He smacked her tender, welt-covered bottom. “It’s true. You’re a convenient lay. Like a blowup doll, only more cooperative.” Another smack on her ass and then he forced her head down to the bedspread. “Now reach behind you and spread your cheeks with your hands. Show me what you’re good for.”
Andrea moaned in sweet peril, squirming to position her arms and hands. “Oh, Tom,” she cried, her face buried in the bed. “You don’t know how much I need this.”
Tom reared up from behind, shoved the head of his cock into the tight opening an inch or so then stopped. Andrea stiffened in response to the sudden invasion, but she cried out in pleasure nonetheless. He pushed another half inch. To brace herself, Andrea had to get back on all fours. Her back was slick with sweat now, and her hair was hanging limply.
“Take my cock,” he groaned. “Take it all you stupid little bitch!”
“Ooh, it’s so big,” she complained, mocking her sister. “Are you sure it’s supposed to go there, Tommy?”
“It goes where ever I say!” he exclaimed, thrusting deeper still, till the veins on his neck began to pop and Andrea was crying out his name. Suddenly Tom wanted Andrea to be herself. “Isn’t that right, Andrea? Go on say it! You’re not Ashley, you’re Andrea again, my little fucking whore. Whenever I snap my fingers, you’ll come running. Whenever I tell you to, you’ll be there, and when I’m fucking you, you’ll play Ashley, or the Queen of Sheba or whoever else I want you to be. Hey, I may even go for a quickie with you at the reception. I’ve seen those little bride’s maid dresses, you know.”
Using two fingers, sliding them up underneath his turgidly swollen member, Tom went to work on Andrea’s open sex, even as he continued to possess her ass. The response was hot and rapid.
“Yes, Tom,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll do whatever you fucking say: crawl, betray my sister and let you fuck me at your own wedding, even. Just tell me you own me. Grab my hair, pull it till I beg, hump my ass till I whimper; just be a man, Tom. Show me you’re stronger than me.”
Tom’s eyes were rolling to the top of his head. He was in orbit. The game was coming to its end, he wasn’t going to hold back anymore. Congratulating himself on getting one last, really hot session out of Ashley’s psycho sister, he let himself go. Out and out came his semen, an amazing amount considering he’d just come a half hour ago, and before that on the phone, masturbating during Andrea’s last call, listening to her sultry voice! Nirvana. That’s what it was. Sheer ingenious pleasure. Guilt free—or as close as it came. And no end in sight; hell, with the right fantasies he could enjoy both women for years to come.
“Come on, Sluu—uut!” he roared, stretching the syllable into an essay. “Show me who’s your Daddy!”
“Tom? Andrea?”
Tom’s every muscle froze. That voice over his shoulder; it wasn’t Andrea talking. Nor was it Andrea who was gasping in horror.
“Ash!” he croaked. And just like that, with that one sound, Thomas Winters III’s world came to a sudden crash. Before he even looked behind him, he knew. That cry of pain, the confusion, mingled with shock and disbelief and wonder, like a butterfly with its wings pulled off: such a sound could only belong to her.
“Ashley! Let me explain!” he grunted, trying to pull his still hard cock from Andrea’s hole. “There’s a simple explanation, really!”
Ashley just stood there, her face blank, expressionless. For a split second, he held out hope. It was the eyes, though, that gave away her true feelings. From moist sea green, they had darkened into a tempest.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, as Tom tried to come for her, the sheet hastily wrapped round his loins. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
Tom was still blubbering explanations, following her to the front door. Meanwhile, from the bed, her head buried in her hands, her body still positioned for Tom’s penetration, Andrea was softly weeping. She continued to weep even as the front door slammed shut, signaling Ashley’s departure.
Chapter Two
Ashley was numb. Halfway up the coast road and it hadn’t even dawned on her where she was. The wipers were on, of course, and the car was moving, so clearly she was driving. Driving the car, that is, which was peculiar, since she now appeared to be heading away from the coast, which meant she was no longer going to see Tom. Had she really been there already then—to the condo?
