Chelsea Rising

"Not really. He was much older than us, remember - well, nine years. That's a lot when you are growing up. I wasn't even at high school by the time he had started work. It was more a case of him tolerating me, I guess."

She was silent for a few moments, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. "Is there any more wine?"

"No - there's some Port -"

She nodded. "Can you get me one?"

I rummaged in the cupboard and found the bottle, and I poured a shot each. She sipped at it, staring at the amber liquid in her glass.

"Did he ever hit you?"

"Yeah - I suppose. Siblings always fight....I probably deserved it, anyway. What's this about, Chelsea?"

"Have you ever wondered why he left home so suddenly? Why he never keeps in touch?" Her eyes flickered to mine and then slid away guiltily, back down to her glass.

A sense of foreboding came over me, the portent of bad news. "Not really."

She didn't speak for a minute or two and I waited, giving her time to draw her thoughts together, watching her as she fiddled nervously, her little face set.

"Tell me you won't hate me, Ben," she said, softly. "I don't think I could bear it."

I reached over and squeezed her arm. "There's nothing that you can say or do to change how I feel about you."

She looked at my face for a moment her eyes searching mine, and then she nodded two or three times. "I think you mean that." She suddenly lifted her glass and drained it, and then stood up. "Let's go and sit down on a comfortable chair." She moved into the little sitting room and curled up at one end of the old leather sofa, patting patted the seat next to her, waiting until I was settled.

"Will was very different from you and me - I guess because he was the oldest. Have you ever noticed that he and Dad didn't get on? And how she doesn't ever speak of her previous life before she met Dad? Can you think of two more different people?" she watched me shake my head. "Sometimes I wonder if he was his father's son. Will didn't speak of his childhood either - not once. I think it must have been difficult for him...not like ours." She laughed nervously. "Wow - it sounds like I'm making excuses for him - but I'm not. It does explain why he was like he was, though -"

I interrupted. "How was he?"

"Moody, introspective, sometimes violent - but also capable of great warmth and charm. I was very close to him, and towards the end became obsessed by him." She laughed, but it was ugly, without humour. "God - what did I know. I was only a kid. I started flirting with him in that last year he was here, thinking I was ever-so sophisticated...little things at first, like wearing short skirts when I knew he would be around, bending over when no one else was looking so he could see my pants or my cleavage. I thought it was harmless, a bit of fun. I even thought I was helping him...he had that air of sadness, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I figured I'd be the one to bring him out of it."

She shifted her legs trying to get comfortable, and was silent for a few moments thinking back to whatever had happened. Her voice was quiet and I had to strain to hear as she continued. "He didn't respond. Not once. Sure, he'd talk to me, just like anyone else in the family, but as far as my advances were concerned it was as if I was invisible. I felt...rejected. The more he ignored me, the more I became infatuated by the thought that I could make him care - Heaven knows what I expected...he was my brother for God's sake."

I reached over and put my hand on her arm, and she grasped my hand, her fingers cold. "One night I got back to the house - Mum and Dad had a University meeting and you were out doing something or other. The house was quiet. I went upstairs and as I passed by his room I looked in. He was there, lying on his bed, just staring at the ceiling. I went in and stood next to him. I'd been playing tennis and I was wearing a white blouse and a short skirt with little white knickers on underneath. I went right up to the bed and I stood there, with my legs slightly apart so that he could see under my skirt from where he lay, and I asked him what he was doing."

She shuddered, living the memory. "He didn't reply at first, then he turned his head and looked at me, and he said 'Thinking of you, Chelsea,' and he held up a pair of my pants that he'd been holding in his hands. The crotch was folded outwards and I could see a streak of silver on it. 'You did this, didn't you,' he said, 'your hot little cunt, thinking of me.' I just stood there, trying to get over the shock of his words and the way he had said them. There was no passion in his voice - it was flat, without expression, and his face was utterly without emotion. And whilst I stood there, he suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm and he pulled me down onto the bed."

I interrupted her. "Chelsea, you don't have to tell me -"

She looked at me, her eyes like pools in her face and her voice was husky with emotion. "I need to, Ben. I've never told a living soul before." She paused for a moment to collect herself, and then went on, her voice stronger.

