Jessica's Sister

"Do it David. Slide it into me."

I thrust my hips down and forward, watching as the head eased aside her labia to burrow inside. My shaft followed - thick and swollen and angry, sliding like a greased piston into her crease and I groaned at the tight sucking grip of her cunt as it enveloped me.

"Ah, yes," she whispered. "God, yes! That's good fucking!" She reached up and placed her hands on my waist, holding me still. "Wait....wait. Let me work you."

She began that extraordinary rhythmic motion again, her pussy massaging my shaft like an electric milking machine. Fuck knows how she did it, but it was exquisite. I looked down at where we were joined but there was no movement: she wasn't thrusting - but her cunt was pulsating with tight rhythmic undulations, giving the sensation of drawing me in deeper although I was already buried up to my nuts. Her vulva gripped me as well, tight little contractions that squeezed me as she milked my shaft - and all the time she murmured in my ear with a voice hoarse with passion.

"Do you like that, David? Ah...ah, that's in deep. I can feel you in my belly - right up inside me. Do you like that?"

"Jesus, Chloe. Fuck yes - that's good! Far inside you."

"Yes, yes. Deep and wet. "

"So wet, Chloe. You're so wet." She was, too. I could feel the flood of her juice dripping on my balls as she worked at me.

"That's you, David," she whispered. "You do that to me." She stared up at me. "Do you like it wet?"

"Yes...yes. I love it. I love your juice."

"I'll give you more." She began little circular movements of her buttocks and my shaft slid back and forth, rubbing against her. I looked down and saw how her lips were dragged back and forth by my shaft and how her juice was frothing at the point of our union.

"Fuck me now, David. Move with me." Her hands drew me back and forth and I began to thrust, following her lead. Long, deep strokes into her body, feeling her moving with me, clutching at me as I fucked her.

"Ah, yes, yes! Harder now." Thrusting down, feeling the swell of her mound battering against me, hard, deep strokes.

"Faster, David. Ugh! Fuck me...use me. Use my cunt...fill me up."

The bed was bouncing under us, the mattress squeaking and the frame rattling. I fucked her hard, her legs over my back and her hands on my waist. She was squirming under me, her pussy swallowing every millimeter of my shaft as my balls battered against her ass. Her juice splattered over her buttocks as I hammered into her, frothing it to a white cream on our churning flesh and she was moaning - a long drawn out note almost of agony as her fingernails clawed at me, her lips apart as she spiraled towards her climax.

I watched her face as she raced towards the pinnacle - her mouth open, her breath panting as she jerked under me, each thrust hammering home, the head of my cock reaching for her centre. Spiralling upwards, her face contorting as the wave seized her: fingers fluttering on my back, her moaning quiet now as she drew the final few gasping breaths before the pleasure exploded in her brain. Teetering on the edge, a long moment of silence with her lips drawn back almost in a snarl of pain: and then at last the shriek of ecstasy - a long, quivering primeval cry as she was swept into the abyss. Her body trembled under me, her flesh twitching, and her cunt seized my rod in a grip of iron and milked it: hard, rhythmic contractions that drew me even deeper into her very centre - and there was a sudden burst of wetness around her vulva as she spurted and bubbled and dribbled over my swinging balls.

And I squirted too - thrust into my own orgasm by the writhing girl beneath me. Long, hot jets of sperm, splattering deep into her twitching body...hosing into her, a geyser of jism bursting from the eye of my cock to coat the twitching walls of her cunt. She cried out at the sensation and her hands seized my buttocks to draw me in tighter, to hold my seed deeper, and through the shattering waves of her pleasure she gasped and whispered against my ear.

"I can feel it, Ethan! Ah...ah, yes, it's so hot. Hot...inside me... you're filling me again. Yes, yes. So fucking deep!"

We seemed to writhe together for an eternity: her cunt twitching and quivering, sucking the juice out of me like a hungry, gobbling mouth: and me as rigid as a bar, thrusting forward to bury myself as deep as I could. And all the time I spurted, as if my balls knew that impregnating this delicious little body was a one-off and tomorrow I would be back to a barren, empty marriage where my only friend was my hand. My sperm filled her and bubbled back through the tight seal of her vulva to splatter over my balls and the fine golden hair on her mound - and still I came: the last drops oozing into the soaking, sperm splattered walls of her clasping pussy until at last we were done.

