J. Bradley: Raped by brother

Juice poured from her pussy hole, gushing from the convoluted walls of her cunt tunnel and rushing forth into Carla's sucking mouth, just as if she were pissing into the open, warm cavern and over the flickering tongue.

She groaned heatedly in the back of her throat and came and came, taking her brother's fluid in at one end and gushing fluid forth at the other.

She couldn't swallow fast enough. She felt her mouth fill with spurt after spurt of cum. She heard the wetness of her mouth. Then she felt the trickling stream that ran down her chin and dripped off onto her chest and dribbled between her swollen, throbbing tits.

Still, she sucked and sucked, and she drew that writhing, fucking finger up her hot asshole as far as it would go.

"Ahhhhh! Ah!" Whit cried finally. "That's enough! Christ, you're going to make it burst into flame! Stop sucking, Sis!"

He pulled back. His prick throbbed wetly and redly in her face. Another spurt jumped from the tip and spattered her lips, dribbling onto her tit.

He groaned and rolled away to the side, gasping and puffing as he settled onto the seat and jacking the last tingles from his throbbing prick.

"Ahhhh, you both came!" Carla gasped. "Me too! God, me too! Now suck my cunt off!"

She fairly lunged upward from her cramped position. She took Whit's position. Her pussy foamed with heat. She spread her cunt lips with her fingers and pushed the open, wet maw over Monica's mouth quickly.

Monica couldn't even cry out. It was all there, very suddenly, very completely, totally wet and quivering.

There was nothing she could do but clamp her lips over the shuddering hole. Her tongue thrust up into the quivering hole, and she could feel the slipperiness of her brother's sperm mix with the silky softness of Carla's vagina.

A notion swept through her that made her fuck her tongue inward so deeply that the root stretched painfully. What a novel way to make a baby!

Her tongue swirled in the hot silk of Carla's cunt. The pulsing clit pressed against her nose. A new, heady flavor burst through her senses, and she drank down the honeyed flow of pussy juice that flooded over her tongue.

"Ahhhhgh, I'm coming!" Carla cried tightly. "Suck, sweetie – suck my cunt! Ohhhh, wonderful! Christ, you cunt sucker, you're making me come! Ahhhhhgh!"

The silky cavern seemed to swell away from her tongue. Then it clamped back around it, capturing it in the vise of oiled, pulsing silk, and she felt the muscular contractions of Carla's hard orgasm against her mouth.

She wasn't even aware she was doing it until her hips lifted and shook with hard jolts. Then she was conscious of her arm pumping up and down, her fingers circling and swirling over her clit and pussy mouth as she masturbated herself openly to another orgasm at the same time that Carla's was dying away.

She wasn't sure when they'd started moving again. All she was aware of at first was the way her tongue kept going around inside her mouth and her throat kept swallowing.

She heard soft talking. Carla was sitting up, now, between them, her arm around the back of Whit's shoulders, her hip pressed against Monica's.

Night air blew through an open window, cool and sweet, full of the subtle scents of the Everglades. Islands of palmettos stood out on sawgrass plains in the moonlight.

Then a ghostly stand of cypress, draped with Spanish moss, went past the windows. A heron croaked and beat the air with great wings, outlined for a moment against the moon.

The trees changed. Blue-gray trunks gave a leaden sheen in the headlights, and Monica knew they had long ago crossed the trail and made the wide sweep south toward Joewood Bay.

She sat up and became more alert. Her body still hummed with sexual heat, and she was glad. She would be with Burke soon. And she was really ready now to open her fresh, quivering pussy to his big, hard prick.

The road was now little more than a two-lane trail through the trees and scrub. It began to twist around and follow the high ground of the hammock they were in.

All around, away from the hammock, was wetland. Through the trees, she could see the moonlight glimmer from the surface of the inches-deep river that flowed over the whole face of the Everglades.

She peered ahead through the windshield. The car bumped over rocks and fallen limbs and scraped against branches. It looked utterly desolate ahead.

Then it occurred to her that there'd been no fire-fighting equipment down this trail. That made sense, because there wasn't a hint of smoke in the air, just the dank, rich smell of decaying vegetation and muck.

"Burke's down here?" she asked questioningly.

They both looked at her. "Hey, you're awake," Whit said. "Welcome back."

"Whit, where are we going? You said we were going to meet Burke."

"We are, Sis."

"At Joewood Bay?"

"Yeah. Well – no. We're gonna meet a guy with a boat. Then we're gonna ride in the boat to Blackjack Key. There's an old fishing shack there."

"And Burke's waiting there?" she asked, disbelief mounting in her voice.

"Did you ever hear about Blackjack Key, Sis?" Whit went on quickly, "It used to be a camp for the Calusa Indians before the Spaniards wiped them out. Then it was a base for some of the pirate raids ol' Blackjack himself used to make along the coast. Some guy built a cabin, and it's still there. In pretty good shape, too. There's even fresh water and a neat beach and…"

His voice trailed off as they rounded a thick stand of bushes and skinny trees. Immediately, fresh, tangy air from the Gulf blew into the car.

The headlights picked up the form of a man. He was leaning against a beached runabout, smoking a cigarette. Offshore, there were several mangrove islands standing darkly in the still, moon washed water, only a handful of the thousands of islands making up the group known as the Ten Thousand Islands.

The man pushed away from the boat and walked toward the car as Whit stopped. He bent over and looked in. He was big and heavy and had a stubble of beard. His face was beefy and red, his eyes small, the flesh around them puffy.

"What the hell kept you?" he grated. "I'm about to go out of my fuckin' mind."

"That's impossible, Emmett," Carla said. "You haven't got one."

"Fuck you, dumb bitch," Emmett grated without seeming to take or give offense. They talked as if that were normal conversation between them.

"Where are Harry and Wendy?"

"Shit, I already ran them over. They got tired of waiting too. Bastard's probably fucking the shit out of her – seven times by now, figuring by how long I been standing around here." He peered into the car again, looking steadily at Monica, his small eyes running up and down her body, taking in the thrust of her tits and the naked thighs below the hem of her skirt. "Nice," he breathed, the sound making Monica's skin crawl.

"You just look, Emmett," Whit said. "That's all." He put as much threat and warning into his voice as he could.

Emmett's eyes swiveled in their pussy sockets and fixed him. He grinned, his teeth showing yellow and snagged. He didn't have to say a word. That look said it all, and Monica was suddenly very afraid.

Emmett opened Whit's door. "Let's go," he said.

Whit got out of the car. Carla nudged Monica. Monica opened the door and stood, feeling chilled in the warm night. She looked apprehensively at her brother. She didn't know what was happening for sure. But she knew that Burke would not voluntarily associate with a cracker slob like Emmett.

"Whit…" she said softly when he was beside her. Her fingers trembled on his arm.

"Take it easy, Sis. Everything's gonna be all right. I can keep this jerk in line."

He didn't say how.

They walked toward the boat. "Hey, what about the car?" Carla asked, her question for anyone who wanted to answer.