"I guess I was surprised at first, and then I remember a feeling of triumph...you know, he'd finally taken notice of me. I fell across him as he pulled me down, but I wriggled up the bed so that I was lying next to him, and I put my hand on his chest, leaning forward to kiss him. He wasn't interested in that, though. He only wanted one thing. He put his hands under my pants, trying to get them off, trying to push his fingers into me."

"Did he hurt you?" my voice was outraged.

She shook her head. "Not at first. Don't get me wrong....it wasn't rape. I wanted him, but it was all too sudden. Up to then it had been a bit of fun for me, you know, trying to get him interested - and then suddenly his fingers were in my pants. There was no foreplay; he didn't even speak. It went from nothing to everything."

I imagined the scene that she was describing - the cold, silent house, the two of them in his bedroom - together, on his bed, desperately moving in silence - he trying to get into her pants and she squirming, confused, wanting to find some tenderness but only finding lust, trying to make the best of what was happening.

"Did you do it?"

She nodded. "I even helped him. I undid my blouse and I slipped off my skirt and pants. He unzipped his jeans and he rolled on top of me. I asked him to be gentle, to spend a little time on me first, but he ignored me. He just thrust into me. I screamed ...I'd never had anyone....you know, he was the first. I wasn't ready and it felt like he was splitting me open. He didn't care...he just pounded into me, as hard as he could, and all the time his eyes were on my face, watching my expression as he fucked me." She shivered. "It was awful. I'd expected something much better - you know, some sort of romance - a bit of tenderness. It wasn't too much to ask for your first time, but he didn't even speak. And then he came, spurting into me. I was burning inside... really hurting, but I could still feel him pumping into me and I could feel how much there was."

She broke off and there was silence in the room for a few moments. She had her eyes closed, thinking about that evening, and then she continued, her voice flat. "After he came he rolled off me and got to his feet. I was on my back, my legs still open and blood on my thighs and his sperm was trickling out of me. He looked down at me and said 'get dressed, you slut' and he flung my clothes at me. And then he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I was crying. I felt....so abused - betrayed, I suppose. He was my brother, and although I shouldn't have wanted him so much he could have shown me a little respect, at least."

I squeezed her hand. "Did he ever say sorry?"

She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He never spoke of it again - in fact he treated me with disgust after that, but I'd sometimes catch him looking at me with a weird expression on his face. A few weeks afterwards I found I was pregnant and I told him. He laughed at me - said that it wasn't his, and that I'd have a hard time working out whose it was."

My heart went out to her. She'd had to deal with this alone. "Chelsea - I'm so sorry. How could I have missed it? I was there....it must have happened right under my nose! Why didn't you tell me - I could have helped -"

She shook her head again. "How could I tell anyone? It was my fault - I'd been the one trying to seduce him - my own brother. You would have hated me."

"So what happened to -"

"To the baby? I miscarried before I was big enough for people to notice. It happened at school - I pretended it was period pain, and they didn't know enough to tell the difference." She was crying, the tears trickling down her face and dripping off her chin, and her voice was husky with emotion. "It's amazing how strong you can be when you need to - and how stupid. You know, I still loved him, but he was so unpredictable. One day he bailed me up in the hallway, pressing me up against the wall and he put his fingers in my pants. He told me that he was having friends over and he wanted me to be there - to be nice to them. I figured he wanted me to fuck them. I told him that if he or his friends touched me I'd go to the police. Not long after that he had his car accident." She shuddered. "I've often wondered if it really was an accident. I guess we'll never know."

I held her hand tightly. "Chelsea - whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."

She nodded but said nothing, staring at the fire. I could see that her mind was filled with thoughts of what might have been, and then she shook herself lightly and wiped her eyes again.

"So that brings us to today - different time, different brother - but you can understand why I was so reluctant to go with you. I must be a sucker for punishment."

"It's not the same. I'm not the same as him."

"No, you're not, Ben. I know that. But he was my brother and so are you. They say that you revisit the sins that you commit."

