‘Shush,’ she ordered, pulling my head back by the hair so that she could lick my tongue.
I was grateful; she understood me. My whimpers didn’t mean that I needed her to stop; they meant that I needed her to make me go on.
Once I was resting back in her arms, she cupped my breasts from below, squeezing them as if fascinated by their weight and softness. ‘Beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘You have beautiful breasts.’
She looked up at Xander for confirmation and he nodded, one eyebrow raised, cool and distant. But his hands had slowed upon the guitar and the rapid intertwining notes were grown simpler now, as if the music were vying for his attention with something more elemental.
‘I could eat them up,’ Phoebe whispered in my ear. She took up a piece of cut cucumber and rubbed its wet cold flesh across the stiff tips of mine, glazing them shiny as the cucumber turned to pulp. ‘Do you like this?’
I nodded faintly. I couldn’t speak any more.
‘Let’s see.’ She pulled my skirt up slowly, finger over finger. Xander’s eyes, a merciless blue like the cloudless skies above the islands, were fixed upon us, barely blinking. ‘Yes. Let’s have a look.’ She cupped her hand over the mound of my sex and my hips twitched, my bum grinding into the cloth and the sand. ‘Yes. See this? She’s wet already, Xander.’
There was no denying that. The gusset of my tiny panties was soaked, the cotton already translucent from the sea water but more slippery with my juices. My thighs spread wider under her coaxing; he could look straight down between them. She pressed the cloth up against me. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the cotton and ploughed my furrow for real.
‘Beautiful pussy too,’ she breathed. ‘Oh Ness, is that nice?’
I mewed like a kitten. Her fingertip was stirring my clitoris to flames.
‘Pussy’s so wet. Pussy’s being naughty.’
There was no denying, either, what was happening here: if they really were siblings then this had gone way beyond kinky. It struck me with a kind of terror, which rendered me helpless as a rabbit in headlights. I was sagging against her arm, her right hand hooked up under my breast and tugging at my teat while her left hand delved deeper and deeper into my sex. Her fingers made little wet noises as they spread me wide.
‘Can you hear how wet she is?’
Xander dipped his chin in acknowledgement. His lips were parted. The notes fell slow and distinct from his fingers like drops of rain.
‘Dirty little pussy,’ Phoebe breathed. ‘Showing yourself for my brother.’
I began to come. She wasn’t even trying to bring me off, she was just touching me up, but I couldn’t bear her gloating judgement or the lancing blue of his eyes or the knowledge that she was exposing me and I was doing nothing to cling to my dignity. Electric sparks flashed through my clit.
‘Oh, what a slut. What a filthy little slut.’
And she was right, wasn’t she? I thought as I convulsed, hips and belly jerking, thrusting my tits up, longing for Xander to see them shaking, longing for Phoebe to enslave me further. The blood thundered in my ears.
Even as I came down, the pulse jumping all round my body as it does with that first easy orgasm, distress started to return in the backwash. But I had no time to think what to do next. Phoebe slipped from beneath my limp body and laid me back on the sand, pulling my arms over my head. I could feel the cool firm ripples of sand through the tablecloth. I could see the fishing nets and the vine leaves overhead. I felt her shift her position, pinning my arms to the sand under her shins. I heard the last note of the guitar fall silent. I looked down the length of my body and Phoebe slipped her hands under my head for a moment to support it. I saw the skirt rucked up around my hips and the pathetic wisp of cloth over my pubic mound and my sprawled open thighs. Beyond them, Xander laid his guitar gently aside and stood, and I knew that Phoebe was offering me to him as a gift.
I should have been angry; I should have been afraid – but I was in a trance of submission and drunk with desire. And Xander was beautiful, so crazy fucking beautiful that I lost myself just looking at him. Dappled patches of sun gilded his smooth torso; he had surfer abs to go with the legs and the arms, and his pants hung so low on his hips that the hair mounting from the base of his flat belly peeked out. He slipped the top button of those shorts, taking his time. Two more and he could drop them over his thighs and step out. As I’d anticipated, there was no hint of a tan-line; he was bronzed all over. He put his hand on his cock and tugged it once, just guiding it to full erection. The lazy strokes he gave it after that were purely gratuitous, but helped emphasise its length and grace and the utter solidity of its stance. I whimpered low in my throat, knowing a dark hot pleasure in submitting to their incestuous game.
