Chelsea Rising Ch. 04

"From what you have told me the police have nothing except some anonymous note," he said carefully, "and they are not sure what credibility to put on that."

She nodded, her eyes very big in the pale oval of her face.

"And unless they obtain further information, or proof, there is nothing they can do about it." Ben continued. "So the question for me is who told them about us, and what proof do they have?"

She smiled at him, a small upturning of her lips. "That's two questions, Ben."

He ignored the interruption. "Let's think about the first question then, Chelsea. Who would hate us enough to tell the police about it?"

Chelsea thought for a moment. "How about we each write a list of everyone we know, and then go through it and decide if any of them are suspects?"

Ben fetched a few of pages of paper and they bent over the dining room table, writing. He finished first and sat watching her write. Her face was screwed up in concentration, and she was chewing the end of the pencil, her grey eyes on some distant horizon as she thought. He could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen, and the occasional sound of a car in the street outside. He watched her hands, the long slender fingers grasping the pencil, her wrists slim. Her hair swung forward over her face as she bent forward to write, a golden curtain that hid the strong, square line of her jaw and the soft curve of her lips, and he felt his heart twist with love. No matter what came of this crisis, the thought, I will be by her side. I would rather die than be without her.

At last she set the pencil down and sat back. "That's all I can think of."

Ben looked at her list. "How come you know so many more people than me?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Because I'm a much nicer person than you."

He laughed. "Right. How silly of me." He gathered up the pages. "How do you want to do this?"

"Let's just go through them and put a line through names we are sure wouldn't do this."

"OK." He picked up the pencil. "We need to be tough, though. If you have any inkling of doubt, even the tiniest one, then we keep them open." She nodded and he read though the names, his fingers busy as they drew a line though each one, until the light faded from the day and the job was done.

Chelsea leaned forward. "So how did we do?"

"There are four names still on the list."

She brightened. "That's not so many...we can deal with that."

"It could be someone we have forgotten, Chel."

She shook her head. "I bet we've got ninety percent of the people we know on that list, Ben. We can add others as we think of them."

"How about people we don't know? It could be a complete stranger."

"Don't be so bloody negative! Why in the hell would a perfect stranger pick our names from the twenty million others in this country?

"Just a thought." He smiled. "OK, you're right...it's someone we know, then. Our number one suspect is our dear half-brother, William. We know that he knows about us and we know that he hates us both." He looked up at her, but she said nothing. "Then there's our new sister-in-law, Cielle, and her brother Dirk, and there's Phil Saunders...who's he?"

"He's my boss. He's been trying to get into my pants for months, and he's a vindictive bastard. I wouldn't put it past him to try and get us to split from each other. Maybe he thinks that if I live on my own he's got a better chance of getting his end away."

"Would he know about us?"

"Not specifically, Ben, but he knows that you and I are close because I often use you as an excuse to get out of his sleazy invitations."

"OK." He thought for a moment. "Gut feel, Chel," he said. "Which one of them is it?"

"William."

He nodded. "I agree. What about the others?"

"Not Cielle," she said with certainty. "Dirk...no, I don't think so. He seemed very nice when I met him...although there's something heavy going down between him and his sister."

"Sex?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure, Ben. She seemed to be treading on eggs around him...like she was terrified of upsetting him."

"OK." He thought for a moment, then changed tack suddenly. "If you wanted evidence that someone was diddling his sister, how would you get it?"

"I hate you using words like that."

"Sorry....but how do you think someone would get proof?"

Chelsea thought for a moment. "I'd use a Private Eye."

"Expensive, and it might not work...unless he could see into the house."

"So he'd plant a bug, or something."

Ben nodded. "Whereabouts in the house?"

"The bedroom, obviously. Maybe the lounge or bathroom as well."

Ben nodded again. "Maybe I'm being paranoid, Sis, but it might be worth a look just to see that someone hasn't."

Chelsea stared at him. "Ben, this is Australia, not some third world dictatorship. You've been watching too many spy movies."

Ben downed the last of his drink. "Yeah, I know - it seems silly, and it probably is, Chel. But spending half an hour looking around won't hurt, will it?" He got to his feet. "Come on. Now that the idea is in my head, I couldn't sleep tonight unless I checked it out."

