72 comments/ 239933 views/ 157 favorites Chelsea Rising By: Hot_Sister Chelsea Rising This story is a little longer than the others I have written so far, as it spends a little time building up the background. If you enjoy it, please don't forget to leave a brief comment at the end. All characters are fictitious and all are over the age of 18. * My parents are not stinking rich, but we have enough to get by. This includes a week at a seaside resort every year, usually the same one. This suits the family as we can all pursue our individual interests - especially my parents who like to go to the nearest big town and do cultural stuff which they can't do out in the country where we normally live. For the last few years since we have managed to get a three bedroom chalet at the local tourist park. Mum and Dad have the double room and my twin sister Chelsea and I each get a single. My elder brother William isn't with us any more, so there's just the four of us. We pretty much spend the week doing our own thing - for me, usually scuba diving or surfing during the day, and hanging out in town in the evening in the hope of getting laid. I have to say that my success rate is patchy, though. Some guys have the gift and others don't. Chelsea usually spends her time lying on the beach or shopping. She doesn't seem to have much interest in guys, which is surprising, as she has a knockout figure. She's OK in the looks department too, thankfully taking after Mum. She's a natural blonde...sort of dark honey coloured hair that is cut like Cleopatra used to wear hers - you know, a fringe across her brow and hanging straight down either side of her face, just curling inwards a bit at the nape of her neck. She's got grey eyes that you could lose yourself in, and a pair of lips that look like they were made for everything that gives a guy pleasure. When she's in a good mood, which is most of the time, she's a really fun person to be around. When she's not, watch out! She's got a sharp mind and a sharp mouth and can cut you to pieces before you've even figured out that she's pissed off. She's quite a private person, though, happy to spend an evening reading a book rather than go out on the town. She's a thinker, too - sometimes she'll just sit for hours lost in thought, which suits her job as a teacher. My parents are in their late 50's and pretty liberal, despite being academics at heart. They pretty much leave us alone provided that we let them know where we are going and what time to expect us back. Most of the holidays they are away, looking at museums and doing theatre shows two hours up the road. Anyway, this year the routine had to change. Because of work commitments we had to go a month earlier than usual, and our usual beach chalet was out for maintenance. We had to settle for a two-bedroom model, which meant that Mum and Dad were OK, but Chelsea and I had to share a room and it was pretty cramped. It had a double bed that looked more like a one-and-a-half bed to me, and a single fold-up pushed against one wall. "Not much space." I observed as we walked into the room. That was the understatement of the year. The remaining floor area was rather less than the two beds that occupied it. "Not much privacy, either" Chelsea looked at me. "I guess we might see a bit more of each other than we do at home." She flung herself on the bigger bed and bounced on the mattress. "Still, the bed's OK." I took my mind off the sight of her breasts bouncing inside her blouse. "Not so fast. What makes you think that you're getting the bigger bed?" "I'm a girl. I get first choice." I lay on the single bed and twisted my head around so that I could see her. "There's a little problem here, Chelsea." I wiggled my feet that were sticking out a good 6 inches past the end of the bed. "This bed would fit you - but it sure as hell doesn't work for me." "That's your problem for being so tall." She laughed. "How about we cut off your head? That way you'd fit without any problem and lose ten pounds of ugly fat." "Very funny." I paused, waiting for her to volunteer to switch beds but she was quiet. "Well, how about it?" She looked at my feet hanging off the bed. "What's in it for me?" "I'll be nice to you for the whole week." "Not enough. How about three IOUs?" These were credits that could be cashed in for jobs or good turns. If I agreed she could ask me to do stuff for her that I wouldn't otherwise do, like her turn at the washing up, or a drive into town late at night. "OK. Nothing unreasonable, though." We swapped over and she lay down on the little bed. "Actually, it's not too bad. Mattress is a bit thin, but I'll manage." She smiled at me. "You got suckered in. I would have given it to you for nothing." "And I might renege on my IOUs." I looked at her, lying on the bed only three or four feet away, and I wondered how we would cope with being that close for the next seven nights. "Come on, let's go and see if anything's changed around here since last year." ***** We soon found that quite a lot had changed because we were a month ahead of the holiday season. Lots of places were still closed, and the town was half empty. We had a couple of drinks in the local bar and headed back to the chalet. By the time we arrived a chill wind had set in and there was a smell of rain in the air. That night I turned in a little earlier than Chelsea and was in bed by the time she entered the room. She turned off the light but there was sufficient illumination from a nearby street light for me to see her clearly. She leaned over the bed and peered into my face to see if I had my eyes open. "Are you awake?" "No." "I thought so. I'm going to change into my nightie. No peeping!" "Right." I'd never thought of my sister sexually, but I had often thought that she had a great body and I enjoyed looking at it. I pretended to shut my eyes but I watched her as she unbuttoned her top and shucked off her jeans. She stood beside her bed wearing only a bra and a skimpy pair of knickers. I watched her moving, bending over to put her clothes on the bedside chair, then brushing out her hair, her movements graceful. At length she put down the brush and then looked over at my bed to see if I was looking; then, satisfied that I was not, she pulled her nightie over her head and then slipped off her underclothes from underneath it. She padded over to the window, opening it a little, and for a moment the material of her nightgown was translucent and I could see the juncture of her thighs and the swell of her mound silhouetted against the frame of light entering the room. She slipped back to her bed and I heard the creak of her bedsprings, and her sigh of pleasure as she relaxed. After a moment she spoke. "Ben?" "Yes?" "Thanks for tonight." "It was pretty quiet, but you're welcome." "It's funny sharing a room with you again....it takes me back to when I was little." "Yeah. That was a long time ago." "I used to be frightened of the dark. I liked having you there." "I know. You're not frightened by it now, are you?" "Not really." She was silent for a while, and then she added, shyly, "but I still like having you here." "I like it too, Chelsea. Goodnight." "'Night" I thought about what I had said, and I realised that it was true - I did like having her nearby. I imagined her in that little bed just a few feet away, squished in, warm and cosy. I thought about what I had seen as she undressed for bed, how trim she was; the swell of her breasts, and the white of her panties against her smooth dark skin. I looked across the room and I could see them lying on the floor, a pale blur against the dark carpet. I imagined they would still be warm from her body and fragrant with the smell of her skin. It was a disquieting thought, and it lingered in my brain as I dropped off to sleep. I woke suddenly in the night. It was pitch black, and the wind had risen. It was whistling around the little cottage, rattling the shutters, and the window above me had come off the latch. I slipped out of bed and secured the window, glancing outside, but there was nothing to see. I moved across the room to check on Chelsea but there was no sound from her bed and she was covered over. As I turned away my feet touched a scrap of material on the floor and I remembered what it was. I picked them up and took them back to my bed, and secure in the darkness I pressed the scrap of lacy fabric to my face. There was a fragrance, faint but unmistakable, of her perfume, of the body talc that I'd seen in the bathroom, and of.....her pussy. The aroma of a woman, rich and aromatic. I breathed it in, feeling like a thief, imagining what was inside her panties when she was wearing them - the swell of her buttocks, her tight slit; the soft, golden hair, the moist lips. I had seen how petite her body was, and I could imagine how tight she would be. I reached down and began to stroke myself, thinking of how she would feel. And then with a start of guilt I realised what I was doing. She was my sister for God's sake! I thrust her panties under my pillow and took my hand away from my cock, forcing myself to think of other things, listening to the wind, planning what tomorrow would bring. At length I drifted off to sleep again, but it was disturbed by dreams of how she had looked and the unforgettable scent of her body. The sound of the rain on the metal roof woke me for the second time, a relentless, drumming roar that filled the room. I realised that the temperature had dropped, and there was a damp chill to the air. A flash of lightening suddenly illuminated the room, throwing everything into stark relief for an instant. It was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder, like the tearing of a huge calico sheet in the air above us, awesome in its power. I could actually feel its intensity, my body vibrating in sympathy, diaphragm contracting, driving the air from my lungs. I lay in bed, gasping, my senses dulled by its volume - and suddenly Chelsea was with me. She flung back the bedclothes and wrapped herself around me, trembling with fear, clasping me tight, her face pressed into the hollow of my shoulder. I reached over and pulled the covers back over us, and I stroked her hair. "It's alright, Chelsea. It's only a thunderstorm. We're safe. We're OK." Her arms were around me, pulling me into her in desperation. She was trembling with fear, whimpering with each crash of thunder. I stroked her head and the nape of her neck, whispering quietly as the storm raged over us, until the interval between the lightening and the thunder drew out, and its violence subsided. She gradually relaxed and warmth returned to her body. At length she spoke, her voice muffled. "Were you awake, Ben?" "Yeah. The storm woke me up just before you joined me." "Sorry about that. I didn't know what the hell it was. I thought the house was blowing up. Jesus, I was scared!" "It was pretty loud." She was quiet, listening to the storm as it moved away. "Will it come back, do you think?" "Maybe." " Could I stay here a while?" "Of course. Roll over." She rolled over so that her back was to me, and I spooned against her, my arm over her body, reaching for and holding her hand. Her buttocks were pushed back, hard against me, my knees bent so that I followed the contours of her body. My face was lodged against the nape of her neck and I could smell her - the crisp essence of her hair, the fragrance of her perfume and the warm tang of her skin. My cock stirred and I pulled my hips back so that she would not feel me. She mumbled in protest and pushed back, following me, her buttocks pushing against me lightly so that they rested against my erection. I felt her go still, but she didn't say anything. I was embarrassed, but it didn't stop me being aroused by her warmth and the smell and feel of her body against me. She was so beautiful. I thought about how she had looked yesterday when I was with her, her blonde hair swishing around her face, skin shining with health and vitality and her mouth laughing, pink lips and white teeth, eyes crinkling as she looked up in to my face. I thought of the way she moved, long and lithe, and how she put her head on one side when she was thinking. I remembered how the material of her nightie had pressed against her breasts, her nipples pushing outwards in sharp relief; and the smooth sweep of her legs, perfectly shaped, the skin gleaming softly in the moonlight. I re-lived that tantalizing moment last night when she had crossed the window and I could see the curve of her waist through the translucent fabric of her gown, and the delicious shadows at the juncture of her thighs. I felt my heart twist with the intensity of my feeling. She was amazing...perfect, and now she was in my bed, her body so hot against me, her lips and her breasts and her pussy only inches from my fingers. If she would let me I could touch any part of her simply by stretching out my arm. How could I not be aroused? But I knew in my heart that I could never have her, and that she would be repelled if she even suspected what I was thinking. So I lay in bed as horny as a toad and held her to me, willing myself not to move. After a while I heard her soft, even breathing and not long after that I drifted off to sleep. *** When I opened my eyes the sun was streaming in through the grimy little window and Chelsea was looking at me. I had rolled onto my side during the night and she was pressed against me, face to face, one arm on my waist and the warmth of her body close. She saw that I was awake. "Morning." She was looking directly at me with a steady gaze, and her eyes were the colour of a lake just before sunrise. I smiled at her and brought my hand to her face, my fingers gently brushing aside the curtain of her hair where it had fallen forward a little over one eye. I moved my fingers downwards, tracking lightly across one cheek, tracing the lovely line of her mouth, the angle of her jaw and then down over the soft white skin of her neck to where the little whorls of golden hair began at the nape of her neck. After a moment I moved down, my fingers barely in contact with her skin, down to the hollow at the base of her neck; then further, to where the soft swell of her left breast started. She reached up and covered my hand and held me, my hand trapped between hers and the gossamer silk of her nightie. I could feel the heat of her, radiating outwards. After a moment she lifted my hand away from her body but she kept hold of it, her fingers twining with mine. We were quiet for a time, each savouring this unexpected intimacy between us. After a while I spoke quietly. "You OK?" "Yeah, I think so. " She hesitated. "I'm sorry about last night. I must have startled you." "Don't worry about it." "I don't normally jump into a guy's bed that quickly." "Glad to hear it. I don't mind, really." I smiled at her. "Just out of interest, how long does it normally take you to jump into a guy's bed?" She laughed, her eyes crinkling up. "Depends on the incentive." "I guess you've had lots of guys, then." "Probably not as many has you have had girls." She changed the subject. "I must say that your bed is more comfortable than mine. That mattress is like a sheet of cardboard." "I'd be happy to share mine with you." She looked at me in surprise. "Really? Aren't you....uncomfortable? Me being your sister, I mean." "No. I like having you here." "That's a nice thing to say, Ben. It really wouldn't be right for us to share a bed, though, would it?" "Why not? It's not like we're doing anything - well, apart from holding hands that is." She released me as if she had been holding a hot skillet. "That's my point...it might lead to something." She looked at me, coyly. "I think that being together like this makes us forget who we are. It would be easy to forget." She was watching me with those cool grey eyes and I found myself flushing, thinking of my monumental hard-on pressed up against her in the night. I'd been hoping that she hadn't noticed, but clearly she had. "I'm sorry - it's just that..." "What?". She was smiling now and I knew that she was teasing, but it didn't help my confusion at having to explain to my sister why she had given me a raging hard-on. "Well, you know...it's just that -" She stopped my words with gentle fingers against my lips. "There's no need to say anything," she said. "I know. And that's why." I nodded, looking at her without saying anything. "OK, then," she said. "Since we can't be in here together, you should get out and make me a cup of tea." And so I did. ***** Up until then we'd always been content to go off and do our own thing, but our new found intimacy seemed to change things. That morning we went snorkeling together, marveling at the myriad of colours on the coral reef, delighting in the warm caress of the water and the warmth of the sun on our backs. She wore a little red bikini and her body was sleek as she dived down to the sandy bottom to fetch a shell or a bright piece of coral. She would bring it to me, her mouth laughing and her eyes shining with delight. She would put her hand on my shoulder or arm as we trod water, and we were both conscious of the contact; and then she would drop the little offering, watching it spiral down to the sea bed before she turned away to find something else. Afterwards we lay on our towels in a secluded little cove just off the main beach, drying ourselves in the sun. She was on her back with her eyes closed against the glare, and I watched her surreptitiously from under my eyelashes, looking at the swell of her breasts under her bikini and the way her nipples pushed up against the fabric. Her skin was golden brown, dusted with sand and salt, and her stomach was flat, leading down to the brief triangle of her bikini bottoms that were stretched tight over her mound. I thought I could see a faint crease in the material where it revealed the contours of her body, and the material there was darker than its surrounds, suggesting that she was damp. I felt a tightness in my belly as I imagined her sex hidden under the fabric like an exotic flower, its petals opening in the warmth of the sun and a drop of nectar oozing from its rich pink centre. I wondered how she would taste, and whether she would be as tight as I imagined. My cock stirred, moving rapidly at the imagery. She must have sensed my scrutiny. "What?" "Nothing." "You were giving me the eye." "If you mean I was looking at you, then I plead guilty." I let my eyes linger on her for a few moments longer, and I could feel my heart beating. I didn't want this conversation to stop, but I was not sure what to say. I finally found some words, my voice a little breathless. "You are worth looking at, Chelsea." She rolled over and regarded me. "Really?" I moved my hand quickly over my groin so that she wouldn't see that I was hard, nodding whilst I tried to gather my thoughts. "R-really. That swimming costume is a knockout." She smiled. "So you're a fashion guru now. It must be a really great design...its got you sort of....excited again." "I...um. It wasn't you. I just ....get like that sometimes." I could not meet her gaze. "Really? That's twice you've got like that when I'm near you. I was getting the idea it was because of me. What a pity." She was silent for a while and I was aware of her eyes on my face, waiting for me to say something, then she reached over and touched me gently on my arm. Her touch was electric. "Ben. I'm only teasing. It's OK...I get like that too, sometimes." I couldn't meet her gaze. "Really? I didn't know that girls could." "You know what I mean." She tugged at my arm gently. "If I caused it, I'm flattered. Don't be embarrassed. Let me see." Chelsea Rising Ch. 02 Author's note. To understand this story, particularly the relationship between Chelsea and her older brother William, you should really read Chapter 1 first. It won't take long and it 'sets the scene', so to speak. The usual obligatory statements. Firstly, please recognise that this is a complete act of fiction and that the characters within it therefore bear no resemblance to actual persons, living or dead. Also, please note that an act of fiction is exactly that - viz: a figment of my imagination - so please don't break my balls if you don't think that people would act that way or if you think it is unrealistic. Finally, of course everyone is over the age of 18.... Enjoy! ***** Chelsea was still asleep when I awoke. A shaft of sunlight crept into the room from a chink in the curtains, falling on her hair as she slept - a glorious butter yellow shot through with iridescent strands of spun gold. She was breathing lightly, her lips slightly apart so that I could see the white of her teeth, and she had pushed the covers down so that one breast was exposed, the skin a lighter creamy colour against the darker tan of her arms and shoulders. Her face was relaxed in sleep and she looked young and vulnerable. I lay for a while, not wanting to move - content to stay there as long as I could, just to look at her. This time yesterday she had been just my sister: a person with whom I had grown up. The blood that flowed in her veins was mine, and her DNA was stamped with the same genetic blueprint as my own. We had shared a childhood: fought and played, squabbled and forgiven, laughed and cried. We had grown up together, moving from innocence to awareness, adolescence to adulthood. We had rejoiced at each other's achievements and suffered their failures, and we supported each other in the way that siblings do - two separate souls joined only by the common bond of family. Now, in just a few hours, all that had changed. She was my sister and my lover and she was asleep beside me, naked, her lips swollen from my kisses and my seed inside her body. I watched her softly breathing, and I realised that nothing could ever be the same again. After a while she stirred, stretching her limbs as she emerged from sleep, and her eyes opened, a soft grey like the early morning sun on open water. I reached over and touched her face softly, brushing an errant strand of hair from her eyes. "Good morning." She smiled. "'morning. What time is it?" "Nearly eight. Did you sleep well?" She thought about it, stretching her arms again and then snuggling back down into the bed, still smiling at me. "Not really. Some pervert wanted to fuck me all night." "That's disgraceful." "Four times!" "Amazing. He must have great stamina." "Every time I tried to sleep he was there." "It was probably your fault." She laughed. "Me! How do you figure that? I just lay there and thought of King and Country." "You must have wriggled a bit and showed your tits." She looked down at them. "So its their fault." "Accessories to the fact only. There's a feline mastermind in the bed." "You're not talking about my pussy, are you?" "Absolutely." "I think it's drowned." I laughed. "Drowned?" She held open the sheet and looked down at herself. "Well, drowned internally. I'm pretty full." "Well, that's an amazing coincidence - I'm empty." "Really?" I looked at her. She was still holding the sheet open and I could see the fine golden hairs on her pudenda and the crease of her vulva below it. My cock stirred. "Well... perhaps not that empty -" She lifted the sheet higher so that she could see me harden, my cock stretching and filling, the foreskin rolling back. "You're insatiable." I reached over and cupped her breast, my thumb rolling over her nipple, feeling it swell in sympathy with my cock. "And you are irresistible." "I'll be irresponsible if I don't go to the loo." She reached down and wrapped her fingers around me, squeezing the shaft. "Tell him to hold that pose," she said. "I'll be back." She hurried back and snuggled down beside me. "Are you ready?" "Absolutely. Fully recharged. Another quart cumming up." She groaned at the pun. "I'm not sure I can find room for it." She rolled onto her side, facing away from me and she drew her knees up to her chest. "But let's give it a go. Put it in me." I spooned up behind her and nudged the head of my cock against her, feeling initial resistance as I pushed: then the soft warm surrender as her vulva opened and I sank into her body. She groaned, her back arching a little as I filled her. "Oh....Jesus, that's good." "Better than last night?" "As good as last night. It's all good." She reached behind her and grasped my hip, arresting my thrusts. "Keep still for a moment." I stopped moving, my cock deep inside her. She worked her vaginal muscles, a rhythmic grip that squeezed and released my shaft. "Can you feel that?" "Some." "I'll work on it. One day I'll milk you dry without you moving." "How long will that take?" "About a month." I chuckled. "I think we'd starve." She began to move her torso, sliding back and forward on me, and I picked up the rhythm so that my shaft was sliding into her smoothly, her labia clasping at me as we fucked. I pulled the sheet down so I could watch. "What are you doing?" "Looking. I like to see myself going in." "Nice. Tell me what you see." I grasped her buttock and lifted it slightly to fully expose her where we were joined. My shaft glistened as it slid in and out of her, shining with her juices. "I can see your pussy being fucked." "Tell me." I pulled back so that the head of my cock appeared, just the tip engaged inside her. "I can see my cock - its just inside you....your lips are touching it, covering the end -" "Is it wet?" "Yeah. Not so much that it is trickling out of you, but there's enough." I pushed in a little. "Can you feel that? The head is inside. Your lips have closed over it, just under the rim, gripping me." I pushed slowly, describing how the shaft slid into her until the thick stem was up against her vulva, her perineum bulging out slightly to accommodate me. "When I push into you your anus moves." "How?" "It's forced out and back a little, like there's something inside you pushing it." "There is....touch me there." I gathered some of her juice on the ball of my thumb and held it lightly over the crinkled opening. I could feel it moving as I pumped into her, nibbling and sucking at me like a little mouth. I applied pressure and my thumb slid into her. She crimped tightly, her sphincter squeezing tightly like a rubber band, holding me embedded in her bowels. She groaned. "Ooh, that's good....just hold it there... God, I'm full of you. Ugh! Fuck me faster now...can you come like this?" "Yes." "Do it. I want to feel you spurt into me." And so I did. She was curled in a little ball, hunched over so I could see the outline of her spine under the glossy brown skin, the curve of her waist flowing through to the sensuous swell of her buttocks. She was making little whimpering noises as I fucked her, the glossy mane of hair swaying a little with each stroke. I released my thumb from her ass and held her buttocks apart with my hand, watching as I pistoned into her with long glorious strokes. She was much wetter now and our friction had produced a light creamy froth that bubbled a little with each thrust, and I could see the crimped opening of her ass, pouting a little from its violation, pulsing as I pushed into her. The tight spiral of my orgasm rushed upon me, spinning in my brain, shutting out everything except the clasp of her cunt on my shaft. She sensed that I was close and clamped her vaginal muscles to increase the friction and she undulated her hips, drawing me into her deeper, sucking at me like a pump until, with a hoarse cry of pain I erupted into her again. My seed burst from the end of my cock and splattered into her body, spraying the wet walls of her cunt, dribbling and dripping inside her. She moaned as she felt its warmth, her voice filled with wonder at the sensation. "Christ, Ben! I can feel it, inside me. It's boiling...so hot," and she milked me, murmuring softly as she gyrated her hips, her hungry cunt gripping me in a smooth, muscular action as it vacuumed the steaming sperm out of my jerking, pulsating balls. Afterwards we lay on our backs, side by side, the sweat cooling our skin. At length I pushed myself up and looked down at her. Her vulva was still open and I could see a trickle of my cum at its entrance, thick and white. "I can see myself tricking out of you." She laughed. "I guess I really am full." She raised her legs, knees bent upwards towards her breasts, and she supported her back with her arms so that her torso was angled. "How's that?" "As cream pies go, it's a good one." She laughed again and a gob of my sperm was ejected, trickling over her. She released her arms and sank back to the bed. "You prick! Don't make me laugh - get me a tissue." I watched as she mopped up the mess, and she looked at the soaking tissue. "What a waste." "Plenty more where that came from." She turned her eyes on me and looked. She said nothing, but for the first time I read regret in her expression. "What?" She shook her head. "Ben - you know we can't do this at home." "Well, not all the time -" "No. Not at home. Mum will find out sooner or later and it will destroy her." "We can go out - find places. Motels -" "I don't want this to be sleezy. I don't want to sneak around living a lie every day." "I know, Chelsea. But we'll work it out." She looked at me again. That same expression...the laughter gone, a tinge of sadness. "Perhaps," she said softly. "We'll see. Whatever happens, remember that I want you." She'd said 'want' not 'need', but it was a start. ***** And so we settled into a routine, back at home, back at work. It was difficult with Mum and Dad around, as they worked flexible hours and most of the time one or other of them was at home. Chelsea was desperately worried about them finding out. "It's not just the risk if we have sex," she said to me one morning, in the few minutes we had alone