Without any hurry, he knelt between my thighs and tugged down my knickers. He tossed them to Phoebe, not looking at them, not lifting his gaze from mine. I think he wanted to see my helpless horrified need. Phoebe took the sodden scrap of fabric and pushed it between my lips. I opened for it willingly, tasting myself, accepting the gag as I’d accepted every one of her humiliations. She stroked my face and whispered, ‘Good girl.’
Then Xander slid his hand under my hips and lifted me and guided his prick into me and fucked me – steady, implacable, slow at first so that I could feel every thrust, then faster and harder and higher. I’ve never been fucked like it. He held my bum off the floor, my cheeks on his locked thighs, my back arched across his hands. He must have been strong – he must’ve had an arse like steel. Phoebe let my head fall back and instead ran her hands over my breasts. Only the fact that she was pinning me down at the shoulders kept me braced against the sand. While he towered above me, his cock slid in and out, mashing my sex until the heat built to a blaze. Not once did he stop to touch me or bestow a caress. His expression was taut with strain now, his eyes fixed on an ineffable distance, his beauty magnificent. Then Phoebe leant forwards into the light; a moon eclipsing the sun. I looked up and saw them meet, her lips against his, their tongues dancing together.
Xander groaned into his sister’s mouth.
My orgasm came like a burst of light. It was white, it was golden – and it was not gentle. I only came back to myself when he withdrew, lowering me to the floor. I opened my eyes just soon enough to see his cock withdrawn into the shadows, still erect and nodding sagely and glistening with my butter. My muscles clenched yearningly around emptiness. I was awash with his come, I realised.
‘Oh my pretty pussy,’ whispered Phoebe, crawling headfirst down the length of my body and lying against me, one thigh draped around my neck. My arms were suddenly free and I took the chance to pull the knickers from my mouth so that I could draw more air with each gasp. I needed to; the next thing she did was wrap her head and shoulders over my pelvis and lower her face to my sex. I bucked in shock. She pushed into me, her tongue writhing, and I squirmed under her as she lapped up her brother’s semen. Aftershocks chased my previous seismic orgasm and I clasped her waist and tilted my pelvis towards her, welcoming her mouth. Eyes shut, I blindly sought the cinch of her belt and loosed it, undid her button and fly and slid my hand into her shorts. I found no hair, only smooth skin and then slippery wetness. She heaved under my hand; it was the first reaction I’d ever got from her.
Then she was wrenched from me. From behind and above, Xander seized her hips and pulled her arse high, and in a few brief movements he yanked down her shorts, before flinging them aside. Phoebe cried out and clung to my thighs. Xander planted her knees firmly either side of my head and knelt up tight behind her; I was looking straight up at the sweet shaven folds of her sex when he pressed into her with the head of his cock. I got a ringside view. Inches from my nose he pushed home, and I could hardly believe that he was still hard after all he’d done to me, or that he could fit into that tight slit. He took her all the way – and she took him. His balls, fuzzed with their golden corona of hair, slapped up against her. ‘Yes!’ Phoebe cried into my muff.
He pulled
back for the next thrust and I could see the sheen of her juices lacquering his shaft. I could smell her excitement and I could smell his heat. Her clit was quite visible; if I could’ve reached it with my tongue I would have licked it like a sweet. Sweat ran down the inside of his perfect thighs, his rhythmic thrusts building wave upon wave as she arched and writhed against him. She forgot to mouth at my sex and her hot face banged against the inside of my leg. I longed to feel her pleasure. I ran my hand up her belly and then, after laving my fingers in my own spit to lubricate them, laid them upon the pink pearl of her clit. I heard her sharp mew. In stroking her, my fingertips brushed Xander’s hard shaft and were pummelled by his balls, and I added the friction of my splayed fingers to the grip of her cunt on his girth, my palm massaging the slick softness of her pussy.