For a long time we lay still, our limbs entwined and the ooze of our juices the only movement. Her breath slowed and the sweat on her skin cooled, and at last she reached up and smoothed back the hair on my temples. 
"Wow!" she whispered. "Who would have thought that would happen?"

I lifted myself and looked down. Her face was soft from our lovemaking, her eyes shining. Her hair was spread over the pillow in a golden curtain and she smiled up at me, and I felt my heart twist. This was what I had missed - not just the act of fucking: but the feeling afterwards too, when you lie together and feel your shared juices cooling, when you whisper words of love and your whole body is suffused with wellbeing.

I withdrew and lay beside her, and her hand gripped mine. "Thank you, David," she whispered, and her lips were soft on mine.

And long after she was asleep I lay awake listening to the sounds of the night and her gentle breathing, and I remembered every detail of what we had done. I wondered who Ethan was that she should cry out his name in the throes of her orgasm. I thought of Jess, too, alone at home with her mean thoughts and her bitter mouth, and I thought of Chloe and how we would part company tomorrow.

And in the lonely darkness I wondered if I would ever be truly happy again.

*****

Ernie Jackman had had a hard night. He'd spent the night at the local bar until he was thrown out at two in the morning, but not before acquiring a bottle of bourbon which he drank with his mates in the caravan together with an assortment of beers and other liquor found in various cupboards.

He woke to the clamour of the alarm and opened his eyes. The morning light struck him in the face like a hammer, spearing though his gummy eyes and lancing into his brain. He also caught a glimpse of his companion for the night, a local girl who had been most accommodating. She had grunted and wriggled underneath him in the early hours of the morning and Ernie had thought her beautiful: but a brief glimpse before he clamped his eyes tightly shut told him otherwise.

He lay for a few moments with his head pounding and his stomach heaving before finally managing to open an eye and stagger to the bathroom. He knew that if he lost his job it would be difficult to find other work, and refueling aircraft was not particularly taxing - on most days. He tried to shave, but somehow the blade didn't go where his hand moved and he cut himself twice. The rasp of the razor on his chin rang in his skull like a spanner on an oil drum and he finally gave up, pulled on his rumpled clothes and set off for the airfield in his rusted and ancient ute.

There were just two aircraft on the fuelling manifest that morning - a Beech Kingair and David Marshall's Seneca. Ernie parked the fuel bowser next to the Kingair and carefully filled the wing tanks with AVTUR, his head pounding and his stomach heaving at the smell of the Jet A-1 fuel. He fastened the filler caps and rewound the hose and drove to the second aircraft, thinking of last night. Ernie had no idea how the woman had got into his bed, but he'd seen her around town and knew she was married...not that that disturbed him, but he didn't need any trouble from an angry husband although he thought the guy should be grateful for getting a night off. He hoped she would be gone by the time he returned, allowing him to sleep off the worst headache he had ever known, and he wondered if she would take anything from the caravan before she left.

Ernie pulled up beside the second aircraft and squinted at the fuel order through heavy eyes: Piper Seneca VH-NSC - fill fuselage overload tank only. He checked the cabin door and found it open, and he opened the filler cap located on the top of the big green tank. There wasn't much room between it and the cabin roof but he managed to turn the hose nozzle on its side and he pumped fuel into the tank. On two occasions the nozzle slipped clear of the filler ring and he splashed a litre or two of AVTUR into the cabin, but finally the job was done and he replaced the cap and thankfully drove the bowser back to the compound. He could hear his bed calling him and not even the woman could stop him from catching up on the sleep his body so desperately needed.

David Marshall's aircraft sat on the tarmac behind him, ready for the long flight to the east coast. It's engines were designed to run on AVGAS and would operate perfectly on the fuel remaining in the wing tanks. It would be a different matter when Ernie's fuel reached them. Petrol engines just don't work on jet fuel.

**

She was quiet in the morning and wouldn't meet my eyes when I looked at her, and we drove out to the airport almost as strangers. By the time we got there the wind had backed and I could smell the rain coming. I told Chloe as we strapped in, my finger pointing to the synoptic chart faxed through that morning.

