The Beach House

A moment later the storm cell was upon me. It sort of sucked the air upwards for an instant as if a vacuum had been applied to a glass jar and I felt my lungs empty and leaves and twigs suddenly sprang upwards from the ground before spinning away in tumbling specks of brown and black. In an instant I was enveloped in it too: the wind seized me and drove me off the path in stumbling, drunken steps and I was flung forward and would have fallen except for a nearby tree. I threw my arms around it and clung for dear life while the earth went mad around me -- a shrieking, thrumming cacophony of sound of wind and tortured timber and breaking branches. Chunks of wood and leaves and sticks whirled past me and I could hear the trunk of tree I was clinging to groaning and cracking as if its living fibres were being torn asunder. My face was pressed hard against the rough bark but the wind was behind me and at least I could see. Below me was the little natural harbour and beyond that the bay to the south, the water almost black as the cloud of dust and debris sucked the light out of the air. I could see my boat too, thrashing like a living thing as the wind seized it, the mooring lanyard slack in one moment and stretched tight in another: and as I watched it parted like a thread of cotton and the wind drove my boat like a child's toy against the rocks.

And beyond it something else caught my attention, too: a flash of colour further out to sea, perhaps a quarter mile beyond the harbour. It was there for just an instant: a bright glimpse of yellow against that black malevolent water and then the windstorm tore up the sea in between us and I lost sight of whatever it was. The wind and dust filled my eyes with tears and I wiped them away hurriedly, scanning the turbulent, twisting water to see what it had been but there was nothing but the beat of the wind on the frothing white water. And then for just a fleeting moment the curtain was torn aside and I saw it again: a small boat, its prow high in the water and a single figure huddled in the stern, hunched low over the tiller. There was the flash of a pale, white face and a glimpse of golden hair streaming behind it and I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that it was Sarah. And then the wind lashed the sea again and she was lost to sight in a maelstrom of driving, wild water.

With a cry of dismay I released the tree and bounded down the pathway to the water's edge. Christ knows what I intended, for my boat was half submerged and there was no way I could go out to her. The wind was behind me and it thrust me forward in giant, leaping steps that flung me finally against a pile of rocks at the water's edge. For a moment I lay huddled there, my body wracked with pain with the force of the impact, but I was driven by fear and so I scrambled over the little spit of rocks and wedged myself there, staring out to sea - desperate to catch a glimpse of her again. I was lower here and it was harder to see: the wind had picked up a spindrift of white spray that reduced visibility even further and I racked my eyes, wiping away the stinging salt and dust with trembling fingers, my heart thudding in my chest with terror.

For a full minute there was nothing. The wind thrummed and howled around me and I stared out, but there was nothing except a frenzy of white, roaring water: and then, just as I had given up hope the prow of her boat appeared not twenty yards offshore. It was high in the water, thrust upwards by the weight in the stern and the roaring wind, and it crabbed sideways against the buffeting of the confused, heaving sea as Sarah struggled to keep course. I could see her clearly now, one hand on the tiller and the other shielding her eyes against the spray, her face a white mask of terror. God knows what she was thinking -- she didn't even have a lifejacket on and was dressed only in jeans and a thin top that clung to her body like wet paint.

'Sarah!' I screamed, but the wind snatched my words away and flung them into the sky. 'Sarah! To me! Come to me.'

But she couldn't hear me, and I watched helplessly as the drama unfolded. She had the tiller far over to the right in an effort to steer the boat to the harbour mouth but the weight of the wind was turning the bow, forcing it away until the little craft was beam on to the waves. It began to roll then, a sickening, swinging motion that whipped it from side to side while she clung helplessly to the stern thwart, and I knew it was only a moment before it broached.

'Sarah!' I screamed again. She was only a dozen yards away but the boat was moving rapidly away, skidding sideways under the weight of the wind. 'Jump, Sarah, jump!'

She heard me then, and for a moment our eyes met and I saw a glimmer of hope leap into her face: and then the wind took the windward side and flipped the boat over as if it were a scrap of kindling. Sarah was flung clear and I heard her thin scream as she went, her arms wind-milling and her hair blowing in a streaming cloud about her head before she was snatched from my horrified gaze.

