Robert Vickers - Tied up sister

Their crotches pound together as he stayed buried balls-deep in her cunt. The motion rubbed against her clit. The tiny pea-like organ screamed joy.

She duplicated it with her lips.

"I… I'm cuming! Oh, Chriiiist! Sweet Jesus, yeeess!"

She remembered the feel of his prick surging in and out of her cunt. The water all around her, tickling as it washed over their passionately fucking organs, the stimulation it gave, all this she remembered. Her leg made certain he was striving his hardest. And as she began finger-fucking his ass, he came.

The fire hose of his cock blasted out a steady stream of cum. She filled with the gooey jism as both of them rocked through orgasm.

She let her finger drop from his asshole and relaxed. It was difficult getting her leg planted firmly back on the floor of the shower. The booth was small – the designer had never intended it to be used for such impassioned activities.

Then his depleted cock slipped from her cunt. It was limp now, totally exhausted.

He sighed and said, "I felt as if my guts were going to follow my jizz into you this time. That finger stroking up my ass really got me going!"

"Glad you liked it. And I feel better now, too. Not so lonely."

She shivered in spite of the hot water on her shoulders. A river of his cum was running down the inside of her thigh. She brushed it away but it stuck to her hand, clung with the tenacity of a glue. He laughed. "Here, let me wash you off. After all, honey, that's one reason we came in."

Lisa smiled. "You're right. I do remember, vaguely, that we were going to take a little of the grime off."

"So let's get on with it!"

They busily lathered each other, the sensual feel of hands gliding back and forth without friction stirring both of their lusts again. Unfortunately, there wasn't much Carl could do about it. For a moment, he dropped to his knees and tried eating out Lisa's cunt.

He spat, choking.

"What's the matter? Get a mouthful of soap suds?"

"Yea. I haven't tasted anything like that since my mother washed my mouth out for saying naughty things."

"Just think what she'd wash your mouth out with if she caught you naked in a shower, fucking a chick, trying to eat her out!"

"I don't want to think about it. After all, we're not married." He paused for a moment, then said, "That can be taken care of pretty fast, Lisa. Maybe we can get over to Vegas and get married on the way to New York. By the time we're in Scotland, we'd be on our honeymoon. We wouldn't have to wait at all."

She said nothing. She let the water rinse off the rest of the soap, then quickly stepped from the shower. Lisa briskly toweled herself off to give a few seconds of thought to what Carl was saying.

He was serious about her marrying him. This was the second time he'd mentioned it. Somehow, she'd thought he was feeling sorry for her the night before. It would vanish like mist in the sunlight by morning.

But no, he was still asking her to marry him. "Carl," she said slowly, "I just don't think it would work out for us. I like you a lot. Maybe I love you. I don't know."

"But…"

"But nothing. I think I might love you. I'm not positive. Until I can be sure, I won't marry you or anybody else."

She heard him make a noise she couldn't interpret. It might have been a snort of disgust or a choked off curse. Then he was grabbing his clothes in the bedroom.

Hesitantly, she groped into the room and called, "Wait, Carl. Maybe we can…"

The front door slammed.

It had the ring of finality and she had no idea what she was going to do with him gone.

The day dragged. Lisa tried to occupy her time listening to the radio, favorite records, cleaning. All those things were make-work. She knew it and that irritated her.

Losing Carl as she had also bothered her, but not in the way she felt it should have. Lisa was sorry to see him gone. He wouldn't be around to warm her bed, her body. That was the great loss for her. She somehow couldn't get too upset over any loss other than his cock.

Sex was the only true bond she had with. Carl.

Now that he was gone, though, so was her sexual outlet.

She turned the radio up louder to try and drown out the little noises she had come to live with in her black world. Not able to see what caused the tiny settling noises of the house, the sudden screeching of tires in the street, the minute snaps of twigs in the backyard all made her increasingly paranoid.

What if the rapist returned?

Even worse, what if he didn't?

Lisa could hardly face the fact that his brutalizing fucking had been exciting to her. She hated every instant of the degrading experience – and it had been more stimulating than any sex with Carl ever had been.

She couldn't get it all straight in her head. It only jumbled together in a stewpot of confusion.

Evening came and with it the news. She listened with growing fright as the newscaster reported, "And there has been still another reported rape. The rapist was not caught and no clue as to his identity has been released by the police. This is the fourth in as many weeks. On the foreign scene…"

Lisa snapped off the radio and sat, thinking hard. She wasn't the only victim. There had been others. From the way the reporter talked, there would be future victims.

Did they all have the same love-hate problem with being used, abused?

Lisa doubted it. They all were probably happily married, had men to look after them, were incensed and embarrassed and totally humiliated. They would get over their horrible experiences in a month or a year but they would always remember their rape with fear, loathing.

Lisa's memories kept returning to how she had enjoyed it while hating it at the same time.

When a rustle came from outside her window, she jumped a foot. It could have been the untrimmed branch of the tree brushing against the glass. Or it could have been the rapist returning for a second helping of her juicy cunt.

She'd never felt more helpless or scared in her life. Until she could get her head together, she was a blind victim totally under the power of her own fears.

Lisa rushed to the telephone and called the only person she knew who might be able to call her.

Her brother, Steve, lived several miles away and was usually on the road selling heavy farm machinery. He hadn't been in town last night, he might not have returned.

The phone rang several times before a sleepy voice answered, "Yeah, what is it?"

"Oh, Steve!" she sobbed, her emotions boiling over. "I'm so glad to hear your voice – C-can you c-come over? I need you so!"

"I just got in and hit the sack." He hesitated a second, yawning loudly, then said, "Okay. Sounds like you got a world of problems. Big brother'll be over to kiss away the hurt or whatever. See you in, say, an hour?"

"Thank you, Steve. I… I'll explain when you get here. And please hurry. I need you!"

"Okay, Sis. Just stay cool. Nothing's going to happen. Be there in a while."

The dial tone seemed to mock her. And the forty-five minutes until Steve's knock on her door seemed an eternity. She knew it was him from the sound of his footsteps on the flagstone walk, the way he knocked. Being blind had few advantages and picking out distinctive sounds was one.

She threw the door open and flung herself around his neck. "Oh, Steve! Thank you for coming over! I've been so scared!"

"Scared? Of what?" he asked. He wasn't displeased with his sister's show of affection, but it confused him. She usually tried to be as independent as possible, to show the world she could make it without eyes.

The entire story came bubbling out. She told him of the rape, the way the police had acted, of Carl's departure for Scotland.

"But if you thought you heard someone scratching around outside, you should have called the cops. That's what they're being paid for."