she said that sounded so oddly funny that I had to laugh but I was the only one who found any humor in it. James shrugged and followed her as we trudged out towards the parking lot.
"What a party pooper!" was Kyla's weak rejoinder.
When we got to Kyla's place she leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Come on, we can sneak into my room. Mom and Dad are asleep ... James can take Rachael home."
I didn't say anything but walked her to the door and gave her a quick peck on the cheek then stepping back I said, "Get some sleep and if you feel the same way tomorrow, give me a call."
Despite the shadows cavorting across the porch, I could see the disappointment in her face. I felt terrible.
"No. Not tomorrow. This is your last chance, Luke, don't blow it," she said clinging tightly to me, "I am offering you something special and once we do it, I can never give it anyone else! No matter whatever else happens, you will always be my first!"
I pushed her back as gently as I could, "No, not like this, Kyla, I'm not doing it like this." And then I walked away.
"You're such a loser, Luke Meacham! Yeah, go on, run to your little sister ... you're both sick! You hear? Sick, sick, sick!"
There is truth to the adage about a woman scorned. Man, was she pissed! I heard the door slam and felt a pang of regret. What the heck was I doing? Her words kept ringing in my ears – sick, sick, sick ... SICK!
I hurried back to the car and was glad that the driveway was a long one. The last thing I wanted was for James and Rachael to hear that last outburst. How much did Rachael really confide in her? Did she really tell her that she wanted to fuck me? That might explain what had happened earlier. But, what was the context? You don't just come out and tell your best friend that you had a thing for your brother? I felt my cock begin to stir as thoughts of the incident with my sister filled my mind again.
We lived just a few houses down the street and drove the rest of the way in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Rachael was staring out the window so I could only discern a partial profile from the rear. Her face was set and unsmiling and wondered again what she might be thinking. I knew what James was thinking and there was a part of me that was actually feeling sorry for him. I doubt that anything would ever happen between Rachael and him and wished there was a way I could break that to him. He was wasting his time and would be better off trying to win over someone else.
James eased up to our garage and as Rachael was about to get out, he grabbed her arm, "Stay for a moment, Rachael, I need to talk to you."
She wrestled her arm free and said, "Not tonight, James, I'm really not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood ..." he grumbled pouting like a child.
If looks could kill he'd be pushing up daisies. She glared at him, took a few steps and stumbled awkwardly, grabbing a hold of my arm to steady herself and then leaned into me.
"Hey! Easy girl, easy ... I've got you." I said, holding her to me. I waved back at the Grodd, "She'll call you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride."
I heard him muttering under his breath as he backed out of the driveway.
We watched the taillights disappear and then walked up the stairs with Rachael hanging on to me, her arms wrapped around my waist. I had to half carry her and it wasn't easy; Rachael's a big girl but we finally made it without waking Mom and Dad.
"I think he was expecting a kiss ... or something," I said but she didn't reply.
When we got to her room she leaned against the doorway and asked, "What did Kyla say to you, Luke?"
I could smell the tequila on her breath along with the scent of her and it was turning me on.
"Nothing! She said nothing, really ... she was drunk," I lied.
"You're lying, Luke Meacham, I can tell ..." she stopped, waved her index finger at me and shook her head. Her words were still a bit slurred.
Here we go again. Luke Meacham? What the fuck was with that anyway?
"She's had a thing for you," she continued, "I knew that! But I know she told you some other stuff; secrets that she's sworn to keep. I just know it!"
"She didn't say anything. You're drunk too! How many shots did you do?"
"What's gotten into you, Rach?"
"Funny you should ask," she slurred. "You see, doc, I have this problem ..."
She stopped, her eyes glazed over and she took an unsteady step towards me and then fell into my arms.
"I guess I need some help, bro ... I feel horrible!" she whispered.
I helped her to the side of the bed and eased her down in a sitting position before laying her back onto the pillow with her feet dangling off the edge. I took off her high-heels and when I grabbed her ankles to pull her onto the bed, the front of her dress fell away at the side-slit exposing her thigh midway to her hip. God, she was beautiful. She had closed her eyes and was either asleep or in the process of passing out. She looked so innocent and angelic that I sat by her and stroked her hair hating myself for thinking of fucking her. I had to stop this. This was my baby sister and I needed to control myself before it got out of hand.
After a while, tormented by the phantoms of guilt, I managed to overcome the destitute longings of my body. I dimmed the lights and went back to my room fighting the tortured need for her while being governed by the compulsion to adhere to some societal norm that dictated the nature of sibling relationships, that they must be platonic. It was an antiquated, pseudo-sacrosanct precept that had somehow made an impression on me.
I kept debating whether I should go back and get her out of her dress or just jerk off in the shower and sleep this off. I even considered jerking off on her but shook the notion as soon as it cropped up. I mean, it is her special dress and it would be a shame to have it ruined with semen stains! I argued the pros and the cons as I changed and by the time I had finished with the shower, I had jerked off and the edge to my passion was gone. My conscience had doused the smoldering embers of my desire.
I was relieved that I hadn't done something I might have regretted and fell into a restless slumber with thoughts of Kyla and Rachael still waltzing in my head. Sick, sick, sick ...
A few hours later, I felt her presence even before she touched me. It was a premonition more than an actual sensation; a prescience that resides somewhere between sleep and reality.
"Luke ... are you awake? Luke ..." She whispered, shaking me by my shoulder.
"What ... what's the matter, Rach?" I asked blinking the sleep from my eyes and propping myself up.
I could see the hazy silhouette of her face, her eyes staring at me, glistening translucently in the darkness.
"I can't sleep. Help me get this off," she said and turned her back to me.
I sat up on the side of the bed with her standing between my knees facing away. It should have proved to be more of a challenge considering that I couldn't get it zipped during the day but by the inexplicable vagaries of chance, and despite the hypnagogic stupor, I managed to get the zipper and buttons undone almost effortlessly.
In the tawny under-glow of the nightlight I watched as she pushed the dress down, shimmying and wiggling her hips, until the dress slid to the floor. Her body gleamed auriferous, naked but for the dark outline of her tiny panties, an Aphrodite reincarnated from a different time.
She kicked the dress aside and slid into bed next to me.
"Move over," she whispered and got under the covers.
It had been quite a few years since we shared a bed. The last time was when we were kids and I remembered it well. She had been frightened by the thunder and lightning one night and had crawled in beside me without saying a word. We had slept spooned together and even then, I had loved the feel and smell of her. But that was a long time ago, long before our hormones had changed the nexus of our relationship and before she knew what a hardon was.
The bed groaned with the added weight as she settled in next to me, her body pressing in places against mine while the suffocating balloon of desire crept through me making my cock twitch and jump grazing her thigh through the flimsy material of my pajamas. My sleep addled brain was racing, trying to comprehend the implications of what was happening, when I felt her breath, hot and humid, as her mouth searched for mine. Her arms and legs wrapped gently around me but it was only when her tongue snaked into my mouth that I reacted. The levy of emotions had finally breached, creating a physical tidal wave that crashed down washing away any semblance of filial restraint.
I turned her over so she was under me and kissed her hard, sucking on her, our tongues wrestling and swirling in quiet desperation. I felt her moan and gasp into my mouth as my hands toyed with her breasts, rolling her nipples between my forefinger and thumb, pulling and pinching and squeezing, thrilling in the spongy fullness of her. Our bodies were entangled in a mess of hands and arms and thighs and feet and legs; skins fused together by the coagulating liquids of our lust. We were seeking pleasure, drawing it from each other; shamelessly and without the preoccupation of guilt. And as we continued to kiss, I could feel my sister's hips pushing into me while her fingers dug into my back. There was an urgency to her that was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
The wet, sucking of our mouths and the ragged breathing, heavy and interrupted by the cadence of heartbeats created a sensual sonnet that reverberated loudly filling the quietness of the room. I was leaning over her, pushing gently on her hips so that she was lying on her back. I traced the contours of her body, trailing down her sides to the lower slope of her abdomen, maneuvering under the lace covered band and into her panties. She spread her thighs invitingly, welcoming the invading hand that was exploring the triangle of her sex; relentless fingers searching for the kernel of pleasure at the apex of her slit. She had hardened imperceptibly while I pressed my fingertips against it, wiggling them in small circles then stroking the length of her slippery gash. I kissed her again, my tongue gliding along the roof of her mouth, probing the soft, pink sides of her cheeks, so smooth and wet and moistly reminiscent of the tender flesh buried between her thighs.
She moaned, humping back at the fingers stroking her cunt, her hips gyrating to some primal rhythm emanating from deep inside her. I had worked my way between her legs, tugging at her panties, while she raised her hips to help me slide them off of her. And when I had peeled them off I noticed the dark stain across the narrow bridge of the crotch - it was soaked through with her juices. And then there was that smell again. I was being driven mad with desire by her fragrance ... a musty odor concocted by nature to drive men crazy! There was an aching need that stemmed from the pit of my stomach that was beyond comprehension. A need that couldn't be denied - I just had to have her and it was of no consequence that she was my sister.
My cock was throbbing, sliding against the soft cotton of my pajamas, leaking and leaving wet, sticky trails on the inside as I pulled them off, throwing them to the side next to her dress. Our clothes lay tangled in a symbolic heap with mine on top of hers.
I had never seen anything quite as erotic or desirable as Rachael laying on my bed with her legs spread apart, an antipodal look of shy nervousness and wanton desire etched on her face. At that moment she was a slut and an angel, a succulent, wretched whore wanting to be fucked, a goddess of sensual desire so far morphed from the innocent, naïve girl who was my sister that I could hardly recognize her.
I knelt between her legs and then gently lowered myself onto her, reveling in the complete essence of her. And, as my body covered hers, she squirmed adjusting to the contours and the weight pressing on top of her, transmuting the feelings of warmth and softness that made her feel so incredibly delicate under me. I could feel the tender mounds of her breasts, her nipples, hard and pointy, the pounding of her heart against my chest, her breath, ragged and icy hot against my cheek. I ran my hands down the sides of her body, along her thighs pulling them up towards my waist aware of all the subtle textures of her, so firm and soft and pliable - tactile contradictions that seemed to exist all at once. I felt the velvety tickle of her pubic hair on the underside of my penis and the softness of her inner thighs pressing naked against my hips. I was quickly reaching that point of hyper-sensory perspicuity where every aspect of her was clearly defined and yet separate, merged together in some erotic concoction.
Rachael was panting in my ear, kissing my cheeks and running her hands up and down my back, caressing me one moment and digging her nails into me the next. And when I looked into her eyes, those simmering pools of lapis, they were filled with excitement and love and expectation ... and though there was a voice in the back of my head telling me to stop, that I was about to ravish my own sister, there was no way to derail what was destined to happen. At that moment I wanted her more than anything I've ever wanted and I knew she wanted this too; it was in her eyes and in the expression on her face - she wanted this in the worst possible way.
I'm not sure what makes a brother and sister desire each other. Could it be just the phase in our lives where the hormonal drive makes us ultra-libidinous? Or was it the convenience of familiarity and proximity? Or, was there something more? But no matter what it was that made us want each other, there was a sliver of atonement for me knowing that she had initiated this encounter; an appeasing of a troubled conscience that allowed me to push back any doubts I may have felt. I was content in the knowledge that this was a mutual seduction.
I kissed her again, this time, tenderly and without the urgency of our earlier kisses; enjoying the feel of the soft fullness of her lips. Her eyes were closed as she opened her mouth to me kissing me back like I had never been kissed before. I wondered where she had learned to kiss like this, whether it was James or some instinctive response embossed on her female DNA but the sensations of her tongue exploring my mouth were mind-blowing. We were joined in a state of magical bliss, sucking and tasting and sliding our tongues against the others. And then, without breaking the kiss, her hand wormed down between us, guiding my cock into the mouth of her steaming orifice. I felt her searching for her opening, so slickly moist and hot that I felt the wet warmth spreading across the domed head of my cock. Her hips wiggled under me and almost immediately I felt her stretch and the bloated tip slipped into her.
She moaned into my mouth pressing her hips upwards against me. I could feel her fingers digging into my back as we lay still basking in the thrill of penetration, her pussy gulping at my cockhead, squeezing me with her cuntal muscles. I couldn't believe how hot she was; how hot and slippery and tight, or the extraordinary feeling of her vulva sucking me into her.
I pushed in gently, acutely aware of the smallness of her vaginal passage, and not wanting to hurt her. She felt inordinately tight for a big girl but the slickness of our juices allowed me to slide in, a little bit at a time, until I was halfway into her. I stopped waiting for her to adjust to fleshy hardness tearing at her virginal canal.
"More ... don't stop, baby, keep going," she whispered her breath scorching against my ear.
I pushed harder and felt Rachael tense under me as my cock ploughed into her, spreading her open. She let out a muffled cry and then sucked passionately on my tongue. I had deflowered my sister and for reasons I still cannot fathom, I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. I could feel the steely hardness of my cock throbbing inside her and her muscles clamping around me, milking me into the irriguous cauldron of her virginal hole.
I pulled back out, pausing for a moment, and then plunged in with greater force and felt her opening up, a lotus with petals unfolding, until I was buried all the way to the pubic bone. I was now inside her, completely, with the tip of my penis pulsing at the entrance of her uterus. It felt so incredibly intense that I wanted this feeling to last forever, to never end. She was hot and slippery and so exquisitely tight that I knew we were meant for each other; that our bodies were matched perfectly. The fleshy, turgid rod of my passion was predestined to be buried inside her cunt and this moment had been ordained the day she was born.
We lay holding each other, whispering sweet-nothings, promising eternal love and exchanging deep, soulful kisses. I could feel my dick twitching inside her belly singularly aware of the tightness of her and the sensation of her cunt as it constricted around me, squeezing my shaft with her velvety, slick muscles and draining me into her. There is no way for me to explain the feelings that were coursing through me, especially this incredible sensation of being totally and completely fused to my sister. We had coalesced without boundary; merging together like threads of wispy smoke, joined at the mouth and at our sex in a perpetual conduit of passion where our bodies felt like one. It was unclear where she began or where I ended leaving only a sweaty, woven synthesis of us.
Rachael whispered in my ear, "Fuck me ... please, baby, just fuck me!"
She spread her legs wider; raising her knees to brace for support and began thrusting her hips upwards against me. I could feel her crotch pressing into mine, the hardness of her pubis pushing against my own. She was holding me by my haunches pulling me into her so that my cock sank even deeper into her belly. I growled into her mouth and began fucking her. I started slowly, sawing in and out of her delicate, little hole being as careful as I could so as not to hurt her.
At first my sister was still, her thighs squeezing thickly against my sides, her arms wrapped around me, moaning in time to my thrusts but gradually I felt a change, I felt her body undulating, her hips moving up and down in a synchronized concert. She was matching me, stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust until our bodies were slapping against each other. And soon we were fucking in earnest with a fervor that was nasty and hot, making animal sex in the middle of my bed. I could feel her pussy juices leaking out from her, running down the crack of her butt, wetting the sheets under us.