They went into the bedroom. "What does it look like?" Chelsea asked.

Ben was on his hands and knees peering under the bed. "Shit, I don't know." His voice was muffled. "A little stud, I suppose, like a button or something. I don't think it would be in the bathroom because of the sound of the shower...I guess it would have to be close to the bed."

They went around the bed, feeling under the frame and around the bedside cabinets. Chelsea giggled and Ben looked up. "What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking that they don't need a bug to check us out. All they have to do is stand in the street and listen to me cumming."

Ben smiled. "That's right. They could hear you in New Zealand."

"So why are we bothering to do this?"

He looked at her with growing excitement. "You've got it, Chelsea! Don't you see? If there was a bug they would hear us making love, but they wouldn't know who was fucking who...it might be me and the maid, for all they knew."

"Are you fucking the maid?"

"You won't let me have one, Chel," he reminded her, "and if we did you'd probably choose one as ugly as sin. Seriously, though, if someone wanted proof of our relationship, they must know it's you and me doing it - not someone else. They must get a visual."

"A camera, you mean?"

He nodded. "If I wanted evidence, I'd want pictures - preferably video."

Chelsea laughed. "That's ridiculous, Ben! Are you saying someone's hidden a video camera in our bedroom?" She moved quickly over to the wardrobe and opened the door and spoke in a high sing-song voice. "Hello? Are you in there? Come out because you've been discovered!" She turned back to him and laughed again. "Get real, Ben, where in the hell would they put it?"

Ben looked around. The windows occupied one side of the room and the built-in wardrobes the other. There was only the wall opposite the bed, punctuated by the door into the bedroom. He regarded the heavy dressing table, the only furniture against it, and shrugged his shoulders. "Somewhere in there, perhaps."

She laughed again. "Not unless they brought a carpenter's shop with them...come on, Ben, we're wasting our time."

Ben's eyes fell on the air conditioning vent near the ceiling architrave. "How about up there?"

"Come on! I'm not wasting another second on this."

Ben looked up at the vent again. It was the only place that it could be, but he knew the stupidity of his argument. Still, it would only take a second. He turned to his sister. "I'll only be a minute, Chel."

She made a noise of dismissal and Ben turned back to his task, moving aside some of the bric-a-brac on top of the dresser to clamber onto its worn polished surface. He peered into the vent, but it was too dark to see anything inside it. He could see that it had been disturbed, though, with the plaster around its edges broken and smudges of dirt on the adjacent paintwork. He climbed down and fetched a screwdriver and with a growing sense of excitement he removed the two screws, carefully lifting away the grille, observing with a sense of disbelief the lens of the camera staring down into the room. His movement had triggered its mechanism, and he could see the lens's bezel turning as it attempted to focus on his face. He lifted it out carefully and carried it through to the lounge.

Chelsea stood beside him, her face pale as she contemplated what the camera meant. "Who would have done this, Ben? Is it the police?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so, Chel...they'd need special approval to set this up, and they wouldn't have come here asking questions if they had that." He attached a USB lead to his laptop as he spoke, and turned on the camera. "I figure that someone wants to finger us...you know, use it for blackmail."

"But who?"

"I'm hoping that this will tell us." He fiddled with the camera's controls and the laptop's screen lit up. For a moment it was blank, then a series of blips appeared, flashing rapidly for a few seconds before settling down. An image of the empty room appeared, the bed foreshortened by the high angle of the camera and partially obstructed by the metal bars of the grille immediately in front of the lens, but the field of vision was adequate. They could hear clattering, the noise of someone moving out of shot, and then a figure appeared with its face turned away, walking to the bedside cabinets.

"Ah," said Ben. "Here we go...who is this, do you think?"

Before Chelsea could answer the figure turned, lifting his eyes to the camera's gaze. The light from the window fell squarely on his face and Chelsea gasped as she recognised him. "It's Dirk!"

They watched as he stared up at the lens. The camera's saturation was turned down so that the colours in the room were muted and his face was pale, the yellow orbs of his eyes appearing almost white. He smiled up at the camera for a moment and then drew something out of his pocket, holding it to his face.

"What's that?" asked Ben.