She decided she needed some of her chewing gum. Ashley’s therapist had recommended it as a safe and responsible stress reliever, although, at the moment she felt very calm, focused remarkably well on details. Like the exact number of raindrops collecting per minute on the windshield.
Shock. That was probably what was going on. She’d heard of this kind of reaction in her psychology class at college, last year when she was a sophomore. People confronted with unspeakable realities find neurological ways to mask or rearrange them temporarily. Done over the long haul, it would become a psychosis, a complete loss of touch with reality. In the short run, though, it was a good thing.
But where was her gum? It was strange how the purse seemed all wrong, like it was someone else’s. Was that shock, too? No, the purse really didn’t seem like hers. Come to think of it, was this her car? Ashley continued to rifle through the bag, eyes on the road. She screamed when she touched the sticky thing, gooey and slick in the bottom of the purse. Pulling it out, she saw it was a used condom. Like a bug or something just as icky, she flung it to the floor. Then it dawned on her. She was driving Andrea’s car. The little yellow roadster Andrea’s father had gotten her. Well, not just Andrea’s father, but her father, too, except she’d never met him because he’d left her at birth.
How strange. The wipers were going thunk, thunk, the rain was letting up and she was driving nice and steady, only it wasn’t her car. She looked in the rear view and didn’t see any lights, which meant neither Tom nor Andrea was following her. Did they just give her this car, then, hand over the keys? No, that couldn’t be right. They’d been in his bed, having intercourse, so she was on her own when she left.
Andrea had left her keys in the ignition—that must have been it. Ashley had done that with her car, too, when she’d gotten there, because she’d been excited to run inside with the bridal magazines to show Tom the new centerpieces she was ordering, and since her sister was there, she would just show them both. It hadn’t occurred to ask on the way in why Andrea had been there at all.
I wonder what I did with the magazines? Ashley thought as she turned left, heading onto the bigger road, the one that led to the expressway and back to home. Did I leave them on the floor of the bedroom where Andrea was having intercourse with my fiancée? Funny, how you find yourself saying sentences to yourself, she thought, things that make no sense and which you never imagine you could ever hear yourself say in a million years.
My sister Andrea was having intercourse with Tom.
Or maybe it wasn’t Andrea after all. Maybe it was someone who just looked like Andrea. Maybe there was some stranger, the sort who would do unspeakable things with other people’s fiancée’s, and it was her whom she’d seen, fooling Ashley and Andrea both. That could be, couldn’t it? After all, just two months ago, Ashley wouldn’t have thought it possible for there to be even one other person who looked like her, and yet there was. And if the girl under Tom wasn’t Andrea, then maybe the man on top wasn’t Tom either. Maybe he had a twin, too.
One eye on the yellow line, Ashley poured the contents of the mysterious purse onto the leather seat to look for clues; something—anything—to show she hadn’t seen what she’d seen. Her heart sank when she saw the license that said Andrea Daniels. That was a bad sign. The lipstick was a bad sign, too. It was definitely the same one she remembered Andrea buying the last time they went to the mall to do girl things, catch-up sister things. But wait. What about this matchbook? That wasn’t something she’d seen Andrea with before.
Holding it between thumb and forefinger, Ashley studied it as best she could while driving the li
ttle car that wasn’t hers. It was a black matchbook with red writing that said ‘The Edge’ on it. Andrea certainly never talked about that place before. And look at the little logo – two crossed whips. Perhaps this was someone else’s purse, then, because how could a sister of hers, another daughter of her morally irreproachable mother, Elizabeth, possibly go to a place like that, or have sex with someone who didn’t belong to her?
Ashley wiped the first of the tears from her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything this fast, damn it. Shock was supposed to take hours to wear off. So why was it getting so clear already? The car, the matchbook, the woman, naked and in a horrible leather collar being impaled by her intended, it was obviously true, as real as the rain on the windshield.