Every stroke sent jolts of pleasure emanating from the ridge of my glans, racing down my shaft through the network of nerves until they synapsed in my brain, flooding me with sexual opiate. I could feel my cum churning at the base of my root, within the depths of my balls as the tingling sensations at my cockhead intensified. I was nearing the edge of the precipice, heading towards the point of no return. I knew that Rachael was experiencing the same incredible things that I was. She was moaning through her nose, sucking my mouth with avid ferocity, bucking her hips under me as hard as I was thrusting into her. I knew that she had already climaxed a few times by the way her body had tensed and quivered to the accompanying urgency of her whimpers and moans. I had felt her cunt pulsing rapidly before going all wet, her pussy juices gushing all over me while her legs trembled and twitched. Her back would arch and she would stiffen, then a few more spastic jerks and her body would go limp. She would lie languidly kissing me while I continued to pound into her. Then slowly she would resuscitate herself, work her way back up pulling me into her, fucking me back again. And now as I drew near to my own orgasm, she was on the threshold of another.
I felt her body racing towards the pinnacle and heard her whisper into my ear, "Fuck me, baby, fuck me ... fuck your sister ... harder, Luke, harder ... oh, please ... oh God ... what is happening to me?"
That did it. I tumbled, freefalling in the most intense of orgasms, shooting stringy ropes of my incestuous juices into my baby sister.
I could feel my cock expand and contract, spitting my sperm deep into her belly and with each pearly spasm, the whispers of my conscience that had hummed in the back of my mind now turned into choleric shouts of alarm: she could get pregnant; you could father your own nephew. What would Mom and Dad say?
But I couldn't pull out of her. I just kept pumping into her long after I had spewed it all and had been sucked dry by her hungry, convulsing cunt. Surprisingly my cock remained hard for a lot longer than I had expected until finally I lay on top of her sweaty and spent. We lay unmoving until my penis softened and eased out of her vagina, freeing itself with a slippery, whispered plop.
After a while, I rolled off of her, filled with remorse at the sight of my cum glistening in her ravaged hole. I had just deflowered my sister. I had committed incest with her and should have known better. What was even more perplexing to me was how I could have wanted her so much one moment and then want her to be gone the next: gone as far from me as possible.
"You had better go ..." I said, "Mom might make the rounds ... you know how she is!"
It was weak and her face reflected the hurt but she didn't argue. It's possible she was feeling the same remorse as I was but I doubt it. She picked up her panties and her dress and walked away leaving me to struggle with the demons that weaved around the bloody stain on my sheets, the symbolic wound signifying that I would forever be her first.
I was riddled by regret and guilt and to some extent, a sense of revulsion, not for her but for what I had done to her. I had shred the forbidden serape and laid bare the rawness of our intimacy, steeped in dogma that had opened my eyes to a new awareness akin to a subliminal realization – it was as though every aspect of our union was now colored in doubt. I felt like I had lost my sister forever. I mean, how could she be a sister to me, after I had just fucked her?
I lay in bed tossing and turning avoiding the dampness of our indiscretion and wondering how I was going to face her tomorrow.
Hunlen Falls – back to the present
He watched them through the brush, camouflaged and silent, moving with leopard stealth as he sized up his prey. He kept his eyes on the tall, blond girl at point ignoring the man who was a few steps behind her. He liked her assured stride and the languid ease of her movements. He watched her for a while before transferring his attention to the two women in the rear making mental notes as he studied them. Pretty girls in a row ... just the kind he was looking for.
Josh Woodard was emotionless. These were intruders on his territory. He had lived off the land, undetected, for years. It had been ten long years since his escape from the madness that was Afghanistan. He had returned filled with disillusionment and antipathy that had boiled deep within him and still remained dormant ready to be ignited. After an intense stint with the reconnaissance team, made-up of the best that the Special Forces had to offer, he never went back. Most of his friends had died there and with them, his sense of duty. He went AWOL and then contrary to his psychological profile, he disappeared. They tried to find him but it was tantamount to chasing the elusive Northern winds that blew down from Canada. He had submerged himself in the hills of the Adirondacks and had slowly made his way into Canada, crossing the border with the animals that held no regard for manmade boundaries. He wandered across the vast expanse, hopping trains and thumbing rides until he had reached his secluded haven in the Rainbow Mountains.
Like all predators he was opportunistic. He had noticed them while tracking a deer he had shot with his bow. As soon as he saw the women he forgot about the wounded stag. His innate predilection for blondes had him eying Rachael and then Kyla but his analytical mind warned him of the danger; both were big girls who were physically fit and capable of extreme resistance. Susan was smaller, softer and less likely to create problems and made for an easier target. He discounted Andy without a second thought – he knew he could take him out in a heartbeat. He had been tracking them for over a day now and was waiting for the right moment to strike and tonight, after they turned in, he would take the small one. He needed a woman. His mind wandered back to Dora Mayer, that dark, buxom climber he had lured into his cabin ...
"What are you looking at, Rachael?" Susan asked as she poured more coffee into her cup, "That's the second time now ... you're making me nervous."
"I get this uneasy feeling that we are being watched!" Rachael answered as she continued to scrutinize the outlying bushes and trees.
"I hope it's not a bear." Andy mused, taking a few steps towards where Rachael was standing near the periphery of the small clearing.
They had set-up camp off of an old unused path that cut into the heavy woods just northwest of Hunlen Falls. They had a campfire going and just finished a cold dinner of protein bars and fruit so as to avoid cooking. The smell of food was the number one reason for bear attacks.
"I don't think it's a bear. He would have charged us by now if he was hungry. Keep your Bear Repellant spray ready ... just in case," Rachael cautioned.
"You think it's those creepy guys?" Kyla asked joining her.
They had passed a group of trekkers earlier in the day and some of the men had made lewd remarks. There was one tall man in particular that Kyla recalled; he had a look in his eyes that was definitely scary.
Rachael remained quiet trying to pick out the shapes from the shadows buried in the tremulous leaves, telling herself not to let her mind play tricks. She hated those who saw ghosts in everything but at the same time she had to be careful. Luke, Luke, where are you, baby? His voice came back to her: see only what you can identify and don't let your imagination get the better of you. That was easier said than done.
"Creepy!" Susan said, "Hey, it's like those horror movies where college kids get eaten by those crazy, inbred cannibals living in the hills!"
"Not funny!" Rachael responded but they all laughed.
"I guess I'm letting things get to me! I wish Luke was here ..." Rachael said softly to Kyla.
"Maybe it is Luke," Kyla offered, "he does have a sick sense of humor!"
"No, it's not him. I just have this strange feeling ... damn! I wish he'd hurry up and get here already!"
"Hey! What does that mean? What about me? I'm a real badass when I want to be!" Andy said with playful affectation, "I'll take care of you girls ... don't you worry!"
He pulled up the sleeves of his t-shirt and struck a pose like the bodybuilders on Muscle Beach then jumped up and landed in a Karate stance.
He stood still, eyes focused before moving very slowly in a fake kata. He burst into action throwing kicks and punches in the air screaming "Eeeya ... Hai, Hai, Hai!"
Then spinning and facing them, he said with a pronounced accent, "You likee thees... me takee good care of you! Chop, chop!"
"Bruce Lee you're not!" Kyla said laughing despite herself.
"Don't listen to them, honey, you can take care of me anytime!" Susan added between peals of laughter.
She went over and tackled him and the two of them fell to the ground and rolled over together.
"You're silly!" she said kissing his cheek.
Just then there was a rustling in the bushes to their right and everything stopped. Andy and Sue sat up and Kyla took a step towards the noise.
Rachael used her flashlight to scour the brush and the trees but there was nothing. They stood staring at the bushes trembling in the light breeze.
"Must have been the wind ..." Andy offered.
"It sounded more like a small animal ... maybe a woodchuck or a squirrel." Kyla said and walked back.
"Must have been a squirrel," Andy said. "Those damn, pesky, little critters!"
"Yeah ... must be some animal." Rachael said and turned back towards the campfire.
Kyla followed her, "Let's get some sleep ... we have a long day tomorrow."
She turned towards Andy and Sue and added, "Try and keep it down, okay? Unless, of course, you want me to come in there and join you!"
"Ooooh, that be soooooo nice ... likee me a Shanghai sandwich!" Andy said hugging Susan tightly to him.
Rachael could hear their playful banter but she couldn't shake the gnawing feeling about the 'thing' in the shadows. It wasn't the breeze and unless that squirrel was 150 pounds it wasn't a rodent either. She felt for her pepper spray finding some comfort in its cold, metallic presence.
The Laughing Bear
I would catch up to them, I was sure of that but right now, I needed a hot shower and something to eat – I was starving.
The large wooden sign on the façade is the first thing that catches your attention when you pull into the driveway. It had a 3D image of a smiling bear hand carved into the wood that literally jumped out at you. Under this, was engraved: "The Smiling Bear Lodge". The rest was painted in old English script -
A Christian Establishment since 1886
We Believe in Jesus and Prayer
No Shirt, No Shoes – No Service, No exceptions
Owned & Managed by Sarah & Jacob Westbridge
I smiled, appreciating the sentiment, and walked into the lobby. It was small, rectangular room that was meticulously neat and filled with the married aroma of wild flowers. The gray slate floor looked like it had just been scrubbed and behind the wide, teak counter was another sign that promised clean linens, towels and a complimentary breakfast of Eggs and Sourdough Pancakes. Under that was a blackboard with the daily rates for a single room. In the corner across from the counter was a leather sofa, creased and worn with age, and next to it was an antique faience lamp that sat on a mahogany side table.
On the counter was a brass desk-bell, its dome covered in intricate leaf patterns, and next to it was a plain, glass vase filled with fresh flowers – yellow daffodils and lilacs. I rang the bell and waited. There seemed to be no sign of life so after an appropriate interval, I tapped the button on top twice in quick succession and wandered over to the French window on the adjacent wall. It offered a panoramic view of the mountains, the intense hues of color breaking through the morning's hazy mist. The heavy mineralization caused by years of volcanic activity had created a wide spectrum of colors which explained why the first settlers gave it its name, Rainbow Mountains. It was absolutely beautiful and I could feel the adrenalin and the excitement begin to build in anticipation – this was going to be fun. Three weeks of nothing but the pristine outdoors and ... the possibility of Rachael. I wondered if we could rekindle what had happened so long ago. But no matter what, this was paradise!
I heard the soft patter of feet and turned back to the counter in time to see a small woman with white hair part the curtains and come through the connecting door. Sarah Westbridge must have been in her mid to late-sixties. She straightened her dress and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. Her mannerisms were quick and purposeful, reminding me of a little bird.
"I'm sorry ... I was in the kitchen." She said without preamble and then added, "How can I help you?"
She examined me carefully, taking in the bruises and the grungy appearance, her demeanor turning austere and unfriendly. But I wasn't fazed – I would win her over with the famous Meacham charm.
"Hi! You should have a room for me – my name's Luke Meacham." I said, flashing a wide smile and hoping to break the ice, "My sister, Rachael, and a few friends had stayed here."
"Oh yes, the pretty, blond girl ..." her face lit up for a second, "she had mentioned that you would be here soon."
She continued to look me over then observed rather dourly, "You don't look anything like her."
"Same mother," I joked.
I had heard this all my life. My sister looked like Dad's side and I looked like Mom's – a lot more Eurasian. My father was Welsh and my mother, part Indian. You couldn't ask for a stranger mix.
She gave me a humorless glare so I quickly added, "I'm kidding. My grandmother was Iroquois Indian. I was the lucky one; I got the looks!"
She looked at me ruefully then snorted, "Rubbish!" and then adjudicated with finality, "Your sister got the looks, in fact, she is downright beautiful! The girl should have been a model."
I couldn't argue the point. The looks in the family belonged to my sister, hands down. Not that I was an Alfred E. Neuman lookalike but I wasn't going to win any beauty contests not with Rachael around.
I watched her study the screen reading under her breath.
"They left... umm, let me see here... ah yes, here it is, they left two days ago." She uttered, almost triumphantly, happy to have found what she had been looking for.
She continued to study the screen, maneuvering the mouse and clicking erratically, muttering to herself. I could feel her frustration building as she went from page to page unable to locate my reservation.
"Rachael sent me a text message confirming my reservation," I offered, "I don't think there was a confirmation number though."
"I'm trying to find your reservation, I know it's here somewhere ..." she grumbled with obvious irritation, "I hate these things. The books were so much easier! I'm going to call Ellen."
She picked up the phone and spoke briefly into it then got up from behind the computer and looked at me, tilting her head so she could see over the top of her reading glasses. The round, silver frames made her look even more like a bird – like Tweety Bird!
"Whatever happened to you?" she quizzed, taking off her glasses.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your face ... were you in a fight? We don't look favorably on hooligans!"
Hooligans? But before I could answer a younger woman, dressed in jeans and a white, crocheted pullover came in. She too was small and petite and except that her dark hair was bobbed short, the resemblance was uncanny - she was obviously the daughter.
"Hi, I'm Ellen," she said and smiled brightly, showing off small, perfectly even teeth, then turning to the older woman, "I'll take care of it, Ma. You go on in ... they need you in the back."
"You behave yourself, young man, we don't tolerate fighting here. Do you understand?" She asked sternly.
"Yes, ma'am! No fighting, I promise." I assured her as she disappeared behind the curtains.
"Is she giving you a hard time? My mom's bark is worse than her bite!" Ellen offered and then asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing ... nothing really. Some of the boys at the Lucky 8 didn't take too kindly to my being there."
She made a face and then said, "They get a bit wild on the weekends. Was it Ricky? He gets mean when he drinks. They are really not a bad bunch. We know most of them ..."
My head was still hurting and I didn't like being ambushed but I wasn't going to argue the point, "I'm sure they are very nice – they just have a strange way of showing it!"
She smiled, giving me a commiserating look, and finished checking me in then handed me a heavy brass key-tag with the room number stamped on it and a set of old fashioned keys. I liked the fact that the keys were the real kind, not the ubiquitous electronic cards that seemed to have taken over the universe. These were in keeping with the ambience of the place and instilled a sense of provincial realness.
"The larger key, the brass colored one, is for the door and the smaller silver key opens the safe deposit box. Your room is to the right when you go out," she said, pointing to the front door and indicating eastwards, "Breakfast is from 6:30 AM to 10:00 AM. The dining room is on the other side," she turned pointing south and a little behind her, "and we have coffee all day. It's in the kitchen ... you can come in through the back."
I picked up my duffle and backpack and was about to head out when she said, "This is not the best time to be hiking up there ... the bears are out and if you don't know how to deal with them it can be dangerous."
I would have left without saying anything but I liked her and after last night's experience, I could use a friend here.
I turned and smiled at her, "We were up in Alaska last year ... on Kodiak Island. There were more bears than people! Rachael can take care of herself."
She gave me a condescending look like I was a bumbling idiot and didn't know what I was up against, "These are grizzlies!"
"The Kodiak bears are grizzlies' too ... big, nasty fellas!" I retorted, "Listen, I appreciate the warning, Ellen, but trust me, we'll be fine."
"Okay ... it's just that when a tourist gets mauled by a bear, business goes to hell! And we all depend on the tourist trade. A few years ago a girl went missing and we came close to shutting this place down!"
"Believe me, I understand and we'll be careful." I reassured her, "Did they ever find her, the girl, I mean?"
"No, there was no sign of her. I remember watching the news every morning, hoping that they would find her. The media covered her like she was a celebrity ... I knew all there was to know about Dora Mayer. She was an experienced climber from England working for some investment group ... a beautiful black girl."