Chelsea didn't answer. She was still deeply shocked by the sudden turn of events and by Dirk's invasion of their home. She held her fingers at her mouth, her heart pounding as she watched him close his eyes and breathe in, savouring the essence of the object, before he held it up to the camera's gaze.

"Oh, Christ, Ben," she whispered. "It's my panties. He's taken a pair of my panties."

*

On the other side of town Dirk Phillips lay on his bed and regarded the collage he had set up on the wall above his desk. It comprised photographs of all of those that interested him, and although it was not complete yet, he'd made a good start. To one side was a picture of his Dad, a full-face image that he'd found in an album in the study. Dirk had carefully drawn a black border around it, and placed it to one side of the main board in such a way as his father was looking at everyone else.

His mother was below him - there were lots of photographs of her to be found, but Dirk had chosen ones that were less flattering. There was one of her at a barbeque, her mouth open as she was eating, and another of her bending over beside the swimming pool, her midriff showing white and thick with middle age. Dirk had drawn a likeness of a rifle cross hairs over her head, and he had written a bold "Number 1" next to her image. A single photograph of her new husband that he had found in his mother's top drawer was next to her. Dirk hoped to find a few more and had left a space to attach them.

Below them were pictures of Cielle and Sarah, the latter in a white smock and her soft, empty eyes on the camera. It was not Dirk's favourite picture but it accentuated her virginity and he found that appealing, reminding him that it was there for him to take one day. He briefly imagined her underneath him, but he drew his mind away...it was a vision for the future, when the time was right. He regarded Cielle's photograph, taken only a day or two before. He had held the camera between her calves, pointing upwards, focused on her face. She was gazing at the lens with a mixture of trepidation and some other emotion...fear, perhaps? Closer to the lens was her pussy, made indistinct by the narrow depth of field, but not so blurred that he could not discern the product of their fucking - the shine of her juices and the thick cream of his discharge on the wet, pouting lips.

His attention was drawn to the final photograph, set to one side of the others. He swung his legs out of bed and walked over to the display, leaning close to it so that he could see the picture clearly. It was of Chelsea and must have been taken at college, he thought, perhaps five years ago, showing her face and shoulders against a blurred background of coloured canvas that accentuated the thick mane of her hair and the soft grey of her eyes. Her head was tilted very slightly to one side, and there was a mischievous glint in her expression that belied the sultry curve of her lips, full and glossy and slightly open. Her skin was flawless, a delicate peach colour, and the lines of her face were beautiful.

Dirk touched the image lightly with his fingertips, running them over the shiny photographic paper as if he could capture a little of her warmth and sensuality, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He remembered the smell of her in the kitchen... cinnamon and perfume and the tinge of musk, and he recalled the delicious scent of her sex on the damp gusset of her pants when he had pressed them to his face in her bedroom. They were under his pillow now, all traces of her obliterated by the crust and odour of his semen, but he could still recall her aroma in his mind.

The thought of her cunt made his cock thicken quickly, pushing against his pants, and he felt a tight constriction in his balls. He stood back and released his fly, pulling out the thick column of his shaft and stroking it feverishly. A strand of pre-cum drooled from the end and he scooped it up with one finger and smeared it over her image, the oily liquid gleaming in the light as it lay upon the paper.

"Chelsea," he murmured. "You'll be so tight when I fuck you....as tight as a little virgin." His hand flew along the shaft and his foreskin rode back and forth, slipping easily over the glans and making small sucking noises as it did so. He imagined it to be inside her, her cunt stretched open by its thickness, bubbles of foam and juice seething around him and long strands of her juice slick and shiny on the inside of her thighs. He envisaged her face, staring up at him as she struggled against her bonds, and in his mind he heard the sound of her belly slapping against his. She was gazing up at him, her grey eyes fearful as he thrust savagely into her body, and she was moaning with pain and desire as her cunt clasped him, sucking him in deeply.

"Chelsea," he whispered again, "Chelsea. Fuck me like a train...fuck me like a whore. Take my cock into your body and suck it dry." He imagined looking down at her face, seeing the rim of dried cum around her lips and the salty tracks of her tears on her cheeks. There was cum in her hair too, and in the fine hairs of her eyelashes, and he could smell it on her skin from the countless times he had fucked her. He could hear the squelch of it in her cunt and feel it dribbling out of her anus to splatter against his thrusting balls. His cum and her brother's, no doubt, lodged inside her from where had Ben fucked her too.