"Would you go with me if I wasn't your brother?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She looked down at her hand, still holding mine. "Because you turn me on - and you care."

"I don't just care about you, Chelsea - it's much more than that. I've thought about this a lot over the last week. I want to be with you all the time. I think you're great company to be with - we have fun, and we laugh a lot and we really enjoy each other....and yes I'm turned on by you as well, but it isn't just about sex - its about being together." I looked at her shyly. "I think I'm trying to say I love you, which is a whole lot more than Will ever did."

"You're still my brother and I've been burned -"

"So what? I'm so different to him. If Will had been like me you'd still be together - but he was a loser. I'm different, Chelsea - don't throw away what we have just because of him."

"What if people find out? We'd be outcasts."

"Only if we flaunt it. People hide their sex lives all the time. We haven't gone around bragging who we slept with - and we wouldn't brag about sleeping with each other, either." I held her hand, tightly. "Chelsea, what we did this afternoon was fantastic...its as intimate as two people can get. That step has already been taken - from now on we are only talking about variations."

She smiled at me. "I bet you've got some ideas on that, too."

I laughed, relieved to see her smile. "You bet."

She reached up and touched my face. "I have too, Ben." She paused for a moment, and then reached a decision. "I used to think that there was something weird about me because I fancied my brother...I used to dream about having him inside me - about the wrongness of it. Christ, it turned me on! I even imagined what having his baby would be like...a nephew and a son, rolled into one. It got me into a world of trouble." She looked at me. "Now here I am again, playing with fire - I really didn't learn much, did I?" She held out her hand. "Why don't we go to the bedroom and compare ideas?"

*****

There's something viscerally satisfying about knowing you are about to fuck someone for the first time. We drew out the suspense by tidying up first - clearing the table and washing up the few dishes, working closely in the kitchen, making small talk. The air was charged with sexual tension, both of knowing that soon we would be in bed together with the whole night ahead of us to explore each other. I guess the fact that she was my sister made it even more exciting. She was right - it was taboo, and the thought of penetrating her was utterly intoxicating. I imagined my sperm pumping into her like hot custard, flooding into her womb; the possibility of her seed and mine coming together, deep inside her body, creating a new life that would redefine family relationships - a dark secret born of lust that would mark our family's line for ever.

At length the chores were all done, and she turned to me. "Give me a minute, Ben, then come in. Don't say anything."

She had turned on the bedside light so that I could see her stretched out in my bed, the sheen of her hair shining on the pillow and her eyes shining as they watched me shrug off my dressing gown. I lifted the sheet and slid in beside her, turning on my side so that we were facing each other, feeling the warmth and pliability of her naked body next to me.

For a long time we just touched, brushing our fingertips over each other, our mouths together, lips nibbling, tongues probing. I drew my fingers down the long, satin sweep of her back to the cleft in her buttocks; across the curve of her hips and the flat plain of her belly; then up to the swollen plasticity of her breast, capped by the rubbery nub of her nipple. She groaned into my mouth and I could feel her pelvis thrusting forward.

My cock was rock hard, wedged between us, and she rolled back a little to gain access to it, her hand closing over the shaft to grasp its thickness. She milked it gently by squeezing and relaxing, her thumb smearing the long strands of pre-cum over the swollen bell-end.

"Christ, that's hard."

"All your own work, Chelsea."

"It would be a shame to waste all that effort."

"Yeah - but what can we do about it?"

She chuckled. "Let me show you. "

She released my cock and deftly rolled on top of me, straddling my hips, her body slim and graceful, her breasts surprisingly large for her slight frame. She levered herself up a little, her pussy poised over my cock, slender fingers reaching down to grasp me, guiding me to the soft, wet entrance to her body - and then, with excruciating slowness, she lowered herself onto my swollen rod.

I watched with hooded eyes as I penetrated her. The bulbous head of my cock crowned into her, nudging aside the wet, swollen wet lips of her pussy. For an instant my progress was impeded by the tightness of her channel and her descent stopped, small bubbles of displaced juice frothing where we were joined. I could feel the sucking clasp of her cunt, the cloying viscosity of her flesh struggling to accommodate me: and then she yielded, her vagina stretching to allow the long, glistening shaft to slide into her like a sword into a velvet sheath, until I was buried deep inside her. She had an expression almost of pain on her face, her shoulders hunched, hands on my chest to steady herself, and she expelled a long hiss of air as her body took me in.