She paused then continued, "The sheriff and the forest rangers wanted to make sure they did everything to find her but when there was no sign of her after a week, the interest died down and then there was no more mention of Dora."
"The rangers kept looking ... long after the story was not headline news. I know that Sheriff Morgan still goes up there looking, hoping to find her remains ... to bring closure for her family."
"Wow!" I exclaimed wondering what the family must be going through.
"That's what I mean ... you really should go with an experienced group or take a guide," she said, her concern obvious in her voice.
"We'll be careful, Ellen, trust me..." I reiterated and then asked, "Do you know a Daniel Benn?"
She looked up at me and smiled.
"Everyone knows Danny! He's sort of a legend in these parts and he would be the best person to talk to. Go down a mile or so on the main road," she said, pointing eastwards and sounding relieved, "and you'll see a white building on your left, Benn's Hardware. You can't miss it. Danny could tell you everything you need to know about these mountains – he knows every trail like the back of his hand."
A legend? Nice.
"I'm not sure if Danny is free but taking him along would be a real smart thing," she persisted.
I smiled and gave her a friendly wave and left. Inexplicably, my headache felt much better so I decided to give the famous Daniel Benn a visit after a hot shower ... I felt grungy like a longshoreman at the end of a long day.
Benn's Hardware & Goods Store
I stood outside on the gravel driveway and studied the building. Log houses and cabins were an interest of mine and this one was a beauty. It was large structure made from aged Western Red Cedar and must have been somebody's home before it had been converted into a store. The pitched, multi-leveled slate roof and large windows indicated that this was custom built in the early to mid-1900s. The white paint on the main façade was peeling in places but other than that it was well maintained. There was a large, black sign-board with bold, gold lettering announcing its name and just under it was the door with a small Signum bell that rang with rural hospitality whether you were going in or coming out and a brass kick-plate on the bottom that had seen better days.
I walked in to the tinny clatter of the bell that echoed through the high arching interior. Some of the walls on the inside had been knocked down to provide for racks and shelving but the skylights and high ceilings gave it a light and airy ambience and despite the changes it had managed to cling to its rustic character. There were two other shoppers burrowing through wooden bins filled with Sale items but other than that the place was empty.
"Hello, can I help you?"
It was a rich, feminine voice and belonged to a large, big-boned woman who was in her early thirties and was almost as tall as me. She had dark, auburn hair and sea green eyes and a plump, pleasant face. She was wearing a loose blouse and country skirt that came halfway down to her calves.
"Hi," I replied smiling, "I am looking for Daniel Benn ... I was told I could find him here."
"Danny's in the back ... we're expecting our winter stock. Maybe I can help you? I'm Laura, Danny's sister."
I fished out the crumpled bill from my pocket and handed it to her and said, "I'm here to square up."
She studied the piece of paper straightening out the edges when I heard heavy footsteps.
"Well, well, well ... if it isn't the feisty, little bugger himself!"
It was a loud, booming voice that reverberated from the back and fit the giant that ambled in after it. He was the second largest man I'd ever seen. I wondered what they were feeding these boys here because this guy was almost as enormous as the Klondike gorilla I had taken on.
"Do you two know each other?" the woman asked, looking surprised.
"We've met ... well, sort of. Mr. Meacham here stopped by at the Lucky 8 last night," he turned to me and said, "I took the liberty to check your wallet while you were snoozing."
"Oh boy!" was all the woman said handing the bill over to her brother then shaking her head and smiling she walked back behind the counter.
Man, he was big. Even crouched and leaning back he towered over me. His eyes were a brilliant green and his hair was thick and curly, the color of burnished copper, like his sister's but unlike her soft features, his face was chiseled, seemingly cut from stone. There was soft stubble on his chin that hid a scar that ran down from his lip. His shoulders were wide and thick and the black leather belt pulled tightly over a slim, flat waistline. His legs were like redwoods, long and powerful. Images of Paul Bunyan came to mind and I half expected a blue bull to come trampling in.
"You don't look the worse for wear!" He said nonchalantly, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into the pockets of his Dickies and a smile playing on his lips.
"Yeah, sure ... if it wasn't for some rat-faced Cannuck with the balls of a badger I wouldn't have to be here today!" I said still scathing from the cheap-shot.
"Now, now ... we couldn't have some little ferret from the wrong side of the border take out Big John, could we? I mean, what would people think?"
"That you fuckers can't fight?" I offered without hesitating.
He let out a roar, a bellowing laugh that rumbled from his belly, his eyes crinkling up and stuck out his hand, "Daniel Benn! Danny to my friends."
I shook his hand and felt the strength of a working man. He squeezed, vice like, and I squeezed back. We stood testing our grips like two thirteen-year-olds in a schoolyard. I could feel my knuckles begin to grind. This was silly, fucking juvenile and I had to do something before he crushed my hand.
"Hey, why don't we just cut the bull and whip it out and see whose is bigger?" I said sarcastically.
He laughed again, loud and unrepressed. Then slapping me on my shoulder, "That's great! I like you, Luke ... I don't know ya but I like ya! Come on, let's go get some breakfast – your buying. We can call it quits," he crumpled up the bill and tossed it into the garbage bin and continued, "I know this place that serves up the best damn flapjacks!"
He lead the way towards the door then turned, winked and added, "And, the prettiest waitress in all of North America!"
Something told me that I would be coughing up more for this tab than a dinner at Le Perroquet.
The camp - Dangerous Shadows
The evening had turned suddenly colder at the fading of twilight. There was a piercing nip to the mountain air that cut through pullovers and coats chilling the body to the bone and forcing the hikers into the sanctuary of their tents. Through the translucent fabric you could see the puppet shadows dancing in distorted sequences while they readied themselves for bed – Andy and Susan in one tent and Kyla and Rachael in the other.
"There was someone or something out there wasn't there?" Kyla asked snuggled up in the warmth of her sleeping bag, "I know there was. It felt like we were being watched."
There was just enough room in the tent for the two sleeping bags, the heater, a Coleman's ProCat and the small, solar night lamp that stood in the aisle in between them.
"I'm not sure ... there could've been. It certainly wasn't a bear or a squirrel." Rachael replied hunched over the ProCat adjusting the flame, "Can you feel the heat? I'm going to turn off the fan ... I don't want to drain the batteries."
"Yeah, that's fine," Kyla replied then added, "If it's those assholes we passed earlier, I've got my knife and the pepper spray so ..." Kyla said softly.
"You full of piss and vinegar aren't you? Don't worry, it's probably nothing ..." Rachael answered trying to sound reassuring and pulled the blanket around her shifting in the confined tightness of the sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable.
They were quiet, lying still listening to the night sounds of the wilderness. There was a certain comfort to be found in the chirring resonance of the crickets and cicada that hummed to the plaintive howling of a distant wolf. It was nature's symphony stirred by sudden gusts of wind that shed, in its wake, the heavy rustling of leaves, a sibilant hiss that built to a crescendo before dying down to an eerie silence. Then as if resurrected in protest, an answering bark of a dog joined the crickets in their incessant chirr, chirr, chirring filling the darkness while the rest of night's creatures scavenged the boscage in stealth.
They heard the dog bark again, a probing, questioning bark, responding to the haunting cries of his half-brother, the wolf.
"That's Sam ..." Kyla whispered.
Samantha was Kyla's Golden Retriever. She had disappeared a few years ago and despite a sustained and intensive search that had been sweetened by a handsome reward, she had never been found.
"Do you still miss her?" Rachael asked feeling sorry for her friend.
"I miss her every day ... every single minute!"
"I'm sorry, Kyla ... I really am. I miss her too ... she was so beautiful!"
They fell quiet for a while before Rachael asked, "Why don't you get another one ... Luke says a puppy will take your mind off of Sam."
"I've thought about it but I can't, not yet anyway. I don't want to get a puppy and keep comparing her to Sam."
They fell quiet again, comfortable with each other and the familiarity bred over their lifetime.
"Rach? Are you awake?"
"It's Andy and Sue ... they look an awful lot like each other. They are they related, aren't they?"
Rachael was quiet. She wasn't sure if she should confide in Kyla. It was very personal and unless she could empathize with them, it was bound to color her perspective and possibly affect the relationship adversely.
"She's his sister, right?" Kyla persisted.
"Yes. They are twins." Rachael confirmed reluctantly.
The ensuing silence was uncomfortably deafening. From the moment Kyla had met the twins she knew there was something unusual about them. She had wanted to pursue this but could never find the right moment. She also knew that something had transpired between Rachael and Luke after their Prom, something that had affected their relationship but that night was strictly off limits. It was an unspoken contract between them that barred them from ever broaching the subject. The condition had been set by Rachael and one that Kyla agreed to honor. It had taken a while to mend the breach and both of them never wanted that to happen again. Kyla, especially, didn't want to lose Rachael.
"You know that they've been making love every evening, don't you?" Kyla asked.
"It is easy to judge things you don't or can't empathize with ... I used to do that and it's a trap. Passing judgment is how we demean others; put them down so we can feel better about ourselves." Rachael said as though talking to herself.
"I want to understand, Rach, I really do," Kyla said whispering across the darkness, "Please talk to me ... please? What happened? I mean, between Luke and ..."
And then they heard the scream.
The Grease Pit Roadhouse
We were at a small cabin that passed for a restaurant. It was a tiny, one-room affair with only three tables and a counter with just enough room to squeeze in an additional two people. The large, gaping door behind the counter lead to the kitchen which allowed the tantalizing smell of bacon and eggs mixed with fresh coffee to waft in to the main dining room. Every seat was taken with people lined up outside drinking coffee from large stainless steel mugs while waiting to be seated. And there were yet others in the porch eating their breakfasts standing up, using their fingers to roll up the pancakes like burritos, dipping them into their eggs before wolfing them down. They had their coffee mugs balanced precariously on windowsills and railings and every now and then a young girl would come out with a pot of coffee to refill their mugs and chat. It was obvious that they all knew each other.
When we got in, Danny ducked behind the counter and came back with a plate of giant, twisted crullers and two mugs of coffee.
"Try this ... and tell me if this ain't the best!" he said biting off half the sugar roll.
We ate the delicious cinnamon flavored donuts, sipping coffee and making small talk. He had seen Rachael and had tried talking to her but she had brushed him off – something he couldn't understand. He was of the opinion that most women were flattered that he would pay attention to them and it was obvious that the man wasn't short on confidence. He also let me know that I had damaged Big John's knee, as if that was some consolation, and the kicks had piqued his interest in martial arts.
"What are you? A black belt?" he asked.
"Something like that," I replied.
"You think it would work on me?" he asked in all seriousness looking straight into my eyes.
There was an innocence to him that was endearing; the naiveté of a little boy trying to test his limits.
"You wouldn't stand a chance, big man, unless one of your bitches pulled the same shit!" I replied and I meant it.
"We should give it a tumble, what do you say?" he asked, smiling widely.
We were back in the schoolyard trying to figure out who was the alpha-dog.
"Anytime, anywhere ... you call it." I challenged, staring right back at him, my expression turning cold.
He laughed out loud and slapped my back so hard that I was sure he had dislocated my neck. I could feel the bones in my toes jarring from the impact.
"You're one tough, little bugger, aren't you?" he espoused.
Then thankfully we were seated. I don't think I could have handled another slap on the back! What was quickly becoming clear to me was being this bloke's friend was hazardous to your health.
"Eat up, little man, this is the best there is," Daniel Benn said drenching his pancakes with maple syrup, the dark amber liquid flooding over into his plate. And then he dug in.
I was in awe. That was the word for it. I watched with a reluctant admiration, something that was normally reserved for extreme feats of strength or skill. There was a primordial aspect to the way he attacked his food, an unrestrained joy that demanded your attention and appreciation.
Everything he had said about the flapjacks was true – they were the best I had tasted but one plate of three gargantuan pancakes was as much as I could muster. And, he was right about the waitress too. She was a beauty; a dark, dusky gypsy with eyes that bore through you, hair as black as coal and a body that could kill. Her golden-brown skin gleamed with the sheen of perspiration from the heat of the kitchen and the pink dress was cut low and a size too small. Her breasts, which were spectacular, strained rebelliously against the buttons in the front threatening to pop them at the slightest whim.
"I'm brewing a fresh pot of coffee, Danny," she said placing another plate of pancakes in front of the giant.
In all, he had eaten six eggs, nine pancakes, two heaps of hash-browns and a cruller. He was on his third mug of coffee when he belched loudly, patted his belly and grinned, "Man, that was good!"
I had to shake my head, "You could feed a small nation with what you just chowed down, fella!"
The waitress came back with the pot of coffee and refilled Danny's cup. I waved her off – I couldn't handle more than two cups in the morning.
"Thanks, Dee," he said and smiled, "hey, what do you think of my little friend here? Huh?"
She looked at me with a steady gaze, carefully scrutinizing me then smiled a brilliant, white smile.
"Cute! Cuter than those hooligans you hang out with!" she said and then came over and stood next to me, "Not married are you?" she asked me.
I shook my head and winked at her, "No ma'am, at least not yet! But who knows ... you could change all that!"
"Oh, you're a sweet talker, Yank ... go on with the two of you! Like peas in a pod!" she said and then noticing me staring at her cleavage she added with a smile, "You're not getting any so get your mind out of the gutter!"
I couldn't resist. I quoted Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet).
"Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
that sees into the bottom of my grief?"
She smiled, gave me the finger and left.
Danny laughed and thumped the table. I was just glad that I was too far away for him to do that friendly 'slap on the back' thing. We watched her disappear into the kitchen appreciative of the tight, round butt that wiggled with the studied gait of a man-killer! She knew exactly what she was doing.
Danny scratched his head and mused, "My, my, my ... who'd have thunk it? Old man Brennan's scrawny little gal would turn into this!"
And he rolled his eyes looking skyward.
A recap of the story so far; this is for those who don't want to or haven't read the preceding opus:
My sister Rachael and her friend, Kyla, are trekking the Rainbow Mountains in Bella Coola, BC. Along with them are two of Rachael's college friends, Andrew and Susan. Unbeknownst to them, they are being followed by Josh Woodard, a dangerous wilderness recluse, who has his sights set on one of the women. He has picked Susan as his target.
Kyla, Rachael and I grew up together and a few years back, on her Prom night, my sister and I had indulged in an incestuous relationship that was both confusing and compelling. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and am hoping to rekindle those filial affections on this trip.
I was supposed to have been with them but circumstances, fate, karma or whatever it is has connived against me and I was delayed, reduced to playing catch-up. It was in Bella Coola that I met up with Daniel Benn, a giant of Paul Bunyan proportions, and someone who knows these mountains better than most.
A few paragraphs from Part I that connects you to the sequel -
Near Hunlen Falls, on an obscure pathway off the beaten track, Rachael and Kyla share a tent and are talking about Andrew and Susan.
"Rach? Are you awake?"
"It's Andy and Sue ... they look an awful lot like each other. They are they related, aren't they?"
Rachael was quiet. She wasn't sure if she should confide in Kyla. It was very personal and unless she could empathize with them, it was bound to color her perspective and possibly affect the relationship adversely.
"She's his sister, right?" Kyla persisted.
"Yes. They are twins." Rachael confirmed reluctantly.