before we headed off to work. "It's the whole body language thing, Ben. I'm sure Mum knows something is happening between us." "In what way?" She shrugged. "I'm not sure. You know what she's like - really slow to pick up on some things and razor sharp on others. I guess its intuition. She asked me the other day how come I was getting on so well with you after years of squabbling." "What did you say?" "That we'd realised during the holiday that we had more in common than not, and enjoyed each other's company." She smiled. "I didn't tell her how much we enjoy each other." "And what did she say?" "It was really odd. She said 'Ben's a nice boy but don't spend too much time with him...find a man to settle down with'...something like that, anyway. Perhaps she's figured out you're a pervert rather than a real man." I laughed. "She's more concerned about you being flighty. During the holiday she said pretty much the same thing to me...that you needed to settle down with a nice young man. I stirred her up a little by telling her I'd heard you throwing up every morning and you were probably pregnant to that Greek guy." "You didn't!!" "I did - it really had her going for a while but I couldn't keep a straight face and she twigged. She told me off, and then said that I should keep an eye on you so that you didn't get preggers." Chelsea shook her head. "Poor Mum! I guess she didn't know that I'm far more likely to get knocked up by you than by anyone else." I gave her a hard look. "Anyone else? Are you -" She cut me off. "Don't start that, Ben - jealousy doesn't suit you." Her voice softened. "You're pretty safe....for some reason I really like you....hey, come on." She squeezed my arm. "I'm not seeing anyone else Ben." "OK." She continued to look at me, her grey eyes steady. "Alright. How did we get onto that subject anyway? Look, I just wanted to say that we have to be really careful, Ben. Even a meaningful look between us can give away much more than we can afford." "Alright." "I mean it. No mooning around me, no loving glances, no footsies under the dining room table." "What can we do?" "Act like a brother and sister." She saw the expression on my face and sighed. "Ben, there will be a few opportunities, I'm sure. Just don't spoil everything in being too hasty." She glanced at her watch. "Anyway, I've gotta go. See you tonight." She leaned forward and kissed me, her lips soft and lingering. "Be good." I watched as she picked up her car keys and walked out, so trim and smart in her business suit. I knew she was right, but it didn't stop the longing. ***** She played the game so much better than I, setting a rigid set of rules that had me wondering if she really had gone off me. Whenever there were others around she would treat me as she had for most of our lives - with the disdainful tolerance of a sibling. I tried a few times to touch her surreptitiously under the table, or perhaps brush up against her when she was in the kitchen, but she just moved away. Even if no one else was in the house she was circumspect. I might win a few kisses but as soon as I tried anything more she would stop me, and she would explain again as if to a small child. "Ben, we can't do this - they might come home at any moment." "They might not, though." "Better to be safe than sorry." "How about we go upstairs, then? We could hear them...it would give us time to -" "No! Once we start they could arrive with a Brass Band and we wouldn't notice." "But I want you." She reached up and touched my face. "I want you too, Ben. Just be patient. There will be times -." "But when -" "When I say. Now go and have a cold shower," and she would turn away, and I'd be left angry and frustrated. Three weeks after the holidays I'd just about given up - or at least I would have done if I hadn't loved her so much. Even our brief time together was spent arguing about why she was so careful, and why she wouldn't relax a little. It came to a head one Friday. It had been a difficult day at work and I was tired, and I came home to find Chelsea in the kitchen alone. "Hey!" I went to give her a kiss but she twisted her head so that my lips pressed on her cheek and then she turned to walk away. I grasped her arm. "Wow...that sent a message. Do you want to try that again?" "Not now, Ben." "Well, now seems like a good time, Chelsea. We are on our own, and I'm not trying to drag you off to bed here. How about a decent kiss?" I pulled her towards me. "I said no!" She snatched her arm away and glared at me, her little face set and angry. I could feel my temper rising. "Why not?! Why aren't you interested any more?" "Because I don't feel like it! Because I'm sick of you trying to get me to do things I don't want!" My anger spilled out, white hot, driven by the weeks of frustration. "It's always what you want, Chelsea - what about what I want!? What is it with you? Why won't you -" She laughed, a bitter sound without humour. "It doesn't matter what I want. It's all about you! You only think of one thing, and you can't seem to get it in your head that we can't do it here!" "You weren't so particular on holiday!" "That was on holiday, and it wasn't an invitation to try it on all the time!" She leaned in towards me, her eyes like steel chips. "I told you it would be different at home...which bit of that didn't you understand?" "The bit where you turned into a cock teaser!" She stepped back, pale with anger. "You bastard!" "Well, you are. It's been three weeks, Chelsea, and now you can't even bring yourself to kiss me. What the fuck's going on!?" "Nothing!! Can't you understand that either?! There's nothing going on and nothing willgo on at home. Why does it have to be a dick thing?" "It's not! It's about showing each other that we still care! You've built a fucking brick wall between us -" Her voice dropped. "I'm not doing this, Ben. Not now - not ever!" She turned and stomped away, her little figure stiff with anger, stopping at the door for a final shot. "Get this in your brain - you don't own me!" She slammed the door behind her and I heard her footsteps running upstairs. I'm not a heavy drinker but I went out that night, meeting up with a couple of friends from work to sink some beers at the local pub. I wasn't good company though, and they moved on to leave me to drink alone. I sat at the bar, nursing a Scotch, remembering what it had been like when we were together, me inside her, her body painted by the rain-swept luminescence from the little window above our bed and her eyes soft with love. I remembered her words on the last morning, when she had said that she would always want me, and I tried to reconcile them with the anger in her face tonight. Like a forlorn lover I played the scene over and over in my mind, trying to figure where things had gone wrong and what I could have done to prevent it. The anger had long since gone and I was racked with self-pity and a sense of injustice. In the early hours of the morning I gave up and walked through the empty streets. It was raining - a light drizzle falling silently, painting the road silver in the circle of light from every street lamp, and I was soaking wet and stone-cold sober by the time I reached home. The house was quiet and I crept into my room to slip off my clothes and dry off before climbing into bed. I knew that sleep would be difficult. There was a little tap on the door, so quiet that I thought I had imagined it, and then I heard the creak of the door and her soft voice, whispering. "Ben." I sat up. "Here." She moved silently across the room, a fleeting shadow, and I felt her bump against the bed as she reached me. "Where are you? I can't see." "Wait, I'll put on the light -" "No! No, don't." She felt along the bed and found me, and raised the bedclothes to slip in. "Christ, you're freezing." "I've only just got in." "I know. I've been waiting." She wrapped her arms around me, her face close to mine so that I could hear her voice, a low whisper. "I can't stay long but I couldn't sleep. I had to speak to you again. Are you OK?" "I guess." "I mean, are you drunk?" I laughed softly. "No, I'm not. I wanted to be, but even that didn't work. A shitty day all round." "Ben - I came to say I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said." "So why did -" She put her fingers on my lips. "Wait. Let me finish. I had a bad day and I was tired, Ben. - we shouldn't argue on days like that." "We shouldn't argue at all." "Right....Ben, I didn't mean what I said about never doing this." "So what did you mean? I'm pretty confused, Chelsea." She pressed her lips against my neck. "Me too. I...want you so much, Ben, but I'm frightened of what will happen. I shouldn't be here now - I'm terrified about them finding out about us. I can't do... anything in that environment, and you kept pushing -" "I love you. I need you, like before -" Her whisper was urgent. "I do too! Just like before - but not here. This isn't like that." "I can't wait for ever, Chelsea. I need you." She was quiet. I could feel her warmth through her nightdress, pressed up alongside of me and I could smell the fragrance of her hair close to my face. "Chelsea?" "Yep. I hear you." She was quiet for a while, then she spoke, so softly I could hardly hear her. "Suppose we go away for a weekend? Just you and me. We could go to a place where no one would find us." Chelsea Rising Ch. 02 I felt my heart leap. "Sure. When?" "Next weekend - no, that's Mum's birthday. The weekend after." "Promise?" She nuzzled against me. "I promise. I'll make the booking. You need to find an excuse to be out of town and I'll find one too. We'll take your car - it's better than mine." She giggled. "It's much smaller, but we won't be taking much." "Just us and some energy pills." "That's right." "Can you leave right after work?" I felt her head move, nodding. I reached up and brushed my hand over her hair, the strands glossy under my fingers. "We'll come back late on Sunday." "Two nights and two days together!" "That's a lot of screwing." She sighed. "Is that all guys think about?" "It's what I'm thinking about now." She reached down, her hand sliding over my belly heading south. "You've got no clothes on!" "I wondered if you'd notice." Her exploring fingers found my cock. "So what's this?" "Your lifelong friend." She grasped it, her fingers gripping the shaft, and she gently rubbed her thumb over the head, smearing my moisture over the glans. "He's happy to see me, I think. "He'd be happier to feel you." I could feel her shake her head. "I can't Ben - they're just down the hall. We'd wake them." "We can be really quiet." "No. I couldn't concentrate - I want it to be fun, not sneaky." "Sneaky is really good fun, sometimes. Didn't you ever fuck where you could be caught?" "Have you?" "Oh, yes. I shagged Linda Barlow in the office storeroom once". She giggled. "That sounds like a story for another night." She gave my cock a final squeeze and let go. "I'm going now, Ben. We have a date in a couple of weeks - and just because it looks like I'm ignoring you between now and then doesn't mean that I really am." "Won't you stay?" "You know I can't." She stood up and pulled the covers back over me, then leaned down and kissed me, her lips soft and wet. "Sleep well." I heard the whisper of her nightie swishing as she left the room, and the click of the latch as the door closed behind her, and I settled down in my bed happier than I had been for weeks. ***** To say that I couldn't wait for Friday week to come around would be an understatement. Each day passed with agonizing slowness. The hours at work were interminable - but they were nothing on the time spent at home in the evening, when we would pretend that we were just a brother and sister. The nights were the worst, when I lay in bed remembering what she had felt like. My brain was filled with images of us making love; me sinking into her, penetrating deep inside her slim body and her back arching to accept me, mouth open in an "O" of pleasure. I recollected how she had looked beneath me - her legs open and her knees slightly bent to better take me in. I remembered the swell of her breasts, creamy white, her nipples hot and swollen, and how her hair spread over the pillow, a cascade of gold. Most of all I remembered her eyes, shining up at me as we made love. Alone in the darkness I was filled with the agony of yearning, the pain so real it was like a vice around my chest. My hand would steal downwards to grip my cock, imagining it was inside her...moving it slowly to prolong the pleasure, trying to replicate the clutch of her pussy...stroking, stroking - and then, alone in the still hours of the night, I would spurt hot jets of seed over my belly, calling out her name into the cold and silent room before fading into a troubled sleep. At last the Friday came around and I watched her leaving for work carrying a small holdall, kissing Mum goodbye and explaining how she had a girls' weekend planned in the city. I waited a few minutes until I heard her drive away, and then I turned to Mum. "I'm off too, Mum. I'll see you Sunday night." She lifted her face up for a kiss. "Tell me again where you are going?" "I have a workshop for the advertising project that we are tendering for." "Is it in the city as well?" She reached up to brush some fluff off my jacket. "No, Mum. It's at a hotel in Maryville. You can get me on the mobile." She looked up at me. "You know I love you, don't you?" I looked at her in surprise. "Of course." "Then be careful what you do." I opened my mouth to respond, but she was regarding me with such a strange expression that the words dried on my lips. It was as if she was looking right into me, stripping away the fabric of my life until only The Lie remained, pulsating like a malignant stain on the surface of my soul. I knew that nothing we had done or said could possibly have given us away - but I stood like a deer in the searchlight of her eyes, and there was nothing I could say. I turned away and walked from the room to live the lie that my mother suspected: to rendezvous with my sister and to fornicate with her as many times as I could. ***** I collected Chelsea after work, waiting in the car park for her, my heart beating fast with anticipation. She came out of the door wearing jeans and a cut-away top, long-legged and smiling, tanned and beautiful. She climbed into the seat and leaned over to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. "That's for anyone who's watching," she said. "I'm saving the real ones for later." I waited until she was strapped in and gunned the engine, scooting out of the gates with a squeal of tyres and the exhilarating rush of acceleration, heading westwards towards the little hotel she had booked. The top was down and the slipstream caught her hair, whipping it around her face in a golden cloud and she laughed with the joy of it. "How long 'till we get there?" I consulted the GPS. "Ninety minutes exactly." "Any problems?" "Not really." I contemplated for a moment whether I should tell her and then decided I should. "Mum said a strange thing to me this morning, though. She said 'be careful what you do'." Chelsea looked at me quizzically. "I don't see the point." "She didn't say 'be careful', or 'drive carefully'.....she said 'be careful what you do'. It just struck me as odd - as if she knew that I was going to do something that was bad." "Do you think she knows?" I shrugged. "How could she?" "Then there's probably nothing to worry about." She reached over and took my hand. "Nothing is going to spoil this weekend, Ben. It will be perfect." "You are perfect." She laughed. "Is that what you want - a perfect little goody two-shoes?" "Since you mention it, not really." "So what would you like?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "A bad girl." "How bad?" I looked at her. "A really, really bad girl." She leaned over and put her hand on my knee, running her fingers back along my thigh, over the crutch of my jeans, stopping there, pressing lightly with the tips of her fingers. "I can be bad," she said sweetly, "...but I'm your sister." I picked up on the cue. "That's exactly what I want - a bad, bad sister." "And what are you going to do to your bad sister?" "Uh - let me think about it. Um...I know - I'll fuck her!" "Oh my, that sounds interesting. What with?" "I'll find something." She laughed. "I think I've already found it." She pressed her hand over my crutch, feeling the heat from my rising cock. I looked at her. "Do you want to pull in somewhere?" "Not really, I'd rather get there sooner." "Then you'll have to stop what you're doing." She took her hand away and laughed again. "Why, Mr Rogers, I thought you were enjoying that." "I was, until my prick got bent double." I adjusted myself, wriggling in the seat and trying to release the logjam. "Ah, that's better...now, feel free!" She took my hand instead. "Best not, Ben....I don't want to waste what you've got." She paused for a moment. "Are we nearly there yet?" I looked at the GPS again. "Eighty seven minutes." "It's funny how time goes so slowly when you really want something." "Tell me about it." I smiled ruefully. "When you told me then days ago that we could go away on a weekend I figured the time would pass quickly. It seems about a month ago." "For me too." I glanced at her. "Can I ask you something?" She nodded. "Do you think of me, you know, at night...before you go to sleep?" "Every night. I think of what we did on holiday and I can't believe that we were that naughty." She glanced at me. "Is it terribly wrong, what we did?" I shook my head in denial. "Have I hurt you at all?" "No, of course not." "Have we hurt anyone else?" "Not that we know of." "Then how can it be wrong? I've never felt this way about anyone, Chelsea. I lie in my bed every night and I ache for you -" She giggled, "I lie in bed every night and I cum for you." Her words invoked a sudden image - Chelsea in her bedroom, her fingers at her cunt, her muscles tensing as she spiraled up towards her orgasm...and her brain filled with the vision of me pumping into her. Perhaps she had been doing it at the very same time that I had, both of us busy, only a dozen yards and a hundred miles apart...each aching for the other, fucking by proxy. She was looking at me, her gaze open and steady. I squeezed her hand. "Me too, Chelsea," I said, "and in...eighty four minutes we can do it again." ***** We arrived just after dark, negotiating the long, tree-lined driveway and then round a final bend to the covered area outside Reception. I killed the engine and turned to her. "What name did you book us under?" She smiled. "Rogers - that's who we are." "Right." "Can we eat first, Ben? I'm pretty hungry and the anticipation is always better if you prolong it." "Sure. I've been waiting for weeks so a bit more won't kill me. You'll only get New Zealand foreplay, though." She looked mystified. "New Zealand foreplay? What's that?" "I tell you to brace yourself." She laughed. "This whole drive has been foreplay. You'll hear me squish when I get out of the car." We checked in, showered and were in the restaurant within half an hour. It was lovely: secluded tables next to the garden, set with crisp white tablecloths and lit by candles. I poured two glasses of wine and I held her hand as we sipped it. There were other couples around, but they were like us - lost in themselves. "You look beautiful tonight, Chelsea." She smiled shyly. "Get on with you! I look the same as I did half an hour ago." "No you don't." It was true. She had brushed her hair until it gleamed, and she had changed into a simple white dress that accentuated the glossy sheen of her skin and the fine bone structure of her shoulders. I could see the unfettered press of her breasts against it, the hint of shadow where her nipples darkened the fabric, and the gold necklace accentuated the graceful sweep of her neck. My heart twisted in my chest - she was so perfect, so beautiful, and she was mine. "I love you." She reached over and took my arm, squeezing it in response. "I do too." Her eyes were soft, glinting in the candlelight. "We are very lucky, aren't we?" "I guess." She shook my arm slightly. "No, we are. We're young, healthy and we have each other." "Only sometimes. I want you all the time." "Isn't sometimes enough?" She looked around. "This is lovely, Ben. Going away like this gives us real time together - a beautiful restaurant, and a big bed only a few minutes away - and two days of pleasure which will be so much better because we've had to wait for it. That's better than a humdrum life of routine, isn't it?" "We still have to sneak around. I thought you said that you didn't want that." "I did - but it actually adds spice to it, don't you think? You know, the whole thing about making plans together, packing in secret, the rendezvous at work." She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "The girls at work saw my suitcase and kept asking what I was up to and they were intrigued by my secrecy. I guess they thought I was sneaking off with some guy - maybe a married man. Can you imagine what they would think if they knew it was my brother?" "They'd probably think it was purely platonic - you know, brother and sister going off to study earthworms or catch butterflies or something." "And instead we'll be....well, you know." "What?" She shook her head a little, suddenly embarrassed. "You know -" I persisted with my teasing. "Digging? Driving?" She looked around to see if anyone was listening, and leaned forward conspiratorially, her lips forming the word. "...we'll be fucking." I smiled at her. She was right - this way did add spice to the whole affair. I looked around at the shadowy figures sitting at other tables and wondered how many of them were here under similar circumstances - married men with their secretaries, wives with their lovers, perhaps even fathers and daughters or brothers and sisters, like us. And they were all here for one purpose only - to have an illicit liaison - or, to put it in Chelsea's words, to fuck each other. I imagined what would be happening in the rooms around us tonight and I thought we were in good company. We finished our meal and had coffee and liqueur in the lounge, excited by what was about to happen but also a little frightened. Last time we had made love it had been a spontaneous event, the result of holiday madness, and there was still the chance to walk away from that. This time it would be premeditated - we were here because we had deliberately planned it. We had plotted together and lied together, and would be utterly complicit in our guilt. Once we went to bed there was absolutely no going back, and the weight of that knowledge subdued us both so that we spoke little, content just to touch and look at each other. The bed linen had been folded back and the wood fire was crackling in the grate so that the cabin was intimate and inviting, painted in the flickering light of the flames. I took Chelsea in my arms, holding her, smelling the clean fresh scent of her hair and feeling the warm plasticity of her curves pressed against me. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I whispered. "God, yes, Ben. More than anything." We undressed each other slowly, sliding each article of clothing off, delighting in the silken warmth of the other's skin and the little goosebumps of their excitement, hearing their sighs of anticipation, watching the erectile swell of their flesh. I pressed my lips to hers, tasting the sweetness of the liqueur she had drunk and the intoxicating flavour of her mouth, holding her tight little buttocks, one in each hand, pulling her against me with the thick rod of my cock between us, pressed against her belly. At length she broke free and she took my hand and led me to the bed, climbing onto it, lying on her back, knees bent and her legs open so that she was fully exposed to me, and she smiled. "Eat me, Ben," she said softly, "I promised myself that you'd do that, and then you can do anything that you want to me." She had shaved her pussy so that her mound was smooth, her labia a little more prominent than I remembered. They were swollen with excitement and slightly open, glistening with her moisture in the flickering light so her pussy looked like an exotic flower, the petals folded back and the warm wet centre ready to be harvested. I pressed my mouth to her, feeling her labia compress a little under my lips, soft and wet and fragrant, and she groaned and thrust her hips upwards, her hands holding my head and guiding me, her words soft in the silence of the room. "Ah...God, that's good. So good. Don't stop, Ben. Eat me up." My tongue was inside her again, tasting the sharp essence of her arousal as it leaked from her, feeling the oily wetness of her juices over my mouth and chin. She gyrated her hips, pressing herself up against me, forcing my head down with her hands, my face mashed against her. Suddenly she came, her first fast orgasm - a sudden rush of pleasure, hips straining upwards, thighs quivering. I heard the long, agonized groan of her ecstasy and tasted the spurt of juices that were ejected from her cunt into my mouth, tart and wholesome, and I felt her hands fluttering in my hair as she was swept away on a wave of pleasure. I flipped her over, bringing her to her knees, pushing her head down and lifting her torso so that she was kneeling on the edge of the bed, her ass projected upwards and her legs slightly open. This was my favourite position and I savored the view for a moment, knowing that I would soon be sawing into her slim golden body. Her buttocks were tight and the gap between them was accentuated, her cunt projected outwards and the lips wet and open so that I could see the pink flesh of her insides. The tight, crinkled portal of her anus nestled above it, shrouded in shadow, another entrance to her body open to me, and my cock hardened even more at the thought of choosing which I would spurt into. The head of my cock looked huge, swollen and purple, glistening with the pre-cum that I had leaked. I rested it against her pussy, watching with hooded eyes as the tip engaged, twitching at the touch of her labia. I pushed forward slowly and the head entered, her lips sliding aside, the ring of her vulva resisting briefly before surrendering and closing over the thickness of the glans. I paused, feeling the clutch of her cunt as she squeezed around me. I could imagine her vulva locked around the rim of my cock, gripping it like a hose clamp, imprisoning the head inside her while the shaft remained outside. She groaned at the intrusion, her hands grasping the sheet, and she pushed back with her hips to accelerate the penetration. In the long mirror on the wardrobe I could see it all: my sister kneeling on the bed, her breasts pressed against the mattress and her hair spilling over the sheet, her body angled up, legs splayed in an attitude of complete surrender. I stood behind her, my thick member spearing into her, slanting down to penetrate her body through her clutching, grasping vulva and into the pelvic cavity of her body. My cock looked massively swollen, almost grotesque against her slim flesh, sliding into her, splitting her open so that she moaned and wriggled around me. At last it was fully inside and I paused to savor the moment. This was my sister, my own flesh and blood, and I was fucking her in a hotel bedroom. It was her cunt that was gripping me, welcoming me into her body, oozing juices that bubbled around my shaft. It was her moans and sighs of pleasure that I could hear, the soft whimpers of contentment as she felt me inside, stretching her open. She reached back and held open her buttocks, her fingers slim against the firm flesh, and I pressed forward more, the last few millimetres of my cock entering her. Her voice was breathless and gusty. "Jesus, Ben! God, that's good....hold it there....let me feel it right up inside." I held still, visualizing the long shaft embedded inside her, the walls of her cunt clutching at it and the head buried deep, close to the cone of her cervix. "Now, come out, slowly....slowly." I withdrew and my shaft appeared, shining with her juices, her vulva clutching like a mouth, a ring of flesh stretched around me. It was struggling to hold me inside her, gripping the shaft as I slid out, sliding over the rim and grasping at the bulbous purple flesh of the glans until I bobbed free. A few drops of moisture dribbled out, splattering over the bedspread. With a cry of lust I dropped to my knees and thrust my face against her, plunging my tongue into her, lapping at the juices, gathering them on my tongue, sucking the lips into my mouth. My nose was pressed against her anus and the soft perfumed flesh of her buttocks rubbed against my cheeks. I lapped at her like a dog, rasping my tongue over her labia, long strokes now - the tip teasing her clitoris, then furrowing over her cunt, flicking over the tightness of her perineum and delving into the valley of her ass. Her body jerked and twitched, and I could feel the tips of her fingers against my face as she prised herself open to allow me deeper access. I flickered my tongue over her anus, feeling the crinkled texture of the opening, twitching and pulsating under my tongue until, like the tip of an arrow, I penetrated her there, the sphincter opening like a little mouth to draw me in. Chelsea Rising Ch. 02 Through the red haze of my lust I could hear her moaning, hear her voice begging me to fuck her again. I stood up and thrust my cock into her, burying myself into in a single plunge, the head forcing her vagina open and levering aside the clenching walls of her cunt to penetrate her deeply. She shrieked in pleasure, thrusting back against me to accentuate the strokes, her