And in that instant I imagined her dead -- the pale limbs still and grey and her eyes glazed and staring, and I knew I couldn't live without her. I flung myself into the sea and struck out through the maelstrom, reaching the upturned boat in a few short strokes but there was no sign of her. I dived under the wreck and surfaced on the other side, gasping against the sting of the driven salt spray and I found her there, scrabbling with frantic hands to grasp the slick, slippery hull.

'Sarah!' I screamed, and she turned to me. 'Sarah!'

She released the boat and a second later she was there, clinging to me like a limpet. I could feel the cold flesh of her cheek pressed against mine and hear the rasping of her breath as she gasped into my ear. 'Oh, God, Michael...Jesus, God!' she said. 'Save me, save me.' Her arms were tight around me and I couldn't move, couldn't swim. 'Save me,' she said again.

'I will,' I screamed. 'Listen to me! Work with me. Let go, let go! Hold my shirt and swim with me.'

For a moment I thought she wouldn't, or couldn't, but then she nodded, bless her, and I felt her arms release me. She grasped my shirt and we trod water for a few moments to gather breath. I knew we could never make the harbour, for the waves were pushing us back, and so I struck out parallel to the shore, heading for a spot about fifty yards further on where I'd often seen flotsam gathered amongst the rocks.

To this day I don't know how we made it -- for every stroke we pushed forward the wind and waves seemed to carry us back two, but the current helped and we found a piece of wood to cling to and that helped. We kicked forward with our legs and eventually reached a relatively sheltered little cove of black pebbles where we lay like landed fish while the sea sucked at our legs and the wind howled overhead. She was curled against me, one leg hooked under my body and my face wedged in the curve of her shoulder, and we clung to each other as she sobbed with fear and relief.

It would have been so easy to lie there but I knew it wasn't over, and so I struggled to my feet and pulled her up and we staggered like drunks over the rocks, past the little harbour and then up the path to the cottage. I wondered if the roof would be gone but it was still intact and so we stumbled through the door and knelt on the rough stone facing each other, our arms wrapped around each other and our faces buried in each other's necks. The thick stone walls muffled the sound of the wind out and I heard the little noises she made; the sobs and whimpers, and I hugged her and whispered words of comfort into her ear.

'It's all right, Sarah. You're safe, my love. You're safe now.'

'I thought I was gone,' she whispered back, and her voice was broken and gusty. 'I thought I'd never see you again.'

'I'm here. We're together, we're safe.'

She pulled back and gazed into my face, her eyes still full of fear. She was shivering from cold and shock and I knew I had to warm her. 'What are we going to do?' she whispered.

I stood up and pulled her to her feet and we went into the little back room where the kitchen had been. There were logs and kindling already set out in the hearth and I bent down and lit the fire, watching for a moment in case the chimney didn't draw -- but it caught quickly within a minute or two the flames were crackling and flickering shadows jumped on the walls from the cheery orange glow. She leaned forward and warmed her hands over the flames.

'Wait here,' I said. 'I'll go to the shed and see what we can use tonight.'

One of the trees next to the shed had come down but I was able to squeeze through the tangle of branches to the door, still open from my earlier work. There wasn't much there -- tools, mostly, and building materials like cement and paint -- but I found a couple of old blankets that the generator had been wrapped in and some cardboard cartons. There was a first aid kit, too, and a little box with some food in it that Sarah had brought in case we ever got hungry. I took it all back to the kitchen. The wind was still blowing hard but nothing like before, and I wondered briefly what had caused such a catastrophic and brief savagery -- a microburst, perhaps.

Sarah was still crouching by the fire and I put a blanket on the floor next to her. 'Get out of your clothes,' I said. 'We can dry them by the fire. I'll wait in the other room.'

She nodded wordlessly and I left her there. It was very dark now and I realised that the generator had stopped working, but we didn't need it. There was plenty of wood for the fire and there were a couple of torches in my tool box. I stood for a moment looking out of one of the new windows, thinking about what had happened. The right side of my chest was starting to hurt and I lifted my wet shirt and peered at the skin, but it was too dark to see much. Through the salt splattered window I could see the twinkling of lights on the other side of the bay and I knew they would come looking for us in the morning, so I wasn't worried -- not about that. It was Sarah who concerned me: she'd been so close to drowning and I didn't like the look of the pallor of her skin or the dilated eyes. She was in shock, and I needed to watch her.