The ensuing silence was uncomfortably deafening. From the moment Kyla had met the twins she knew there was something unusual about them. She had wanted to pursue this but could never find the right moment. She also knew that something had transpired between Rachael and Luke after their Prom, something that had affected their relationship but that night was strictly off limits. It was an unspoken contract between them that barred them from ever broaching the subject. The condition had been set by Rachael and one that Kyla agreed to honor. It had taken a while to mend the breach and both of them never wanted that to happen again. Kyla, especially, didn't want to lose Rachael.
"You know that they've been making love every evening, don't you?" Kyla asked.
"It is easy to judge things you don't or can't empathize with ... I used to do that and it's a trap. Passing judgment is how we demean others; put them down so we can feel better about ourselves." Rachael said as though talking to herself.
"I want to understand, Rach, I really do," Kyla said whispering across the darkness, "Please talk to me ... please? What happened? I mean, between Luke and ..."
And then they heard the scream.
Read on ...
The scream, a single, strangled cry that lingered within the abbreviated quotient of time was an auricular alarm that shred the silence for a moment before acceding to the stillness of the night. In the distance, the strident yelp of a young jackal badgered the uneasy quietness with its sham. Both women in the adjacent tent reacted immediately and with an efficiency that resembled a military exercise. They unzipped their sleeping bags, wiggled free then undoing the side flaps of the tent, they crawled into the open, alert and ready. It had taken them all of three minutes.
"Shit! Where is it?" Kyla muttered as she fervently felt around for her pocket flashlight.
Rachael was the first one out. She stood balanced on the balls of her feet, her senses honed to a razor's edge, the hair on the nape of her neck prickled and bristling. The 'fight or flight' response had flooded her body with adrenaline. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing had quickened, pupils dilated and attention focused. She held the pepper spray extended in front of her, armed, scanning the trees and the shrubbery, expecting an attack from any flank. Her mind devoid of rationale was panicked and racing, creating monsters in the dark; zombies and ghouls of childhood nightmares that shook and shivered within the sibilant rustling of the leaves.
'Calm, stay calm... slow it down and breathe ...' she told herself taking slow, deliberate breaths.
She could see the other tent bathed in nebulous hieroglyphics, silhouettes teased by the silvery streaks of moonlight filtering through the dense cover of the evergreens and the naked branches of the deciduous Red Alders. The sides of the tent were shredded, ripped open by some unnatural act of violence, the shorn fabric fluttering helplessly in the night's breeze. There was no sign of life from within.
"What the ..." Kyla had started to say when Rachael called out.
"Sue? Andrew?" She paused then called again, a bit more loudly, "Susan? Are you okay?"
Then throwing caution to the wind, she rushed in and was stunned by what she saw.
"Oh, God!" she whispered and stifled a scream, putting away the canister of pepper spray.
It was a mess. There was blood splattered on the sides and around the interior. The large sleeping bag was tangled and twisted in an adventitious ball; the propane heater lay toppled over on its side, its indifferent flame licking precariously at the frayed edges of Susan's woolen tippet. And, lying against the anodized frame of the tent was Andrew Breland's motionless body.
There was a smell of violence in the air. A pronounced odor baptized by the epoch of blood and in its unscrupulous wake was left a sullen emptiness; a frozen cavern with no sign of Susan.
Rachael moved the scarf away before straightening the heater and turning down its flame then leaning over the body she felt for a pulse in his neck.
"Hurry, Kyla ... get in here and help me ... let's get him out! He's still breathing," Rachael hissed.
Moving Andrew out of the tent was not as easy as it initially seemed. Though he wasn't a big man, the confined space and crouched positions had the women at a disadvantage. But they struggled, half-dragging and pulling the comatose body until they finally maneuvered it onto the soft grass outside.
"He's heavy!" Kyla gasped.
They propped up his head using a rolled up blanket for a pillow and examined him thoroughly under the white glare of their flashlights. There was a large gash on the side of Andy's head above the right ear and blood seeping out of a wound, below the liver, on the lower right side of the abdomen. His upper lip was split open and his nose seemed to be broken, the bridge dislocated awkwardly to the left. His breathing was shallow and hoarse, rasping softly in the night air.
'What in heaven's name could have done this and disappeared that quickly? Where was Susan?' Horrific thoughts raced through Rachael's mind as she struggled to keep her composure. 'Oh God! Luke, where are you?'
"One of us needs to look for Susan," Kyla offered softly realizing that every minute lost exponentially increased the probability of never finding her.
"No! That's what he wants ... or whatever it was that did this. It wasn't a bear, that's for sure! No, we stay together," Rachael snapped with finality, "help me clean him up then we can go looking for Sue."
They worked frantically over the unconscious man, washing his face and cleaning the wounds. Rachael used the first-aid kit to bandage his head and abdomen while Kyla wiped away the coagulated blood from under the broken nose. It was obvious that the septum had separated and the nasal bridge was smashed.
"He's left-handed," Kyla said softly.
"What?" Rachael asked, baffled by the non sequitur.
"He's left-handed." Kyla repeated while cleaning Andy's nostrils, "The stab wound, the blow to the head, the way the nose is pushed over ... the man is a southpaw!"
Rachael stopped what she was doing and looked at her, surprised by the deduction, and then checked Andrew again. She was right: the attacker definitely favored his left hand. All the damage was to the right side of Andy's body. She felt the relief washing over her as the logic of Kyla's analysis set in.
"You're right, Kyla, and it had to be a loner ... otherwise they would have attacked us too!" she exclaimed her voice taking on an optimistic tone.
There was an irrational reassurance in knowing that it was just a man and not some terrifying, demonic creature that had crawled out from the epicenter of hell. And in that moment of ameliorated relief, the girls were oblivious to the opprobrious eyes that studied them, barely an arm's length away, camouflaged so totally within the brush that it was impossible to pick him out. They had no idea that their friend's body lay bound and gagged and unconscious so close to them.
He watched the women with amusement. He was surprised that the man was still alive; he should have made sure but the woman had distracted him. She was a spunky little thing, jumping on his back trying to protect her man. The idea of concern for someone else was foreign to him. His laws were Nature's Laws. He could no sooner fault a lioness for taking a day-old fawn or a wolf for killing a lamb than he could his actions. What he did was not personal but rather, steeped in his own survival. He had never killed for sport or in anger. Well, maybe in anger ... a long time ago, during the war.
Was it even a war or some political gambit by a bunch of greedy Fatcats in Washington who had never so much as held a gun let alone risked their lives? It was these same Congressmen and Senators whose power-hungry schemes placed in jeopardy the lives of the young American men and women without a second thought. Yes, he had killed in anger. He should have gone after these sick fuckin' bastards in Washington but instead he had unleashed his wrath on those who had murdered his buddies; some faceless Taliban motherfuckers with no regard for their own worthless lives. He felt compelled to avenge his friends. How many? There had been too many to recall. Men, women and even children ... he had never meant to harm the children but it was collateral damage and in the end, it was of no consequence. He was the Avenging Angel balancing the karmic equation and exacting his pound of flesh as judge, jury and executioner.
He heard the women speaking, their voices carrying in the stillness. So, her name was Susan – interesting. He had known a Susan in high school. And Kyla ... 'Kyla' what a pretty name, was the tall, lean one. She was beautiful. But it was the leader he was most attracted to. She was just his type ... tall, blond, and full bodied. It would be nice if he could get these two beauties too.
He weighed the risks and quickly concluded that there might just be a way – tricky, but then what was ever gained without risk? A plan began to take shape in the brilliant but twisted mind of Josh Woodard ...
The Day after the Prom – flashback 6 years
The next day was Sunday and when I finally tumbled out of bed, I was sure that I had dreamed the entire 'episode' with Rachael. It was the small, bloody stain on my bed sheet, a confirmation of my sister's sanguinary sacrifice, which hammered home the reality of what had transpired. I had fucked my sister and taken her cherry! It signaled the advent of a new and confusing aspect to our relationship - I loved my sister as a sister but I also wanted to fuck her as a woman.
I closed my eyes and felt my cock twitch as the images of our incestuous union filled my mind. Images of my sister lying under me, her legs spread and wrapped around my hips, her fingers digging into the muscles of my back while she moaned and fucked me back. It had been, by far, the best sex I had ever had. Every detail seemed to have been burned into a secret cache in my mind. A vivid Pandora's Box that was labeled, 'Sex with my sister, Rachael'. I recalled how her body had trembled when I pumped my sperm deep into her tight little cunny ... it was something! I don't think I had ever climaxed for that long or that intensely.
My cock was now painfully erect. The post-coitus revulsion I had felt last night was replaced by a desire that was as strong as ever, if not, stronger than before. I had joined the ranks of the illusionary Lotus Eaters; those disenfranchised souls who were addicted to the petals of the forbidden flower. It was this emotive craving that manifested in an overpowering urge to fuck her again. But when I crossed the hallway to her room, it was empty; there was no sign of her.
We were so different, not just in appearance but in personality. Her room was as neat as mine was in disarray. Her bed was expertly made-up with the comforter pulled tightly across the mattress without a crease or a wrinkle, the edges dropping evenly over the sides so that they barely touched the floor. The cluster of throw and decorative pillows was neatly organized in cascading sizes at the headboard. Her pink and white, bunny slippers were placed under the bed on a small Indian rug next to the side table. And, on this mahogany end-table was a vase of flowers that filled the room with the fragrance of lavender and rose.
However, the pièce de résistance was a large poster of Bugs Bunny holding a bottle of booze in one hand and hanging high in the air off of a steep mountain ledge. The caption read: It is happy hour somewhere, Doc! I had given her that poster when she had taken up rock climbing.
There wasn't a thing out of place: from the pictures on the wall to the frilly, lace curtains, everything oozed of femininity and tidiness. As much as I was disorganized, my sister was compulsively methodical. That is what made her such a good climber.
I saw a note on her bed folded into a tight little square with hand-sketched hearts and smileys all over it. It was lying juxtaposed to a pair of her panties, not the one she had on the previous night but a pink one with a pretty, floral design. I picked it up and pressed it against my face burying my nose into the silky-soft fabric and was immediately filled with her scent, that spicy, cumin-tinged odor that was irresistible. And, mixed in was the imperceptible hint of laundry detergent. The narrow bridge of her crotch was moist and slippery and stained with her juices. This pair wasn't from last night but one she had on recently, possibly this morning - 'Damn! This was hot! My little sister was as horny as I was.'
I opened the note and in the middle of the page in her distinctive, small handwriting was a simple sentence which said it all: It was beautiful. I love you! And next to it was a big, perfectly shaped heart. It wasn't addressed to anyone but I knew that she had meant it for me. The anonymity was an exculpable ploy against the nosy inquisitiveness of my mother. It was a house rule that our parents could search our rooms at any time as a hedge against the prevalent use of drugs at the local schools, a rule that Mom often evoked to go through our dresser drawers. As aggravating as that was, we both knew that she had our best interests at heart and tolerated her fussing. She needn't have been concerned; neither Rachael nor I had any interest in drugs. We had been into sports ever since we were kids and were almost fanatical about our health.
Mom! Shit! I had better check on them. My parents either played golf on Sundays or went to church. Don't ask, I'm haven't figured that one out as yet. It was almost 9:00 AM and in either case they should be gone by now. But I needed to make sure before I jerked off into Rachael's panties.
I shoved the note into my pocket and trudged into the kitchen. This must have been the day for notes – there was one from my mother on the kitchen table: Honey, French toast and eggs in the oven. Save some for Rachael. She's at volleyball practice. She said you had a great time at the Prom. That was nice of you to be there for her. Try and make it to church if you can. Hugs, Mom.
At the mention of 'church', I felt the pangs of guilt pricking at my blistered conscience. I was suddenly harangued by the dogma of evangelical beliefs, of what was right and wrong, and fucking my sister was certainly deemed as wrong. I tried to think of other things to distract myself but the pertinacious images of Rachael broke down any semblance of resolve I could muster. The memory of our lascivious tryst the previous night was too fresh and just too relentless. I was now conflicted by the urges of the flesh pitted against the sanctity of higher reasoning and purported by the advocacy of a revived conscience.
I opened the oven door and peeked in at the breakfast Mom had cooked – French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs - It looked appetizing but I wasn't really hungry. Maybe a quick workout was the answer.
"Screw it, I'll just go for a run," I said to myself and left.
When I finally got back I felt rejuvenated and though it was nippy outside, I had managed to work up a pretty good sweat. Rachael's car was parked in the driveway an indication that she was back. I felt my cock lurch lewdly at the thought of the possibilities - so much for a reinvigorated conscience.
After church, my parents typically went for brunch with friends and rarely came home before 1 or 2 in the afternoon. So there was time and what better way to broach the subject than to ask Rachael about the note.
When I opened the front door, I was met by the strains of one of my favorite rock songs, an oldie by the Eagles: Life in the Fast Lane.
"He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude,
They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude,
They had one thing in common, they were
good in bed,
She'd say, 'Faster, faster. The lights are turnin' red.'
Life in the fast lane,
Surely make you lose your mind,
Mmmmm ... are you with me so far?
Eager for action and hot for the game,
The coming attraction, the drop of a name ..."
I listened to sexual innuendos of the lyrics before running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and headed for the bathroom that Rachael and I shared but she was in it. I could hear the shower running. I stood outside the door debating whether I should surprise her but then decided against it. I wanted this tease to last as long as possible. It had something to do with the thrill of the chase.
I often used my parent's shower so grabbing my towel I walked down the hallway to the Master Bedroom eschewing my usual dip in the hot tub choosing rather to play out Rachael's next chapter as soon as I could.
I managed to finish showering without jerking of; something that severely tested the limits of my resolve but I had succeeded in saving it all for my sister. I turned the shower off and slid the curtain back and that was when I noticed her. She was standing in her bathrobe resting her butt against the edge of the counter. Her hair was wet and plastered back and her skin had a dewy dampness to it. But amazingly, her eyes that were wide and bright were shamelessly glued to my semi-hard penis.
I felt a satyric thrill shoot through me as my cock twitched and began to harden and I'm not sure what got into me but I began stroking myself stepping into the bathroom and turning to face her. I heard her gasp and saw her eyes widen like saucers. I was certain that at any moment she was going to come to her senses and bolt but I was wrong. It became quickly apparent that she couldn't look away; it was as though she was hypnotized. Her lips parted and I saw the tip of her tongue snake out to wet her bottom lip as I continued to slide my hand back and forth over my shaft, rubbing the bloated dome at the end of each stroke. My cock was now rock hard and pointing up at the ceiling. Then, I saw her move.
She undid the sash around her waist and let her robe drop to the floor and stood there naked with her legs slightly parted. Her expression was an incongruous synthesis of sensual promiscuity mingled with an insecure shyness but she needn't have worried, she was truly a beauty, far more erotically sensual than any airbrushed centerfold I'd seen. She then did something that I'll take to my grave. She reached down and inserted her fingers deep inside her cuntal lips, moving them in and out until finally she touched her clit. She shuddered and closed her eyes letting her fingers settle at the apex of her cunt, wiggling it in small circles as I watched fascinated by my sister's pleasuring of herself. And when she looked up again our eyes met briefly before her attention was drawn back to my cock. We watched each other masturbate, our strokes timed to the moans and groans and the squishy concerto of our fingers working on our sex.