back undulating and her hips rotating so that I corkscrewed into her, pinning her down to the bed like a javelin plunging into the earth. Her cunt juice was whipped to a froth where we joined, creaming us both, flecks of it splattering over her thighs and my balls. I fucked her hard - long, slippery strokes down into her willing body. I fucked her with all the frustration of the last month, each stroke a testament to the silent hours where I had played with myself, imagining this moment where I could feel the clinging suck of her flesh around my shaft and hear the groans and sighs of her pleasure. I fucked her to possess her, to defy the taboos of society, to forever bind her to me in a secret bond that only she and I would know; and I fucked her because I loved her, and this was the ultimate culmination of that love....to possess her, to become one flesh - hers and mine, brother and sister, lovers together. The pitch of her cries changed, becoming more shrill, and her back arched as she came. A spurt of her juice sprayed from around my shaft and she shrieked, her hands gripping the sheet. Her orgasm triggered my own, and I seized her hips and buried myself as deeply as I could into her writhing body. For a single moment of eternity time stood still, the spiral of my pleasure building rapidly until it seemed as if my brain would burst - and then my sperm erupted from the swollen head of my cock, sizzling hot as it hosed into her, thick and white like clotted cream, splattering against the trembling walls of her cunt. She ground against me, still coming herself, her vagina sucking at me like a greedy, gobbling mouth to draw my seed into her, down into the secret depths of her body and into the fertile field of her womb. Gradually the storm of our lust passed, and our cries of pleasure were stilled. I withdrew, my shaft bobbing free, and she rolled onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. I climbed next to her and we held each other silently, each of us washed by the tidal wave of passion, each of us a part of the other. We made love twice more before we slept - long, slow love, my shaft embedded in her as we lay side by side, or me on top, riding her gently, feeling the clasp of her body and the acceptance of her flesh. Twice more I spurted into her, soft orgasms in the quiet of the night, my seed entering her to lie inside her body. And then we slept, our arms around each other, each of us looking forward to the new day. ****** Ninety miles away, my mother also slept, a fitful and restless sleep plagued with doubt and fears for her children. And as she tossed and turned a segment of the anterior communicating artery in her brain began to bulge as high-pressure blood encountered a blockage. At first it was a minor swelling - a tiny white protrusion on the artery, like a bulge on a bicycle's inner tube, pressing against the surrounding tissue. Like a hole in a dam wall the flow accelerated, the blood building, pressure increasing. The swelling grew rapidly at its weakest point, the elastic wall of the artery stretching rapidly, the tissue bulging and distending until it could stretch no more - and then it ruptured. She woke in the darkness, almost immobilised by the pain - a blinding, gripping headache unlike any that she had ever known, tearing into the back of her head with such intensity that she felt her skull would shatter. She stumbled to her feet, swaying, feeling her way to the bathroom where she sank down on the cool tile floor overcome by nausea. The pain was a blinding sheet of agony, spreading rapidly down her neck - a paralyzing, debilitating agony that consumed her mind and robbed her of rational thought. She tried to cry out but could not - and so she lay alone in her anguish until, in a little while, her consciousness slipped away and she embraced the comforting blanket of darkness that enfolded her. Chelsea's Story The strident ringing of my mobile phone penetrated my sleep, relentless and shrill until I fumbled on the bedside table and answered it. The clock showed it was 4:53. "Hello?" My voice was slurred, thick with fatigue. "Chelsea, it's Dad." "Hello?" "Can you hear me?" I fought to clear my mind. "Yes, yes. What is it, Dad? What's happened -" "It's your mother." I felt the cold clutch of fear grip me. "What's happened? Is she alright?" "She's had a stroke...they're trying to stabilise her." I could hear the catch in his voice, his calm a thin veneer over his tears. "Where is she?" "She's here, in the hospital. Where are you?" "Maryville." "Is Ben with you?" "Yes." I said it without thinking, my mind numbed with the awful news. "You must both come home....it's not looking...she's not good." "Of course. We'll leave now." "Drive carefully." We checked out and were in the car within fifteen minutes, traveling fast on the empty roads, holding hands. Ben spoke quietly. "You know, its now that you realise how much they've done for you." I nodded. "She'll be alright, won't she?" He hesitated. "We don't know very much, Chelsea, but a stroke is a pretty savage thing to have...we should be prepared for the worst." "Do you think it was us that caused it?" He turned to me, his voice astonished. "Good God, what a thing to say! Why on earth do you think it is our fault?" "She's always been in good health...and you said that she suspected us, and then the minute we go away together it happened. Perhaps God is punishing us for what we did." He gripped my arm. "Listen to me. It is not our fault and God is not punishing us. She had high blood pressure and something let go in her brain. That's all there is to it. Do you understand that?" "Yes." He stared. "Promise you won't think that again." I nodded. "Alright." "And promise we'll have another weekend together as soon as we can." "I promise." "All right. Now try and sleep a little - it's going to be a long, hard day." We drew up at the hospital a little after dawn, a grey sky streaked with gold. The night staff were just coming off shift and a nurse directed us to the intensive care ward. Dad was there, sitting numbly in a chair with his head in his hands and the three of us hugged, drawing strength from each other. He told us of how he had woken and realised that she wasn't beside him, and how he had found her curled up on the floor unconscious. "They're working on her now," he said, "they say it's too early to tell." We waited, sitting in a line in the corridor, watching the clock on the wall opposite. At last the neurologist appeared, still dressed in her scrubs. "Mr Rogers?" "Yes?" "Are these your children?" "Yes." "Very well. She took us into an office and shut the door. "Your wife has suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage...do you know what that is?" "A stroke?" She nodded. "That's right." She seized a pen and drew rapidly on the whiteboard, crude and angry strokes that showed what had happened. "The scan shows significant bleeding under the arachnoid membrane in her brain, suggesting that the artery ruptured a while before you found her. We have done what we can to control the bleeding, but the extent of damage to the brain tissue is not clear." "How is she?" "She is in an induced coma, but would be unconscious anyway. It is too early to test her vital signs." "What area of her brain is affected?" "Speech, balance, eyesight primarily - and memory." She shrugged. "The bleed was very extensive, so it's difficult to say." Her voice softened. "Mr Rogers, the prognosis in cases like this is generally not good. You should prepare yourself for the worst." Dad looked at her. "No. I'll prepare myself for the very best outcome." She smiled at him. "Well, we'll all work towards that." She glanced at her watch. "I'm so sorry, I have to go. Do you have any questions?" There were a million questions but none that she could answer, and so she left and we discussed our strategy - to have someone by Mum's side 24 hours a day, taking shifts. Dad stayed first. He turned to me as I prepared to leave. "Chelsea - would you mind giving me a minute." "Of course." I watched Ben walk from the room, terrified of what my father was going to say. He was close to me, his face only a few inches from mine, and he knew that we had been together. I wondered if he could smell the aroma of our fucking on my skin or the scent of his son's semen as it leaked from my vagina. He waited until the door was closed, and he turned to me. "Chelsea, you should know that William is on his way." I was stunned. "Will? I thought he was overseas....after the accident - well, you know, he left so suddenly, and there's been nothing -" He shrugged. "William choose to stay away for reasons of his own - but he was your mother's son and she would have wanted him here." "When is he arriving?" "He just said he would be here when he could." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm not sure what happened between you, but I know that something did. Could I ask you to bury the hatchet with him at this difficult time?" I nodded, and he smiled at me. "Thank you. God willing, we can all get through this together - and perhaps it will even make us stronger." He turned away, his shoulders slumped with the burden of what had happened. I told Ben as we walked back to the car, and he reacted as I expected. "That bastard! I'm not having him in the house, after what he did to you! I'll speak to Dad. He can't -" "Ben, the last thing Dad needs is for us to fight. Let it be - it'll only be for a few days, I'm sure." He grunted. "What about you, Chelsea? How do you feel about having him here?" I thought about it for a few moments. "Nothing, really. What he did was a few years ago now, and remember that I was as much to blame as him." I squeezed his hand. "I've moved on, Ben, and I'm sure he has too. Let it go - we are all here to help Mum now." "I don't want him alone with you." "He won't be." He held on to my arm. "I mean that, Chelsea. Promise me you won't be alone with Will." I nodded. "I promise." But even as I said it, I knew that it was a promise that I could not keep. There were too many questions between William and I that had yet to be answered, and time had only emphasized them. In some ways I dreaded seeing him again, and yet there was still that fatal attraction - knowing that he was so vulnerable, particularly now that the only member of the family who had truly loved him was close to death. Perhaps I could put the demons to sleep and we could both move on. Perhaps. ***** Will arrived and we settled into a routine of sorts. He didn't say much to us, preferring to keep himself to himself, doing his stint at the hospital and then retiring to his bedroom. Mum's condition didn't change much, although she was breathing on her own now and they had reduced the drugs that induced the coma. During our shifts each of us would sit by her bed, watching the flickering lights of the monitors and listening to the beat of her heart, talking to her about anything we could. On the occasions that I saw William he was civil enough. He was still of slender build, with a long face and thin, bloodless lips that had drooped over the last few years to give a permanent expression of distaste. The irises of his eyes were dark, almost black, so that from even a short distance you could not distinguish them from the pupils, and the overall effect was striking. They didn't reflect his emotions like other peoples' eyes - they were expressionless, dead and black, like those of a shark. Although he wasn't tall, he had a presence about him - a sinister aura that suggested brooding introspectivity and a deep reservoir of hidden anger. I noticed that people treated him with deference, although they never smiled at him. He just wasn't that kind of person. It was a joyless time, and I think it affected all of us in different ways. Dad spent most of the time at the hospital. He would sit by Mum's bed for hours, holding her hand and talking to her softly about all of the things that they had done together. He seemed to have aged ten years, his hair more white than grey and his figure shrunken, desiccated, as if someone had put him in a drier for a week or two and then popped him in a jar on the shelf. I was as worried about him as I was about Mum - at least she had good care around her, but he wouldn't listen to any advice and although I tried to cook him decent meals, most of the time his plate was untouched. And so it went on. Mum made gradual improvement, although it was dreadfully slow and the doctors were still non-committal. She could hear what we said at least, although she could not respond. Each day I would drag myself home from the hospital and do the chores around the house before writing up my journal and falling into an exhausted sleep. Ben wasn't much better and we really didn't have any time together, although we would touch hands when we could, or perhaps have a brief hug when nobody was around. And then, on the thirteenth day, it all came crashing down. Dad was at the hospital and Ben was at work, trying to hold things together. I came in from the shopping, carrying the bags through to the kitchen, stacking the groceries in the pantry and making a cup of tea. I glanced at my watch. It was just after four - time for a half hour rest before I made supper. I climbed wearily upstairs and pushed open the door to my bedroom and stopped dead. William was there, standing next to my bed fully clothed. The drawer in the bedside cabinet was open, the lock broken, and he held my open diary in his hands. He looked up at me with his empty, black eyes, and his voice was a sibilant whisper, full of malice. "Well, well, little sister, who's been a naughty girl, then?" I stopped, rooted to the spot, my heart hammering in my chest. I suppose I felt outrage more than anger, but my voice was shrill. "What the fuck are you doing in my room - and who said you could read my diary?" He smiled lazily. "I did. What are you going to do about it?" I looked at him, weighing up my options. I had no wish to touch him so I struggled to be calm. "Nothing. Put it back, please, William, It's mine." "In a moment. Let's just talk about some of this stuff" His thick fingers flicked through the pages. "Ah, here we are...all about you and little Benny. What does it say?" He read out the words. "At last, at last! B. and I are together - glorious, wonderful time with M&D away. How can I want someone that much? " He laughed. "B for Benny. B for Bloody little shit! B for Bastard!" He giggled at his eloquence. "Looks like it runs in the family, Chelsea. Wasn't I good enough for you - did you have to diddle your twin brother as well?" I crossed the room in three strikes, reaching out to snatch it out of his hands, to rake his face with my nails and to tear out his eyes. I lunged forward but he sidestepped and brushed me aside. As I went past him he struck me once, a short blow to the side of the head that rattled my teeth and flung me sideways across the bed. I lay there, stunned, my vision blurred and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. He bent over me and seized my hair, pulling me up so I was half upright and twisted towards him, and he thrust his face close to me, his voice low and savage. "Now, now. I'm not finished. Do you want another one or are you going to be good?" He waited for a moment and then he released me and I fell back on the mattress. "Now, where was I? Ah - yes!" He read from the page. "Well, we did it! Four times, and I don't feel bad about it. Not on the pill, either. Could I be pregnant? I hope so!"" He looked down at me and shook his head "Four times! I didn't know the little faggot had it in him." His fingers flicked the pages. "What about this, little sister, dated two weeks ago. 'Secret rendezvous with B in Maryville. Lovely hotel, beautiful meal and great sex..." He peered at the page. "It's got three little ticks on the page, Chelsea - does that mean what I think it does?" I struggled to talk, my voice thick with the swelling where I had bitten my tongue. "You've got it all wrong, William. "B" is Bruce - he's a guy at work and we -" I saw the blow coming this time and tried to dodge it, but he struck me across the face, open handed, knocking me sideways against the bedhead. "Fuck, you, Chelsea! Do you think I'm stupid? I've seen how you two look at each other, all lovey-dovey and touching when you think no one is looking. You make me sick!" He looked down at me with disgust. "Well, are you carrying his little bastard?" I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. "Nothing to say? Does that mean yes?" He laughed. "Well, well, I'm to be an uncle am I? An uncle to an inbred moron, most like." He looked at me. "What am I to do with you, Chelsea?" "Let me go, William. Walk away and we can forget -" "Walk away!? I don't think so!" He waved my diary and laughed. "Not with this little beauty in my hand. Did you know that fucking your brother is an indictable offence in this country, punishable by imprisonment?" He laughed again. "Four to six years, last I heard. Now, you wouldn't want that, would you? And before you went to prison we could share your little secret with your school pupils, too - can you imagine the questions they would ask? Their innocent little faces shining up at you in the class: 'Please Miss, is it true you've been humping your brother?'" He giggled at the thought, flecks of spittle flying from his lips. "And what about when I tell our dear parents...it might even kill the old bitch, what with the shame of it all, and that supercilious prick -" I stared up at him in horror. "You wouldn't tell them, would you? Please..." "- who thinks he's fit to call himself my father would never be able to front up to his precious University again." He giggled again, a high pitch sound. "Ah, yes, that would be fun...I could send it to the Rector, a nice little letter asking if he knew that his precious Professor of Economics was sticking his own daughter in the ass." "William, I'm not! I never -" "Who cares, Chelsea? If you've fucked both brothers why not Daddy, too? Who'd believe a little tramp like you?" I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Don't, please don't. You'd kill him." "Yes, it probably would - eventually... what a nice ending that would be! And what about your precious Benny? He'd lose his job, of course, and would be sent to prison....they'd soon work out he was a faggot. He'd be fucked ten times a day." He stopped suddenly, reaching down to seize my hair again, twisting my head so that I was looking at him. "Hey! Look at me when I'm speaking to you, cunt!" I stared up at him. "William, please. Oh, God, please don't. I'll do anything. Give me the book, please." He laughed again. "Anything? Too fucking right, you'll do anything! How about we start right now!" He flung the diary into the open drawer and ripped off his belt, strapping it over my forearms before I could move, pulling it tight so that it cut into my flesh. "Time to share a little with me, sister, and tomorrow we can think of other games to play!" He reached under my skirt and seized my knickers, ripping them downwards, and he plunged his fingers into my pussy, thick and dry. He giggled as I screamed, and he pushed them in harder, watching me with his dead black eyes as I struggled, and his voice was thick with excitement. "I thought you liked sibling cock, Chelsea! Don't you want me? Is Benny better than me?" He stared down at me. "I could take you right now, but I think I want you to beg for it. Be nice to me, sister...ask me what I want and be nice, and I might consider being a little bit nice to you." Chelsea Rising Ch. 03 Author's note. I must confess that I hadn't intended to write another Chapter to this series, but I got a lot of very positive feedback from the first two chapters which always helps. I confess that I also like Ben and Chelsea and the trials and tribulations of their feelings for each other, so it's been fun adding another story. For those who feel like writing to me saying that some detail or another isn't realistic - don't bother. It's an act of fiction and it is what it is! For anyone else, though, please spend a second or two leaving feedback, particularly if you have ideas about the direction the relationship might move from now on. All characters are over the age of 18, of course, and all of them are entirely fictitious. Enjoy! ***** CHELSEA RISING - Ch. 03 Monday 0700 Chelsea Rogers held the envelope in her slim fingers and glanced again at the handwriting on the front. It was a feminine hand - the neat characters marching across the paper, not at all like the academic scrawl her father would have used, but she knew that it was from him. She also knew that it was an invitation to his wedding. She slipped her finger under the flap and tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning over the script on the card inside. Mr James Rogers and Ms Melanie Phillips request the pleasure of the company of Ms Chelsea Rogers on the occasion of their marriage at the Church of St Joseph and Mary at 1600 on Saturday 23 November 2010, and afterwards at Seven Hills RSL, 15 Showground Road, Seven Hills... Chelsea propped the invitation on the kitchen worktop and picked up her coffee, thinking about how much things had changed. It was almost exactly three years ago since her mother had died, lying in the hospital bed whilst her father held her hand, praying for her to get better. Chelsea liked to think that her mother was at peace as she finally gave up the struggle and reached out for the tranquility of death. Poor Dad. She remembered the grief he had worn like a shabby coat for so long - and guilt too, because he had not been able to protect her. He had virtually given up after that, and everyone had thought that he might not last long - but now, just three years later, he was marrying again - a testimony to the healing capacity of the human spirit. She looked down at the invitation again, the heavy linen card and the flowing silver script. A message of celebration, of happiness and hope for his future. God knows, she thought, he deserves that, and she should be with him on his special day. The words burned into her brain. Request the pleasure of the company of Ms Chelsea Rogers... Every fibre in her being longed to go, to help make it a special day for him - but her heart quailed at the thought. How could her company be a pleasure, she reflected, when Ben will be there? Benjamin Philip Rogers - her brother, her friend, her lover...and her nemesis. Ben, whom she had sworn she would never set eyes on again. ***** Two hundred miles away the subject of her thoughts shuffled through that morning's mail, discarding the junk, setting aside the bills and picking out those of interest. The white linen envelope with its distinctive handwriting now lay on the top of the pile and he picked it up and deftly opened it with the silver letter -opener from his desk. Mr James Rogers and Ms Melanie Phillips request the pleasure of the company of Mr Benjamin Rogers and partner.... He turned as Sophie came into the room, still in her nightie. Her blonde hair was in disarray and there was a sleep crease on the side of her face from the pillow. "Hi Hon. Anything interesting?" Despite her age her voice was pitched like a little girl's, lacking the timbre of maturity. It was one of the things that had turned him on when they first met...a little girl's voice, to match the little girl look. "Not much - bills, mostly, and an invitation to Dad's wedding next month." She moved to his side and straddled him, climbing onto his lap with her back to the desk. The fabric of her nightgown settled higher, clinging to her hips, and he could see the swell of her mound pushing against the bikini panties, a wisp of hair peeping from the elastic line. He felt the warmth of her body radiating down through his tracksuit, and he could smell her - a warm, musky odour, a mixture of cinnamon and milk and warm puppy. She wriggled a little bit and the nightie shifted, pulling tighter over her pert breasts so that the nipples pressed against the sheer fabric. "You gonna go, Ben?" "Sure. You're invited too." "Gee. That's nice." She took the card from his fingers and read it slowly, her lips forming the words. "Benjamin Rogers and partner." She looked down at him, a sudden thought in her mind. "I've got nothing to wear!" "What about that brown dress with the white spots? You look sensational in that." She regarded him with her big blue eyes. "That's last year's fashion, Hon. "It's different now." She ran the tip of her finger down the side of her face, the nail rasping against his unshaven skin, and she pouted down at him, her voice soft and wheedling. "Can I buy another outfit for the wedding, honey? Just a teeny -weeny one?" "Sure." His heart sank - he'd learned from experience that Sophie's tastes were not cheap. She squealed in excitement, wriggling on his lap, and leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth - her soft, moist lips lingering there. Ben felt his body responding, a tightness in his chest and his cock thickening rapidly. She was irresistible - her little girl face and slender body promised an innocence that was in delicious contrast to the raw animal sexuality she unleashed on him whenever they made love. The face of an angel and the morals of an alley cat, he thought, a potent mixture. He reached up and rubbed her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling the nipples harden under his palms like hard pebbles, and she moaned into his mouth as she felt his cock pressing against her. He leaned forward and lifted her, feeling her long legs wrap around him, her mouth still fastened to his as he carried her through to the bedroom. Her pudenda pressed against him, rubbing against the material of his shirt with each step, and her arms were around his neck. She broke free of his mouth and whispered to him as he carried her. "Are you going to fuck me again, Ben? Take your little girl and fuck me until I bleed?" She arched her back and her hair swept forward, brushing over his face like a golden cloud, and he felt her nipples drilling into his chest like two little spears. "Fuck me until my eyes pop out?" His voice was a low growl, husky with desire. "God yes, Sophie. I'll fuck you until you scream." She giggled, and he felt one of her hands reach down and grasp the material of his jeans over the thick protuberance of his cock. She giggled again. "Oooh! Who's a naughty boy then!" She leaned closer into him and her voice thickened, oozing into his ear like warm honey. "Fuck me all day, Ben! I'm empty now...can you fill my tight little pussy?" He reached the bed and flung her down onto the sheets still disheveled from last night's session. She scrabbled to her knees and her fingers went to his belt, working the buckle, opening his jeans and drawing him out, the shaft pink and engorged and the bell -end swollen and purple. She grasped the base of his cock in one hand, thick against her wrist, and she looked up at him with her baby blue eyes as she placed the glans against her lips and took him into her mouth. Ben stared down at her. He would never tire of this, he thought - the juxtaposition of innocence and sluttishness. Her eyes were on his, watching the nuances of pleasure on his face to best judge how to satisfy him - adjusting the soft, slow strokes, drawing him into the back of her throat, turning her head slightly so the angle of penetration changed; tightening her lips to grip him better. She slipped her free hand into his fly and cupped his balls lightly, one finger easing behind them to gently massage his anus, and she smiled around his shaft as he moaned with pleasure. His hands went to her head and he held her, their eyes locked on each other as he thrust his hips back and forth, fucking her face, watching her lips glide over the thick wet shaft with just the right cadence. He wondered again where she had learned to fuck so well - she always knew just how to bring him to the edge and to hold him there, teetering on the brink of ecstasy whilst she played with him like a toy dog until he begged to spurt into her hot, tight little body. She always took the initiative, too, and he wondered which of her orifices she had chosen this morning to feel the blast of his cum. He felt the first tingle of his impending climax - a pressure behind his eyes, taking root somewhere in the cortex of his brain. It spiraled rapidly, his muscles tensing in anticipation - but she sensed it and pulled free, staring up at him with those wide innocent eyes, her mouth still slightly open and her lips wet with his discharge. She was gasping slightly, shaking her head. "No...not yet. I'm not ready yet." "Then lie down - let me fuck you." She shook her head again and slipped off her nightie and pants, flinging them aside in a whisper of silk. Her body was perfect, the skin golden in the soft light of the morning, smooth and taut, her breasts small but perfectly formed with the nipples stiff and dark. For a moment she looked up at him with a flare of triumph in her eyes, and then she spun around, crouching on the edge of the mattress with her face pressed against the rumpled sheets. Her buttocks were thrust upwards and she opened her thighs, her legs splayed so that she looked like a young animal with long, awkward limbs. He could see her sex, pushed back with the lips slightly open and inviting, its fringe of soft gold hair shining with moisture. She reached up and cupped each buttock, her fingers long and slender against the firm golden skin, and she drew them apart so that her vulva was thrust back even further and the tight, crinkled eye of her anus was open to his gaze. She looked up at him with her big blue eyes and her voice was