Norma Egan: The sister keeper

At last they were quiet, exhausted and sweaty in each other's arms, almost asleep. Jennifer felt his cock twitching and shrinking inside her cunt, and she sighed deeply: well, they had done it, and she had to admit it was fantastic, beyond her wildest dreams. At last she understood the seeming craze for sex that possessed all her friends. There was just one little hitch, of course – the man who had brought her to that beautiful, wailing climax happened to be her twin brother.

Jonathan sighed, too, and crawled off her to reach for the bedside lamp. "Christ," he laughed, still out of breath. "You really drained me, Jennifer! I never came like that before!"

"Jonathan," she said hesitantly. "You don't intend to sleep here, do you? I mean…"

He grinned at her. "Why not? I've already fucked you. Sharing your bed is an innocent thing in comparison."

He switched off the light, then snuggled up to her in the darkness, pulling her buttocks against his limp, dripping cock. She felt she should protest, but his body was so warm, gentle, and comforting. She felt sleep coming over her quickly.

Jennifer woke abruptly the next morning to feel her brother's cock again busily working inside her cunt, this time from the rear. Pig, she thought. He didn't even wait till I was awake!

Jonathan shuddered, sighed, and flooded her cunt with his come. Seconds later he was bouncing out of bed, slapping her playfully on the ass, and remarking, "What a pleasant way to start the day, right?" Then he strode off to the shower.

Jennifer pretended to be asleep when he came out again, and he left quietly. Damn him, she was thinking, he's going to spoil everything! She had looked forward so much to living in California and running the hotel, but she could hardly stay here if her brother kept jumping in bed with her!

Well, she would simply have to talk to him and make him understand that she'd have no more of it. For now, there were other things to do. She hadn't even toured the hotel and its grounds or met the staff yet, and she decided to spend the day catching up on this duty.

The Granada Hotel, as her father had named it, was a mammoth structure done in Spanish style, with extensive landscaped grounds. It was very popular with the young, rich crowd of the Western states and with many Easterners as well. It lay on a crescent-shaped bay of the Pacific, and so could offer surfing, swimming, and boating. On Jennifer's first morning, the hotel seemed filled to capacity, and the veranda and grounds swarmed with noisy, frolicking people.

Jennifer met and spoke with her staff, from desk clerks to chef, and was satisfied with their competence and loyalty. She was on her way out of the hotel for a look at the grounds, when she passed a door she hadn't noticed previously. Its name plate read, "Dr. Charles Ciardi, House Physician." Well, thought Jennifer, if there is such a person, I ought to know him. So she knocked.

"Come in!" rumbled a pleasant voice.

Jennifer entered a small, cluttered room, filled with bookshelves and filled up by a big desk. Behind the desk, in a swivel chair, lounged a powerfully built, dark skinned man in his thirties, with an intelligent, craggy face. His chief feature seemed to be his hair. Thick black hair covered his head, arms, and the back of his hands, and bristled from the open collar of his light, cotton shirt. He looked appreciatively at Jennifer and grinned, showing strong, white teeth.

"Let me guess!" he said. "You think you're knocked up. Or you suspect you caught a dose of clap from your boy friend. Don't be shy, young lady, tell me everything! I'm a doctor."

"None of the above," said Jennifer coldly, much put off by his unprofessional manner. "I happen to be the new owner of this hotel. My name is Jennifer James. You, I assume, are Dr. Ciardi?"

He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. He only laughed, "Miss James, of course! You'll have to pardon me – I'm not noted for being diplomatic."

"Indeed." Jennifer eyed him thoughtfully, feeling an urge to get rid of this brash man if she could. "And just what are your duties here, Doctor? Besides sitting with your feet on the desk and being rude?"

Again he laughed. "Oh, I'm indispensable to the place, Miss James, I assure you! This is one of my rare free moments. The place simply crawls with psychosomatic ailments, that is to say, imaginary illnesses, and it's my job to treat theft. Headaches, ulcers, false pregnancies, rashes, paranoia, even delusions of grandeur – I've see them all. I don't get to practice much medicine, but it pays extremely well." He gave her an intimate, knowing glance which she did not like. "I can tell you're thinking about firing me. But wait a day or so, and see how many frantic people I treat. You couldn't get along without me. And occasionally I even do some real doctoring – there are some cases of sunburn, arid the surfers keep getting banged up."

"I'll think about it." Jennifer replied shortly, getting up to leave.

"By the way," Dr. Ciardi began, his voice more serious now. "I treated your father in his last illness. It was cancer, and I'm sorry to say that even though I caught it early, he refused my advice to have an immediate operation. He loathed doctors. I sincerely hope you haven't inherited his stubbornness on that point."

Jennifer merely nodded and walked out, thinking that perhaps Ciardi wasn't a quack after all. She would keep an eye on him, to make sure. She walked out the side front door of the hotel, down the broad stain, and out onto the immaculate grounds.

Wanting to escape the crowds for a while, she walked toward the distant border of the property, where there was a small, wooded area and no people in sight. She had been strolling here for perhaps fifteen minutes when she heard what sounded like the low, desperate cry of a woman in pain.

The noise seemed to be coming from beyond a thick grove of trees nearby. Jennifer hurried over in that direction, peered through the leaves, and froze, open-mouthed.

"Eat my pussy, damn you! That's what you're paid for!"

Jennifer could see clearly, too. In a small, bidden clearing within the grove, a woman stood holding her skirt up over her naked pelvis and waving a pair of black lace panties in her other hand. Facing her, and grinning broadly, was a young man.

"Go fuck yourself," he said mockingly. "That's one thing you haven't tried yet."

"You arrogant bastard!" the woman shrieked. She threw the panties at the young man, and they hit his shoulder and wafted lazily to the grass. He kept grinning, hands on hips, and the woman's eyes blazed angrily.

Jennifer knew that according to everything she had been taught, all the manners and all the etiquette, she should leave, at once and allow the couple their privacy. But she couldn't bring herself to go just yet, because she recognized this man and woman.

The woman's identity could not be mistaken.

She was Laura Langley, an immensely popular television actress, currently starring in a sentimental series about a young widow with nine children. In real life she appeared much older than in the series; she was no doubt in her middle forties, and though her face was still beautiful it looked somewhat haggard and hard. Her long, abundant red hair was obviously dyed, and she was not using the husky, soothing voice for which she was famed. She was screeching.

"You lousy sonofabitch, I told you to eat my pussy, and you're damned well going to do it!"

The mocking young man, tall and tan and golden-haired, strikingly handsome and built well, was Kip Kovak, a bit player in TV, who, according to all the gossip magazines, was Miss Langley's lover. Now it appeared that he was her paid stud. But at the moment he was not being very subservient.

"Eat it yourself," he laughed. "I bet you could if you got desperate enough. I hear you were quite an acrobat when you were younger."