I turned back towards the kitchen without even thinking, and stopped dead in my tracks. Sarah was framed by the open door, standing before the fireplace with her back to me. She'd stripped off her wet blouse and bra and was peeling her jeans off. Her back was as smooth as alabaster, tapering from her shoulders to the narrow curve of her waist and her arms were smooth and well muscled. The fire painted her skin a golden orange, flickering as the flames leapt and danced, and there were pools of dark shadow in the secret crevices of her body. She still had her panties on: small and white, not much more than a gee string really, with the delicious curve of each buttock framed by the narrow strip of material disappearing between each cheek, and her legs were long and golden.

I knew I should turn away but I just couldn't, so I stood and stared at her, my heart suddenly racing in my chest and my mouth dry. She was so beautiful...so perfect -- a body sculptured in velvet, carved from ivory by a master craftsman. And while I stood there she hooked her thumbs either side of her panties and slid them down over the smooth golden skin of her thighs before dropping them into a little puddle of wet material on the floor. I remember staring at the little cleft where the swell of each perfect buttock started, and I regarded the exquisite shape of each cheek defined by the smooth curve of her hips. She bent down then to pick up the blanket and for a heart stopping moment her cheeks parted to reveal the cleft of her pussy with its soft wet lips and a wisp of golden hair that shone briefly in the firelight, and above it the tight crinkled orifice of her anus.

I must have made a little sound then: perhaps a gasp of breath or even the thudding of my heart, for she turned slightly and saw me. For a long moment we gazed at one another, her body still, balanced on one leg with the curve of her hip thrust outwards and the profile of her right breast exposed to my hungry gaze. It was exactly as I remembered it: a perfect globe of warm, living flesh capped by a nipple as rosy as a ripe strawberry -- and as I watched it stiffened, hardening in shape and texture to stand proud of the creamy flesh of her breast.

I tore my gaze away from her body and looked into her face, expecting anger or scorn or perhaps embarrassment, but there was none of those. Her mouth was open slightly, her lips soft and pink with the gleam of her teeth behind them, and her hair hung in a tangled mass around the slender column of her neck and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And still she didn't move: she simply looked at me, as still as a doe in the headlights of a car and in her eyes I saw a gathering awareness of what she read in my face.

For long moments our eyes were locked across that flickering, firelit little room: a wordless exchange as intimate as if we had whispered the deepest secrets of our souls to one another. I knew that in my eyes she had seen the secret of an impossible, aching love that filled my brimming heart until it might burst in my chest; of hope for something so hopeless it could never be, and dread that she might despise me for even thinking that way. And in her dark eyes I saw the sense of innocence lost; of a girl out of her depth, struggling with all her might to find her way back to the light and ashamed of what she had become.

And in those fleeting moments I understood how vulnerable she was. It was as if everything that she had been though had stripped away her confidence and left her naked and alone and in desperate need of comfort.

In a few steps I was with her and we clung to each other, her body against me and her mouth pressed to mine. I could taste the salt on her skin and smell it in her hair, and her lips were as soft as gossamer. God, how I wanted her! My cock reared up, pressing hard against my wet jeans and she felt it.

'Take off your things, Michael,' she whispered. 'Lay here beside me.'

We flung the cardboard on the floor and draped it with blankets and she lay down, staring up at me as I peeled off my clothes. There were shadows in her eyes still, but she smiled at me as I stood naked and she reached up and took my hand and pulled me down beside her.

'Tonight we are just you and me,' she said, and her voice was husky with passion. 'Friends, Michael, not siblings.' She touched my face, her fingertips tracing the line of my lips. 'Take me... just for tonight, and then never again,' and she put her mouth on mine and kissed me.

I'll never forget that night for as long as I live. She had been unobtainable and suddenly she was not, lying naked on the floor with her arms around me and her mouth on mine. The firelight flickered on her skin, painting it amber, and the dark shadows flickered and jumped in the corners of the room. She was sheathed in velvet and decked in gold, and she was mine.