soft and girlish. "Fuck me deep, Ben." His shafted skewered into her, pressing aside the lips of her pussy, sliding down through her pelvic girdle and into the deep warmth of her belly. She was spectacularly tight, the walls of her cunt rubbing against him throughout the penetration, squeezing against the shaft like a tight fist in a velvet glove until he was fully inside her, the root of his cock pressed up hard against the lips of her pussy. She moaned softly at the depth and rotated her hips gently, her anus pressed outwards and slightly open with the pressure of his penetration. He could see it was still weeping moisture, a legacy to the wad he had pumped into her last night. She is insatiable, he thought, a little fucking machine, and I'm inside her again. He began to thrust, reveling in her youth and the delicious warmth and wetness, watching the long slide of his shaft into her tight, writhing body and he heard her voice, gusty and breathless as the words spilled from her mouth. "God, Ben, that's good! That's...good! Fuck this tight little cunt....oohh, fuck it deep...fill me, spurt into me!" Her words coalesced in his brain, spurring him on so that he was pounding down into her, the mattress squeaking and protesting, her back arching to take the force of his thrusts. She was grunting now, a gusty explosion of sound each time he hammered down, and her hands fluttered on the bed to grasp the rumpled sheets in tight little fists of pain. The whirlwind of his orgasm took root in Ben's mind, whirling upwards, racing towards a crescendo of white hot pleasure. His vision narrowed until he could only see the long greased piston of his shaft and the warm young cunt it was fucking, and he threw his head back to cry out in rapture as his burning seed trembled on the brink of bursting into her. And in that quintessential moment she lunged away, breaking free, spinning on the bed and clutching his bobbing cock to hold it at her mouth, her hand small and white against the engorged shaft. She frantically rubbed her wet lips over the trembling head, her tongue snaking out to lap at its underside, tickling and teasing, drawing him out like a man on the rack. For long moments he teetered on the edge, the room a maelstrom of white noise and grainy, powdered light - and then the force of his orgasm burst upon him and he growled in exquisite agony as his seed raced along the twitching shaft and burst against her burning mouth. The first jet struck her lips, rebounding with the force of his ejection, exploding into a shower of sparkling droplets like a handful of opals flung into the air. There was a pause and then his balls jerked upwards and a second jet followed, thicker than the first, splattering across her face to fill her eye sockets in puddles of jism as hot and thick as clotted cream. He was grunting, an animal sound drawn from deep within his body, and his eyes glittered as he watched the long, hot jets spraying over her face and drenching her cheeks: seven or eight of them, a seemingly endless stream that splattered and dribbled and bubbled over her face, pooling in every crevice and hanging in thick, slimy ropes from her chin. She waited until his cock subsided and the last dribbles of his seed oozed over her lips, and then she released his shaft and sat back. He could see strands of his cum drooling into her mouth, and her teeth were coated with a clinging layer of it, dulling their white, shiny surface. With careful fingers she scooped his sperm off her face, shoveling it into her mouth, laughing all the while. It oozed and dripped into the cavity, painting her lips and tongue, pooling at the back of her throat. She licked the sticky mess off her fingers like a child licking a paddle pop, her little pink pointed tongue delving between her fingers to draw out the clots of his sperm, and then, with her baby blue eyes on his face, she swallowed it, murmuring with pleasure. Ben watched, his heart hammering in his chest. She is a little fucking machine, he thought again, and we only have our lust to bind us together. Have I forsaken all that I had for this? He turned away, his cock subsiding, and Sophie sank back onto the bed with her shiny wet lips smiling up at him in misunderstanding. Monday Morning 1000 Sophie regarded herself in the bedroom mirror. She was wearing something she had bought last week, and she was pleased with the effect that it gave. The mirror reflected the image of a stunning young woman dressed in the latest fashion - a crisp white blouse, tailored to hug her waist, and a linen skirt that clung to her hips, reaching down to just above her knees. Her legs were sheathed in sheer nylon stockings, the seam marching down the back of each calf, and she wore expensive Armani high heels in an exact matching shade of Navy blue. The jacket was pinched at the waist, with wide lapels with a small silver brooch that complimented the slim chain and pearl pendant around her neck, and her hair was up, piled on her head to give her additional height and to expose her small, neat ears and the long graceful sweep of her neck. She fastened her pearl earrings and stood back to check herself with a critical eye. She looked good, she thought - high class, good enough to pass in the highest circles. It was amazing what a suit of clothes and a little bravado could do. She turned slightly, regarding her belly. There was no sign of the swelling yet - the thickening of the waist that she knew was coming. Another two months, she thought, and then I will be totally dependent on Ben, at least for a while. Her mobile phone rang and she glanced at the number, remembering to put on the sophisticated voice. "Hello?" "Are you running on time?" She felt a punch of excitement at what was about to happen again. "Oh, yes, absolutely. I'll be there in half an hour." "Right." The connection clicked and she smiled fondly as she returned the phone to her purse. This would be her sixth time with him, and she knew it would be memorable. She picked up her handbag and wandered through to the kitchen to find the car keys, her excitement at what was about to happen like a little tickle in her stomach. She laughed with the joy of it all - life was so easy, and she was at the centre of it all, her own keeper. The house was set back from the road and she parked to the side, screened by the tall privet hedge. Sophie let herself in through the side door her heels tapping on the polished hardwood floor, and entered the lounge. This was his hideaway house, she knew, but it was opulent for all of that. It was furnished in the old style, with the Chesterfield suite sitting primly on the thick oatmeal coloured carpet, complemented by the thick velvet drapes and the rich timber hue of the coffee table and the polished sideboards. The full -length leadlight windows at the end of the room gave way to the patio, and then the long sweep of the lawn with the gazebo visible just beyond. Sophie regarded it with envious eyes. One day I will have something like this, if I am careful. She put her car keys on the table and turned as she heard his footsteps. As usual, he was immaculate, dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of English broadcloth with a crisp white shirt and a blue tie. He smiled at her, his teeth very white against his dark skin. "Sophie! You look beautiful, my dear. May I compliment you on the suit?" "Thank you, Ramal. I took your advice." He embraced her lightly, a trace of expensive aftershave on his skin. "So I see - an improvement, don't you think?" "You were right, as always. Do you have much time today?" He glanced at the slim gold Piaget on his wrist. "A little, only, I'm afraid. I have business in the city this afternoon - but enough to spend an hour or two with you. May I get you something?" "Thank you, no." "Then why don't we go upstairs? I have a small gift for you." He smiled again. "Nothing special, I assure you, but I hope you like it." Sophie smiled as she followed him to the bedroom. Ramal's gifts were never small, at least in terms of their value. Some diamond earrings, perhaps, or a gold necklace. Another treasure to add to the growing collection in the safe deposit box - another step towards financial security. He left three hours later, leaving her lying in the rumpled bed. His trust was one of the things she liked about him, but she also knew that he would be merciless if she crossed him. He was a gentleman in so many ways, she thought, but if you scratched the surface you there was steel underneath - a hard streak of ruthlessness and power that was like a narcotic to her. Her body ached from his attention, and she could feel his semen leaking from her vagina and anus. There was blood on the sheets too, from the scratches she had inflicted on his back. She rolled over, picking up the slim pile of banknotes on the bedside table. Five hundred dollars in crisp $100 bills - not a bad paycheck, and there were three other appointments with similar men this week alone. She lay down and carefully put the crisp green notes over the fine, wet hair on her pudenda, and she looked at it and laughed at the thought of what her little money box was earning now. The opulence of the room was so different from the shabby little bedsitter she had been brought up in, and her mind drifted back, thinking of the day that had changed her life. The door opening, and her stuffy little room suddenly bright as her mother switched on the light. She was stood at the door with a heavily bearded man dressed in an old reefer jacket and brown pants. He was large, his head barely clearing the doorjamb, and his protruding belly stretched the fabric of his shirt, forcing aside the lower buttons to reveal a strip of grey flesh under the stained material. Chelsea Rising Ch. 03 The harsh light cast deep shadows over his face so that he appeared almost demoniac, his eyes sunken into their sockets and crescents of darkness under each of his worn and rugged contours. Her mother's voice, slurred with drink. "There she is." The man turning his eyes on her, the irises and pupils indistinguishable like the black orbs of a hungry shark, and she heard his voice, like wet gravel. "How much?" "Two hundred." He laughed. "I can get younger pussy for half the price." "One fifty, then. She's a virgin." "One hundred, to do what I like." Her mother nodding, her eyes gleaming with greed. "Done." His weight on her, squashing her down into the mattress, vile breath on her face and in her mouth. The sound of her own screams and his laughter as he pulled his trousers open, his fingers thick and rough on her virgin skin. The pain of penetration, like a bayonet being plunged into her vagina again and again, and the grunting and sweating of his copulation as she sobbed underneath him. Her mother, laughing at her after he had gone, counting the money - so little for what she had lost. So very little for the broken trust and the burden of hatred that she would carry for the rest of her life. Sophie looked down at the banknotes over her pussy, and her resolve to never be poor again burned like acid in her heart. She swung her legs out of bed and began to dress, the expensive silk panties as soft as gossamer as she drew them over the bruised and swollen lips of her vulva. ***** Ben Rogers closed the door to his office and smiled at his secretary. He'd only been promoted recently and he was still getting used to the idea of having someone look after him. "I'm taking an early mark, Michelle." "Certainly, Mr Rogers." "I'd like you to call me Ben." She smiled. She was of the old school, and old habits died hard. "Right, Ben." They both knew that in the morning he would be Mr. Rogers again. It was a little game they both enjoyed. "Why don't you take an early one too, Michelle? It's going to be a long day tomorrow." "I will, Mr Rog - er, Ben. I just have these accounts to attend to." "Right. Well, I'll see you in the morning." She waved in farewell and he walked out, down the long corridor to the lifts. His company car was in the basement, a dark blue BMW, and he felt the familiar twist of pleasure as he approached it. Chelsea would have liked this, he thought, and immediately regretted it. She's gone, and I did it. Move on. On impulse he turned left into National Circuit. He liked driving home this way, through the green belt - he thought that one day he might be able to afford a house here, perhaps when he was a Managing Director. Each one was different, but there was an appealing symmetry in the way that they were presented: the black wrought iron fences, the squat gatehouses and the neat gravel driveways dissecting the beautifully manicured lawns. A large Mercedes was stopped in front of him and he pulled out to pass it. He could see that it had hit a small sedan that had been reversing into the street, and both drivers were talking at the side of the road. It was a minor thing, a broken tail -light only, and it wasn't worth him stopping. He accelerated away, his eyes on the road, thinking of Sophie waiting for him at home. It wasn't until he was well passed them that he realised what he had seen - the car was Sophie's and she was on the sidewalk beside it gesticulating at the burly male driver, her little face angry. He pulled over and put the car in reverse, looking back. He could see her some distance away, her back to him as she leaned over the bonnet of the car to write on a scrap of paper. He could see the opulence of the neighbourhood and the incongruity of her little car, pushed up into the kerb, and he could see what she was wearing. In sudden insight he understood that there was far more happening here than he understood, and the realisation was like a boxer's blow to his belly. Ben sat in his car looking back, his mind filled with questions, and then, after a little while, he drove away to find somewhere to think. ***** Monday Evening Chelsea regarded Rebecca Armitage across the dining room table. She was a pretty girl, a year or two younger than her, and she had proven to be a good housemate. She had needed someone to help pay the rent and she'd selected Bec from a bevy of applicants, some of whom had to be seen to be believed. They were talking about it now over the second bottle of wine. "Well, for a start, he was dirty." Chelsea held her nose to illustrate her point. "I mean, really stinky. He had on a black tee shirt and ratty jeans and sandals, and he wanted to pay the rent with his music." Bec was intrigued. "His music - what, sort of sing to you each day?" "I guess. He had a guitar with him and he insisted on playing me a few bars to show his talent." "So what was he like?" "You know Mark Knopfler?" "Sure." "Well, he wasn't related. On a score of one to a hundred, where one is the highest, I would have given this guy four hundred." "That bad, huh?" Chelsea smiled at the memory. "Appalling - and I tried to tell him nicely, but he wouldn't have it. He insisted that he would make it big, and then, when I told him that I didn't need songs I needed money, he asked if he could pay in kind." Bec smiled. "Sounds like an easy offer to refuse." She looked at Chelsea shyly. "So why did you choose me?" Chelsea twirled the stem of her glass, watching the crimson fluid sparkle in the candlelight. "You were the first one who could string two words together, and you looked good." She thought for a second. "Shit, that didn't sound right...I meant, you know, you weren't a complete skank." "Well, thanks!" Chelsea waved her hand magnanimously. "You're welcome. I did worry about how long it would be before you wanted to bring someone else in, though." "Really? What made you think that?" "I figured that with your looks you'd have someone you were hooked up with - a guy, or perhaps a girlfriend." Bec shook her head. "Just little ol' me." Her eyes were sad for an instant, and then she smiled. "Did you really think I was a lesbian?" Chelsea shrugged. "Hell, how would I know? I didn't care either way - I just didn't want a third person tagging along." "Why not? The house is big enough." "Not really. We've only got the one bathroom and besides, three's a crowd." Bec nodded, and took another drink from her glass. "Would you have accepted me if you really thought I was?" Chelsea shrugged again. "It wouldn't worry me either way." She gave the girl a searching look. "Are you?" Bec shook her head. "Not that I know of." She was silent for a while, sensing the mood of the conversation changing. "Perhaps I should be, for all the luck I've had with guys. I had someone....he was pretty special, too." She looked down into her glass. "He decided that he didn't want to settle down...not with me, anyway, although I hear it didn't take him long to find someone else." "When was this?" "Just before I met you....it was the reason I was looking to find somewhere to live." "Are you over him yet?" Bec looked towards the window, her eyes empty as if she hadn't really thought about it. She could still feel the pain of separation, like a blade cutting into her flesh. She thought the question had been direct, but she was not offended. Her eyes flickered back to Chelsea. "Not really. I keep thinking it was my fault, somehow - you know, maybe I didn't try hard enough." Chelsea could see she was upset. "It isn't logical, I know, but I can't help looking back and wondering if I could have done something different." Chelsea leaned over and squeezed her arm. "Don't beat yourself up, Bec. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I had a similar experience - you know, nice guy, settled down, all going well and then suddenly - wham! Out of the blue there's a little blonde on the scene with fuck -me eyes and nice tits. She wasn't after me, either." "Did you try and keep him?" "Not on your life. I told him to fuck off." Bec smiled a little. "I wish I'd done that with Jeff. At least it would have been a clean break." Chelsea stood up and started clearing the table. "It really didn't help. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about him and what we had. Don't get me wrong - I think he's a complete prick, but I miss what we had." She paused, thinking about her brother -they had been so completely certain that they would be lovers for the rest of their lives. How could it have gone wrong so quickly? Was it really all his fault, or was there something she could have done? She shook her head, as if answering her own question. Bec was right - you did feel guilty, right or wrong. She looked at the girl opposite, with her bright eyes and rosebud lips - it was hard to imagine anyone not finding her irresistible. She picked up a plate and continued talking. "I know what you mean about feeling guilty, though. It sort of gets to you...you know, your confidence takes a hit, and you get lonely -" She stopped suddenly. Bec was hunched over the table and her shoulders started shaking with silent sobs. Chelsea put down the plate moved quickly to her side, resting her hand on her back. "Hey, kid, he's not worth crying over." Bec stood up and flung her arms around her, burying her head in her shoulder, her body shaking. Chelsea could feel her tears soaking through the thin material of her blouse. She stroked her hair gently, feeling the glossy strands under her fingers, aware of the warmth of her body through her dress. She'd sensed a sadness when they first met, but she hadn't realised the extent of the girl's loneliness, and she felt her heart go out to her. She held her tight, waiting for the grief to pass. "I'm sorry, Chelsea." Bec's voice was muffled. "That's OK - we're friends, remember. That's what I'm here for." Bec turned her head a little, still clutching her. "It hurts so much!" "I know, honey." "I was OK until you said you were lonely too...it just brought it all out." "Why didn't you tell me you were hurting?" Bec looked up at her. "I didn't know you...I didn't think you'd understand. You're so self assured....so much stronger than me." Chelsea hugged her again, wrapping her arms around her. She could feel that her own tears were very close. "Not really, Bec. I think we are both broken souls at the moment." She held her a little longer, then disengaged, looking down into the girl's face. "But we have each other. Promise you'll let me know if you get really down." Bec smiled. Her eyes were red and her nose was running a little. "Promise." "I mean it. Any time, day or night. A problem shared...." "I hear you, Chelsea." "OK then." She found a scrunched up tissue in her pocket and gave it to the girl. "Wipe your nose. Are you up for a game of scrabble?" "Sure....isn't that what old people play?" Chelsea smiled at her. "It's what lonely people play, Bec," she said, "and I reckon we could be world champions." She turned away to get the board, her mind full of how the girl's body had felt in her arms, and the cinnamon and apple smell of her hair. It isn't anything sexual, she told herself. It's just the comfort of having someone who understands. ***** Ben Rogers set his glass down on the worn surface of the down town bar and gestured to the bartender. "Same again, thanks." He looked around. There weren't many people in at this time - a solitary drunk in the corner nursing a Scotch, and a younger couple at one of the tables. He picked up his drink and swallowed half of it, feeling the warmth of the liquor burn his insides. He thought again about what he had seen and tried to unravel the mystery, but all it did was make his head hurt. She was either going into the driveway of the house where the accident happened, or was coming out. But why? She'd never mentioned knowing anyone in that neighbourhood, and she didn't have any reason to call there, especially dressed like that. He shook his head. There was only one explanation - she was meeting someone. The question was who, and for what purpose. He tossed the remainder of his drink down his throat, flung a couple of notes on the counter and walked out. It would be interesting to see what she said when he got home. Sophie was on the sofa reading a book, and she smiled up at looked him as he took off his coat. "Hi Hon." He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Hi Gorgeous. What's for supper?" She put the book down. "I popped down to the take -away - they do a great Pizza." He sighed. They seemed to have take -away three or four times a week. "How was your day?" "Busy. I went down to the shops to look for a dress for the wedding, but couldn't see much. I bumped into Linda and we had a nice long lunch. She's heading off to see her Mum next week." "What else?" "Not much, Hon. A bit of shopping - had my nails done -" "And your hair?" She frowned at him. "No. Why d'you ask?" "I thought it looked a bit different - it looks really nice." It was too, but it was flowing over her shoulders, not piled up on her head like it had been when he saw her. She smiled at the compliment. "And then I came home - I'm reading this really good book." He sat on the arm of the sofa next to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Sounds like the kind of day I should have had," he said. He looked at her. "Don't you ever get bored, Sophie, spending so much time at home?" "Nope. There's always lots to do." "Don't you want to meet new people? There's groups you can join - they do all sorts of stuff." "Like what, Hon?" "Going out to places, doing crafts, learning stuff -" She shook her head. "Not for me. I'm just happy here." "I'm glad." He stood up. "I'll just go and change and then we'll eat." He turned and walked away, and then stopped. "Oh, I forgot. I noticed your car has a tail light broken. When did that happen?" She shook her head. "I found it like that when I came out from lunch today...no note or anything. I asked the shopkeepers nearby, but nobody saw it happen. Will it be expensive?" "Probably not. Can you write down the time and place you were parked, Sophie, just in case I need to make an insurance claim?" "Sure Hon." She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and guileless. "They could have left a note - I guess some people just aren't honest." "Right," he said, "but they usually get what they deserve." ***** Craig Howard looked just as you would expect a private detective to look, Ben thought. He was short and squat, with a rumpled coat and a hangdog expression - but behind the slim reading glasses his eyes were bright with intelligence and he came straight to the point. "It should be a simple job, Mr Rogers. Most partners are pretty careless in situations like this - they think they've taken precautions but they're usually pretty thin." He stroked his chin. "Can I ask you a couple more questions?" "Sure." "You appreciate that my fees are the same, even if I find nothing?" "Yes" "And are you sure you want to know all the details if I do find something? Sometimes it can be very confronting." "Absolutely." "Do you want photographs?" "Only if they show a third party." "And aside from following her, you want to know who owns this house in O'Connor Circuit - er," he consulted his notes, " - number 28?" "Right." "Is that all?" Ben smiled at him, but his eyes were cold. "I want you to use your discretion, Mr. Howard. If you think that there's anything else that I might find interesting, then I want you to follow it up - within the limit of the fees we have agreed." "Very well. When do you want me to start?" "Tomorrow. I leave for work at about eight, so from then." "Thank you." He paused. "A delicate question, if I may. When is her period due?" Ben was taken aback. "What? Why....oh, I see." He considered for a moment. "She's pregnant - five weeks, but it doesn't show at all." The Detective nodded. "Very well. I'll have my report to you a week on Friday. Now, about the deposit..." Ben reached into the drawer in his office and drew out the slim packet of banknotes. "There's a thousand." "Thank you. I can see that we will work well together. Now, there's one more thing." He took off his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his shirt. "You appreciate, I hope, that any incriminating material I provide cannot be used in a court of law - it would be the result of surveillance that has not been authorised by a Magistrate. It is, in effect, totally non -admissible." Ben nodded. "I understand." "Good. Is there anything more before I start?" "No, thank you. My secretary will show you out." ***** Exactly ten days later, the Detective was back in his office. He placed his briefcase on his lap and popped the locks to draw out a slim binder. "Before I start, Mr. Rogers, can I ask if you noticed anything in your partner's behaviour during the week that was - ah - out of the ordinary?" Ben shook his head. "Not really, but I didn't look hard....I didn't want to start worrying about things that might have a perfectly good explanation." The detective nodded. "I understand." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You will recall that I started my surveillance last Wednesday week, and concluded on Tuesday. Much of that time your partner was in the house, or engaged in activity that was innocuous - going shopping, and so forth." He opened the report and glanced down at its pages. "But over the week she also made a number of other visits that are not so easy to explain." He drew a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to Ben. "I've marked these visits in yellow highlighter." Ben put the paper on the desk without looking at it. "Tell me about them." "There were three, in particular. The first was on Wednesday. Your partner left the house in the morning and visited the hairdresser and the shopping mall. She purchased some items in one of the clothing stores and then returned home at about eleven am. She then left again shortly after midday, and I followed her to an address in Beachside, about twenty -five minutes from here. There was one vehicle already there when she arrived - a silver Porsche, registered to a Mr. John Sylvester." "Who's he?" "A local businessman - 42 years old, married three times, no kids. He owns a number of fashion stores and is doing very well. Lives in Royalla." "Go on." "Mr. Sylvester met her and they embraced before they shut the door. There was time for one photograph." He passed over an A4 print in black and white, showing a couple embracing in the doorway of a house. They were in shadow, but it was clear enough - Sophie on tiptoe, stretching upwards, her eyes closed and her head tilted to one side. Her lips were open, caught in the moment just before they kissed, her body leaning forward and her arms around his neck. Ben placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. "How long was she there?" "Just over two hours. They left in separate cars, her first. She drove to the Westfield bank in the high street, where she made a cash deposit of five hundred dollars to a checking account in the name of Sophia Delaney. The current balance of that account is just under two thousand dollars." "Delaney is her middle name," Ben whispered. "Sophia Delaney McGraw." The detective nodded. "It's quite a common practice to use the middle name." He consulted his notes for a moment. "There are three accounts in her name at that bank - the total combined value as of yesterday is just over seventy two thousand dollars." He passed another page to Ben. "Here are the account statements for the last two months - you can see the dates and amounts of each deposit, and the transfers between them." Chelsea Rising Ch. 03 Ben stared at him. "How did you get this information?" "That is what I do, Mr. Rogers. You can see why it is inadmissible." "Of course. Please go on." "She made a similar call the following day, also in the afternoon, to an address in Sunnyvale. The house is rented to a Mr. Samuel Robards - 61 years old, married with grown up children. He's a merchant banker. The property is a flat in Jasmine Circuit. I took a photograph of her leaving the car - you can see why." Ben stared at the glossy photographic image. The depth of field was very narrow, suggesting the use of a long telephoto lens, and the background was a blurred patchwork of light and shadow. It served to highlight the image of the girl, as sharp and clear as if he was standing next to her. She was dressed as a schoolgirl - a short plaid skirt, bobby socks and little black shoes, and a school tie with a loose knot at the neck of her white blouse. The shutter had frozen her in an instant of time - her pony tail bouncing free of her shoulders with the sun glinting off the shiny golden hair, and one foot poised in the air as she stepped forward. She was gazing at the building, her head tilted upwards and a small smile on her lips. Her face was alight with excitement and she looked very young and achingly beautiful. Ben closed his eyes, remembering last weekend - the same little school uniform paraded for him, the press of her nipples against the blouse like sweet ripe cherries and the crease of her tight little buttocks peeping from under the skirt. He had taken her over the sofa, hearing her squeals as he fucked her, legs splayed out and her little silk knickers twisted around one ankle. He felt the sharp pain of betrayal but he set the photograph down with the others without expression. "How long did she stay?" "Just over two hours." "I don't suppose he was giving her financial advice?" The Detective smiled without humour. "I don't think so, Mr. Rogers." He consulted his notes again. "She left a few minutes before him, and made a similar trip to the bank." He leaned forward, indicating the bank statement. "Another deposit of five hundred." Ben closed his eyes. It was much worse than he had thought. "And the final visit?" "Last Monday to the house that you drove past - 28 O'Connor Avenue. It belongs to Mr. Ramal Hussein. He's 40 years old, married with one child and is a very successful middle -eastern businessman. You may have read about him from time to time - a buyer and seller, although there is talk of him being heavily involved with certain criminal elements - prostitution, drugs and the like. It's only hearsay, but the rumours have been persistent. He's certainly very wealthy." He paused, as if checking to see that Ben was paying attention. "She arrived before him and let herself in with a key, dressed in a very smart red business suit and carrying a small bag. He arrived shortly afterwards and they remained inside for nearly three hours. He left first and she followed about twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt." "Did she go to the bank?" "Not at first. She called into Nightingale's in the High Street - you know, the women's fashion boutique, and she paid a large sum of money against an account. I could not ascertain the amount but it appeared to be in the order of a couple of thousand dollars. She then went to the bank and made a deposit of just over eight hundred." "I see. Is there anything else?" "She made a number of phone calls on her mobile phone during the time I observed her." He drew another sheet of paper from the file. "Here's a print out of her cell phone account with the numbers and their times and duration. I regret I did not have time to match the numbers to names, but you will see that there are some that appear quite frequently. If you call each one I'm sure you might get an impression of who they are." He paused. "I'd suggest you use a different name, and don't use a phone that leaves its number." Ben nodded. "Anything more?" The Detective passed a final piece of paper to him. "I ran an identity check on her, just to see if it threw up anything of interest. It was a convoluted trail, but I believe that her original name was Donatella Marcella Sassounion, born in Sydney in 1991 of a single mother, Maria. They lived in the poor side of town. Her mother had numerous convictions for prostitution and petty theft, although she never served time - probably having a young daughter saved her from goal. She died in 2005 from a beating inflicted by persons unknown." He looked at his hands. "Sophie left home just before then although it's not clear where she lived. She did well at school and has no prior police record." He looked up at Ben. "From what I can find out she had a very tough childhood, if that's any consolation." "Thank you. Is that all?" "Yes, but I can find out more about her if you wish." Ben ignored the suggestion. "What do you think she was doing?" The Detective regarded him, and for the first time his voice was sympathetic. "I believe she was selling something. There's no other explanation." "You mean drugs, or something?" "No. There was no merchandise. She was selling herself." Ben nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. It was so easy to see, once you knew - her behaviour patterns fitted into everything he had learned in the last twenty minutes. He reached into the drawer of his desk and drew out another packet of banknotes. "You have been very thorough, Mr. Howard. Here is the balance of what I owe you. I believe that we can rely on each other for complete discretion?" "There are no copies of any of the material that I have given you, and I don't ever talk about clients." Ben held out his hand. "I wish your report had been other than what it was, but I appreciate your thoroughness and your sensitivity. Good day to you." ***** Ben sat in his office with his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the soft leather surface of his desk and half a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue beside him. The staff had long since left and it was quiet in the room apart from the little sounds of the city - the occasional chime of the clock across the square, and the muted sound of traffic heading home on the freeway to the south. He opened the top drawer of his desk and extracted Sophie's report, resting it on the blotter in front of him. Her name had been written on the front cover in neat capitals - Sophia Delaney McGraw and then, in smaller letters underneath 'aka Donatella Marcella Sassounion'. He wondered whether she had other names that he did not know about - other lives in different shades and hues, like coats of paint layered one upon the other, each of them skillfully concealed by the fine brushstrokes of the one above. Ben sipped his whiskey, the smoky flavour as smooth as warm butter on his tongue, and he considered what was to be done. Surprisingly, he felt no anger. The slim report under his fingers was not a body blow but a way out, and he felt relief that he had found out now, rather than later when the tendrils of her entrapment would have been even tighter. He would deal with her tomorrow, and that would be the start of his life without her. He thought of his sister Chelsea, images of their lives together racing through his brain in a kaleidoscope of time and colour - the skinny little blonde with a flat chest and braces who grew to stunning womanhood; their discovery of each other in the little holiday chalet, her eyes soft with love as he entered her hot, tight body. He remembered their time in the remote beach hideaway - long, lazy days together, filled with loving and laughter; and then the little flat they had rented above the dusty bookshop in the main street, where they lived as a couple for almost a year. They thought it would never end, but it had. He had been sent to Europe for a few months on business, and the separation had put things in perspective. Living together in their home town had been a mistake - they knew too many people, and they had to work too hard at hiding their relationship. Their lives were shrouded in shame and secrecy, the spectre of disgrace their constant companion, hanging like the sword of Damocles above their heads. How could you live like that, being ashamed of the one you loved? The lies and deceit had eventually worn him down. The chime of the town clock broke into his thoughts, and he stirred. The sound of the traffic on the freeway had diminished, and the night was still. It too late to look back with such regret, he thought - the bed had been made, and he must lie in it. He rose stiffly to his feet, aware that a chapter of his life was about to close and the pages beyond it were empty. He thought again of Chelsea, and wondered whether she might ever forgive him; perhaps he could talk to her at the wedding. He thought reconciliation unlikely, though - how could she ever take him back, when he had left her, just as his Sophie had betrayed him? He drained the last of his Scotch, placed the report carefully in his briefcase and he left the office, closing the door softly behind him. Tomorrow was another day, and he had no idea what his world would be like beyond it. ***** It was 11:58 on the bedside clock when the door to Chelsea's bedroom opened, and Bec slipped into the room. The light from the hallway illuminated her briefly, her nightdress translucent for a moment so that the outline of her body was visible under the thin material; and then she was beside the bed, leaning forward to peer into Chelsea's face. "Are you awake?" she whispered. "Yes. What is it?" "I can't sleep. I keep thinking about him." Chelsea smiled. She'd been expecting her, even though there had been no commitment. She pulled aside the bedclothes, shuffling her body over the bed to make room. "Come in, Bec." The girl climbed in beside her. She was shivering, and Chelsea put her arms around her. "Hey, don't let him get to you." Bec's voice was low, her words uncertain. "It's the same every night, Chelsea...you know - I'm alright during the day, when I'm busy, and then I get to think -" Chelsea stroked her head gently. "Then think good things," she murmured. "I - I don't have good things to think of." "Sure you do. You're young, beautiful, have a good job and good friends and you'll soon meet someone who thinks you're the most special person in the world. Isn't all that good stuff to think of?" Bec rolled onto her side, so that she was facing her. "I'm not like you," she said. "I don't make friends easily. It took ages before I found Jeff." "He was your first, wasn't he?" It was too dark to see her, but she sensed the girl's nod. "Well, the first always takes the longest." "You're just making that up!" There was a trace of laughter in her voice. Chelsea laughed softly. "I'm not - promise! Cross my heart -". Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she could see Bec's head faintly against the white of the pillow. The girl's hair was silky under her fingers and she smoothed it gently, her fingertips brushing over her temple and the soft skin behind her ear. "I took ages to find the first guy, and then had three all within a year." "Really?" Bec's voice was curious. "So how many boyfriends have you had?" Chelsea chuckled. "Are you asking me how many men I've slept with, Bec?" "I guess." "That's a whole conversation. Enough to know that some are good and some are bad, though." She paused for a moment. "And nobody in the last year." "Don't you miss having someone?" Chelsea was silent for a moment, thinking about the question. Her anger at Ben had sustained her for a while, but now it was just a dull ache, every moment of the day. She wasn't ready for another relationship yet. "Sometimes, Bec. Sometimes I just want to hold someone - you know, to share the day's problems ... and then I wake up in the morning and I'm glad I don't have all the complications of a relationship to worry about." She moved her fingers down, the tips sliding lightly over the nape of the girl's neck and the soft buttery skin of her shoulder, sensing its warmth and plasticity. "Being on your own is OK, sometimes - you don't have to answer to anybody but yourself." "But it's lonely, too." "Yes, sometimes it is, and there's nothing good in that." She laughed. "Now, missy - we have to go to work in the morning, so we'd better get some sleep!" "Tomorrow's Saturday - are you working, then?" Chelsea laughed. "No...I'd just forgotten which day of the week it was. I need to go to sleep now anyway." Can I stay here?" "Of course you can. Don't snore and don't pinch all the bedclothes." Chelsea patted her on the shoulder lightly, rolled over so that they were back -to -back and closed her eyes. For a while she lay quietly, luxuriating in the feeling of having someone in her bed. The girl was right - it had been lonely on her own. She liked Bec a lot, and to her surprise she found that she was looking forward to waking up with her in the morning. It's just the companionship, she told herself, nothing more. But the warm glow at the base of her stomach told a different story. When she woke up the bedroom was suffused with grey light and she could hear the sound of rain on the metal roof and the gurgle of water in the drain outside the window. Bec was still asleep, her head on the pillow close to Chelsea. A swathe of hair had fallen forward over her face and she was breathing lightly, her lips slightly apart. She had pushed the covers back a little and one arm was flung outwards, the strap of her nightie displaced so that Chelsea could see the swell of one breast, the nipple peeping over the lace edging and her skin soft and creamy. She felt a surge of tenderness towards the girl. Although she was only a couple of years younger than herself, she seemed so vulnerable - and yet she had an irrepressible spirit and a quiet sense of humour that Chelsea found appealing. She regarded Bec's face: seeing the delicate arcs of her eyebrows and the dark lashes closed lightly over her eyes. There was a sprinkling of freckles over her nose and her lips were full, soft and well shaped, turned up at the corners slightly to give a sense of fun. Her face was square, framed by the bob of her hair, and the firm chin gave her strength and determination. It was a face you could easily get used to each morning, she thought, and she smiled. Bec's eyes opened, soft and unfocussed with sleep. For a moment there was confusion in them, and then she remembered where she was and she smiled at Chelsea in return. They lay for a moment looking at each other, each of them experiencing a growing awareness of the sudden intimacy of their situation. Chelsea lifted her arm and gently brushed aside the lock of hair on her forehead, her fingers lingering on the girl's skin. She could see the want in Bec's eyes - almost a look of desperation, a fear of rejection and the need for someone to hold her. She could hear the rain hammering on the roof above their heads, adding to their closeness, their bodies warm and secure in the cocoon of her bed. On impulse she leaned forward and kissed the girl softly on the lips, her touch as light as a feather. She could feel their softness and warmth, taste the honeydew fragrance of her mouth. For a moment nothing happened, and then Bec opened her lips to open slightly, increasing the pressure, kissing her back. Chelsea felt the girl's arm encircle her, pulling her down against the warmth of her body, feeling the soft press of her breasts against her own and the hard nub of her nipples stiffening beneath her. She felt Bec's tongue brush into her mouth, small and slippery, easing between her lips and then retreating, and she was aware of the press of her thighs against her own. She pulled away, looking down at her. Bec's eyes were bright and her lips open, and there was colour in her cheeks as she stared up at her. "Are you OK with this?" Chelsea whispered. Bec nodded. "God, yes!" They kissed again, exploring the soft contours of each other's lips, their tongues touching and dancing against each other, slippery and warm. Chelsea could feel her heart hammering in her chest and the tight clutch of excitement building in her belly. Her senses were alive to everything that was happening: the softness of the body under her - yielding and fragrant, its soft curves and malleable flesh so different to the hard, angular muscle of the men she had known. The scent of her body, too, a trace of perfume from the night before - apple and cinnamon in her hair and the warm, milky smell of her skin; and her taste - a hint of sweet wine and honeydew melon on the enveloping softness of her lips. It was all so different to what she was used to - her senses were spinning, overcome by the deep well of pleasure that had suddenly opened before her, drawing her downwards in a spinning vortex of desire. She could feel Bec's hands sliding over the material of her nightie, her fingers catching in the decorative lace and ribbon, and she broke away for a moment to strip it off and toss it aside. Her breasts were released, fuller and heavier than Bec's, and she could feel the girl's eyes on them and then the tentative touch of her fingers brushing over their fullness. Chelsea leaned forward a little to give her better access, and she watched as the girl's mouth closed over one nipple, her lips teasing it, sucking gently before releasing it again. In the pale, grey light Chelsea could see the shine of saliva on her skin, the nipple stiff and aroused, and she could see Bec looking up at her. For a moment Chelsea hesitated, aware that she was on the edge of a precipice. She could stop now, pull back from the brink and they would laugh about it awkwardly later in the day, and life would go on; or she could pluck the soft, warm fruit of the body before her. She regarded the girl in her bed - the open lips and her hot, panting breath, her hair spread over the pillow in a shining curtain. Bec was waiting, aware of her uncertainty and its reason, and she had an expression of desperate longing on her face. Chelsea smiled down at her. "Take off your nightie, Bec." A flash of relief crossed the girl's face...or was it triumph? She pulled the nightie over her head, the scrap of blue silk fluttering free, and lay back. Chelsea pulled the bedclothes aside. Bec's body was quiescent, ready for her to take; the soft curves and firm flesh an open invitation. She crouched down and ran her tongue over her skin, down from the creamy swell of her breasts and over her midriff, dipping into the little hollow of her navel and then across the flat plain of her belly to where the thin elastic of her panties began. She heard the soft sigh of the girl's pleasure and felt the stretch of her body responding to her touch, arching up against her mouth. She could feel Bec's hands reaching out, pulling at her thighs to bring her closer, and she swung herself over the girl, her knees either side of her shoulders and her buttocks towards her face. She could feel the trickle of her own juices, held back by the thin fabric of her briefs, and she wondered if the material was stained. Her awareness was heightened, each moment a bright sliver of light and sound under the microscope of her consciousness: the wild thudding of her heart beating in her chest and the pulsing of her blood through her arteries; the creak of the bedsprings as their bodies moved gently together, and the splatter of rain on the window beside the bed. She lowered her torso, hunkering down to bring her hips closer to the girl's face, feeling Bec's breath on the inside of her thighs as light as a gossamer breeze, and she felt the girl's hands reach up to her thighs. For a moment Chelsea could feel the coolness of air on her heated flesh as Bec eased aside the gusset of her panties, and then there was the sudden touch of soft, wet lips on her vulva, and the slow slide of the girl's tongue over the opening to her body. Her back arched, pushing her mons harder against Bec's face, and she felt her vagina contract violently, releasing a little squeeze of warm juice. She rotated her hips gently, rubbing her labia over the girl's face, delighting in the press of her tongue upwards into her cunt. Chelsea Rising Ch. 04 By the author. The success of my "Chelsea Rising" series has been measured by the number of comments I have had and by the scores I have received, and based on that I've written a fourth chapter, which I present for your enjoyment. I need to say a couple of things, though. Firstly, this story contains descriptions of non-consensual sex. I don't condone such acts for a second, but it is a necessary part of the story and I hope that you will take it as such...and it turns out well in the end, at least from that person's perspective. Secondly, all of the characters in this story, as for all of my work, are fictitious. They bear no resemblance to persons living or dead. Which brings me onto the third point: this is an act of fiction, so please don't abuse me if you think that someone might have acted in a different way, or that some aspect of the story is unrealistic. It is what it is! Anyone who publishes stories on this site will tell you that we live for feedback. In my case, it decides whether or not I will continue to write, and what. If you like my work (or even if you don't), please leave a comment and a score...it really will make the difference between my moving on to other hobbies, or continuing to write what I hope are vibrant and enjoyable stories. Finally, I hope that you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed putting it together, which is to say, a lot! HotSister. Jan11. ******* PROLOGUE: JUNE 2008 "Mum! We're going to be late!" Melanie Phillips regarded her son Dirk in the rear-view mirror and tried to console him. "He's coming now, honey. We've plenty of time." She tooted the car horn again, more impatiently, her eyes on the front door as if to will her husband out quicker. She glanced at her watch - five to ten. It was at least a thirty-minute drive, and then they had to find parking and walk to the audition room. It was cutting things very fine. She could feel the rising level of stress and she tooted again. "Here he comes," Dirk said, a note of hysteria in his voice. "Can we get there on time, Mum? I can't be late." Bruce Phillips hurried to the passenger side and slid into the seat. "Sorry, sorry....I had a client on the phone - a big job." He leaned over and looked at his son. "We'll be fine, Dirk, if we hurry." Melanie revved the car and shot out of the driveway, turning left towards the town. Dirk had been working for this day for months, and she knew that the auditioning team were very strict on people who turned up late. She spun the steering wheel, negotiating her way around an SUV that was loitering, and accelerated hard. She thought that the coastal road was probably quicker and she entered the left hand lane, filtering at the green arrow and then accelerating out of town. Bruce turned to her. "Take it easy, Mel. We've plenty of time." She glanced at him, and her voice was hard. "No, we haven't Bruce. We've got to be there five minutes ago, but I don't suppose you thought of that while you were chatting on the phone." "That's not fair, Mel. I told you it was important." Her voice was scornful. "More important than your son's future?" "As it happens, yes. It's bread and butter on the table." "It could have waited a day or two!" He looked at her angrily. "It couldn't. Peter wants the draft contract tomorrow." Dirk sat in the back seat listening to his parents fighting, his own heart hammering in his chest. He could see their faces set in anger, and he heard the shrillness of their voices. He watched his mother turning to respond, her eyes on her husband and her lips pulled back in fury, and then a movement ahead drew his focus forward, out of the car to the narrow road ahead, and he saw the tractor turning, its heavy trailer slewing across the road into their path. "Look out!" He screamed. Dirk watched it all happen, as if in slow motion. His mother, turning her head back, seeing the obstruction and reacting. The squeal of tyres locking up on the road, the back of the car fishtailing, losing control; the farmer's face looking down, his mouth open in fear and dismay and the trailer's steel side filling the windscreen, so close he could see the dribbles of rust and the stains of ordure on the dark, pitted metal. His brain registered the impact - not the crunch of metal he expected, but a single blow that reverberated in the morning air like a giant hammer on an anvil as the two ton car was suddenly halted. The horizon dipped as the back wheels reared up, and the cabin around him was instantly filled with dust and debris flung upwards with the deceleration. He felt the sudden crush of his seatbelt expelling the breath from his chest in an explosive whoosh! and he saw the airbag deploy, his mother cascading into it with her head lolling like a broken puppet. With horrified eyes he saw his father exit from the vehicle, plucked through the windscreen in an instant of time, his body bent and his limbs disjointed, the glass exploding around his head in a shower of glittering fragments like a bucketful of diamonds flung into the crisp morning air. The vehicle fell back onto its wheels with a thump and there was the tinkle of falling debris and then the tick of cooling metal in the sudden silence. For a long time there was no other sound or movement and Dirk thought they must all be dead, and then he heard the shouts of the men running from the fields nearby. Dirk stood by the grave as the coffin was lowered. He regarded his mother and elder sister Cielle, clinging together by the graveside, their faces grey and pinched and their eyes red from weeping. His younger sister Sarah was next to them, watching the leaves blowing around the grave with empty eyes - her lack of awareness a blessing for once. Behind them were other mourners - family and friends, the greys and blacks of their clothing reflected in the low winter sky, and beyond them the hearse that had brought his father on the final journey. He saw the priest, his white cassock stark against the raw earth as he leaned over the grave, his voice thin against the sigh of the wind. "We commit the body of our dearly departed son, Bruce Arthur Phillips, to be buried..." The priest stooped to pick up earth from the grave, fingers stained by the heavy clay. Dirk could see a smear of it on his sleeve, as red as his father's blood as it dribbled and dripped from his shattered head. Dirk watched as he stretched forward and scattered it into the grave, each clod thudding against the coffin like the beat of a lonely drum, and he heard the dreadful finality of the priest's words. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." He fastened his eyes on his mother as she stared down into the grave, and his heart was filled with hatred. He felt it rising in his consciousness as thick and bitter as bile, directed towards her lonely figure huddled before the open pit. You killed him, you bitch, he thought, as surely as if you put a gun to his head, and I will hate you for ever. A fanatical gleam flared in his yellow eyes for a moment, like a flame licking at a piece of kindling, and then the light went out of them and they turned flat and cold and empty. The mourners turned away, singly or in groups, walking through the churchyard to the little car park beyond. For a long time Dirk stood alone, looking down into the grave and remembering all that he and his father had done. At length he sighed and turned away, and the wind swept around the churchyard unimpeded, plucking up the flowers and scattering them across the wet, raw earth of the open grave. September 2010 The house was silent when Dirk slipped out of his bedroom and moved quietly down the corridor to Cielle's room. He turned the handle and the door opened silently and he moved quickly to the bed. He could see the faint outline of the window with the gleam of stars beyond, and the shape of her body under the bedclothes. He slipped out of his jocks and then moved forward and placed his hand firmly over her mouth. Cielle awoke and the terror seized her again. She struggled briefly, knowing even in her sleep and confusion that it was no good, and after a moment she lay quiescent. His voice was low, oozing into her ear like warm oil. "Hello, little sister...you're not going to make any noise, are you?" She shook her head, her heart hammering in her chest. He moved his hand and then the bedclothes lifted and she felt him sliding into bed. His fingers reached out of the darkness and she felt the tips touching her, like slithering roaches on her body, brushing over her temple then down over her lips - lingering there for a moment before sliding down the smooth skin of her neck to rest just above her larynx. "I want to talk to you, Sis. Are you listening?" "Yes." Her voice was a whisper. "Put on the light. I want to see you." Cielle reached across and switched on the bedside light, blinking in the sudden brightness. Dirk was looking at her, his strange yellow eyes almost luminescent in the light. "That's a good girl," he said smoothly. "Mother's going to talk to you tomorrow...she wants to know if you would like to go away for a while." Cielle felt the leap of hope in her breast. Perhaps the nightmare could end after all. "How do you know?" "She thought it clever to discuss it with the family first." He chuckled, an ugly little sound without humour. "She seems to think you're unhappy at the moment. Of course I agreed that it was such a good idea." "Where does she want me to go?" "It doesn't matter, Cielle - you're going to say no." She shook her head slightly and her voice was desperate. "Dirk...please. I'd like to go...you can't keep me here for ever...I won't tell -" He pressed his fingers downward sharply, his fingers digging painfully into the soft tissue under her chin. His voice was very calm. "You're not listening, Sis. I said you won't be going." She cried out in pain, trying to pull his arm away to relieve the pressure, but he was too strong. After a moment he relaxed his grip, and his voice was a sibilant whisper. "You've not forgotten our little chats, have you, Sis? Would you like me to remind you?" She could sense his eyes on her face, those strange yellow orbs that had the power to prise open the lid to her soul. "You and I have such a good understanding, Cielle...would you like me to start one with little Sarah as well?" He giggled softly. "Think of it, Cielle - she's in her bed asleep. I could go there now, and I could do the same things to her that I do to you. Can you imagine that, Cielle - waking her up with my fingers in her body. She's a virgin, you know. Can you imagine her naked, her legs stretched open, with me -" "Please, Dirk, don't." "- playing with her. She'd be so confused. I might fuck her pussy first....God, she'd be so tight!! Can you imagine, Cielle, me stretching her open, all dry and tight, breaking her in? And then I'd turn her over and fuck her tight little ass -" "Dirk, she doesn't know anything-" He laughed. "Oh, I know, I know, she's on another planet!" His fingers moved upwards, touching her lips. "Her mind might be slow, Cielle, but her body's all there, isn't it? Have you seen her tits? I reckon she's got all the equipment, and she'd root like a truck...grunting and moaning, her legs around me." He laughed. "And it would be so easy...perhaps tomorrow - I could collect her from school, bring her home, tie her to the bed -" Cielle thought of her sister asleep in her room down the corridor, her mind adrift in whatever ocean of time and space she occupied. She was so innocent, so trusting. She knew Dirk could do it, and she imagined Sarah tied to the bed, her eyes wild with pain and confusion as he rutted on top of her. She would never be able to cope with something like that - it would tear her fragile world to pieces. She felt her willpower shriveling, her instinct to protect her sister overcoming her own fear and revulsion. "God, Dirk - please don't...I'm sorry. Please don't hurt Sarah. I'll do whatever you want." He laughed again, his mouth touching the soft skin of her shoulder and his voice like wet slime. "Oh, I know you will, Cielle, starting right now." He rolled on top of her, pushing her legs open so that he was nestled between her thighs. His member felt enormous, the skin hot and stretched to bursting point. His foreskin was fully back and the knob was exquisitely sensitive, as big as he had ever felt it. He pushed his hips forward a little and felt the tip brush against her. She was rigid, her body as stiff as girder underneath him, but he reached down and pulled the leg of her knickers aside and then pushed forward again. He felt his glans pressing against the lips of her cunt, the pressure forcing them aside until there was nowhere else to go but forward, and he felt the heat of her body as slid into her. The walls of her vagina pressed against him, struggling to accommodate the thick wedge of his prick, and her heard her cry out. He thrust into her, back and forth, his cock sliding in and his own juices starting to lubricate the union. He felt her shift her hips, her torso lifting slightly to ease the angle of penetration, and her arms gripped his waist to try and restrain the depth of his strokes. Dirk leaned forward, his face brushing against her hair and his voice was hoarse with arousal. "Ah, yes, Sis. Move with me. Can you feel your brother's cock inside you?" He waited a moment but she didn't respond and he spoke again, his voice mocking while he continued to pump into her. "Isn't it good, Cielle? Feel how deep I am inside you! Tell me you love your brother's cock....tell me you love fucking him!" "Yes...yes. I love it." Her voice was thin and unconvincing. He laughed. "Liar! You hate it, don't you? You can feel me deep inside your body, and you hate it!" He leaned forward again, his mouth close to her face and his voice changed, hard and jagged like broken glass. "But you will learn to love it, Cielle, like any other whore...one day you'll beg me to fuck you, I promise!" She shook her head and he laughed again, his loins thrusting savagely to plunge his cock deeper into her. She rode the storm of his lust, her hips starting to move with him despite herself, her pelvis thrusting up to meet him. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face and smell the hot musk of his excitement and she heard him speak again, his voice disjointed as he reached upwards for his climax. "Jesus, Cielle....ah, that's tight! Ah, yes....fuck, yes! Here it comes...so hot, Cielle, hot and thick into your tight little pussy!" She felt his body go rigid, his back arching. A flood of warmth entered her body and she felt the jerking of his cock as he squirted his seed into her. His hips shuddered spasmodically and he groaned briefly before lying still on top of her, his sweat damp on her skin and his rough, unshaven cheek pressed against hers. At length he pushed himself off and he lay quietly for a few moments before speaking. "You call that fucking? I've had better shags from the school mattress!" He leaned over her, his face close to hers. "If you can't do better I'll try Sarah next time." "I'm sorry, Dirk, I'm -" "Frigid? Is that what you were going to say?" He laughed. "Perhaps you need more practice, little sister. I might come by more often!" He reached over and seized her nipple, pinching it between finger and thumb, laughing as she squirmed in pain. "And I might stimulate you a little more, you wooden bitch!" He released her and swung his legs out of bed. "Remember, not a word, Cielle, or -" "I know, Dirk. I...I won't say anything." "Too right." He picked up his pants and moved to the doorway before turning back. "Oh, by the way, Sis, you're on the pill, aren't you?" He regarded her, watching the guilty slide of her eyes. "I thought so. You'll stop that now, Cielle...I'd like to see you have a little bastard." He considered her silence for a moment. "What, nothing to say? Wouldn't you like a son and a nephew all in one?" He laughed at his eloquence. "Three months, Cielle. If you're not pregnant by then I'll fuck Sarah instead...she doesn't know about that stuff, and she'll have a wagonload of kids by me." He turned again and opened the door. "Dirk" He stopped. "What?" "Why are you doing this to me? I've never hurt you." He laughed again. "Don't you know, little sister? Well, I'll tell you!" He crossed the room in angry strides, leaning over the bed and seizing her by the throat, hooking his fingers into her flesh to lift her shoulders off the mattress. His voice was savage, dragged from the very depths of his soul, and his spittle flew into her face. "I hate her! I hate the fucking bitch! I hate everything she loves and I'll take it bit by bit, until she has nothing left...and then I'll destroy her!" He stared down at her for a few moments his eyes glinting in the faint light from the open door, and then he flung her back onto the pillow. She heard him panting and she cringed, waiting for a blow, but he stood back and his voice was more controlled. "And I'll destroy that old bastard she's going to marry and everything he loves, too!" She saw his shadow move across the room and then he turned to her again, his voice calm. "And if you think this is bad, little sister, just wait a while. I'll fuck you to death and laugh when she weeps over your grave." The door latch clicked shut behind him. Cielle lay back in her bed and her hand crept downward to her sex. Her brain was awash with conflicting emotions: fear, degradation, guilt and, although she hated it, gratification. Her vulva was swollen and she rested her fingers on it, cool on the hot flesh. She touched her clitoris and a wave of pleasure coursed through her body as she thought about what had just happened and how it would have looked: Dirk between her legs, his buttocks thrusting forward and back, and her slim white body underneath, moving with him. She felt her brother's sperm leaking from her vagina, slippery against her fingertips, and she remembered how she had clutched his buttocks to pull him in deeper, raising her hips to receive his seed. Her fingers rubbed against her flesh and her brain was suffused with lust and humiliation, lifting her upwards towards ecstasy. Afterwards Cielle lay in her bed and wept, the hot tears of guilt and shame sliding down her cheeks. She stared upwards into the silent darkness, hoping for a miracle to make everything good again, but she knew it could never happen. She buried her face into the pillow to hide her words, her lips moving silently. I'm so sorry, Sarah. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I'll try harder to make him happy, just you see. He'll love me then and everything will be all right. You'll be safe then. December 2010 Melanie Phillips walked down the aisle of the great church towards the altar. She could see Jim, her future husband, his face turned towards her, and she could see the smiling faces of her friends as she passed them to either side. She passed Chelsea, her new daughter, sitting alone in the west Transept; and she looked to the right, searching for her own children - Dirk, his strange yellow eyes on her face, unsmiling and alone. Cielle was further forward, her eyes downcast, and next to her was Sarah, her soft gaze resting on the great stained glass windows above the altar and a small smile upon her lips. She reached Jim and held his hand, and the notes of the wedding march died away. The great hall of the church was briefly filled with the rustle and clatter of the congregation as they sat, and then the words of the priest filled the Nave as he joined them in marriage... you have pledged your faith each to the other in the presence of God and in this company... She felt the warmth and comfort of her new husband's grasp and she saw the calm strength in his eyes, and for the first time in two years she felt that there was someone to share her burden, who could help her cope with the turmoil of her life. Chelsea Rising Ch. 04 * Dirk stood behind Chelsea as she showed them proudly around her apartment. This was the first time he had been close to her and he examined her with interest. She was wearing cut off shorts and a tank top, and her body was lean and trim, her skin burnished by the sun to a golden lustre. Her waist was slim under the little blue top, dipping smoothly to the swell of her hips, and he could see the curve of her firm little buttocks under the tight material of her shorts. Her blonde hair was drawn back in a ponytail, and could see the fine golden whorls of gold on the nape of her neck and on the soft white skin behind her ear. He leaned forward slightly and breathed in through his nose, savouring the subtle aroma of her perfume and the musky tang of a young healthy woman, and he felt his cock thicken in his pants. She moved from the kitchen, past the central workbench, passing by the dining room table and into the lounge. Everything was neat and new in its right place, giving a sense of order. His eyes roamed over the worktops as he followed her, noting the calendar hung on the side of the cabinet and the keys dangling on little hooks below it, each with their own little labels. Everything he saw told him a little about his new sister, but he needed to know so much more if he was to dismantle her life. He stopped and glanced around quickly. The girls were ahead of him, chatting. He reached up and palmed the key under the label 'spare', transferring it to his pocket as he hurried to catch up with them. Perhaps it would fit the front door. He turned to Chelsea, smiling down at her. "This is a lovely flat, Chelsea. How long have you lived here?" "It's Ben's actually, Dirk - he's my brother. He's away at the moment, but we share. It helps him with the mortgage and it's convenient for me, too." "Did you buy it together?" She shook her head. "Oh no, he'd already bought it. It was pretty rough inside, so he got it at a good price. He's spent the last few months renovating it, and I moved in three weeks ago." She waved her hand at the kitchen. "That was a separate room, for example," she said, "but he opened it all up. It's nice, isn't it?" "When does your brother get back?" Chelsea smiled, noticing again the extraordinary colour of his eyes...a sort of smoky yellow, the irises shot through with flecks of gold and black - and watchful, like those of a leopard. "On Wednesday...a short trip only. He's just been appointed a Director to the Company though, so he comes and goes a fair bit." Cielle spoke up. "He's done such a good job with the flat," she said. "I'd love something like this. Do they come on the market very often?" Dirk turned his gaze on her, his pupils as black as chips of obsidian. "I thought you liked living at home, Sis." Her eyes slid guiltily to his face. "I do, Dirk...it's just that - well, I can't live at home for ever." "Of course you can, Cielle. Whatever would we do without you?" He forced a smile, aware that Chelsea was watching. "Perhaps we can buy a place together when the time comes." She nodded, her head bobbing like a puppet's. "Yes, yes...I wasn't thinking about anytime soon, Dirk...you know, it's just a thought for the future." Her voice trailed off and she sat in misery, her head down. Chelsea looked at Cielle. She had noticed the uneasy interplay between her and Dirk when they arrived - almost one of subservience and control. It was not a good relationship, she decided. She glanced again at the girl's belly, rounded with what may have been the first signs of pregnancy, and she wondered who the father was. Cielle hadn't mentioned anyone in her life, and Chelsea hadn't liked to ask, just in case she wasn't pregnant. She shifted her glance to Sarah, sitting alone on the sofa with a book on her lap, her fingers touching the glossy pages and her lips moving soundlessly. She'd not said a word since she arrived, but Chelsea could see from the way that she looked at Cielle with her soft empty eyes that she loved her sister. She seemed happy, but it was clear that she was quite severely disabled. In a moment of insight Chelsea saw the three figures like actors in a theatre and she found herself being drawn into the play, like an improperly briefed performer who suddenly finds herself on a stage with no time to understand the plot or read the script. She shook her head - this was one weird family, but it was important to get on with them for her father's sake. She turned to them brightly. "Now, can I get anyone a drink?" * It was just after 9 o'clock the next morning when Dirk tried the front door. He'd watched Chelsea drive away and he'd hurried upstairs, unsure if she had a cleaner who might interrupt him. The duplicate key he'd had cut slipped into the deadlock without difficulty, and he heard the click as the mechanism slid back. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, alert for an alarm but finding none. As easy as that, he thought. The flat was quiet, everything as neat and clean as a new pin. He replaced the spare key on the keyboard in the kitchen and then moved quickly to the bedroom she'd said was hers, his feet silent on the thick carpet. The bed was neatly made, the covers smoothed down so that not a single wrinkle marred the surface. He opened the bedside drawers but there was nothing in them, and he turned to the dressing table under the window, sliding open each drawer carefully. There were a few things inside - some candles in a box, spare pillowcases, an unopened packet of Tampons. He moved quickly to the ensuite bathroom, noting the shining glass of the shower cubicle and the new bar of soap in the tray. The cabinet above the sink was almost empty - a few bottles of pills, some shampoo, a new tube of toothpaste and some ear wicks. The towels on the towel rack were dry. This is a guest suite, he thought, hardly ever used. He slipped silently into the other bedroom, keeping clear of the windows that overlooked the street. The bed was made but there was a book on the bedside cabinet, open and face down. He lifted the pillow and pressed it to his face, smelling the faint aroma of her perfume...so, she slept here. The cabinet drawer was filled with her things - some pills, emery boards, a tube of fungal ointment and some contraceptive pills. At the back was a bag made of soft material and he drew it out and opened it, staring down at the vibrators inside. He crossed to the other cabinet and opened it - a book on cars, a pair of glasses, aspirin. There was a sheaf of papers there too, held together with a clip, and he lifted them out and read the title: 'Proposed Rationalisation of the Marketing Department. A report by Benjamin Rogers, Director Marketing.' There were notes appended across the pages in blue ballpoint, and Dirk noticed the pen in the drawer. He carefully replaced the material and checked the rest of the room. Her clothes were in the wardrobe hanging alongside of his, and the drawers of the sideboard were filled with her underclothes. He entered the bathroom, noting the damp towel and the wet shower, lifting the lid of the laundry basket. It was half full, her tank top and shorts on the top; he lifted them to find a wispy pair of panties and he carried them through to the bedroom and sat on the bed. Dirk rested his hand on the pillow, imagining the soft skin of her face and the fragrant curtain of her hair resting against it. He could almost feel the warmth of her body retained in the weave of the fabric. This bed is where both of them sleep, he thought. He pressed her panties to his face and breathed in, his senses suddenly filled with her image - the slim body and the warm ripe lips. He could smell talcum powder and perfume and the faint aroma of her sex, and he imagined how the material in his fingers must have rubbed against her labia as she sat on the sofa in front of him the day before, and how it would have absorbed her essence. He lifted the thin fabric from his face and turned it, and he pressed the tip of his tongue against the gusset. This is what her brother tastes when he fucks her in this bed he thought. He laughed into the fragrant material, the power of what he had found popping and fizzling in his brain like a narcotic. I have the power to destroy her now, he thought, but first I'll have a little fun. * Chelsea Rogers ran to the front door and flung her arms around her brother as he entered the room. He dropped his bag on the floor and hugged her, his face buried in the fragrant cloud of her hair. "Wow, Chelsea - now that's a welcome!" She broke free and looked up at him, her teeth very white against the golden lustre of her skin. "It seems ages since you went, Ben." She smiled shyly. "I've made supper, but I thought it might wait a little, if you like." He laughed. "You must be a mind reader." "Then come with me." She took his hand and led him through to the bedroom. The bed was turned down and a bottle of champagne and two glasses stood beside it. The room was lit by dozens of candles, and she had scattered rose petals over the sheets, crimson against the white linen. He stopped at the door in surprise. "Chelsea, this is beautiful." She held his arm, her face turned towards his. "You've no idea how much I missed you, Ben," she said, shyly. He smiled. "I guess about as much as I missed you." He could see her eyes, soft with love, the pupils dilated and the irises a soft milky grey like the inside of a dove's wing. Her lips were open, inviting, and he bent down and kissed them, feeling her body arch in response and her arms slipping up around his neck. He grasped the hard little globes of her buttocks and lifted her, feeling her legs close around his hips and the press of her hair against his cheek as the angle of her face shifted. He could feel her breasts, too, pressing against his shirt, and he imagined the nipples rising against him, like little red cherries. Her tongue was slithering into his mouth, dancing against his, and he could taste the sweetness of her as he carried her to the bed. In the air conditioning vent above the dressing table the camera that Dirk had put it there the day before peered down into the room. As Ben carried his sister to the bed it awoke, its lens adjusting to the light and the movement, and the images it captured flowed to its little silicon drive. It watched as Ben undressed his sister, his fingers busy on the buttons and zips, sliding each article of clothing off her body until she lay on the bed naked, staring up at him with hungry eyes. It saw him fling off his own clothes to stand before her, his phallus rearing up from his loins, the head fully exposed and glistening with his juice; and it heard her soft cry of desire as she crouched before him, her hands on his thighs as she took him into her mouth. Ben could see her eyes on his, clear and steady, watching his expression as he slid in and out of her mouth. Her hair swung back and forth in a shining curtain and her breasts swayed slightly, the nipples as hard as granite pebbles. He could see how she changed the angle and pressure of her mouth as he fucked her, tilting her head back slightly to better accommodate the glans against the back of her throat, then gripping down slightly as he withdrew, her mouth forming a tight ring around the shaft as if her lips were trying to draw him back in. He placed his hands on her head and closed his eyes, savouring the delicious sensation of her tongue flicking against him, envisaging the soft press of her flesh against the bell-end. He thought about coming into her this way, picturing how his seed would gush into her mouth and how she would slacken her lips to allow it to dribble and ooze around his shaft to drip over her chin as she looked up at him. Chelsea must have read it in his face. She withdrew his cock from her lips and smiled up at him. "No, Ben. Not this time. I need you inside me." She reclined on the mattress and opened her legs in invitation. "Come and fuck me, Ben." He gripped her calves and rolled them upwards, rotating her hips so that she was almost folded double, her thighs parallel with the warm, pliant flesh of her body. Her sex was pushed upwards, opening like a piece of luscious fruit, the lips drawn back and the thick cream of her nectar shining in the soft light, and below it the tight crinkled portal of her anus. A few of the rose petals had stuck to her thighs, blood red against the golden lustre of her skin, and he brushed them away with his fingertips, acknowledging the warm plasticity of her flesh. He was as swollen as he had ever been, his cock rearing up thick and red and angry, and it bobbed as he climbed over her, like a hungry snake seeking its prey. Ben engaged the head of his cock against her vulva and watched as he thrust down into the slim form of his sister below him. Her labia were nudged aside, and the glans displaced the juices gathered at the mouth of her pussy as it dipped into her body. He could see her cream transferred to his shaft as he slid into her, clinging to the turgid flesh as warm and thick as molten honey. The prolificacy of her cunt was something that always turned him on: he knew that within a few minutes her juices would completely coat his cock and his balls, creaming to a light froth with the friction of their flesh and trickling down over her anus to stain the sheets. Despite her wetness he could feel the tightness of her channel, his prick levering aside the walls of her vagina as it burrowed deeper, reaching into the warmth of her belly. She was gasping underneath him, her hands gripping her thighs to hold them open. She could not move much in this position - all she could do was lie there and be impaled, helpless underneath him. She could feel the relentless slide of his rod, pressing open the soft, wet flesh of her insides, and she could feel the elastic stretch of her vulva as it struggled to accommodate him. The penetration seemed to go on forever, sliding deeper and deeper into her body, until at last she felt the press of his thighs against her buttocks as he bottomed out. "Jesus, Ben," she whispered. "Wait...wait. Christ, you've got bigger!" He groaned in bliss, reveling in the tight velvet grip of her vagina and the heat of her body. "No, Sis, you've got tighter." For a long moment they were still, his full length was embedded inside her, the great purple head lodged against her cervix and his balls pressed hard against her anus. She was impaled by his shaft, transfixed by its length and girth. Her eyes were on his face, heavy-lidded with lust as she savoured her subjugation, and her hands fluttered like little sparrows against the hard muscles of his back. And then he began a slow withdrawal, feeling the long slide of his flesh exiting from the warmth of her body, and the clinging suck of her vulva as it gripped him. He watched as his shaft appeared, slick with her juices, glistening in the soft golden light until only the very tip was held within her. For a moment he balanced there and then he felt her hands drawing him down, a mute plea to fill her again, and he complied. The sound of their lovemaking filled the room: the groans and grunts of their pleasure, the rhythmic squeaking of the bed and the soft, sucking noise of their bodies joining and parting. Her ankles were up by her ears now, her body bent into a "U", and he was plunging downwards with each thrust, her body bouncing underneath him. Her vulva was soaking, sopping wet, rimmed with froth where he penetrated her. He varied the angle of his cock as he fucked her, rotating his hips so his rod pounded every corner of her cunt. He watched her face, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and the gleam of her teeth behind her open, pouting lips. She was turning her head from side to side, the prelude to her first orgasm, her muscles tensing as the spiral of her pleasure swept her upwards. She reached forward and grasped her brother's hips, directing his thrusts, spurring him on so that he fucked her deeper and harder as she reached for her climax, and her voice was gusty and disjointed. "Fuck me, Ben, fuck your baby sister. Feel me around you....feel my tight cunt." His own voice was strained as he laboured above her. "Fuck, Chelsea!! Fuck that's good! I love your tight cunt around me - sucking me in -" "Christ, Ben....I'm cumming....its here, Ben....Fuck, its here - so hot -" The camera recorded the thin, high wail of her ecstasy as she came, and it watched her hands fluttering on his back. It saw the muscles of Ben's back and legs tighten as he reached his own orgasm, his hips thrusting forward to bury his shaft deep into his sister, and it heard his primeval grunts as he unleashed jets of sperm deep into her body. It saw his balls pulsing, pumping their contents into the wriggling girl beneath him, and it observed how her cunt milked him, grasping at his shaft like a hungry mouth to draw out his seed. At length Ben rolled off and lay on his back beside her. Chelsea cuddled up next to him, her lips close to his ear. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a great fuck, Mr. Rogers?" she whispered. "All the time." She laughed. "What about girls? What do they say?" "Who said anything about girls?" "Ah, silly of me," she said. "I just assumed -" "- that I like girls?" He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her. "Whatever gave you that idea?" "Just an observation." She smiled at him, her grey eyes sparkling. "It seems to me that whenever you see tits or pussy, you get horny...isn't that right?" Ben looked at her lying next to him, the candlelight soft on her skin. Her hair was like a golden curtain on the pillow, and her lips were slightly open, her little white teeth gleaming behind them. He reached up and touched her mouth gently with his fingertips, watching as she dabbed at them with the tip of her little pink tongue before moving her head upwards to suck his forefinger into her mouth. It sank in like a miniature prick entering her body, into her warmth and wetness, and he felt his cock twitch in response. "Only your tits and pussy, Chelsea," he said. She released his finger. "Oh, so I'm the only woman you'd fuck - is that right?" He smiled. "Absolutely." "Tell me why." "Do you have seven or eight hours to spare?" She laughed. "Tell me why. Tell me three things." He sat up, still looking down at her. "Three things? How about this, and this, and....this?" He touched each nipple, and brushed his finger across her vulva to illustrate his point. "No, no. Tell me why you'll only fuck me." "Oh, right." He thought about it. "Um, well, there's....um....er....um" Chelsea laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "You beast! Tell me!" Ben looked down at her again, and his expression softened. "Because I love you. Because you are beautiful, and because you are a truly magnificent fuck." He smiled. "Not necessarily in that order, of course." "What about being your sister? Does that count for anything?" He nodded. "I didn't realise until I almost lost you, Chelsea, but you're right. It's funny, isn't it - I worried about not being able to live with you because you are my sister, but it adds a whole new dimension to our love life." "In what way?" She persisted. "Because it's totally wrong," Ben said. "Because brothers and sisters are just not supposed to be so intimate with each other...they're supposed to squabble and gripe." He gazed down at her. "When I entered your body that first time it felt like the whole world had tilted over," he said, "and it still does." He reached down and placed his hand over her pussy, feeling the heat of her body radiating from the opening like a little oven. "That's my sperm in there...deep inside you, Chelsea...and that just blows my mind away. Can you imagine? Your eggs and my sperm, mixed together deep inside you, each carrying the same blueprint." He smiled. "Every part of you is already half of me, Chelsea, and I love it....I love you for it." He was silent for a while, thinking, and then he spoke again. "And I love the feeling I get when we meet people, too...their assumption that we are just a brother and sister out together - never realising what we do to each other every day." Chelsea Rising Ch. 04 She nodded, the candlelight catching highlights in her hair. "Me too, Ben. Do you remember last week, when we went to see Dad? You'd only fucked me an hour before, and I could feel you leaking out of me the whole time. I sat there during dinner and wondered what he would say if he knew his son's sperm was dribbling into my pants." Ben laughed. "If I know Dad, his sperm was probably trickling out of Melanie at the same time." He regarded her for a moment. "You've got a delicious slutty streak in you, Chelsea...I love it." She feigned indignation. "Just because I love the feeling of my brother's spunk in my pussy, you think I'm a slut?" "Yep." "Well, Mr. High-And-Mighty Rogers, how about this for sluttishness?" She reached down and scooped some of his sperm from her vulva, bringing it to her lips and sucking her fingers. Ben looked at her shining wet lips and felt his cock harden. "Nice," he whispered. "That would be an eight on the slutto-meter." Chelsea looked at him. "Well, what about this..." she rolled over and thrust her buttocks up, opening them with her hands so that her wet pussy was exposed. "That's not very slutty." She laughed, a low throaty chuckle. "It will be if you fuck me where I want you to." Ben looked at her ass, and the tiny puckered hole nestling there. He remembered the last time he had slid his cock in there on the first day in the little beach chalet, and how tight it had been. He moved quickly so that he was kneeling behind her, and he moistened the thick red head of his knob with his spit before placing it against her anus and pressing forward. He watched her flesh distending, resisting his entry, and then there was sudden give and the head popped into her body. He heard her grunt with surprise. "That's a ten," he said, as he sank deep into the searing heat of her bowels. * Dirk sat on the back step of his mother's house, idly hitting a broom stick he had found against the metal railings. He was uneasy about the situation he found himself in, and he was thinking what to do about it. His mother had moved in with her new husband, taking Sarah with her, and there was only himself and Cielle in the house now. Much to his surprise she had not made any effort to get away too - it was true that Jim only had one spare bedroom, but he knew that she could have gone if she had pressed the matter. He frowned as he thought about it - it was uncharacteristic, to say the least. He remembered how he had gone to Cielle's room early last night, finding her reading in bed. She laid down the book and had actually smiled at him, holding the bedclothes aside to allow him to slide in beside her. That was uncharacteristic, too, and it left him feeling uneasy. He wanted fear and oppression, not warmth and cooperation, and he was suspicious about her motives. As a result he'd been rougher than usual last night, and Cielle had cried out as he pounded his cock into her body. That made him feel better...the feeling of domination, of control and power, watching her bouncing underneath him, her little face strained as it stared up at him. And then he'd felt her legs wrap around his back and she moved with him, her hands on his shoulders as he fucked her. Her acquiescence drove him to greater ferocity, and he'd hammered into her, the mattress twanging and the bed posts thumping against the wall. His efforts at subjugation carried him to new heights and his climax had been spectacular - higher than any before, a tight spiral of pleasure that swept him upwards, soaring above the bed, looking down on himself as he writhed on top of his sister and spurted long, thick jets of searing cum into her slim body. And in the white-hot heat of his orgasm he heard her shrieking too, and supposed at first it was pain at the way he was pounding into her, but then he'd felt the spurt of wetness around his balls and he realised in amazement that she'd come too. Dirk frowned as he thought about it. What the fuck was going on? She wasn't supposed to enjoy what he was doing. He sat and considered the consequences. If she took a liking to him, it would remove fear - the one weapon in his armoury. She might even think that Sarah deserved a piece of this pleasure pie, and that avenue of control would be removed as well. He scowled as he thought about it, and then noticed his mother's cat walking towards him, intent on entering the house. It was cautious, moving carefully towards him before sitting a couple of feet away out of the range of his feet. It knew from past experience that he was likely to give it a spurious kick, and it was ready to flee. Dirk laughed. He slowly drew the stick back, at the same time extending his left hand, fingers beckoning. "Here, Sooty." He clicked his fingers. "Here, kitty...come on." It regarded him with its golden eyes, unmoving. He leaned forward, his wiggling his fingers to distract it. "Here, com'on, kitty." And then he struck, the stick whirring over his head and cracking down hard on the creature's skull with a sound like a baseball bat socking leather. Its limbs flew outwards with the impact and its head split open, and it sprawled in the dust, twitching. Dirk prodded its corpse with the end of the stick and laughed again, suddenly feeling better. "Fucking useless piece of shit," he murmured. He regarded it for a while and then stood up and picked it up by the tail, and carried it carefully into the house. Perhaps the day hadn't been wasted, after all. * Jim Rogers folded his morning newspaper and regarded his new wife. They were sat on the terrace of his townhouse, enjoying breakfast in the morning sun. He could hear the muted sound of traffic on the freeway to the east, and somewhere close by a Kookaburra was rendering the morning with its raucous cry. He waited until it was finished, and then spoke. "Mel, we need to talk about what's been happening to us." She looked up from her magazine, and shrugged slightly. "What is there to talk about?" "Well, it just seems to me that there's been a string of things in the last few weeks, and that it's becoming more than just a coincidence or misfortune." He looked at her to make sure that she was paying attention. "Let's go through them." He ticked off the points on his fingers as he spoke. "There's your car, the attempted use of your credit card, the internet accounts, and the computer virus." He held up his hands with his fingers extended. "That's four things, Mel, all in the sake of a few weeks." "That's life in a modern city, Jim. It's full of people who've got nothing better to do." He shook his head. "I thought that for the first couple of things, but its getting beyond a joke...it's almost as if someone is targeting us." "That's absurd, Jim," she said. "Who would want to do that?" "That's the question, I guess. I'm tempted to call the police." "And tell them what? That you've got a suspicion that someone doesn't like us? That you're paranoid about misfortune?" She shook her head. "They've got more important things to worry about, Jim." He sighed. "I know, I know. It's just that...well, I've got an uneasy feeling about this, honey. What if I'm right? What if someone out there is stalking us?" She reached over and put her hand on his arm. "Then we'll deal with it when we know for sure we have a problem." "It might be too late by then," he grumbled. "If I'm right this could get nasty quite quickly." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Look, I'd like you to keep your eyes open, Mel - I mean really open. Be alert to things...you know, people following you, unusual events, any more incidents - that sort of thing." Mel smiled at his intensity. "All right, I will." "And tell me if you see anything - or even if you suspect -" "I promise." She patted her lips delicately with the table napkin and stood up. "I've got to go, honey. I'm dropping Sarah off at her -" she broke off as the door bell sounded. "Hmmm, that's a little early for someone to visit." She leaned over and kissed him. "I'll get that on the way out...its probably Janine from next door." She picked up her car keys from the hall table and opened the front door. There was a parcel resting on the mat, about as big as a shoebox, and she picked it up and carried it back to the patio. "This was on the doorstep, Jim," she said. "Were you expecting anything?" He shook his head. "Nope." She bent over it and cut the tape with a table knife, peeling back the paper and opening the lid. Jim saw her stagger and her face went deathly pale, and she sank back onto the chair with her fingers over her mouth. He leaned forward in alarm. "What is it, honey?" She gestured weakly and he leaned over further to peer into the box. Her cat lay inside it, packed with newspaper so that it was lying on its back, its eyes glazed with dust and blood, and its lips sewn back into a snarl, the stitching crude and angry. It was wearing a pair of women's panties bunched around its hindquarters, and Jim could see the crutch was heavily stained with a crusty whiteness. He recoiled in horror, staring down at it for a moment. There was a piece of paper wedged under the elastic and he picked it up by the corner, laying it on the table and opening it with a fork. He regarded the words on it, written in childish capitals, and he moved over and put his arms around his wife. "What did it say?" she whispered. He shook his head, and she leaned forward to read it: 'THIS IS THE FIRST OF YOUR PUSSIES I'M GONNA FUCK.' She turned her face to her husband. "Who would do this to us, Jim," she whispered. "Who would do such an evil thing?" He shook his head, gripping her hand. "I don't know, honey," he said, "but we'll find out." * Inspector Malone of the New South Wales Police Force regarded the couple sitting at his desk. He could see that they were upset, and he hoped that he would be able to help them - but his desk was piled with other work and this was a relatively minor matter in the grand order of things. "Mrs. Rogers," he said, "do you know of anyone who would do this to you? Anyone who has shown animosity to you in recent months, or you've had an argument with?" She shook her head. "I - I don't think so." "Any quarrels in shops, or with tradesmen?" "No." "How about other incidents - arguments with neighbours, or perhaps over car parking or a minor traffic accident?" he persisted. "Nothing that I can think of, Inspector." He leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Have there been any other incidents where you felt someone was trying to target you?" She shifted in her chair and glanced at her husband. "There have been a few things in the last weeks," she said. "I didn't think much of them...you know, I thought perhaps that it was just the way things were, but now this has happened perhaps -" "What were they?" She looked at her husband again. "My car has been vandalized twice, once with a key on the paintwork and more recently someone threw paint over it." She paused. "We've also had someone try and use our credit card, and had to cancel it and get a new one, and our internet banking was compromised." "In what way?" "Someone was trying to access it and locked it out. We had to reactivate with a new password." "Anything else?" She shrugged slightly. "A computer virus...but we can't be sure that it was maliciously targeted at us." He smiled. "They are all malicious, but I understand your point. Has anyone threatened you?" "No." "Do you feel safe?" "I did until this arrived - " she gestured at the box containing the dead cat. "That makes it very personal." He nodded. "I understand. It does tell us a lot about who might have done this, though." "How?" He steepled his fingers. "Well, the newspaper in which it was wrapped was a local paper several weeks old. That suggests the person lives locally and used an old paper they had in the house. There may well also be fingerprints on it." He stopped suddenly. "Do you buy the local paper, Mrs. Rogers?" "Not any more. I used to, before we were married." "I see. Well, the um - underclothes in the box might also give us information - I'll have the Lab look at them. I don't suppose you recognise them, do you?" Melanie shook her head. "They're my size, Inspector, but I couldn't say if they were mine. They could be." "How do you mean?" "Well," she coloured slightly under his gaze, aware that the panties were very skimpy. "They're my style, if you understand." He nodded. "Ah, yes...well. Perhaps there will be DNA samples on them. We'll also test the note and the wrapping for fingerprints, and I'll let you know what comes of that." He rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Please don't hesitate to ring me if you are concerned, or if other things happen, Mrs. Rogers." He turned to Jim. "Would you have a moment, Mr. Rogers? Perhaps I can talk to you alone?" Jim nodded and waited until Mel had left the office. "What can I do for you?" The Inspector regarded him for a moment. "We had a letter arrive this morning," he said carefully, "that directly concerns you. It was anonymous. We normally don't pay too much attention to these things, but in view of your wife's circumstances I'd like to discuss it with you." "What did it say?" The Inspector opened his desk drawer and drew out a piece of paper in a plastic sleeve. "Please tell me what you think." Jim read the brief note. It was written in capital letters with a ball point pen and said: 'Dear Police, I want you to know that Mr Jim Rogers of 18 Horseshoe Parade is a pervert. He's been fucking his daugter Chelsea for many years, since she was 8. He does terrible things to her and shes to frigtened to say. I can't say who I am as he nows me.' Jim looked up and saw the policeman's eyes on his. "This is disgusting and preposterous," he said. "How many daughters do you have, Mr. Rogers?" "Just one - Chelsea, but she is not at home. She has a flat in Cronulla." "What address?" He jotted it down on the pad in front of him, and then laid the pen down. "Is there any truth to this accusation, Mr. Rogers?" "Absolutely not!" "Would you have any objection to us speaking to your daughter?" "None at all. I think it's important that you do, so we can put this ridiculous slander to bed." Malone nodded, and pushed the note forward again. "Do you recognise this handwriting?" Jim looked at it again. "No." "There are similarities with the note with the cat." "So the same person wrote both? Doesn't that tell you that this note is malicious?" "We will see, Mr. Rogers." The Inspector looked hard at the older man. "You'll understand my concern - we get a surprising number of reports of ...um - molesting, and we do take them seriously....even in circumstances like this." Jim regarded him with steady eyes. "I love my daughter, Inspector. I would never do anything to hurt her now, nor have I in the past. The whole notion is disgusting." "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers. We'll have a talk with your daughter and I'll be in touch. At this time we regard this as a malicious prank." After Jim had left, the Inspector picked up the phone. "Can you get me a number, please," he said. "Ms. Chelsea Rogers." He read out her address and then returned the phone gently to the cradle. * Chelsea opened the door to find a middle aged man in a worn grey suit standing on the doorstep. There was a younger woman behind him with thin lips and hard eyes. "Can I help you?" Chelsea said. The man raised his hand and she could see he was holding an identity card. "Inspector Brian Malone and Constable Ashley of CID," he said brusquely. "Are you Chelsea Rogers?" "Yes, I am. What is it? Has something happened to Ben?" He looked at her for a moment. "No, Ms. Rogers, nothing's happened to anyone you know. I'm sorry if I worried you." "Then what is it?" He hesitated for a moment. "Would you mind if we came in, Ms. Rogers? I need to speak to you for a moment and it's probably not a matter to be discussed on the doorstep." She fumbled with the lock on the screen door. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry. Please come in." They sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa and he refused a cup of tea. "Thank you, Ms. Rogers. I just -" She smiled at him. "Why don't you call me Chelsea?" "Oh, right, well... Constable Ashley and I are from the local CID region and we are investigating a letter that we've received at the Cronulla Police Station. It's a somewhat delicate subject and I hope that you won't be offended if I speak plainly." "Try me." The Inspector nodded. "Last week we received an anonymous letter suggesting that you had been involved in a long-term incestuous relationship. We are looking into the matter to see if there is any basis of truth to the accusation, or whether it is just a prank." He regarded her for a moment. "Quite often these reports are from people who have a grudge to bear, or have nothing better to do," he added, "but occasionally there is a grain of truth to them so we must always investigate the allegation." Chelsea stared at him. The room seemed to have suddenly grown very still, and she was aware of the policewoman's eyes on her face. She forced herself to speak normally. "I don't understand," she said. "Just what is it that I'm being accused of?" "Oh, no, Ms Rogers, nobody is accusing you of anything - rather, someone has suggested that you are the victim of incest." "That's absurd." "Is it? If you prefer I can leave the room and you can speak quietly to the Constable." "Inspector, I think I would know if someone in the family was porking me without my consent." The policeman blinked at the directness of her response. "This isn't a matter of consent, Ms. Rogers. Consensual incest is still a crime." "Well, that's what I meant. Nobody in the family is bothering me." "Have they ever done so?" "No." "Is there any reason why someone in the community should think that you have been the victim of incest?" Chelsea thought quickly. "No, Inspector, there's no good reason why anyone should think that - but you know as well as I do that there are always ratbags who want to cause trouble, or think its clever to start vile rumours about people." "Does your family have any particular enemies?" "None." "Any arguments or disputes that you are aware of?" "No." "So you have never been the subject of incest or any other form of sexual assault?" She looked him in the eye. "No, I have not." The Inspector got to his feet. "Well, that's all I need to ask you," he said. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Rogers...we'll see ourselves out, if you like." Chelsea shut the door behind them and sank back onto the sofa, her mind in turmoil. She had been so confident that nobody would ever find out. She felt sick, not only because someone knew about her and Ben, but also because the police were now involved. She had felt the policewoman's eyes on her face as hard as shards of glass, and she felt as if her lies had been stripped open, like gutted fish on a fisherman's slab. After a time, she took her mobile phone out of her handbag and dialed Ben's number. Malone started the patrol car and headed west, back towards the city. "What did you think of that?" he asked the woman beside him. The constable glanced across at him. "She was lying." "Yes," he said. "I rather think so too. It's funny how things turn out, isn't it...but it seems that Mr. James Rogers might have some explaining to do. It's such a shame, too, because she seems to be a nice girl." * Ben Rogers poured two whiskeys, his hand trembling slightly as the amber liquid splashed into the cut crystal glasses. He added a little ice and then took them to the sofa, handing one to Chelsea. She sipped it and a little colour returned to her cheeks. Chelsea Rising I moved my hand away reluctantly, exposing the shape of my erection pushing against the fabric of my swimmers. The head of my cock was straining upwards against the elastic, trying to break free. I could sense her eyes on it and I waited for her rejection, her shrill words telling me to stop being disgusting. The silence stretched out, long seconds measured by the frantic beat of my heart. Finally I could stand it no longer and I turned my head and looked at her. She was staring at my groin, a slight look of surprise on her face, and I could detect the faint flush of colour in her cheeks. "Wow. Did I really do that?" I nodded, saying nothing, watching her eyes as they looked at the evidence of my excitement. There was no revulsion there...just interest. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips and I realised with surprise that she was nervous. She struggled for words, trying to be lighthearted. "So it wasn't just my costume, then." I shook my head, watching her face. She dragged her eyes off my groin and looked at me, and I saw her expression change as she read what my eyes were telling her. "Ben....this is what I was talking about this morning. I don't -" I leaned over and put my mouth on hers, gently, cutting off the denial of her words, feeling the incredible softness of her lips under mine. I could taste the tang of salt and the flavour of her mouth and I could feel the butterfly flutter of her breath as it left her body in a woosh of surprise. For a moment I could feel the muscles in her arms tense as she went to push me off, and then the resistance went out of her, and I felt her lips open a little and she tilted her face to meet mine. That first kiss was probably only for a few seconds, but my senses were seduced by her taste and smell, and time seemed to slow down. I could hear a roaring in my ears and I felt her hand come up behind me and hold my head, fingers in my hair. Her mouth opened a little and the tip of her tongue ventured out and brushed against my lips. At length I pulled away and looked down at her face and her eyes were on mine. "You kiss with your eyes open," I said softly. She smiled, her eyes crinkling. "So do you." I brushed her lips with mine again, little butterfly kisses as sweet as warm honey. "You OK with this?" She shook her head. "No. Not at all. We shouldn't be -" I put my mouth over hers again, feeling her respond, her body rolling over towards me so that I could feel the press of her breasts against my chest. Her arms came up around my neck and her mouth opened like a flower, her lips crushing against mine. I moved my hand between us, slipping it under the fabric of her top and cupping one breast, feeling the firmness of her flesh and the nipple like a hot pebble against my fingers. She moaned into my mouth and leaned harder into me, one thigh moving forward to push against my crotch. I moved my hand to her left buttock and dipped my fingers downwards, brushing them lightly over the thin strip of material between her legs. She pulled her face away. "Ben, we can't - people will see." I looked around. We were alone, shielded by a low outcrop of rock on one side and the curve of a sand dune on the other. "No one can see us here, Chelsea." She pulled my head down, her lips closing over mine, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, and she rolled a little more towards me, one leg lifting up, hooking over my waist to give my fingers better access. I pulled aside the thin gusset of her pants and my fingers dipped under it, feeling her heat, touching her. She was slippery, the lips of her sex open, and I slipped one finger into her. Her body convulsed and she moaned deep into my mouth. She was grinding herself against me, my fingers trapped inside her, and I could feel the hard little nub of her clitoris against the ball of my thumb. She pulled her mouth away from mine and her voice was gusty with desire. "God, Ben. Stop. No! Oh God, stop -" And then suddenly she was coming, her back arching, head thrown back and eyes tightly closed, a guttural moan of pleasure bursting from her lips as she spasmed. I could feel her pussy clenching around my fingers, gripping me tightly as it contracted, and a flood of moisture spurted over my hand. My cock was bursting, pushing out above the elastic of my shorts, desperate to be inside her. I jerked the material of her costume down, feeling it slide a few inches down her thighs and I rolled on top of her, pulling my own trunks aside so that my member bobbed free. For a few seconds I could feel the air on its exposed head and then the satin touch of her skin as it engaged against the wet, open lips of her pussy, ready to be thrust into her hot and willing body. With a convulsive heave she pushed me off, and I fell sideways onto the sand. She rolled away, her hands scrabbling with her pants to pull them back up. "No, Ben, no. No. Stop." Her voice was frantic. I rolled towards her to try and kiss her again and she pushed me back, harder, and sat up, one hand holding the top of her bikini where my groping had dislodged the strap. She looked at me, gasping for breath, then she spoke. "Jesus, Ben. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you do that. But you can't -" "Christ, Chelsea! You wanted it. It felt right." "We can't -" "But I feel something....different. You know...we're not the same as we were." I looked up at her. "I need you, Chelsea." She spoke quickly, her voice like shards of glass. "Need, or want? Either way, you shouldn't - not in that way. It has to be both of us." She stood up and deftly fastened the strap to her bra. "Both of us," she repeated, emphasizing the words. "And if that isn't true it doesn't matter what you feel. Remember that." She glared at me, her little face set hard, but something in my expression must have touched her and she relented a little, her words softer. "Ben - you don't want to know me that way...I've been - things happened that you don't know about. Don't go there." And before I could respond she turned and walked away. Her shoulders were straight and her head was held high, and although I watched her until she disappeared from sight, she never looked back. ******* When I think back on that time I often wonder why I didn't just shrug my shoulders and get on with the holiday without giving her further thought - after all, it wasn't that I was in love with her or anything. How could I be? Sure, she was button cute - but I knew that there would be a dozen other girls on holiday there who were just as attractive, and no doubt some would be happy to go a lot further than she had. It certainly would have been the smart thing for me to do, but I could not. I was mesmerized by her, intrigued the mystery of what had happened, and drawn by the magic she was weaving. Whatever magic it was, she had it in spades. The warmer weather meant that each day she would be dressed in something skimpy - her little red bikini, or perhaps a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top. The sun burnished her skin a rich mahogany brown and bleached her hair to the colour of ripe wheat, and she looked wonderful. But it wasn't just the way she looked - it was her. It was her presence, the way that she lit up the room when she walked in. It was the way she smiled, the sound of her laughter and the way that she held her head to one side when she was listening, as if you were the only person in the world. It was the deep crystal well of those inscrutable grey eyes that radiated her soul - hints of love and laughter and moments of inexplicable vulnerability. And so I was hooked, and I followed her around like a love-sick pooch. After the beach episode I thought that she would be cool towards me, but she was not. She sought my company to the exclusion of everyone else, and she retained that impulsive happiness that made her such good fun to be with. Every day we swam and lay on the beach, wondered though the little shops in the town together, sipped coffee in the cafés, drank beer in the pubs and ate together in the restaurants. A casual observer might have mistaken us for two lovers, except that there was no intimacy. She had established an unspoken set of rules that took me a while to figure out: for example, touching her briefly to draw her attention to something was apparently acceptable, but holding hands was most definitely not. If I tested the boundaries she didn't rebuff me, but she would simply stop whatever it was that she was doing, look at me with mild reproach until I ceased, and then continue as if nothing at all had happened. And so I lived those four duplicitous days, playing the game because the alternative was not to spend time with her, and I could not bear the thought of that. I enjoyed our time together, but like a man on death row I was aware that each day gone brought me closer to the end of the holiday, when we would almost certainly return to the way that we were before. On the one hand I was happy to share every waking moment with her, but at the same time I longed for more. In my mind the time on the beach when she rejected me became the defining moment of the change between us, and I re-lived it a hundred times. I yearned to have that chance again, to do things differently, so that we could still be together that way...and then with a slide of despair I realised that it wasn't anything to do with me, or what I had done - it was because I was her brother and she couldn't move past that. The hardest time was in our cottage, just before sleep. Each night she would wait until I had turned in, and then in the darkness of the room I would hear her creep into her little bed in the