"It's a big front, Chloe. As big as I've seen."

She glanced at the image with its wavy lines and tight concentric circles. "So what does it mean?"

"By the time we get to the New South Wales border we'll be in rain and heavy cloud."

"Can we get through?"

"Sure. The cloud and visibility at our destination is above the minima and we have enough diversion fuel. It will be uncomfortable, though." I looked at her, noticing the pallor of her skin and the dark bruises under her eyes. "You look tired."

She shrugged slightly. "I didn't sleep well."

"We could stay here a day or two and wait it out, if you prefer."

"Is it safe to go on?"

I nodded. "The worst that can happen is we have to divert somewhere."

"Then let's go, David. I'm keen to get the journey over." She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "I'll let you know if I feel sick, or anything."

I started up and taxied to the threshold and I tested the revs and magneto drop as normal. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and I lined up on the runway and opened the throttles, holding her straight as the speed built up. At 70 knots we rotated and climbed away smoothly, and I retracted the undercarriage and turned onto my outbound heading, scanning the engine instruments to ensure all was well. The two Lycomings were as steady as a rock and we leveled off at the designated cruising altitude and I engaged the autopilot.

"Next stop home," I said but she didn't reply and I concentrated on the flying. I could see the front ahead - a wall of dirty grey cloud that stretched across the horizon directly in our path. It grew closer and closer, towering above us like a monstrous barrier between the sunlight behind us and the dark menacing gloom ahead. Beside me Chloe watched, her face pale as the first tendrils of cloud whipped past the windscreen and the rain began to hammer on the perspex. And then suddenly we were enveloped, our horizon snatched away and the world filled with heavy grey vapour that robbed us of any references. The turbulence started immediately, the little aircraft shaking and bumping - more uncomfortable than alarming, but I could see Chloe was frightened.

"It's all right," I told her. "This is normal."

She gave me a weak little smile but her hands were tightly clasped together, the knuckles white. I knew I should talk to her but I couldn't - the autopilot wasn't coping very well and I had to fly manually, scanning the instruments to keep the wings level speed and track correct. I had to keep adjusting the power, too - there must have been strong updrafts as the aircraft wanted to climb, and as I throttled back we would suddenly sink rapidly and I'd have to put on more power. I was worried about the temperature, too. It was well below freezing and although all of the anti-icing aids were on I knew that we were growing ice on the fuselage. I could feel it in the way the aircraft behaved.

For a few moments I considered turning back, but the nearest airfield was still Mt Dutton and I knew Chloe didn't want to return there. I guess safety should have been my highest priority, but I wasn't too worried. I knew that once we were past the front of the weather things would settle down, and we might even be able to break out above the cloud.

And so we pressed on, through the malignant mass of sullen grey vapour. Ice formed on the leading edges of the wings and the boots threw it off, and I sweated in the cockpit with my eyes fastened on the instruments, hoping that it would all settle down. I'd lost the radios, too: perhaps the aerials were iced up, but the navigational instruments were working and the engines were just fine. The cloud just didn't let up, though, and I imagined us thrusting through it like a silver speck of metal cocooned in thousands of feet of turbulent grey air. It would have been nice to get weather updates but I couldn't, so we just flew onwards, hoping that the air ahead was warmer and clearer.

The main tanks were almost empty before I transferred fuel into them. Later I wondered why I'd done that, because it probably saved our lives: normally they would only have been about a third empty. I remember thinking that leaving the aft tank full would help the centre of gravity, but it was really only marginal. The truth was that I was so busy flying the aeroplane I forgot, and it wasn't until nearly three hours into the flight I remembered to turn on the transfer pump. I could hear it running, a high-pitched whine behind me as it squirted fuel into the main wing tanks, and I remember a feeling of relief because a pump failure would have had us looking for a place to land. That feeling was short lived.