His cock swelled in his hand, thicker and thicker, the waves of pressure building in his brain. His fist flew faster, imaging he was in her ass again, sliding upwards into her bowels with the grip of her battered sphincter around the base of his shaft. He thought he would blast into her rectum, filling her up, and that he would watch it drool and dribble out of her when he finally pulled free.

His orgasm burst upon him and a long jet of hot semen leapt from the eye of his cock. It struck her photograph, splattering over her face, running in rivulets over the glossy image. A second jet, thicker than the first, followed it almost immediately - the clots of his sperm sticking to her face. He grunted as he hosed the wall, his body racked in pleasure and his member jerking with each spurt until there was only the last few drops dribbling and drooling over the carpet from the end of his trembling cock.

Dirk released his prick and it sank downwards, utterly spent. He regarded her photograph, watching as his cum dribbled over the smooth, golden skin of her face. He touched it with his finger, rubbing it into her eyes and mouth, and his desire coalesced into a burning determination to fuck her, just as he had in his imagination; to inject his sperm into her living flesh as many times as he wanted, and to see the helplessness of subjugation in her eyes.

He touched his finger to his lips, the smell of his semen strong in his nostrils and the taste sharp in his mouth. He imagined it was her mouth full of his seed, and his lust to possess her filled his brain. "Soon, my little slutty sister," he whispered, as he licked his fingers clean. "Very soon now."

*

Dirk watched their car drive out of the underground car park and turn away from him, disappearing into the traffic at the far end of the street. He waited for a moment and then crossed the road and entered their complex.

The door opened smoothly and he walked into the flat, locking the door behind him. He knew he had several hours now, and he was in no hurry to retrieve the camera. He moved into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee, then strolled into the bedroom. The flat was silent, and his footsteps made no sound on the thick Axminster carpet. He could hear the muted sound of traffic on the freeway to the south, and the sound of the refrigerator purring in the kitchen.

He rummaged through the laundry basket, discarding the men's clothes and drawing out a pair of thin white panties. He could see the smears of her discharge on the gusset and he pressed them to his face, breathing in her essence. There was a bra there too, and he took it, fingering the cups and imagining the press of her breasts within them. He took his trophies back to the lounge and sat on the sofa, sipping his coffee and sniffing her pants, feeling the pressure of his cock as he imagined the slow drip of her juices into them. At length he tucked them in his pocket and then carefully washed up his coffee mug and put it away.

Dirk lifted the camera carefully from its hiding place and set it down on the dining room table. He had already set up his laptop and he plugged in the camera and started it, his mouth dry with anticipation. He sat back and watched the video, skimming forward over passages that did not interest him. He watched Chelsea undressing, the slide of her dress over her hips and the tight clutch of her knickers as she slid them off. Her breasts were fuller than he had imagined, the nipples dark and swollen, and he watched as she briefly massaged them, her face tilted upwards towards the camera and her eyes closed.

He scanned the camera forward again until Chelsea's image appeared again, setting out candles in the room. Her hair was loose, free of the usual ponytail, and it rolled languorously over her shoulders as she bent over the task of lighting the candles. The room darkened as she turned out the light, but the lens adjusted to the softer glow, the bed becoming an island in a sea of warmth and light. He watched as Ben appeared and as they stripped, her nipples hard and dark and his penis thick as he turned towards her.

Dirk released his shaft from his pants and rubbed it as he watched. The quality of the image was surprisingly good, and he could see the expression of lust in Chelsea's face as she took her brother's cock into her mouth, her cheeks expanding as the mushroom head slipped past her lips. Dirk watched her mouth sliding over her brother's shaft, the swing of her hair briefly obscuring the view with each thrust; and his fingers worked at his own shaft, gripping it and moving in time to the rhythm on the screen. He could feel the seeds of his orgasm building and he forced himself to slow down, watching the screen with hooded eyes. Ben was crouching over his sister now, her body rolled upwards with him between her thighs, the angle acute so that he was almost fucking her vertically. Her buttocks were toward the camera, opened by the leverage of his hips so the tight, crinkled portal of her anus was exposed, and he could see the long, slow slide of Ben's cock into her twitching body.