Any vestige of my naïve, little sister was gone. She had become someone else, someone who was more of a sultry whore than a virginal naiad. Even though I could sense the underlying nervousness, her expression screamed of wantonness, of needing to be fucked. This was new for her, this brazen display, but behind the bold exhibitionist was a tentative and insecure girl seeking her older brother's approval. It was obvious in the way she glanced at me before quickly looking away.
She didn't stop or couldn't stop. Her body's response had been programmed by some prurient, voyeuristic drive; a preconditioned female rebuttal to my carnal act of self-indulgence. She leaned back against the counter and spread her thighs even farther apart allowing me to watch her as she feverishly rubbed her clit while her eyes remained glued to my cock. We were both trapped in this licentious burlesque; voyeurs gleaning pleasure from each other; brother from sister and sister from brother. We were lovers now needing to reach the precipice together.
I saw her legs jerk and heard her whimpering and that did it; I threw my head back and groaned as the intense pleasure of orgasm raced through me, my shaft flexed sharply shooting a long, ropey stream of cum across the tiled floor of the bathroom. Caught in the throes of climax and urged on by her moans, I continued to rub the flared, angry ridge of my cockhead succumbing to its will, to the jolts of pleasure racking my body and sent a second wad, arcing high in the air, splattering close to her feet. And then incredibly, I felt the wet, warmth of her mouth wrap around my cock. She was kneeling in front of me, holding my root, sucking me for all she was worth. Her fingers kept milking my shaft while I discharged the remainder of my ejaculate into her hungry mouth. I could feel her swallowing and sucking, sucking and swallowing, drawing out the last of the viscid drops of my passion while I was doubled over her, helplessly, watching her vigorously fingering her cunt.
I could hear her moaning through her nose and around my cock while she continued to suckle me, her fingers still buried inside her pussy. I felt her trembling and through the volitional haze of pleasure I wondered if she was cumming. Could she orgasm by just sucking on my dick? My mind was foggy, clouded by endorphins, the pleasure opiates driving me farther and farther over the edge and into places I had never been to before.
Somehow, wrought by Freudian symbolism, we had managed to end up on our parent's bed. I was going to fuck my sister at the nexus of where we had been conceived, where my father had made love to my mother to create us. And now, we were about to fuck each other in the very same cradle of our creation. It might not sound quite as erotic now but at that moment we were both consumed by that amatory fact.
"Dad and Mom ..." she whispered softly not needing to complete her thought.
"Yes, baby ..." I whispered back, knowing exactly what she meant.
"Oh, God ..." and I felt her shiver.
She was lying with her legs splayed wide, knees raised and with me spread lengthwise in between them sucking on her clit. Her hands held me by the back of my head, pressing my face into the triangle of her sex. Her fingers, entwined in the layers of my hair, were pulling, twisting, caressing, grabbing ... reacting to the sensations pulsing at her core. She was unaware of anything but the soft, wet tongue lapping at the length of her slit, and the fingers pushing in and out of her hole. Her hips bucked and rolled while I pleasured her, drinking the tangy nectar that was literally dripping from her vaginal chalice. My lips, cheeks and chin were covered in her juices but I still couldn't get enough. I was filled with the essence of her and could have spent the rest of my life sucking on her cunt.
"Fuck me, baby, please ... please fuck me now! Fuck your baby sister ..." she whispered pulling me upwards towards her, "I want you in me, now, baby ..."
I felt her reach down between us and guide my cock into her pussy. She moaned into my neck as the mushroomed tip spread her open. I felt her hips pushing upwards trying to skewer herself onto the fleshy lance. She felt hot and wet and slippery but most of all she felt incredibly tight. I held her waist to keep her in place while I pushed down with my hips, sinking deeper and deeper into my sister's tight little cunt, until I had bottomed out and our pubic bones were mashed together.
The words of the song repeated itself in my mind:
"They had one thing in common, they were good in bed,
She'd say "Faster, faster, the lights are turnin' red ..."
I couldn't wait to turn her lights green or whatever brilliant colors it was that would explode in her brain at that timeless moment and with that I began to fuck her. This time, I wanted it to last so I went deliberately slow, driving in until I was buried to the hilt, waiting there, thrilling in the sensations of her muscles convulsing and constricting around my shaft. I wasn't sure if she was doing this intentionally or whether it was her body's reflex but it was amazing. It was like being milked by a hot, wet, velvet glove. And, when I felt her relax, I would pull out, almost all the way, before screwing myself down into her again. We kept repeating this for what seemed like an eternity until finally, she couldn't take it.
"Faster, please Luke, go faster ..." she whispered. Somewhere in the blurry clouds of pleasure the line from the song played itself again.
"She'd say "Faster, faster, the lights are turnin' red ..."
I felt her hips undulating, bucking up at me, trying to speed up the action on the rubbery rod that was plunging in and out of her, ravaging her cunt and creating the friction she longed for.
"You like fucking your brother, don't you? You like to feel my cock in you ... don't you, baby?" I asked aroused to a maddening state by her salacious whisperings.
"Yes, darling brother, yes ... yes, yes ... I'm yours ..." she gasped in time to my thrusts, "I'm yours forever ... I'll do anything you want me to ... anything, baby, just fuck me ... don't stop, don't ever stop ..."
We were swept away by the moment, saying these things to each other; lovers swearing eternal love in the heat of passion. And when we weren't whispering to each other, we kissed with urgency, sucking on each other's tongues, moaning into each other's mouths ... we were both so isolated and so entangled in the eroticism.
The bed was creaking and the music was playing and our bodies were slamming together – the sounds building to a searing crescendo, drumming out everything else but our symphonic sex. It echoed so loudly in our ears that we didn't hear them come in.
"What are you doing? Get off her! Get-off-her ..." It was my mother, her voice shrill and angry. I felt her pushing me off of my sister.
I grabbed a pillow and covered myself and when I looked up, my parents stood there stunned. I could see the blood rushing to my father's face, his jaw grinding and the veins in his neck popping and knew that there was going to be hell to pay. Rachael was his baby girl and I was the man who had just ravished her.
To Hunlen Falls with the Giant, Daniel Benn
"So, shorty, tell me about your sister," the big man said as we made our way up the side of a small hill heading up towards Hunlen Falls.
I had to admit that he was a good climber unlike most big men. And Danny was not just a big man, he was enormous, a Paul Bunyan clone. Large men, in general, had problems free-climbing. It was simply a case of bio-physics: lactic acid build-up and gravity. Their arms couldn't keep pulling up their heavy torsos and their thick fingers had a hard time clinging to the tiny crevices and cracks that were essential in scaling a rock face effectively. But so far, he was holding his own and I was impressed. I had picked up the pace, face climbing a large rock to test his stamina, but he had managed to keep up – he was breathing a bit hard but he didn't complain.
He had insisted on joining me with assurances that he knew ways through these mountains that would take hours off my trek and, more importantly, skirt those nasty Grizzlies. But I knew the real reason for his wanting to join me and it had nothing to do with those ursine critters; he was smitten, struck by the lightning bolt that was Rachael. And, though that didn't particularly thrill me, I was beginning to like this Goliath. In many ways he was like an oversized kid. There was a forthrightness and naiveté to Daniel Benn that I confess I found refreshing.
He was also hard to discourage.
"If you don't want me to go with you, I'll just tag along behind you ... it's a free country and I can go where I want!" That was his petulant reasoning.
"Listen, King Kong, it's not that I don't want you to go with me, I don't want to bother you ... I can see that you're a busy man and I really don't need any help," I argued.
"You're not bothering me, shorty, in fact, you're a funny guy. You make me laugh! I am offering to come with you at no cost. You should be thankful!" he snapped and then added, "I'm coming, so get used to it."
And while we jousted back and forth, he would mutter just loud enough for me to hear: "I can't have some little Kung Fu maniac, from way over yonder, come up here and scare the animals ... no siree, I certainly can't!"
I realized that he wasn't going to take no for an answer and so I acquiesced, "Okay, amigo, it's you and me ... just stop the ranting, okay?"
He gave me a big, wide smile and was about to slap my back when I skirted away, "Oh no you don't ..."
Being slapped by this joker was like being hit by a wrecking ball!
After we had trekked and climbed for about two hours, we decided to take a break. We sat on rocks under the shade of a large White Spruce and unpacked some sandwiches that his sister had made for us. These were Hoagies stuffed full of roast-beef and ham and was so thick, it would present a challenge to finish ... at least, for me. We ate in silence and washed it down with the sweetest, freshest spring water that we gathered from a narrow brook that trickled down near us. He wasn't kidding when he said he knew these mountains like the back of his hand.
"I keep asking you about your sister and you keep blocking me ... what's up?" he asked, chewing on the last bits of his sandwich, "You have something against me, little man?"
"You mean apart from the fact that you're a big, obdurate Cannuck who can't spell?"
"Obdoo ... what? Speak English, Yank," he said simply.
"Ob-du-rate ... means stubborn or pigheaded! And that's you, Kong!"
He laughed, "Hey, that's a good word but I'm serious. Your sister is gorgeous but that's not it. There are plenty of gorgeous girls around. I feel a connection to her; a real connection and I know she feels the same way ... she just doesn't know it as yet! Come on, little man, give a brother some tips ... tell me about her."
"Connection? You feel a connection? You're kidding, right? You're wasting your time, Kong, you're not her type. Maybe you should focus on Kyla," I offered.
"I don't think so. Nothing against that doll, she's a cutie but I happen to like you sister. I'm telling you, I feel connected to her, man, so spill it, what's Rachael really like?"
It was clear that he was going to badger me 'til I opened up.
"She can be a pain in the ass! Trust me, Danny-Boy, you really don't want any part of her."
"You're doing that 'big-brother' thing aren't you? Protecting your little sister! I respect that but you don't have to worry, little man, I'm not looking for a ..."
"Watch it! You stepping on thin ice here," I cautioned.
He shook his huge head and looked at me, his eyes squinting against the late afternoon sun, his expression, forlorn.
"I was going to say, I'm not looking for a short-term relationship. I want to know about her, you know, what makes her tick ... I just know we'd make a great couple. I can feel it here, in here," he said and he thumped his chest and added, "Can you imagine what our kids would look like?"
I had to smile. This Lothario had scooted past the courtship, engagement and the altar and had already impregnated my sister! I should be happy that he wasn't some jerk but I was feeling threatened. He was my competition. What if Rachael picked him and didn't want anything more to do with me? It could happen.
"What you're feeling is a misguided sense of attraction, something that is purely physical ... comes from taking all those growth hormones and steroids!"
He laughed out loud, "You're a funny man, Luke ... a real funny man! Why on earth would I need steroids? Listen, I'm going to court your sister whether you like it or not!"
"I'll break both your arms, big man, I swear I will ... you stay away from her!"
"Then I'll court her without arms ... I'll do it on my knees, yes, that's how I'll do it!" That was his silly riposte to my threat. I had to smile.
And so it went, we continued up the mountain, verbally fencing with each other. As the climb got steeper, I could see that he was beginning to wear down. The breaks began to get more frequent and lasted longer but he wasn't asking for any quarter. What he did was still quite impressive, the fact that he managed to keep up with me the whole day – not many large men would have.
Finally the cold and the fading red halo of the evening sun forced us to break for camp. I could tell he was relieved though he would never admit it.
"I'm going to cook you a feast that will blow your mind, little man, yeah ... you'll be begging me to marry your sister!"
"Why would I do that? If it's that good I'll be begging you to marry me!"
He let out a roar, laughing with an unrestrained exuberance. And then we heard it ... it sounded like a scream.
End of Part II
Wilderness Paradise: Of Brothers and Sisters, Part 3
Flashback 6 years - Caught in the Act
We didn't hear them coming in. Mom and Dad had returned from church earlier than we had anticipated. Normally, we would have heard the garage door ratcheting open or their footsteps, as they trudged up the stairs, but Rachael and I were so caught up in fucking each other that we were deaf to everything but the primal grunts and moans of our rutting. For that is exactly what it was – a raw and raunchy fuck in the middle of our parent's bed.
To say that they were livid would have been the understatement of the year – in the morbid and atramentaceous aftermath we were banished to our rooms, forbidden to leave or talk to each other until some form of parental adjudication had been reached. For as far back as I can remember, even when we were just little kids, the punishment meted out for any mischief was determined after a caucus of the entire family. We would sit around the dining table, objectively discuss the waggish incident, and then my dad would solemnly come up with the punishment. It was all done with a decorum that was democratic and fair.
But this time it was different. It had to be different – we weren't kids anymore and the breach was one with reprobating consequence. I could hear them arguing and that was rare in our house. I don't know if my parents were still in love, I can only assume that they were, but they had always treated each other with respect. My father was never a shouter. And neither was my mother, except on the rare occasions when we would push her past the limits of her patience. But now, though I couldn't make out what was being said, they were arguing and it was loud.
I wondered how my sister was holding up ... poor Rach! It was my damn fault for messing up her life. How could I have fucked my little sister? I had to be one of the biggest perverts around – that was evidenced beyond the shadow of a doubt. I mean, I had to be. She was only eighteen and I had seduced her or acquiesced to the seduction and should have known better.
I heard the Master bedroom door open and my Mom's voice, "That's rubbish, Thomas, you know as well as I do that kids will ..." and then the door closed again, turning the dialog into muffled dissonance. She only called my dad by his Christian name when they disagreed on something otherwise it was 'dear', 'baby', 'darling' or some other mushy endearment like "Pooh-Bear" that defied logic. My dad doesn't, in any way, resemble Winnie the Pooh!
I had no idea what they were arguing about – there was no gray area here – so the querulous banter was baffling. The thought that Dad might kick me out of the house did cross my mind and maybe Mom was lobbying to prevent that. I was suddenly filled with an acute sense of apprehension. I would have to live with Uncle Philip or Uncle Jack, my mother's brothers whom Rachael and I were closer to than the relatives on my father's side. In a pinch, I'd pick Uncle Jack but for something more permanent, it would have to be Uncle Philip. I looked a bit like him and he's the one that got me into Martial Arts.
What were the chances of being thrown out of the house? I wasn't sure, it could happen though. It wasn't that farfetched - I had never seen Dad this angry, not just angry but in a murderous rage. Mom would lose it every now and then but Dad had always been the 'Sultan of Cool' and in fact, in the past it would be him moderating for lenience. Left to my mother, I would have been hanged, drawn and quartered for some of the shit I had pulled.
My mother's: "You're grounded, young man, for at least a week!" would end up being a day because of Dad.
I could still hear him, "Honey, boys will be boys! You need to cut him some slack ..."
And my mother's terse rebuttal, "Yes, but my boy will NOT grow up to be an insolent thug, not if I have anything to do with it!"
And then there was Rachael. My sister was the "good" kid, never doing anything to arouse my parent's ire. A's and B's in school, on the Volleyball and Basketball teams, liked by all the teachers, popular with her friends, home every evening before curfew etc. etc. She was also my staunchest supporter interceding on my behalf as only she could and now this was the way I paid her back!
With my curiosity piquing, I was tempted to break quarantine; to sneak out to the linen closet in the hallway that was adjacent to their bedroom. A strategic ear to the wall, next to the architrave, and you were as good as in the room with them. That's when I heard the knock on my door. It was a soft, sequential tapping; a quick three, a pause and then a slow two, a code that only my sister used.
"Luke? Can I come in?" It was a whisper.