Phoebe shrieked as she came. Xander’s rhythm stuttered and for a moment he seemed to lock inside her, but I only really knew he was climaxing when he pulled out and, pressing his hand down on his cock to angle it better, ejaculated in great wet splashes on my face. Warm jism fell on my lips and lashes. I was shocked by how much those big clenched balls were able to produce; he was still jetting as he stuffed his prick back into his sister’s hole to finish the job properly.
When it was all over, he bent forwards and kissed her bare shoulders before withdrawing. The expression on his face was exactly what you’d expect: smug. Phoebe slumped into a sitting posture at my side and pulled off her top to wipe her hot face; there was a wicked complicit grateful glitter in her eyes as she looked first at Xander, then at me.
She had a small crescent moon tattooed on one beautiful breast and silver studs through her nipples.
There was one last benison. She knelt to neatly lick his spunk from my face, kissing the last drops from my lips.
That was when the jeering and whistling started. At first I’d no idea where it came from, then as we looked around I spotted them, silhouetted on the netting wall. The obscenities in English identified the spies as the youths from the beach. Phoebe scrambled to her feet and I could read the fury in every taut line of her frame. She strode without hesitation across the taverna and ripped aside the nets at the entrance. Out into the sunlight she stalked, the boys whooping and gesturing before her; they fell back a little but they weren’t really afraid. They were nearly killing themselves laughing.
Phoebe pointed her hand at them. She spoke in Greek. They fell to the floor. Then they turned into dogs.
I didn’t have the best view, knelt up between the tables, but I know what I saw. They hit the sand and writhed wildly, kicking it into the air, and when they came up they were ragged-looking dogs with curly tails who fled howling with fear, tripping over their feet and falling again and tearing at their own limbs with their teeth in panic. Phoebe stalked after them, still shouting words I couldn’t understand.
I turned in shock to Xander.
He shrugged. ‘Old habits die hard.’ Then with an exasperated sigh he heaved himself to his feet and followed his sister out on to the beach. ‘Phoebe!’
His arse was exactly like his statue’s.
Power Play Katie Doyce
Late-morning light poured through the patio doors of Jessica’s high-rise flat. The sun-warmed carpet felt delicious against the soles of her feet as she padded across the living room and into the kitchen, sparing only the barest glance outside, checking the skies out of unconscious habit. Twenty-three floors above the streets of Mercury Bay, Jess never worried about peeping Toms or privacy blinds, even when (like today) she was still wearing nothing but a pair of white panties and a threadbare but much-loved Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt at eleven in the morning, pushing sleep-tousled auburn hair out of her face to peer at the boxes of breakfast cereal in the pantry. In the two years she’d had the flat, she had never caught anyone watching her patio from an adjoining building; no telltale glint of a telephoto lens or binoculars, and no wall-crawling voyeur lurking behind her deck furniture with a video camera.
Certainly, no one had ever come crashing through the safety glass, collapsing in a heap in the middle of her living-room floor.
Jessica had just turned away from the counter, already munching on a hefty spoonful of muesli, whole milk and sugar, when all that changed. A split second before the stranger came sailing through the window, there was a deep resounding clang, like a large but cheaply made church bell; looking over the wreckage later, she would be able to deduce that her visitor had actually struck the patio railing first – and hard – before arriving in her flat. Glass flew into the room, scattering across the living-room furniture and ticking off the back wall. The man, dressed mostly in black leather with a few red accents, first somersaulted, then rolled lengthwise along the floor before colliding with the heavy coffee table.
Another young woman in this situation – perhaps any other young woman – might have let out a yelp; even jumped back, prancing comically, flailing her arms and inadvertently throwing the bowl of cereal against the ceiling and stepping on several of the small cubes of glass that lay scattered across the kitchen tiles.
Jessica did not. She was not a normal young woman, and Mercury Bay was not a normal town.