"Jesus, that's deep. Don't move....oh, God, that's good!"

She was still for a moment, and then she clenched her pelvic muscles and released them, the rest of her body still.

"Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"What about this?" She rocked her hips back and forth so that my shaft was squeezed in a tight, rhythmic movement.

"Oh, yes. Christ, that's good - you're so tight-"

She interrupted. "What about this?" She flexed her thighs, raising herself upwards so that the glistening rod of my cock appeared, sliding out of her smoothly until only the swollen head was engaged inside her. She held herself there, balanced on the tip of my cock, and she clenched her pussy so that her vulva squeezed itself around the rim. I reached up and held her arms, hearing myself groan at the sensation. I was desperate to thrust upwards, to bury myself back into her warm, wet heat, but what she was doing was exquisite and I willed myself to keep still.

"Jesus, Chelsea -"

She smiled at me, and sank back down onto my shaft, hunkering down so that her hips moved back a little as I slid into her, until the stem of my cock rubbed against the front of her cunt.

"Is that good?"

"You have no idea -"

She smiled, her teeth white against the darkness of her skin, and she began to move up and down, her hair swishing rhythmically around her face and her head bent forward so that she could see my cock sliding into her as she fucked it. She controlled the depth, using the muscles of her thighs and the angle of her body to orchestrate it, riding up until only the very tip of my cock was inside her; and she held me there, working the muscles of her vagina to grip me, the lips of her cunt fluttering around the head and a thin stream of her lubricant squeezed out so that it dribbled down the shaft; and then with a grunt of satisfaction she sank slowly downwards, rotating her hips so that I swiveled back into her, her vulva stretching to accommodate the thicker root and our juices creaming to a froth that dripped and splattered over my balls.

I could hear the squeak of the mattress springs and the soft sighs and moans of our pleasure. She had lifted her head and her eyes were closed as she savoured the sensation of our union. Her breasts bounced gently, the nipples hard like brown berries, and her hair swished around her face as she fucked me. The bedside light illuminated one side of her body more than the other, her skin gleaming softly, shadows shifting as she moved up and down. Her face was perfect in its symmetry, her lips slightly apart, her small, neat head set on the long, graceful column of her neck. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Suddenly she bent forward, her face close to mine, her words cutting through the sound of our coupling. "What does it feel like, Ben, to fuck your sister? Tell me."

"It's good, Chelsea. You are so tight -"

"No, no. Tell me why fucking your sister turns you on."

I stared at her. "Because you are forbidden...because I've wanted you for years, since I watched you change....your tits... the way you moved - your pussy. I wanted you and I couldn't have you -" I was gasping, the words disjointed. "I wanted you, but I couldn't...Jesus! Now I'm inside you...fucking....ugh!! Fucking you, Chelsea. My cock in my sister's tight cunt...you're loving it, squeezing me, milking me -"

Her voice was thick with passion. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to want me....to fuck whenever we like. I want to spurt into you -"

"Yes, yes!" Her voice was excited, husky. "Tell me about cumming into me."

"I want to pump into you - to fill you up. I'll spurt hot cream into you, Chelsea - into your tight little cervix, into your womb."

She leaned back, her arms on the mattress behind her so that she was angled back, my cock spearing into her at a different angle as he writhed up and down on me. "Oh, God, yes! Spurt into my womb, find my seed, fill me up!" and her head went back, her back arched, and she came.

How I didn't come as well I don't know. She cried out, a long scream of ecstasy, and she thrust down hard, driving my cock deeply into her. I felt the walls of her cunt contract around me, clasping the whole length, seizing it in a velvet grip that rippled and undulated with the force of her orgasm. The power of her contractions forced residual air and juice out of her pussy so that her labia fluttered and vibrated at the base of my shaft, and my balls were soaked in a sudden discharge that dribbled down to soak the sheet under us.