"I don't think it's a good idea, Rach, we're in enough trouble already. This time ..." I paused, not knowing what to say, "this time, they are really pissed!"
I blamed all of it on my crazed, hormone-induced lust. I was always horny – a walking hardon and that was my sorry excuse! I had let them all down. How could we ever be a normal family again? How could I even look at my mother and father? I mean they had seen us naked, me on top of my sister, fucking her like a horny character straight out of a Teutonic Rhapsody! Hansel and Gretel fucking in the Ginger Bread house! It was deplorable and I was filled with objective revulsion.
"Just go, Rachael, leave me alone," I added, finding some perverse solace in my self-vilification.
Not that she ever listened to me. She opened the door and slipped in shutting it behind her. She stood by the foot of my bed in her jammies, looking contrite and as beautiful as ever, this despite her hair that fell in a disheveled, rumpled mess around her face and eyes that were red from crying. It was breaking my heart – this need I felt for her.
"If they find you here ..." I began.
"I don't care," she started, nervously fidgeting with the ends of her hair and then continued, "Dad's blaming you and that's wrong. It was me, Luke, I started this. And they are fighting now and you know they never fight! I hate it! I just hate ... I hate myself!"
She began crying, softly at first and then, sobbing hysterically. I got up off the bed and went over and hugged her to me, holding her tightly, feeling the warmth of her spreading along my body as she melted into me. And while she sniffled and sobbed into my chest, I kissed the top of her head, trying to comfort her.
"It's okay, Bugs, it's okay. Don't cry, baby, we'll get through this, I promise," I murmured.
"How? How will we ever get through this?" she sobbed and clung to me.
"I don't know how but trust me, we will. We are not the first brother and sister to do it ... to have sex. Did you know that the Pharaohs married their sisters?"
I swear it wasn't meant to be sexual but my cock, ever rebellious and with a mind of its own, twitched and hardened throbbing salaciously against her lower abdomen. What the fuck was the matter with me? And if that wasn't enough, incredulously, through the sniffles and heaving sobs, I felt her hand snaking down in between us. This was nuts! Totally insane - what was happening to us? We were both losing it!
The crying slowly subsided, "Did they really marry their sisters?"
"Ye-ye-sss, yes ..." I stuttered as she squeezed my dick and began stroking me.
"We should have been Egyptians, don't you think?" she whispered into my neck and giggled.
"Ohh! Yes! Yes ..." I managed to croak as her delicate fingers caressed the pillar of flesh.
"Mmmm, is this for me, doc?" she asked her voice changing, like a little girls except low and husky.
I felt her breathing quicken and despite the awkwardness, because of the way we were standing, the sensuality laced with the fear of discovery had a proselytizing effect; not that I need much persuasion. I was now captive to her desires and my rationale and self-loathing of a few minutes ago vanished; obliterated by her silky touch.
"Rach, this is a bad idea. You should stop, baby ..." I protested but it lacked any real conviction and then as if to seal the deal, she ran her hand over the coronal ridge of the mushroomed dome.
"Oh God!" I groaned loudly and shivered as the pleasure shot through me.
"Ssshhhh, I need this now, I need you ..." she whispered easing me towards the door.
She threw the deadbolt home and dropped to her knees, pulling my pajamas down and then engulfed my cock, taking it into the warmth of her soft, wet mouth. I watched my sister suckle me; her delicate fingers stroking the root of my shaft while her lips clamped around the tip sucking me like a straw. Her head bobbed back and forth, her hair rippling in a silky, golden vortex, her cheeks hollowing with the effort while her tongue tickled and bathed the sensitive ridge of my glans. We were lost in that muddled, timeless labyrinth of a forbidden Eden, my mind flooding with thoughts and scarlet images of her; lewd and lascivious images embellished by the awareness of our incestuous bonds.
I was teased by the strains of her wet slurping as she sucked and swallowed and sucked again and again at the pre-coital juices leaking out from me. I closed my eyes and waited for that inevitable velvet thrill that would consume me and send me tumbling, freefalling mindlessly through the tortured abyss of nothingness while I filled her mouth with my muculent seed.
Back to the Present: Tracking my Sister
As soon as Danny heard the scream he reacted. And I mean 'reacted': he jumped up like he had been shot from a cannon, doused the fire, tossed the pan aside and headed in the general direction of the scream. 'There goes dinner', I thought to myself.
"Come on, shorty, let's go!" he called back. He was already twenty or so yards from me.
"What about all this," I asked and pointed at our stuff, concerned about the expensive climbing accessories in my backpack.
"Leave it! No one's going to take it ... there's no one here!" the giant said with obvious impatience then urged, "Hurry, someone could be in serious trouble! It's most probably a bear!"
I slipped the chalk bag into my pocket, pushed the backpacks under a bush and followed him as he made his way through the heavy brush and undergrowth. We scampered up a few sharp inclines until we came to a massive rock face. It formed an imposing wall shooting straight upwards, roughly sixty or so feet, with a deep cleft that ran the entire length. These fissures were called chimneys. I could shimmy up using my feet to press my back against the opposite wall of the crevice but it was too small for him. I looked over curious to see what he was planning to do - climbing something like this was hard at best but with the fading light, this was going to be a far greater challenge.
The big man didn't waste a lot of time. He studied the rock for a few moments and made his decision.
"You go on up," he said, "I'll circle around. There's no way I'll make it up this!"
"I though you ..." I started to say but he cut me off.
"Oh shush-up, little man, let's not waste time. It's getting late; I'll catch up with you, don't you worry!"
"Hey, maybe I should come with you?"
"No. I'm not sure how long it'll take to get around this," he replied, paused and gave me reassuring look, "Don't be scared, shorty, I'll find you. I have to, you know, how else are we going to convince your sister?" And with that parting remark and a big grin he was gone.
It never ceased to amaze me just how light he was on his feet and how quickly he moved for a big man. I watched as his silhouette dissolved into the caliginous shadows of the trees and wondered whether I could really take him in a fight.
It hadn't been an easy climb because the chimney skewed and narrowed dramatically near the top making progress impossible. I was forced to traverse out onto the main face which was a lot more dangerous in the fading light. I was free-climbing or more accurately, free-soloing, without the benefit of a safety rope and had to feel with my fingers for cracks and ridges, anything to pull me onto the face. One mistake, a tentative grip or a loose rock, and it meant a sixty-foot drop guaranteed to put a damper on my trip!
When I finally got to the top, my thighs and arms were burning with the strain. I stood there, bent over, shaking out my arms, loosening them up thankful that I had brought the chalk along. The last thing you needed on a climb was sweaty palms. And, that's when I heard muffled laughter coming from nearby. There was someone else up here.
The camp was in a small clearing about a hundred yards from the ledge. There were five of them and they had a pretty good sized fire going. Three of them looked like paunchy, middle-aged executives but the other two were in pretty good shape. One of them was different. He was tall, a bit taller than me, maybe about six four, lean and muscular and if you knew what to look for you could tell that he could take care of himself.
When they saw me approaching, they stood up and one of the three older men called out, "Hi there stranger, not lost are you?"
But before I could reply, the lean one by the fire stepped towards me, not quite in my path, but without question, in a confrontational manner.
"Who are you?" he asked with an edge to his voice.
He must have been in his early thirties. His hair was cropped short in a buzz cut. He face was narrow and hard with a wide, lipless mouth and a strong shin. His thin, aquiline nose, thick brows and deep set eyes gave him a hawk-like expression. My first impression of him was right – this guy had a hard bark on him.
"I'm Luke Meacham," I replied, trying to remain neutral though I resented his tone, "my friend and I are camped about a mile from here. We thought we heard a scream - did you guys hear anything?"
"Yeah, we heard it too. It could have been those girls ..." A second chubby guy with a round, friendly face started to say but was cut off by the hawk.
"Maybe we did and maybe we didn't. What's it to you?" He asked, being obviously belligerent.
"Aw, come on, Cooley ... there's no need for that!" The first man said and then extended his hand convivially, "I'm Bill Jacobs, and yes we all heard a scream. We even considered investigating it but Cooley here thought it was a bad idea, you know, chasing after who-knows-what at night."
"That's not what I said!" the lean one retorted, "I said it's up to you but I wanted to make it clear that I can't be responsible for three out-of-shape guys playing Rambo out here! That's what I said."
Bill Jacobs gave Cooley a cursory glance before replying, "There's certainly some validity to that. We are a bunch of big city slickers looking for a harmless weekend adventure. I don't think we'd make it too far, not without Cooley or Jeff."
I liked him; he looked you in the eye and was honest. And, it was pretty evident that Cooley was calling the shots. He was the guide and Jeff, the young kid, was his sidekick. The boy looked friendly enough; possibly a college kid looking to make some extra money on the side.
"Did you see anyone else up here?" I asked, addressing Jacobs.
"A group of four passed by early afternoon; three women and a man." He answered, then pointing eastwards across a small ravine he added, "It came from around there but whatever it was, there was just one short scream ..."
He shrugged and made a face leaving the obvious unsaid. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who they had seen. I was on the right track and closing in on Rachael.
"You mentioned a friend?" Jacobs queried.
"He's taking the long way around – he'll be here shortly."
Good question - where the heck was Danny? What in the world could be keeping the big man? And just then, with the uncanny timing of a Hollywood script, Daniel Benn materialized.
It was like a classical, quondam movie. The sky lit up in hues of orang and gold, the silhouette of trees their silvery flecks of leaves shimmering in the backdrop and our Phoenician hero, rising up from the flames! He came sauntering in without a care in the world, an allegorical Paul Bunyan; axe in hand, giant bull by his side and riding the wings of the Northern winds. He glowed fiery-orange in the fading embers of twilight and called out to the camp, giving them all a big, radiant smile.
"Hi there, friends, do you have place for weary traveller?" He asked, his rich, baritone carrying over the hiss of the rustling leaves.
There's something fascinating about rather large men. I mean, really big men who exude strength especially when they are blessed with imposing attributes like Daniel Benn obviously was. We admire those Sunday afternoon gladiators, gridiron beasts, who lock horns in tests of brute strength and those that are born with exceptional physical ability. We look for Samson and Hercules in our friends and heroes, men who transcend the boundaries of mere mortals.
Longfellow said it best in his ode, "The Song of Hiawatha" -
"Dear, too, unto Hiawatha
Was the very strong man, Kwasind,
He the strongest of all mortals,
He the mightiest among many;
For his very strength he loved him,
For his strength allied to goodness."
And like Kwasind, there was an inherent goodness in Daniel Benn that I sensed the very first day I met him - a streak of decency as big as the man himself. And that was what made this confusing. There wasn't another person I'd want courting Rachael but my own needs muddied these already murky waters.
After the initial pleasantries were over, Danny and I stepped to one side.
"They saw Rachael earlier. And they heard the scream," I said pointing to the East where Bill Jacobs had indicated.
"Let's not jump to conclusions. There could be other hikers out here." The big man said, "This is big country."
"I know but just in case ..."
He looked across the shallow ravine, covered in evening shadows, the trails dense with trees, rocks and brush. He stood rubbing his chin thoughtfully then turned to me and offered, "It's too dark. I had a hard time getting here so as much as I want to press on, I say we bed down for the night and pick-up at first light. What do you say?"
I realized he was right and whatever it was, there was really nothing we could do now.
"I agree," I concurred, nodding my head.
"Ha! You're not as obdurate as you look, little man," he said with a smug expression on his face. Except that he pronounced it 'ob-doo-rate'.
I was about to come back with a retort when Jacobs walked up to us.
"We were just about to eat. Why don't you join us?" He asked.
"Thanks and much obliged but are you sure? My friend here can eat a Brahma Bull and that would be the appetizer!" I cautioned.
Jacobs laughed and smiled up at the big man.
"We have plenty. We were going to stay a week but unfortunately, Fred isn't feeling too good. Nothing serious but I think we've all had enough of the great outdoors. We are heading back tomorrow to the comfort of room service. You'll be doing us a favor. We don't want to haul it all back with us!"
"That's very kind of you. And yes, I could most probably chow down a side of beef right about now but I'm on a diet. I've got to look good for my girl!" The giant said patting his flat stomach and giving me a wink.
I just shook my head. What the heck was I going to do with this Brobdingnagian dope? I was beginning to like him more every day; a brother I never had, but deep down this uneasy feeling kept gnawing at me, this feeling that once Rachael saw him, I would be history. Damn! That would be a pisser! I was so in love with her and couldn't stop thinking of her. Well, we'll just have to wait and let things play out.
Jacobs and his friends turned out to be pretty nice people. We enjoyed their company and they were obviously taken with this Bunyanesque clone. Over dinner, Danny entertained us with hilarious stories of his misadventures filled with self-deprecating humor and I swear by the time the meal was done, these men would have followed him across the Styx into the depths of Hades. That is, all except Cooley. He was suspicious of the giant from the very first moment and made no attempt to hide his dislike. I got the feeling that Luther Cooley disliked just about everyone. I caught him looking at me several times during the course of the evening, a curious expression on his face, and I felt certain that, sooner or later, we were destined to face off.
And just as we were about to turn in, Cooley stepped in front of me, "Do I know you, buddy? Were you with the First Army SOF unit?"
He was in my space, up in my face and normally that's all it would have taken but this wasn't the time or the place. I gave him a blank look.
"Special Ops - Afghanistan?" He pushed, his breath smelling of mint and garlic.
"No, not me, brother, you have me confused with someone else," I replied and stepped around him to get the blankets from Jacobs.
I could feel his eyes boring through the back of my head as I walked away.
For Rachael and Kyla following the swathe of trampled branches and brush that lead higher-up the mountainside was relatively easy; almost too easy. They had waited until dawn and at the breaking of first light they began their search for Susan leaving her brother, Andrew Breland, back at the campsite.
Surprisingly, his condition had improved during the night. He had regained consciousness and seemed stable enough. The damaged nose was more of a concern than the stab wound which seemed to have scabbed nicely. There was a clear fluid draining from his right nostril and that was worrisome. And he was running a mild fever.
They had moved him into their tent and wrapped him in several blankets.
"Find her, please, Rachael, you have to find Susan!" He had muttered through split and swollen lips.
"We will. You need to rest and don't worry, Andy, we will find her. We won't come back until we find her!" Rachael had promised him, her tone and manner resolute.
After checking on his bandages and making sure he had water and was comfortable, Kyla pressed a can of pepper spray into his hand.
"It's set. All you have to do is point and press here." She instructed and then covered him with a blanket and asked for the hundredth time, "Are you going to be okay?"
Andrew nodded and grimaced as the pain shot through his head and abdomen. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Go on, don't worry about me; hurry and find her. Just find her ..."
Though they were conflicted about leaving him unattended, it would have been madness to venture after whoever it was, alone. There was safety in numbers and the two of them together would pose much more of a problem for man or bear.
The description of the assailant that Andrew gave them was sketchy at best. He didn't get a clean look at the man. The attack had been silent and sudden. The man had camouflage face-paint on and was wearing hunting or military fatigues. He wasn't very big, about five ten and maybe one seventy, but Andrew recalled thinking how incredibly strong the man was; coiled and sinewy with anfractuous muscle. He had tried holding on to him, to prevent him from grabbing Susan, but he was no match for the intruder. That's all he could remember before he was knocked unconscious. He had no memory of the stabbing or the ensuing blows to his face.