God, she hated Andrea now! And as for her mother, what was Ashley supposed to make of Libby’s cavalier attitude of, ‘Yes, dear, this is your long lost sister whom I never told you about. Just get to know her, honey, trust her completely with everything precious, and someday I’ll tell you the whole story’? And could that really have been just six weeks ago? And was she really driving, listening to the thunk, thunk of Andrea’s windshield wipers, heading down the road with no sister, no boyfriend and no future?
She’d thrown the magazines on Tom’s floor, she remembered that now. She’d tossed them on the floor just before running out of the room. Tom probably picked them up and took them to Andrea, so the two of them could have a good laugh about it. Andrea would probably be on her stomach reading them, since her buttocks were looking pretty badly chafed.
A whip. Ashley had seen a whip. It must have been the one Tom had used on Andrea to give her those marks. What a strange notion: people using whips when they have sex. More specifically, a man using one as a prelude to shoving his spoken-for and engaged penis into his soon to be sister-in-law’s ass.
There, she’d said it. Tom and Andrea were having anal sex. She knew what it was; she was no schoolgirl. It had been obvious enough what the two of them were doing. Obviously, Tom could get something from Andrea that she herself would never give. Well, let them both have a nice life. Let them wear studded leather at their wedding and…
Stop, it Ashley. You’re not helping yourself.
Anxiety. It was anxiety, making her feel so odd. The gum would help, if she had any. Or heat. Maybe the heater would stop the shivering. She was sopping wet, after all, her new floral print sundress ruined from the rain. It had been dumb not to bring the umbrella in with her, but she’d been excited to see Tom – and Andrea. She’d wondered what the two of them were up to and why Andrea was there.
Goodness, was she at her exit already? Had she already made her expressway trip? Fine. She’d be home all the sooner. Ashley had thought the front gate might be a problem, since her automatic opener was in her car and not this one, but she’d lucked out, because Andrea had one, too, clipped to her visor, which meant that when she got home, a few minutes later, she was able to get in the front gate after all, although it was kind of ironic to be using her sister’s opener.
Seeing irony at a time like this—wasn’t that a sign of shock, too?
Ashley pulled into the drive and stopped under the portico. Using the rear view, she tried to do a little something with her hair, which had come undone and was looking frightful. She wished she could wear her hair loose and free like Andrea. Tom liked Andrea’s hair, she knew that. Why didn’t Tom want her in a sexy way like he did Andrea, though? She’d seen him look at her, many times, and she was jealous because unlike Andrea, Ashley hadn’t a clue how to turn a man on that way.
Could it be she was frigid, or inert? Her therapist was always trying to get her to talk about her sexual feelings and fantasies, but that was hard. All Ashley could ever focus on were little incidents, in her life of people saying things, or times when people had been looking at her and had made her ashamed. Like the time she overheard two boys in the hall at school talking about something they would like to do to her, something nasty. Ashley was mortified, but it also made her wet between her legs.
Then there were all those construction workers, and certain other men and boys who would look at her pass by like she was a piece of meat they wanted to have. Sometimes, late at night Ashley would think of how these men might touch themselves thinking of her, and what they’d do to her if they had her in their control. Why this silly mental game was more arousing to her than her actual dates, she didn’t know. Ashley chalked it up to her being a freak, but her therapist just smiled and gave her gum and told her to be patient.
Well her patience had sure paid off in spades tonight, hadn’t it?
Ashley left the car running, which was something she never did. Someone would take care of it, of course, but usually she didn’t like to burden people. Charles, the butler, who’d been with the Van Voorst family since her mother was a little girl, was waiting at the door.
“Miss Ashley, are you all right?” he asked, the worry lines etched in his ancient face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she smiled, very pleased at how normal she sounded. “Is Mother still up?”
“In the library, Miss. But you’re all wet,” he fussed, drawing attention to the puddle she was leaving on the marble floor of the foyer.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with genuine concern for whoever would have to clean it up. “It’s very wet outside.”
“Let me get you some dry clothes.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek, trying to seem less like a drowned rat and more like a polite young lady. “Thanks, Charles. I’ll be with Mother.”