She lay on the floor and I painted her body with kisses: onto the soft white skin below her ear in the hollows of her neck and across to the glorious mounds of her breasts. Her nipples were like ripe gooseberries in my mouth and I teased them with my lips, tugging on them until she giggled and pushed my head gently down. And so I moved to the flat plain of her belly, dipping my tongue into the little crescent of her naval and tasting the salt there; and then further again until my lips touched the soft gossamer hair at the little triangle between her thighs.

Her legs were closed and I drew them gently apart. Her sex was swollen with desire, the flesh a pale translucent pink and open like a rare exotic flower. Between the thick outer lips lay the inner sanctum, the flesh a darker hue and gleaming wetly in the flickering light, and at their apex a tiny seed lay like a glistening pearl in the soft wet bed of an oyster.

'Touch me, Michael' she whispered and I bent my head and brushed my tongue against the hot wet flesh, hearing the sharp intake of her breath and feeling her twitch as I touched her most sensitive spot. She tasted of sea salt and the oily flavour of arousal, and I lapped at her gently, little strokes of my tongue across the fleshy opening to her body; dipping down to scoop her juices into my mouth and then flattening to tease and tickle the hard little nub of her clit. She was delicious: a meal fit for a king, and so I ate her with all the skill I could muster - - lifting her long, golden legs up to her chest so her sex pushed outwards; clasping the warm plasticity of her buttocks and drawing them apart until she was totally open to me, the lips of her sex stretched open and an ooze of pearl-coloured juice between them like the cream in a delicious éclair.

For a moment I regarded the prize. My sister's cunt... the opening to her body, oozing wet and open - waiting for me to take it however I liked. To be sucked and fucked and filled as many times as I wanted; to take my seething sperm far into its mysterious depths somewhere beneath the warm satin skin of her flat little belly.

And so I ate her, wriggling my tongue into the warmth of her body, lapping, lapping, long langorous strokes from the tight crinkled little orifice between the pale crescents of her buttocks to the golden fuzz of her mound. Teasing her with my lips; scooping out her warm thick cream with the tip of my tongue so it lay like custard on my taste buds -- my sister's cream oozing from her body to paint my mouth and cheeks and chin, splattering like drops of confetti onto the blanket beneath us. My sister's cunt juice.

I could have stayed there all night but she stopped me with her hands on my head and her eyes on my face. 'Enough, enough,' she whispered. 'Put it into me,' and she pulled me gently upwards.

It isn't often you get to fuck your sister. I wanted to see it as well as feel it: to have the picture of that first time --to watch as the swollen head of my rigid cock pressing into her; to see the lips of her cunt opening to take me and the juice oozing around the shaft as I sank into her liquid depths. But I watched her face instead. She held my shaft against her with trembling fingers and I watched her expression as I sank into that beautiful golden body: the flare of her eyes as she felt the length of her brother's cock penetrating her. Wincing at the tightness of her cunt -- stretching, stretching, trying to take the turgid shaft pressing inexorably into her. The tightening of her lips and the gasp of wonder, and the softness of her eyes as I bottomed out and she gazed at me.

'You're inside me, Michael' she whispered. 'Oh God! You're right inside me.'

'Am I hurting you?'

She shook her head. 'No -- no. It's wonderful. I...I can feel you so deep.'

She crossed her legs over my back and her hands fluttered softly on my skin. 'Fuck me now,' she whispered. 'I want you to fuck me.'

The long withdrawal, slippery and tight, her cunt grasping at me like a frantic mouth, trying to keep me in. Ah, Jesus! Sarah, Sarah. The exquisite suck of her flesh until at last my knob broke free and rested for a moment on her trembling wet lips. The sense of loss in her eyes as she felt me leave the harbour of her body; the fluttering of her hands, grasping me, pulling me in - and then the delicious cloying grip of her cunt as I slid into her again -- the, clasping, amazing incredible feeling of fucking my little sister.

I pushed myself up and watched as I slid into her: watched the gleaming shaft as it appeared and disappeared, and in the little room I could hear the wet suck of her flesh above the crackle of the fire. 'Do you hear that, Sarah?' I whispered.