However, the fact that it was a lone renegade that they were dealing with reassured the women giving them a sense of security and confidence. There was no way they could have known that this was a trained killer, a modern day Ronin, a Samurai without a Master. If they had, they would have waited for help.
The plan was to reconnoiter the surrounding area for clues before venturing blindly after the abductor but a few minutes on the trail and they caught the glitter of sunlight reflecting off of a metal object. It was a thin, silver bracelet. It was lying, partially hidden by the recumbent blades of grass, in the middle of a narrow pathway and could have very easily been missed.
Kyla picked it up and read the inscription on the outer face: Susan and then turned it over to read the post script: To Eternal Love, Andrew
It seemed that lady luck was on their side.
"It's Susan's," she said softly and gave it to Rachael.
Rachael examined it briefly before putting it away in her pocket. Susan must have lost it in a struggle with her abductor or maybe even dropped it intentionally as a clue. Smart girl.
"They must have gone that way," Rachael said pointing to the path that led into the trees.
They followed the freshly flattened grass and the faint, rustling sounds of someone or something moving ahead of them. Whenever they felt like they were gaining on their quarry, the signs and sounds would disappear only to be picked up again several yards ahead of them. It was like chasing a shadow – always close but never close enough.
At one point they were sure they were lost and were wandering in circles. Then almost miraculously they happened on a small ribbon of cloth that was caught in the brush. It was from Susan's bright yellow tee shirt.
"I get the feeling he's toying with us," Rachael said as they stopped briefly to get their bearings. They were in the middle of nowhere.
"Rach, we can go back now and get help, it's not too late." Kyla said looking around, "If we keep going I don't think we'd find our way back."
Rachael thought about it. This was the proverbial fork in the road, do or don't, will or won't. Like Luke said; it always comes down to those who are willing to stick their necks out.
"No, that would take too long. We need to find her. If it was me, I'd want you to come looking for me." She paused and then added, "And, I know Luke is out here. He'll find us, Kyla, I just know he will."
Kyla was quiet. She was frightened but she knew that Susan's plight was a lot worse. She could only imagine how terrifying this ordeal must be for her, that is, if she was still alive. She tried not to think about what might have occurred at night, the thoughts filling her with renewed determination.
"You're right. I'd want you to look for me too. I just hope she's okay."
After about an hour of trekking deeper into the remote mountainside, they came to a small waterfall that splashed noisily into a shallow pool. The water was fresh and so clear you could see all the way to the bottom. They filled their canteens and splashed their faces with the cold water, wiping the grime and sweat off. They dabbed themselves dry and looked around. They had lost him again.
"We're close. He'll want to be near water." Rachael observed.
"Where to now, mi amiga? Do you want to try left or right?" Kyla asked.
Just then, they heard a cough echoing as though from a tunnel. It sounded close but there was nothing in sight. Then they heard it again, this time louder and it seemed to come from behind the waterfall.
Rachael moved to where the water cascaded into the pool but it was solid rock with no opening behind or near the falls – none that they could see. They stood studying the area when they saw the bushes, a few feet above the pool, move. It was the unnatural shaking that caught their eye.
"There ..." Kyla pointed.
When they got to the dense boscage, they discovered the entrance of a cave-like opening that was secreted behind the thicket of leaves and shrubbery. It would have been impossible to detect unless you pushed the branches aside. It was perfectly blended with the surrounding foliage.
"I'd have never seen it," Kyla said.
"I think that's the idea. He's here somewhere and he wanted us to find it." Rachael replied, "It's beginning to give me the creeps!"
"Beginning?" Kyla retorted.
They looked at each other, the tangled emotions of fear, anxiety and frustration boiling over in angry bravado.
"Okay, let's do it then!" Kyla whispered, squeezing Rachael's arm.
When they entered the cave they realized that it was a series of Daedalean grottos and tunnels with beams of light streaking in, beacons they could follow, hoping it would lead them to the other side. It was mostly dark and damp with water trickling down the sides and running in a narrow stream by their feet. At several points along the snaking interior, the path narrowed or ended abruptly and the only way to move forward was by rappelling across the side walls and ceiling, crossing over and around the spiny speleothems.
Clinging by their fingertips they swung from crack to crevice, slowly traversing the breaks until finally they arrived at a larger excavated cavern with an opening on top. They climbed up the sides and pulled themselves out onto the open. They had egressed onto a wide ledge displaced in latitude from their initial entry by several miles.
"Wow! There is no way anyone could find this!" Kyla said.
Rachael put her finger up to her lips and shushed, "Shhhhsh, did you hear that?"
It was that distinctive cough again and it came from so close by that both women froze. Kyla grabbed ahold of Rachael's arm in reflex. They stood still, eyes scanning the trees, listening for any other sound that would betray the location of the abductor. They were certain now that it was him and certain too that he was leading them into a trap. Their nerves were frayed, emotionally drained, and it took all their willpower to keep it together.
Rachael could feel her heart pounding, her mind racing with the adrenalin dump. Her mouth was dry, her palms, sweaty and cold, and she had to force herself to remain calm. This was it. She could sense it. Luke! Damn it, where are you?
In the stillness, Rachael looked over and sensed Kyla's fear mounting too. There was a part of her that screamed: Run! Run now! But gritting her teeth, she willed herself to stick it out. She felt her heart drumming in her ears and found comfort in her friend's proximity.
"You check there," Rachael whispered pointing to the right, "I'll look over here."
The women scanned the area around them, gleaning the shadows and rock formations thoroughly. Their fear resurrected the monsters and creatures of their imagination, those demons lurking in the mottling penumbra and within the bristling leaves that swayed and danced with the wind. Psychotic mutants with burning eyes that lay hidden in every nook and behind every corner. Welcome to our lurid world, they hissed!
"See only what's there and trust your eyes," Rachael said admonishing herself.
"Do you see anything?" Kyla asked.
"No ... nothing!"
Just then she noticed the outline of a ridge poking through a narrow break in the trees.
"Look! There! It's got to be there!" she whispered pointing ahead of her.
Using low hanging branches and tangled creepers, they pulled themselves up the sharp gradient and onto the plateau. And as soon as they had cleared the ledge, they saw her – it was Susan. She was bound and gagged but her eyes were wide open and filled with fright.
Flashback six years – The Family Caucus
We sat around the table quietly with me staring into my cup of coffee. I couldn't bring myself to look at my parents or my sister. What do you say to your parents after they catch you fucking your sister? Not just fucking your sister but fucking her on their bed! It was embarrassing and pathetic and it was all I could do to keep myself from getting the hell out of there. My mind screamed: Shoot me. I'm guilty, guilty ... G-U-I-L-T-Y!
If the silence was a ploy to make us uncomfortable, it was working. My parents sat stoically, sipping their coffee and taking turns looking at Rachael and me as though they were expecting us to give them an explanation. But unless my sister had something up her sleeve, I certainly had nothing to offer. But more than facing the music, it was this imposed monastic expiation that was driving me nuts.
When I was fifteen, I was grounded for a week for punching a kid from the neighborhood in the mouth and if I was to use the same yardstick, I'd surely get life for boning my sister. I had this ludicrous image of me living with my parents when I was fifty! And for some reason, in that fleeting warped chimera, I looked decrepit and hoary, like Grandpa, while my father looked like himself, i.e. younger than me. I couldn't help but smile.
"You think this is funny, Luke?" My father asked noticing the change in my expression.
"No sir, I was thinking about something else," I said quickly my voice sounding strained.
He was quiet and I could feel him studying me while I twirled my cup contemplating the distorted reflections floating in the silvery surface. What was Dad thinking? That his son had somehow become a deviant? And how could that have happened?
"I think we could all use a laugh," he said, "don't you think? What about it Luke, share the joke with us!"
"It's nothing, Dad ... not a joke. I was thinking about Brad Welkins. The time Brad tried kissing Rachael and I punched him out!"
I saw Rachael smile.
"That wasn't funny. You knocked two of his teeth out!" My father retorted angrily. It most probably brought back the memory of the bill he had to pay to have them fixed.
"No, it's not that. You grounded me for a week and I thought ..." I stammered and then added, "Oh, forget it! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take this lightly or get distracted but what do you want me to do? We've been sitting here waiting ..."
"Okay, fair enough. Let's get on with this. You mother and I have been discussing the incident and though we have our disagreements on how this should be handled, we both agree on the behavior we expect going forward."
He paused and looked at us before continuing.
"It would be unfair to impose our beliefs on either of you. You are not kids anymore. But I think," and he stressed the 'I', "it is unhealthy and will have serious repercussions on both of you later in life. But then, that's just my humble opinion."
He paused and looked at Mom and now I knew what they had been arguing about. It struck me right then: Mom didn't think it was such a big deal. I was astounded as the implication sank in and looked over at Rachael but she seemed oblivious and just sat there staring down at her hands.
She looked incredibly pretty and I felt myself getting excited again. Rachael had that effect on me. I looked at her mouth, those lips, pouty and full, and the images of her sucking me just a couple of hours ago came flooding back. My cock was painfully hard and I squirmed in my seat, trying to get comfortable, when my father's voice cut through the lewd reverie.
"We have a few questions and then we will let you know what your mother and I have decided. Is that okay?"
He looked at us waiting for a response. Rachael and I nodded. I told you, this was all very democratic and that was the painful part. We had to participate in our own punishment.
"Maggie, do you want to add something?" My father asked Mom.
"No, dear, you're doing fine." Mom answered.
"Rachael, since you are younger, were you coerced in any way?"
For a moment I thought he was kidding. Coerced? Meaning like forced? Raped? I had suddenly been delegated to the status of a sexual predator. I was about to protest but Rachael shook her head, "No, it was nothing like that."
She spoke softly, her voice trembling slightly. It tugged at my soul. I wanted to reach across the table and hold her hand and promise her that no one could do anything to her – not even Dad.
"You need to speak up. I didn't hear that," Dad said.
"She said no! No!" I snapped so emphatically that Rachael and Mom were startled and looked over at me.
"I didn't ask you, Luke, I was talking to your sister." Dad responded; calm and cool as ever.
"No, Dad, I wasn't coerced or taken advantage of or forced or seduced..." she said a bit more forcefully.
I saw my father turning a bit red and knew that this was very uncomfortable for him and somehow that gave me a feeling of power. If he only knew that his baby girl had initiated this - it would've blown his freakin' mind!
"Okay, then one final question, who initiated this?" Dad asked on cue.
Both of us answered at the same time, "I did!" It was as though we had rehearsed it.
"I did, Dad, it was me ... Rachael just went along," I continued, beating her to the punch.
"That's such a lie!" Rachael exclaimed, "It was me. Luke, please; please, let me ..." but Dad cut her off.
"It really doesn't matter. I don't want to prolong this. You mother and I have made an appointment with Dr. Keller. She comes highly recommended in dealing with these matters - highly recommended. Tomorrow, both of you will go and see her at 10 in the morning. Is that understood?"
"What about school? I have a test tomorrow," Rachael protested.
"Your mother will take care of that. She'll call and let them know that you will be coming in late. You can always make-up your test later."
He stood up and looked relieved that it was finally over. I was relieved that he didn't kick me out of the house!
"Is there anything either of you would like to say?" He asked and when we shook our heads, he added, "Go back to your rooms and use the remainder of the evening to think about what you have done. Ponder seriously on the consequences and hopefully you can come to terms with your actions."
Always the professor! Who the fuck "ponders" anything? And, what would he say if he knew that while they were arguing about having us talk to Dr. Spock, my sister and I had been sucking and fucking like bunnies hopped-up on aphrodisiacs! Yeah, ponder that, Dad!
Back to the Present: The Trap gets Sprung!
Josh Woodard watched the women through the leaves in the dense bushes. He was just to the right of his tiny, log cabin. He had been careful in choosing its location – it was built into a large rock face so that the only access was from the front. It made it easier to defend against animal or man.
He had Susan staked as bait in the small yard and all he had to do now was to wait. They would take the bait. Of that he was sure, and his plan would have worked to a tee. It was all so simple once they began following him and now that they had made it through the caves, there was no going back. They were his. He felt a sexual thrill shoot through his body.
"Everything comes if a man will only wait."
It was one of his favorite sayings and by one of his favorite people, Disraeli, the British Prime Minister who was popular in the late 1800s. Josh Woodard was a history buff and loved to read. His other passion was Human Psychology especially as it applied to people under duress. He smiled to himself as he waited. He was expert at waiting.
In the back of his mind he knew that once he had secured these two lovelies he would have to go back and finish off the man. Always finish what you start and never leave an animal wounded – it was as simple as that.
Skinning the Cat
As soon as they saw her, the women stopped, their bodies flooding with relief.
"Susan!" Kyla called and made a move towards the open, "Hold on, I'm coming ..."
"Kyla, wait! It's a trap!" Rachael reached out and grabbed her friend before she could cross into the yard towards Susan.
She pulled her back forcefully, edging backwards into the cover of the trees.
"That's what he wants. If we are together, he has a better chance of getting us. One of us needs to go to her while the other circles to one side. That way, when he does show, we can make a fight of it."
Kyla remained quiet, not really listening but getting the gist of the logic. Her mind was shutting down to everything but the chore at hand. She had reached a stage where she just wanted this to be over. She didn't care; there was no chance of flight - it was time to fight.
"I'll go and get her," Rachael whispered, "you stay here and if he shows you come out. Let's kick his sorry ass! Do you have the bear repellent?"
Kyla raised the pepper spray she was holding in her hand, "Right here. If this can handle a Grizzly, it sure will take care of this sicko!"
"Remember, we get Susan and get the hell out of here!"
"Yeah! Get the fuck out of Dodge, girl, if we can ever find our way out!"
"Focus," Rachael said more to herself, "focus on the task."
"Okay, wait there," Rachael pointed to her left, "you'll have a clear line of sight. Are you ready?"
"All right then, let's rock' n roll!" Rachael muttered and made a mad dash into the open.
The Ultimate Predator
Woodard sat crouched. He hadn't moved a muscle in over twenty minutes. He saw the women enter the clearing and then watched as they retreated back into the trees. What the fuck were they doing? He tried to pick them out from the shadows under the cover of the branches but the mottled lighting, transitioning from shade to bright daylight to shade again, made it virtually impossible. Something must have tipped them off. It had to be Susan, there was no other explanation. He didn't know how she did it but she did – hey, good for her. He liked the spirit in the girl. It was okay. He would just have to take them one at a time. It will be more fun that way. He liked the way the game was unfolding.
He crawled away from the cover of the bushes beside the cabin, slithering back into the trees. He would circle behind them and then decide his course of action. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. That's when he saw Rachael running towards Susan.
Picking up the Trail
I was sure I'd be the first one up but I was wrong. Though it was early, not quite light as yet, Jacobs and Danny were sipping coffee and chatting softly, squatting on their haunches by the fire. It was still cold with a chilling nip in the air but it was clean and brisk and filled with the tantalizing smell of freshly brewed coffee.
They saw me stirring and Jacobs greeted me, "'Morning! Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, not too bad once I got used to his snoring – like a fucking freight train!" I answered indicating with my head in the direction of the big man, "I'm surprised that you guys could sleep through it."
They laughed and then Jacobs commiserated, "Oh, we heard it alright. I had to get the ear plugs out!"