We were still flying blind in a cocoon of dense grey cloud with the aircraft being tossed around, and I'd just tried the radio again when the port engine failed. It didn't stop dead - rather, it suddenly started to run rough with heavy black smoke spurting from the exhaust. I could feel the vibration in the cockpit and hear the backfiring, and as the power fell off the aircraft yawed to port. I throttled back and almost immediately the engine stopped so I closed the mixture and feathered the prop, holding her straight with the rudder and increasing power on the good engine. I knew it wouldn't hold us at altitude and I wondered if we would make it to the nearest airfield and whether I could get a distress call out. The altimeter started to unwind as we descended: the starboard engine was at maximum continuous power and we were still going down. I was aware of Chloe sitting next to me with her eyes like saucers as she realized that something was wrong, and I went to say something to her but at that moment the second engine coughed.

I knew at once it was fuel related - you don't get two good engines failing simultaneously unless there is a common factor, and I'd just pumped fuel from the aft tank. It must have been contaminated - but there was nothing I could do except try to keep the engine running for as long as I could and turn towards the nearest airfield. The engine was running really roughly - coughing and farting and missing every stroke. I could see the black smoke streaming behind us and thought for a heart stopping moment we were on fire, but it was just the exhaust. I eased the revs back a fraction but it just got worse and worse: the vibration was severe and I worried about structural damage, so I retarded the throttle and shut the engine down.

It was every pilot's worst nightmare - a double engine failure in thick cloud over unknown terrain. There was no way we could make the nearest diversion, so I turned into wind and let the aircraft glide, praying that we would break cloud before ground level. After hours of engine noise the silence was unnerving - there was only the sibilant whisper of air rushing over the canopy and the creak of the airframe buffeted by the turbulence. I put out a Mayday call and flicked the transponder code to emergency, and I held the aircraft steady at sixty knots with the flaps down, peering through the windscreen as the grey cotton-wool cloud flitted past, obscuring everything. Every second that past brought us closer to the ground and I knew if we were to stand any chance of survival I must pick a landing spot: or at least the most level piece of ground I could find - but there was only the cloying grey mist that robbed me of any vision - or of any sensation of movement, too. It was only the instruments that told me of our peril: the flickering airspeed and the steady unwinding of the altimeter, spelling out in dreadful silence just how little time we had left to live. We passed through two thousand feet, then one. The ground level here was a few hundred feet above sea level, so we were dangerously close to the surface. Eight hundred feet, then seven. I was aware of Chloe beside me, her face white with fear and her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Six hundred. It was quite dark now, the sun blotted out by thousands of feet of cloud above us. Five fifty - and then, just I thought we might fly into the ground without ever seeing it, we broke clear and for the first time since the engines stopped I could fly visually.

I'd been over that part of the world dozens of times and I knew what to expect: an empty, barren landscape with low rocky outcrops intersected with shallow gullies in long, parallel rows as if a giant had raked his fingernails over the crusted red earth of the land below. The chances of finding a smooth piece of ground were so small as to be impossible, and on the long descent I had imagined what the razor-edged rocks would do to the thin aluminum of the aircraft and the soft flesh of our bodies. I had seen a crash once and watched how they picked up the pieces of the pilot and put them in little bags not much bigger than my hand, and I feared we would be the same.

But for the first time that day our luck changed. The last wisps of cloud were snatched away and through the rain beaded windshield I could see a gully less than three hundred feet below and stretching for hundreds of yards ahead. It was probably only twenty or thirty feet deep and perhaps fifty or sixty wide, fringed by low scrub and sand blasted rocks polished by the wind, but it was full of water. I didn't even have to adjust our track: it was right ahead, its grey shiny surface gleaming slightly in the dull light. All I had to do was put us down...easing through the last few feet, landing tail first to absorb the initial impact and slow us down - holding her up, the control column hard back into my stomach and as heavy as a rock - feeling the last vestiges of control leaching away until we flopped down and skidded along the greasy grey surface. One flap was torn away almost at once and we slewed around, the water spraying over the canopy in a brown frothy torrent. Chloe was screaming beside me, her mouth open and her face contorted by fear - but we were in one piece and I could feel the motion slowing rapidly as the inertia was absorbed. The shaking and banging diminished and then there was a sudden shock as we struck something - not really hard, but enough to rattle our teeth. The airframe tilted sideways and for a moment I thought we would flip, but then the movement suddenly ceased and we were down.