Still chewing, she craned her neck to peer around the couch at the man on the floor. She swallowed noisily, set the bowl on the counter next to the sink and picked her way to the hall closet, where she retrieved an old pair of slippers and pulled them on.
Arms folded across her faded shirt, she made her way back to the living room, grabbed the shoulder of the man’s leather jacket and rolled him on to his back. She turned her head left and right, trying to view his face right-side-round without actually moving.
She wasn’t surprised to recognise him.
‘Nathan …’ she drew out the end of his name, shaking her head like a disapproving aunt. ‘Have you been a bad boy again?’
She looked back at the ruins of her patio door. Another chunk of webbed glass fell from the top of the frame. Without the double-paned glass door blocking it, the sounds of the street could be heard fairly clearly. Rather than the low murmur of auto traffic, Jess picked out an electric crackle and several low vibrating thumps she could feel through the floor. She moved around her prone visitor and managed to reach the (bent) patio railing and look down. Brightly clad figures circled one another on the street and in the air above, strobe-lit by too-white flashes.
Again, she wasn’t surprised to recognise them, or the blue-and-white figure – large, even from twenty-plus stories above – staring up at her.
‘Bugger,’ she muttered. She turned back to her flat at the groan from within as her visitor rolled on to his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’
‘Sorry?’ He was leaning on one arm and had the heel of his other hand against his temple, his eyes closed.
‘You –’ Jessica glanced from him back to the street, where the large figure was backing across the street, still looking up in her direction and completely ignoring the chaos all around. ‘Shit.’ She turned back to him, gripping the rail behind her. ‘You have to move.’
‘What d’ya mean?’ He blinked his eyes several times, shaking his head in a way that indicated he thought it might come loose.
‘I have no idea,’ she muttered, wondering what the hell she thought she was doing.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. You have to move,’ she repeated. ‘They’re coming.’
He looked in her direction, wincing at the sunlight. ‘No. It’s all right.’ He sounded resigned.
She clenched her jaw. ‘Fuck that,’ she said, stepping in over the doorframe. ‘Run.’
‘Oh.’ He smiled, not showing any teeth, his lips a curl of self-mockery. ‘I don’t think that’s on the cards, love.’
She looked around the room, searching for inspiration. She marched over to him (as well as one can in cotton knickers and old slippers, through broken glass) and grabbed the collar of his jacket. ‘Then crawl.’
Amid general an
d pained protests, she pulled him into the kitchen, behind the central island and out of sight, half-dragging him and half-leading him like a dog on a leash.
Not a moment too soon. A heavy impact on the patio shook the crystal baubles in the light fixture over the coffee table. Jess heard the crunch-squeal of someone heavy stepping on the bits of glass on the cement pad.
‘Don’t be alarmed.’ The voice was radio announcer smooth and pitched to project. Jessica also happened to know that it was essentially an act. ‘I’m only here to help.’ A pause. ‘May I come in?’
Strange phrase to hear from someone who’d just broadjumped onto your 23rd-storey balcony, but understandable: a pile of breaking-and-entering litigation had been accumulating in the Mercury Bay courts concerning these kinds of situations.
‘Umm, sure,’ Jess replied. Her hands were restless. She couldn’t decide between resting them on the countertop, tucking them behind her (a bad bet, with the way her T-shirt stretched), resting them on her hips (which reminded her she was still half-naked), or folding her arms. They moved from one position to the next like nervous pets.
The doorway darkened almost entirely, eclipsed by the mass of her new visitor, who stepped through as gingerly as possible and still managed to knock more glass loose and dislodge the bent frame of the sliding door itself. The huge man, clad head to foot in a blue and white bodysuit, surveyed the rest of the room before focusing a leading-man smile in her direction.
‘Hello, miss. I’m the Blue Brahma, a member of the Vindicators and a fully sanctioned representative of both the Mercury Bay and national law enforcement. I apologise for the damage done to your flat. On a related note, I’m looking for the, ah, individual known to the public as Cinder.’ He motioned to the scattered glass. ‘The fellow who made this mess.’
Jessica stared at him. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’
Love on the Dark Side Page 11