Ashley found Libby curled up in an easy chair, reading a book. She was bare foot, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and she had her hair up in a simple dollar store clip. At age 41, Elizabeth Van Voorst was a strikingly beautiful woman, tall and blonde with the lithe figure of a lifetime dancer and horsewoman.
Looking up over the top of her reading glasses, Libby gasped. “Ash, sweetie, what on Earth happened to you?”
The younger woman’s lower lip began to tremor as she told her mother she was fine. She’d made it this far, to her house, to her Mom, but now the floodgates were about to open. Voice cracking, she tried to get the story out. It was so choppy, so disjointed and full of erroneous details that Libby had to stop her.
“Let’s get you settled first,” her mother declared, hugging the girl into a state of reasonable calm. “What we need is a good fire and some hot chocolate, don’t you think?”
Ashley had the wherewithal to nod. She was her mother’s height now (and according to Libby, far more of a knockout than she ever was) and a full-grown woman to boot, but she was still a little girl inside sometimes.
Charles came in with the clothes for her—her favorite sweat suit—and Libby fetched a blanket. It wasn’t all that cold, but she still wanted the fire, because it was what they always used to do when she was in crisis. Just the two of them, with hot chocolate in their special book-filled room, the one with the comfy furniture.
Putting Ash on one corner of the sofa, Libby sat facing her, cross-legged, showing all the agility of Ashley’s twenty something friends. “Okay, kiddo,” Libby declared, just as Edna, the maid, brought in the cocoa. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
Ashley took a deep breath. If she said it all fast enough she might make it through without breaking down. She did, and Libby’s ashen color change was all the confirmation she needed to know that this was something real and terrible after all.
All she’d said was that she’d found Tom in bed with Andrea, but that was enough for Libby to embrace her all over again. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” she kept saying, stroking her daughter’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“But there’s more,” Ashley said, and then she told her the part about the collar and the whip and how Andrea seemed to be in pain, but excited, too, as Tom was thrusting in and out of her bruised buttocks. “Why would she let him do that, Mom? And why would he want to do it to her?”
Libby grew silent for a long time, making Ashley wo
nder if indeed what she’d seen really was the kind of unspeakable evil she was sure her teachers at Catholic school would have said it was.
“They betrayed me,” Ashley blurted at last, intending to put a final spin on things. “I hate them both. And I never want to see them again as long as I live.”
Libby stroked her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, baby, please don’t say that. I know you’re hurting, but…”
Her words trailed off. There was more silence, some sips of cocoa and then Libby put down her cup. “Ashley, I need to tell you about your sister,” she said, her voice filled with sudden resolution. “And about your father, too. I should have told you all this years ago. I meant to, I really did, it just never seemed the right time. And then when she showed up here, well, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not till you got to know her a little.” Libby lowered her eyes. “I was afraid you’d hate me. I was selfish, and now I’m afraid that selfishness has led to something even more terrible between you two.”
Ashley frowned. “I don’t understand. How could it be your fault my sister and my fiancée are perverts?”
Libby looked at her daughter, her eyes flashing with pain. “Don’t say that, young lady. Don’t ever say that.”
“Say what, Mom? Pervert?” Ashley sprung off the couch. “Pervert!” she repeated. “Pervert, pervert, pervert.”
Ashley had her arms crossed. She was trembling and ready to run out of the room at any moment, at the least provocation. Libby gave her none, however, so she stayed.
“Sweetie, go and get the scotch from the bar, and two glasses,” her mother said.
“But I don’t drink.”
“Neither do I, but tonight is a good time to start.”
Ashley did as she was told. She watched her mother pour out the light colored liquid, times two. After Libby had swallowed hers, about an ounce, she did the same. It went down like fire and it was all she could do to keep from coughing.
“I’m going to tell you the truth now, Ash,” her mother said, when her eyes had cleared. “And I need you to be very grown up and hear me through to the end without getting emotional. Can you do that?”
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