"I'm sure he's scared off every grizzly in a ten mile radius!" I added.
"Every living thing on this mountain!" Jacobs concurred, "I was convinced we were having an earthquake!"
We both laughed while the giant shook his huge head and smiled at good natured ribbing. But he did snore, and it sounded like a buzz-saw on steroids!
"Okay, now that you've had your fun, little man, you had better get up," Danny said, "We've got to hit the trail."
"Oh, fuck off! I need a cup of coffee before we do anything!" I snapped back.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk! Is that anyway to speak to your soon-to-be brother-in-law? Huh? What would your sister say?" He admonished, shaking his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I ignored his remark and scooted over with the blanket wrapped around me and took the cup he held up to me.
It struck me that Danny never cursed. He had to be the only man I knew that didn't use any foul language. Not even the more acceptable ones like ass, shit, tits ... nothing, not a bad word. That was just so wrong! Men cussed and that was the way it should be. Fuck! I knew guys who had turned cussing into an art form! I would have to have a word with him about this.
We washed up and were saying our goodbyes to our new friends when Cooley joined us. I wasn't sure where he had been but he wasn't there when I had gotten up.
"Heading out?" he asked.
"Yes. We've taken up enough of your time and hospitality," the big man replied and extended his hand.
Cooley brushed by him, forgoing the handshake, and came over to me, "I'll be seeing you. Not sure where or when but I'm sure we'll meet again."
It was a strange thing to say but I looked him in the eyes and nodded and then went back to lacing my shoes. I had the same feeling. There was something unfinished between us and it needed closure. It was karma.
I had dated this girl in college, very avant-garde, into all the ancient philosophies and she had explained how Reincarnation, Karma and Karmic Destiny all worked together. How certain people were tied to others for grievances from previous lives, their paths linked through time to pay off a debt or to exact payment for a debt. It sounded like Eastern mumbo-jumbo at that time but now I knew exactly what she meant.
"What's with him?" The big man asked me.
"He's got a tiny dick. And that bugs the hell out of him!" I replied.
The giant let out a roar, laughing so loudly that the others couldn't help but smile even though they had no idea what we had been talking about.
"You are a funny man, Luke, a very funny man." He said and was about to slap me on my back but I skirted away. That wasn't happening – a friendly whack from this guy could leave you in a wheelchair.
We said out goodbyes, wished them luck and headed out. Jacobs gave Danny his phone number and address offering his hospitality anytime the giant was in Montreal.
After some initial banter, we fell quiet. The big man was focused on the trail, reading the signs that would lead us to Rachael and her friends. And me, well, as much as I tried I couldn't shut out the past, haunted by those lubricious thoughts of my sister. My mind raced back to the night after the family caucus ...
Flashback six years: The incredible Night
After dinner, where neither Rachael nor I really ate anything, we had been ordered back to our rooms to "ponder" on the consequence of our actions. But, the only thing I was pondering on, with brilliant anticipation, was how many different ways I would fuck my sister again. I was pretty certain that once my parents retired for the night, Rachael would come to my room, drawn like a moth to a flame. But it was Mom who opened the door without knocking.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
I was quiet. Was I okay? No, I wasn't okay but what was I going to say? I grunted – it was my troglodytic response to most parental curiosity. How was class? Grunt. Who was that girl you were talking to, honey? Grunt. Why are your sister's panties soaked with you semen? My what? Grunt. Why did you fuck your little sister, pervert? Sick. Grunt!
She came over and stroked my hair like only mothers can and leaned down and kissed my forehead, "It will be alright, darling, try and get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
She closed the door behind her and I heard her go into Rachael's room and then shortly after, head back down the corridor to the master bedroom. Okay, the curfew check was over. I was sure that Rachael would be knocking any minute. I waited, tossing and turning, until finally, I dozed off into a fitful sleep.
I dreamed of my sister, not in sexual ways but of incidents that had taken place when we were kids. These were dreams that were mostly innocent that streamed in non sequitur, without any order to their sequence - Rachael playing volleyball, swimming in the pool, laughing when we played cards, sitting at the dining table, lying on the couch – it was Rachael in Wonderland all over again. There was one where she had fallen off her tricycle and was crying and that was when I woke with a start and glanced over at the clock. The time was almost 1:00 AM and I knew she wasn't coming. No pun intended.
I lay there staring at the ceiling debating whether I should go over to her room or just try and go back to sleep. The smart thing would be to sleep but my coagulating desire for her won out. I tiptoed across the hallway trying to avoid those creaking floorboards that were peculiar to wooden houses. Though I knew exactly where each culprit was, it proved impossible to navigate and I just hoped and prayed that Mom hadn't heard. She was a notoriously light sleeper and the last thing I needed was her catching me outside my sister's room sporting a very obvious hard-on. I opened the door and slipped in and shut it behind me.
Rachael's bedroom was not as dark as mine. She had always been a bit frightened of the dark and never slept without a nightlight and now in its hazy, yellow glow I could see her silhouette beneath the covers. She was sleeping curled up on her side, knees pulled up in a near fetal position. Her hair, a silky halo, lay spread in a tousled, golden mess on the pillow. Her lips, soft and full, were slightly parted and I could see her nostrils flaring imperceptibly with each breath. She had the cutest, pointy little nose. The covers were pulled up under her arms and I recognized the oversized, Bugs Bunny tee that she sometimes wore to bed.
I pulled back the covers slowly, careful not to disturb her, and eased myself onto the mattress. I felt it give and heard the rasping groan as the bed creaked in protest. Shit! I didn't want to wake her up, not yet anyway. Rachael shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible, her eyelids fluttering for a second before she settled back and was still again. I waited, allowing her breathing to normalize and then lay down next to her and closed my eyes.
After a few minutes I turned and spooned myself against her and felt the warmth of her body radiating into me. The softness of her curves and the smoothness of her skin were titillating my senses - aphrodisiacs intoxicating me, snared by the specter of what was to come. I felt my cock lurch and twitch with anticipation, getting even harder at the thought of fucking her again. I placed my arm around her waist with my palm resting on her tummy and gently pulled her into me. She felt so smooth and soft and firm all at the same time, the contact of our bodies, laced with textured sensuality. I was lying pressed against her with my cock nestled in the crack of her ass and was sure she would wake up but she didn't. I nuzzled my face down into her hair and was filled with a salmagundi of fragrances: a clean synthesis of perfume and soap mingled with the unique smell of her.
I kissed the curve of her neck and began caressing her belly, using my fingers to feather around her bellybutton and heard her emit a soft, drowsy moan, "Mmmmm!"
I continued to nibble and place soft kisses on her neck, tickling her earlobe and running the tip of my tongue along the sensitive area behind her ear all the while maneuvering lower, my fingers pressing, fondling and massaging her gently until I had reached the front of her panties to the downy softness of her pubic patch.
I could feel the heat from her pussy and ran my fingers along her slit, pressing her panties into her and felt her body jerk and stiffen and then her hand covered mine.
"What ... Luke, what are you doing?" she asked, her words slurred with sleep.
"I need you, baby," I replied, sucking her earlobe into my mouth.
I felt her shiver and her face turned backwards towards me.
"We shouldn't, Luke. Oh God! I can't ..." she muttered sleepily, "I can't stop thinking about what we did! I can't stop thinking about you. We need help, Luke. We ..." but she didn't move away, just held my hand where it was, in between her thighs pressing into the triangle of her sex.
I leaned over and tried to kiss her pushing my hand further, cupping her vaginal apex, when she wriggled away and turned onto her back and said, "Please, Luke, I don't want to do it. I ... umm ... I just want to sleep, okay?"
I was taken aback. This, I didn't expect.
"But why? You were ..." I started but she cut me off.
"I don't know why. I don't know anything anymore. I think Daddy's right; we need to talk to someone. This isn't normal ..." she replied struggling for words but was fully alert.
"You want me to leave?" I asked, unable to control my irritation and feeling more than a little rejected.
"No! Please don't go. Just hold me, baby," she said turning into me, "hold me. Can we just do that?"
I was quiet, looking into those huge, soulful pools of blue lapis.
"Okay, if that's really what you want."
"Thanks, Luke, I just need to think ..." she whispered, "Maybe tomorrow it'll all make sense!"
I was lying on my back now with her on her side, her one leg bent and thrown over my thighs. She had one arm across my chest, reaching up, toying lazily with my hair. Her face was buried into my neck and I could feel the moist warmth of her breath rising up against my cheek, her mouth, so tantalizingly close. I used my left arm to pull her against me and closed my eyes. It wasn't what I had in mind but it was better than not having her near me.
"Mmmm," she whispered, "this is nice ..."
Was she kidding? Nice? I was sure she could feel my cock throbbing against the inside of her thigh. I lay awake for a while, enjoying the warmth spreading along the nexus of our bodies. I could feel the gentle cadence of her breathing and the fleshy pressure of her breasts as I slowly drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to the soft feel of her lying against me; her face tilted upwards, lips parted sensually; her eyes closed in a dreamy, soporific stupor. It was so very tempting – the nearness and availability of her. My arm was still around her with my hand resting against her lower back along the rise of her ass. We fit so perfectly - Brother and Sister - Ying and Yang.
At some point during the night, the comforter and the flimsy top-sheet had pulled down and lay in a tangled, rugose heap around our ankles and feet. She was still on her side with her leg thrown over mine. My cock, which was trapped under her thigh, was throbbing salaciously, leaking precum, wetting us both. I couldn't resist her any further. I pulled her gently to me and ran my fingers along the crack of her ass down towards her pussy, pressing my middle finger into her.
She sighed and moved, lowering her leg and freeing my cock then turned over onto her back. My hand was now under her panty covered ass. Her tee shirt had ridden up above her hips but her eyes remained closed and her breathing was even. She was still asleep.
I inched over to her and bending lower, I kissed her naval just above her bellybutton.
Her response was a slurred, sleepy whisper, "Mmmm, please baby ... you promised."
She turned away from me, holding my hand in hers and lying on her side. We were back to square one. I lay down spooned against her again. She was gently rubbing my arm, her fingers drawing lazy, random designs, sensual origami that defied translation, and surprisingly we slipped slowly into an uncomfortable slumber.
When I woke up next, it was because of her. She was rocking her hips imperceptibly, back and forth, sliding her ass along the underside of my turgid shaft. I lay still with my hand resting on her tummy, enjoying the frottage caused by her subtle movement. I wasn't sure if she was awake or whether this was some instinctive response to a wet dream she was having.
"Rach?" I whispered in her ear but there was no response.
She continued to gently rock her hips, back and forth, to and fro, her breathing getting shallow and erratic. I wanted to lean over to see if she was awake but didn't want to run the risk of her stopping. It just felt so good that I really didn't care whether she was awake or not. She was stimulating my cock, which lay pressed between my stomach and her ass, back and forth, back and forth. I noticed then that her hand was between her legs covering her sex and it struck me - she was masturbating in her sleep (if she was asleep). This was just too much.
I covered her hand with mine and gradually pushed hers away, replacing her fingers with mine, riding the furrow of her pussy. Her panties were wet, soaked slick with her juices, and when I felt for her clit, she cooed and spread her legs wider. I fingered her for a while, pressing firmly into her, stroking her from the top to the base below her vaginal opening. I gently rubbed the sensitive region between her cunt and her anus, that dirty inch so bundled full with nerves. I could feel her trembling; her breathing now labored, panting with intermittent whimpers and moans catching in her throat. And each time I moved my fingers down into her slit, away from her clit, she would roll her hips, adjusting her motion, trying to maintain contact, her hand pressing mine deeper and harder into her.
I began kneading her breasts using my left hand which was under her, squeezing those spongy, firm mounds, teasing and pulling on her nipples. Each time I pinched the nubby tip and rolled them between my forefinger and thumb, her body would twitch and her legs would jerk disjointedly and she would let out a girlish squeal, a sensual cry that flirted on the boundaries of the pain-pleasure threshold. There was no doubt in my mind – she was awake now.
I tugged her panties down, peeling them off of her and felt her raise he hips in a collaborative effort; a submissive gesture that ended any restraint on her part. Then bending over, I ran my tongue down her abdomen towards her pussy. I saw her thighs splay wider and felt her fingers running through my hair pushing me into the triangle of her sex. I shifted, scurrying around so my feet were facing away from the footboard and I was lying inverted, curled up against her side. I leaned over and kissed her again, tracing the cute gyre of her bellybutton with the tip of my tongue. I could feel her trembling and her fingers grabbing, once again, at my hair.
"Mmmm ..." a soft girlish gurgle of a protest, but that was all.
And when I looked back at her, in the dim haze, I could see her eyes glistening, white and wide, dark turbulent pools clouded with lust, waiting eagerly for my mouth to cover her swollen lips, before she closed them again.
I went lower, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses while I cupped her ass with both my hands. I squeezed and kneaded her butt cheeks until my mouth covered her pussy. My nostrils were filled with her heady, piquant scent as her nectar trickled out of her, her flavor filling my mouth and my senses.
I looped my arms further around her, with my hands on the inside of her thighs, spreading her wider and sucked her clit into my mouth. I heard her gasp, her body arching, hips thrusting upwards and her fingers digging into my waist. I continued to manipulate her slit, licking up and down and using the tip of my tongue to pry in between her clitoral hood. I did this a few times before sucking the little, hard pea back into my mouth. I held it gently between my teeth and flattening my tongue, working over it as rapidly as I could.
This time she moaned loudly, a sexy, guttural panting, asking rhetorically, "Ohhhhh! Oh God, what are you doing to me?"
She was leaking profusely now, that viscid ambrosia streaming down the crack of her ass leaving a growing wet spot on the bed. I could feel her tugging at my hips, pulling my boxers down trying to turn me towards her – she was looking to sixty-nine. We readjusted our bodies, scrambling with somatic urgency, lying on our sides, our faces buried in each other's sex. I could feel her fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass, pulling me to her, as her mouth clamped around my cockhead.
I was licking and sucking her with the fervor of Satyric lust; pushing my tongue deep into her, wiggling it in and out, feeling her body undulate; the tiny tremors racing from her core making her legs twitch and jerk. I loved the way she tasted, tangy and sweet, and that spicy, distinctive redolence, a fragrance of her musky, erotic flower.
I pushed a finger into her tight, little hole moving it back and forth, thrilling to the slick, constricting of her cunt while I sucked and licked the lips of her pussy. I was trapped in the concupiscence, drawn in by her tiny climaxes, working her through to the laudatory pinnacle of arousal, again and again. I was discovering that my sister was multi-orgasmic, capable of having several and different types of orgasms. Some, shallow and mild, pleasant spasms that lasted seconds and others, deep and soul wrenching that wracked her body and seemed to endure forever.
She was moaning around my shaft, sucking the flared head, her delicate fingers, stroking my cock up and down. Her tongue swirled around the pulsing rod, a spiraling, untiring helicoid, teasing the sensitive underside while her lips rode the flared ridge of my glans. She would alternate between sucking on and rubbing the ravaged tip with her fingers, accompanied by the isochronous squeezing of the base near my scrotal sac, an act that caused the mushroomed dome to flare grotesquely, then using the palm of her hand, she would stroke around the coronal rim, rubbing the mushroomed cap made slippery by the comingled salve of spit and precum, sending incredible jolts of pleasure shooting through me.