corner. Although I know she was uncomfortable she never complained - and she certainly made no effort to join me. I would lie in bed listening to the creaking of her bedsprings as she struggled to get comfortable, and then, after a while, the sound of her soft breathing as she slept; and I would ache for her until I finally fall into an exhausted sleep in the still, silent hours of the night. On the fourth night I waited until she had climbed into bed and I called her in the darkness. "Chelsea?" "Yes." "You can move over here if you want." "You know I can't." "I won't try anything." She was silent for a while and I wondered if she had heard me. "Its not just you, Ben. It's me, too." Her words were soft. "Don't you think - " I waited, the silence drawing out, and eventually she spoke again, her voice stronger. "Don't think that I don't want to, Ben. It would be so easy, but we both know what might happen." "We wouldn't let it." "Don't be silly. You took it to the brink last time, and I don't think we could stop it again - and then we could never go back. It would always be between us. Better that we live with the promise of what might have been, than with regret about what did." "But -" The springs of her bed squeaked loudly as she sat up, and I sensed that she was leaning forward, speaking intently into the dark in a fierce whisper. "No! Mum and Dad are right next door? Can you imagine what it would do to them if they heard us fucking? And what about you and me - it would forever change the way that we felt about each other. Is that what you want?" "There must be others like us. This must happen all the time." Her voice turned scornful. "Oh, yes, Ben! How many brothers and sisters do you know who are screwing each other? One? Ten? I'll tell you how many - none! And if there are any, they are hiding it, like we would have to. Hiding it like dogs slinking in the night! I know how-" She stopped suddenly, and the silence stretched out, and then she continued, her voice more gentle. "I want you too, Ben. I wanted you on the beach and I want you now. But it just can't happen that way." Her words skewered my heart like a hot blade. I thought it had been hard when I was the only one pursuing a hopeless dream, but the revelation that she still wanted me was infinitely harder. "I just want to hold you, Chelsea. I love you." "Don't, " she whispered, "please don't." The springs in her bed protested as she turned to face the wall, and I was left with thoughts that were even blacker than our dark, stuffy little room. ***** When I woke up Chelsea had already gone, her bedclothes flung back, her mattress cold to my touch. The weather changed during the night, bringing a spiteful little wind that promised rain. Mum was fussing over breakfast. "Chelsea said she was going into town" she said, in answer to my question. "I don't know what she'll find to do there at this time in the morning," She rattled the cutlery with a disapproving expression. "I must say, she seemed a bit out of sorts." A thought occurred to her. "You haven't upset her, have you Ben? You two seemed to be getting on so well." "No Mum. We're fine. I heard her being sick this morning, though...and yesterday, come to think of it..." I let my voice tail off, the hook dangling. She looked at me in horror. "You don't think -" "Maybe. Perhaps it was that Greek guy." Chelsea had brought a guy home a few weeks ago who the entire family had taken an instant dislike to as he was wearing more perfume than she was. "I reckon he'd marry her, though, Mum, so you don't have to worry." I looked at her, trying to keep a straight face but couldn't hold it and I laughed at her expression. She looked at me reproachfully. "That's not funny, Ben. You had me worried for a moment." She sighed. "I do wish she'd find someone to settle down with." "She's only young, Mum. She needs to have some fun first." She looked at me, clearly unconvinced. "She's is quite old enough to settle down. When I was that age -" "- you had lived a full and rich life and were ready to settle down. Chelsea's different, Mum. She's an independent girl and she's doing OK. Let her alone." "Well, you stay close to her Ben. I don't want her getting pregnant." I was struck by the irony of her words. If she hadn't stopped me on the beach the other day she might well have been pregnant right now, but I suspected that Mum might not want to hear that. "Chelsea's pretty switched on, Mum, I don't think she needs me as a chaperone - but I will keep an eye on her." "Good." She picked up my plate and moved to the kitchenette, still talking. "Your father and I are going into the city today. There's an exhibition on at the National Gallery that we're keen to see. You are welcome to come with us, if you'd like to." "No thanks. You two go and have some fun. Are you driving?" "We'll catch the ten-thirty train, if you wouldn't mind driving us to the station." "No problem." "We expect to be back by six thirty. Do you fancy eating out tonight?" "Chelsea and I were thinking of doing that anyway. I'll ring you and let you know once I've had a chance to speak to her." She nodded, and wondered off to her room to get herself ready. I dropped the parents off at the station and drove into town, parking on the main street. The temperature had dropped even further and it had started to rain, a steady drizzle falling from a dark sky. I cruised the cafes that we used but couldn't find Chelsea, so I dropped into the Video Ezy store and chose a couple of DVDs to watch, then I headed back to the cottage. I was worried about her. She was huddled on the little verandah to the cottage. Sheets of water were pouring over the eaves and there was little shelter for her. She was soaking wet and shivering in the cold wind. I unlocked the door and she moved into the lounge, looking pale and tired. I put my hand on her forehead but she was not hot. "Where have you been, Chelsea? I was worried about you." "Just walking...thinking." She gave a little smile. "I was worried about me, too." She looked around. "Where are Mum and Dad?" I moved into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. "They've gone into the city to see an art exhibition. Back around six. You look exhausted. Why don't you slip into bed and have a kip? I don't think you're going to miss much today." She nodded. "I didn't sleep much last night. Is that tea you're making?" "Absolutely. Do you want anything to eat?" She shook her head. "No thanks, just a cuppa. I'll just dry off first. I won't be long." "I'll bring it through to the bedroom." She was snug in my bed when I went through with the tray, lying on her side looking at the rain streams on the window. The room was filled with the sound of water drumming on the metal roof. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow your bed...I don't think my back could stand another minute in mine." I smiled and shook my head. "Here's your tea." I sat down on the edge of the mattress and smoothed back her damp hair with my fingers. "I was worried about you," I repeated. "How do you feel?" She shrugged. "Just tired - and a little confused." "Anything you want to tell me about? I can help, you know." "I doubt it." She smiled to rob her words of any offence. "You're the problem in this one, Ben, not the solution." "I don't mean to be a problem." "I know." She reached up and held my fingers. "Would you mind very much if we don't talk about it now - I'm...really not sure I've resolved anything - you know how it is when things just go round and round in your mind and you get nowhere?" "I guess. I'm here if you want me." She looked at me, her eyes huge in her face. "I know that. What time is it?" I glanced at my watch. "Nearly twelve." "Could you wake me at two, please, if I'm not up by then?" "Sure. Don't forget your tea." I touched her lightly on the side of her face and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. ***** At two o'clock I slipped quietly into her room. Despite the sound of the rain she was asleep, lying on her left side with one hand near her face. The dark rings had faded from beneath her eyes and she was breathing lightly, her lips slightly parted. I sat and watched her for a while and then I moved around to the other side of the bed and quickly shed my jeans and top, before sliding in beside her. She stirred slightly as I spooned up against her, but she did not wake up. I carefully put my arm over her and held her close, hearing her murmuring softly in contentment, aware of her pushing back gently against me so that we were moulded together. One of my hands rested lightly against the warm skin of her throat, and I could feel the pulse of her heartbeat under my fingertips and I could smell the warm puppy aroma of her skin against mine. I don't know how long we lay together like that, spooned together in the warmth of my bed, her asleep and me listening to the roar of the rain against the metal roof above our heads. The room was quite dark, with only a small square of grey diffused light stealing in through the rain-splattered window. The noise and the darkness conspired to shut out the rest of the world, so that my horizon shrank to only the confines of that room and the bed in it, and the girl in my arms. And as I lay there the uncertainty and problems of the past few days lifted, and I knew for certain that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with her. Chelsea stirred in my arms, and I could sense her rising consciousness as she emerged from sleep. Although I could not see her face I knew that she had opened her eyes and that she was awake. At length she spoke. "What time is it?" "About three." "What are you doing?" "I'm lying here with you." "Why?" "Because it's my bed, and I was cold." She digested this information, and then after a few moments rolled over on her right side so that she was facing me. Her hair fell like a curtain across her face and I gently pushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear, my fingers light on her face. She regarded me with her grey eyes, still unfocussed from sleep. Chelsea Rising "You could have taken a blanket to the sofa." Her voice was soft. "Yes, I could. But then I wouldn't have been with you." She smiled to acknowledge the compliment. "Are we alone?" "Absolutely." "When are Mum and Dad due back?" "They're staying in the city tonight. Apparently there's local flooding at Princetown and the trains aren't getting through." "So it's just us here tonight." "Yes. Does that worry you?" She shook her head slightly. "No, not really." She hesitated and I could see that she was choosing her words carefully. She put her hand on my shoulder, her fingers warm against my skin, as if touching me was a way to soften what she was going to say "I've not been very fair to you over the last few days, have I?" "I wouldn't say that." "No - hear me out, Ben." She paused again, then pressed on. "I've done a lot of thinking since last night - about you....about us. It was...difficult - you know, trying to adjust my feelings to you. You've always been there and sometimes we got on and sometimes we didn't, and it wasn't a big deal really. But our relationship has changed and I had to reassess -" I interrupted. "So what happened, Chelsea?" She stared at me, the chain of her thought broken, then she shrugged slightly. "Here we are in bed together with not much on, and you're asking me what's changed! It's not how brothers and sisters usually act, Ben." She lifted her hand and absent-mindedly brushed back the comma of hair on my forehead, smoothing it away from my eyes, her hand lingering. "That's not all of it though. Something happened to me before and I thought it was finished, but it's not. I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with it." She was looking into my face and her eyes were huge. "Shit! This is difficult!" she closed her eyes and I could see her making an effort to think. "I guess what I'm trying to say -" "- sometimes you don't need to say anything," I whispered, and I leaned forward and put my mouth over hers. Her lips were just as soft as I remembered and she still tasted of peppermint and spice. Our first kisses were gentle, our mouths barely touching - soft as gossamer and honey sweet. I probed gently with my tongue and she responded with hers, their tips touching, each exploring the other. She groaned into my mouth and I felt her hand come up to the back of my head, gently pulling me forward, her fingers in my hair. She rolled slightly so that she was more on her back than her side and I followed her, kissing harder, lips working against each other and our tongues touching, sliding hot and slippery, entering and withdrawing. She arched her back and her breasts pressed against my chest, the nipples hot and erect, and she raised one leg and hooked her calf over my waist, pulling my body in tighter. My cock was pressed against her belly, as hard as it had ever been. She broke off the kiss so that she could speak. "Ben - we can't...." I rolled on top of her, taking the weight with my elbows and knees, and she was rigid underneath me. For a moment I thought she would push me off as she had at the beach, but then she relaxed under me, and her mouth was at mine again, tongue slithering into me as slippery as an eel. I felt her back arch upwards, her groin grinding against mine; her hands were on my shoulders her fingers gripped me tightly, and her legs opened so that my rod pressed against the crease of her pussy. She moaned at its touch and she lifted her hips upward so that her mound was grinding against me, her pelvis moving forward and back so that she could feel its length rubbing against her. I rolled off and pulled aside the covers, flinging them off the bed. She lay on her back, her eyes hooded, watching me as I slid off my jocks. My cock bobbed free, massively hard, the foreskin back so that the head was fully exposed, the skin stretched purple and angry. She was staring as if mesmerized by it, and she reached forward to grasp me, her hand white and slender against the thickness of its shaft and her fingers cool against its burning heat. I looked down at her, committing the picture to memory so that I could draw upon it in the future. The grey light of the afternoon was refracted through the wet glass of the little window, leaching away colour and form so that the image before me was almost monochrome - white and grey and black. Her skin appeared dappled with the shadow of rivulets of rain on the windowpane so that it looked as if her body had been painted, and her contours were cloaked in shadow, hiding their mysterious depths. Her eyes glittered in the dim light, and she released her grip on me and then thrust her hips upwards so that she could slide the tiny white panties down and off. For a moment the deep 'V' of her sex was exposed before it was shrouded in shadow again. Her voice was soft against the roar of the rain on the metal roof. "Don't put it into me, Ben," she said, and she lay back, waiting for me to do whatever else I wanted. I knelt between her legs, pressing my face to the juncture of her thighs and she rolled her hips upwards, lifting her legs and holding them with her hands so that she was fully exposed to me. The lips of her vulva were swollen with her excitement and I could see the warm, living flesh of her insides, pink and moist. She was sopping, soaking wet, silver juices smeared on the inside of each thigh, and a small rivulet of her lubricant had escaped from her sex and was dribbling over her perineum and oiling the tight, crinkled eye of her anus. I placed my mouth over her sex, encircling its entirety, gently sucking on her labia whilst I penetrated her with my tongue. My senses were suffused by her essence - the warm, oily juices of her cunt seeping into my mouth; the pungent aroma of her arousal; the guttural moans of her pleasure, and the languorous roll of her hips to project her vulva upwards and out, so that I could reach further into her body with my tongue. She twitched under my mouth, and I felt her hands holding my head, pressing it hard against her whilst she undulated her pelvis against my face, smearing her juices over my nose and chin. I could hear her voice, hoarse with excitement as I ate her, tremulous as she reached up for her first orgasm. "God, Ben! Eat me...Christ that's good! Eat me deep! Taste my juices!" and her hips rolled with each word, carrying me as if on a storm-tossed sea of passion. Her first orgasm arrived quickly, just as it had on the beach. Her fingers fluttered at the back of my head like trapped birds, and she drew her legs up even further, opening them to their full extent so that I had complete access to her sex. Her body tensed, every muscle quivering as she reached upwards to the light. For a few long seconds she trembled on the brink, a high-pitched moan of impending pleasure drawn from her throat - and then with a shriek of ecstasy she came. Her cunt contracted violently and a squirt of warm fluid spurted into my mouth, dribbling around my lips and splattering the sheets below us. She dropped her thighs so that they were either side of my head and she gripped me tightly, my face mashed against her grasping, greedy cunt. I could feel spasms racking her body, and her vagina contracted under my mouth, fluttering and clasping at my lips as if trying to suck me into her body. At length the contractions ceased and she gradually relaxed, releasing me so that I could break free and draw in a great gasp of air. I slid up the bed and lay next to her, and we lay silent for a few moments listening to the relentless drumming of the rain above our heads. "Jesus, I needed that," she said, after a while. She looked down at my cock, still massively hard, and she reached out and touched it. "It's funny, really. Until this week I'd sort of thought your dick would be as I remembered it when we used to take baths together as tiny kids. It was like a little worm, as I recall." "Thanks a lot." She smiled. "It's a lot different now." She moved her hand rhythmically so that my foreskin slid back and forth over the glans. "Does that hurt?" "No...no, it feels good. Ah... God, that's nice." She laughed. "It doesn't take much to keep you guys happy, does it? Wow...look at that - " A bead of juice oozed out of the eye, glistening like a teardrop, and as she pulled the foreskin back it began to trickle over the stretched, purple skin of my glans. She moved her hand up and gently captured it with her thumb, then transferred it to her mouth, her eyes closed as she savoured the taste and texture. She smacked her lips in exaggerated pantomime. "Hmmm....its sort of....oily. Perhaps I should try a little more -" she rolled to her knees and leaned over me, her legs folded, her face moving down to the head of my cock. As she bent forward her hair swung over her face and she brushed it back, tucking it behind one ear so there was no obstruction to what she was doing. I watched as she gently placed the swollen glans at her lips, pausing there for a moment while she adjusted the grip of her hand to just below the head. A dribble of spit escaped from her mouth, oozing over the head of my cock so that it gleamed wetly; and then she gently lowered her face, keeping her lips taut to prevent entry, allowing the pressure to build for a few moments until I was pressed hard against her unyielding lips - and then she relaxed a little and the head of my cock popped into her mouth. I guess I'd never given much thought as to how my sister was in bed, but it was clear that Chelsea knew how to eat cock. She held my shaft lightly with one hand, just a finger and thumb near the base so that she could control the direction and angle as it entered her mouth, using pressure and cadence to give me pleasure. To begin with she only worked at the head, holding it in her mouth by clamping her lips over the shaft just below the glans, her head remaining motionless as her tongue worked on me. She used the tip of her tongue to drill into the eye, drawing out the strands of lubricant I released; then reverted to a soft, undulating motion, flicking her tongue against the frenulum, curving it slightly around the contours of my cockhead to maximize my pleasure. Sometimes she sucked, drawing the insides of her cheeks together so they rubbed against me, her head bobbing gently to increase the sensation. And all the time she watched me, her grey eyes steady on my face, using my expression and the sound of my pleasure to judge how she should move. As the sensations built she began to take me deeper into her throat, her lips sliding down the shaft, slick and shiny from her spit. As I slid into her I could feel the tight, narrow confines of her throat pressing against me until every millimetre of the shaft was embedded into her; and then she would bring her head up, tilting it slightly so that the glans rubbed against the warm, soft inside of her cheeks as it emerged, her tongue fluttering against it and the pressure of her lips increasing until they locked around the rim. I could feel the inexorable rise of my cum, the pressure building in my guts in a long low spiral that threatened to engulf me. She sensed it and drew me out, playing me like an instrument, squeezing the base of the shaft to control me, slowing the languorous lapping of her tongue so that the pleasure built more slowly. Sometimes she would stop, allowing the shining purple head of my cock to slip from her mouth: and she would smile at me, her lips glistening with my juices and her slender white hand around the shaft wet with spit and discharge. And then, when the tsunami of my impending orgasm retreated, she would bend to her task again. Towards the end I was begging her for release, my voice desperate, my hands on her head to try and hurry her on. And finally she relented, moving her head faster, long deep strokes into the very back of her throat, her spit running freely down the shaft, her mouth pursed so that my glans was rubbing against the exquisitely soft inside of her lips and cheeks as it journeyed into her. My consciousness narrowed, my whole being focused only on my cock and the slender young girl whose mouth I was fucking. My orgasm built rapidly, roaring through my body like a tornado, plucking me up like a mote of dust to sweep me higher and higher, tumbling upwards to the very brink of the stratosphere where the air was thin so that I had to gasp for breath. For timeless seconds I trembled on the brink of an abyss, spirals of white starlight bursting in my brain, my cock swelling impossibly harder inside her mouth like an overinflated tyre until it seemed that it might burst; and I felt the semen in my heavy, swollen balls growl and sizzle like boiling lava, until the dam burst and it raced up the shaft towards her hungry, waiting mouth. With a mortal cry of anguish I came. An impossibly long jet of boiling hot jism erupted out of me to spray against the back of her throat. My hands were on her head, holding her tightly, and my cock jolted and pulsed and twitched inside her mouth as I pumped. It seemed to go on and on, long ribbons of hot milky seed drawn from my aching balls, racing along the thick shaft to burst out of me, each one drawing a primeval groan of pleasure as it splattered deep into her throat. And in my trembling ecstasy I saw my sister's face, her eyes calm and steady as she weathered the storm of my cum. She had tightened the grip of her mouth a little so that the boiling ribbons of my seed were trapped inside her; and then, as I watched, she loosened the seal of her lips to allow it to escape, thick white strands bubbling and dribbling over her lips, streaming down the shaft of my cock, drooling over her hand and wrist to finally pool on my heaving belly in sliver puddles of living juice. At length the whirlwind subsided, and I released my grip on her head. She sat up and smiled into my face, her lips wet with my discharge. A thick cord of my cum hung from her chin, bobbing there for a moment before dropping onto her breast, looping around one nipple. She released my shaft and brought her hand to her mouth, her little pink tongue lapping at the sperm caught between her fingers, drawing it greedily into her mouth where it congealed, thick and white and glistening. In the gathering darkness of that little room we lay in each other's arms facing one another, feeling the slow drip of sweat and juices; kissing lightly, each savoring taste of the other, hearing our quiet murmurs of contentment. I was struck by the improbability of the whole thing - this was my sister lying naked in my arms, a crust of my sperm on her face and her soaking wet pussy pressed against me. I thought about when she was growing up, her skinny frame and braces on her teeth, pubescent breasts against her school blouses, awkward and self-conscious. And then, in just a few short months, she changed - her body filled out and curves appeared, and the front of her dresses were suddenly full, and sometimes you could see the press of her nipples against the material, hard and dark. I'd changed too, going from total indifference to what she said or did, to wanting to see her - sneaking peeks when she was not looking, fingering the filmy thin underwear that started appearing in the bathroom, ogling down the front of her dress when she bent over. It was all part of growing up, I thought. I'd never dreamed that we would lie naked together, my sperm drying on her lips and my cock pressed against her vulva. She raised one thigh, looping the calf over my waist, pulling me in towards her so that my shaft was pressed harder against the soft, golden curls of her pudenda. I slid my hand over her leg, dipping down to the soft, wet entrance to her body. I touched her lightly, my fingers brushing over the swollen lips of her sex, gathering some of the moisture that still oozed out of her body, then smearing it lightly over the crinkled portal of her anus. It twitched as I touched it, the sphincter tightening momentarily then relaxing, nibbling at my fingertips like a little mouth. I moved back to her vulva, dipping into her with two fingers. She moaned in pleasure, her eyes shut and her bottom lip held between her little white teeth, and her hand grasped my shoulder tightly as she writhed under my touch. I thought she was ready - that there was no impediment to my mounting her and plunging my thick, swollen cock into her willing body. I started to move, but she opened her eyes and looked into my face. "Ben - no, please. Don't go any further." "I need to be inside you." "I know. I'm sorry. I just - can't." "I don't understand. You want it as much as me." She lifted her hand from my shoulder and touched my face. "Yes, I do, but -" she sighed. "I owe you an explanation, I know. Can we stop for a while? If I don't go and have a pee I'll wet the bed." She leaned forward and kissed me, her lips soft on mine, and then she pushed herself up, and smiled down at me. "Don't look so miserable. This isn't a brush off, Ben - but we need to talk." "OK." I looked down at my cock. It was still massively hard, with a strand of silver lubricant dribbling out of it. "He'll be pretty disappointed though." She reached over and ran her fingers over it, grasping the shaft tightly before releasing it. "He'll be fine - I'm sure we can find something to keep him happy." She swung her legs over the bed and stood up. "I'm going for a shower," she said. "Can you find something to eat? I haven't had anything since last night and I'm starving." The meal was simple - a fluffy cheese omelet and salad, and some left over fried rice from yesterday's Chinese takeaway. I found a tablecloth and a couple of candles, and a bottle of red wine and I tidied up the room whilst she was in the bathroom. She appeared in the kitchen, wearing her dressing gown and her hair still damp from the shower. "Wow, this looks good Ben." She watched me cooking, turning the omelet and then lifting it from the pan. "I hadn't realised how hungry I was." "Can you light the candles and pour us a drink? It'll be ready in a few minutes." She obliged and I watched her move about the room, small and neat, her face scrubbed of make up so that she looked younger. "Do you want a drink?" I nodded, and she poured me a glass, the heavy red swirling up in the glass as she splashed a liberal helping. I busied myself finishing off the omelets, folding them onto the plates, garnishing them with a little parsley I had found, and I brought them over to the table, turning off the kitchen light so that we were illuminated only in soft candlelight and the flicker of the gas fire in the corner of the room. She looked at her plate. "This is lovely, Ben. So how come you don't do it at home?" "I only cook for really special people." "Does that mean I haven't been special enough?" Her eyes were mischievous. "Absolutely. But you are now." "Perhaps not for long -" she was pensive for a moment, and then shook herself out of it and raised her glass, her voice brightening. "Here's to you, Ben. Thank you for the meal and thank you for understanding." "Here's to us, Chelsea." We touched glasses. We chatted about this and that whilst we ate, demolishing the main course and then some ice cream and tinned fruit I found in the cupboard. The level in the wine bottle dropped and the candle burned lower; and she became expansive, her voice a little louder and her eyes brighter. She had been telling me a story about how she met some girl when we were last here who turned out to be a total loser, when suddenly she stopped and looked at me. "Ben, how well did you know Will?" The question caught me by surprise. "What? Oh - well, pretty well, I suppose. As much as one knows anything about a brother." "Did you knock about together as kids?"