Memories of Actual Murder Ch. 02

Luisa finds that once is not enough when it comes to sex with her brother

******************

I reluctantly got out of Mike's Bentley and submissively let him lead me by the hand to the huge mansion. There at the door, Mr. George Hathaway greeted us smiling, and trained all my life to smile at men as I was, I smiled right back, despite my deep sense of foreboding.

There was no question I had been in this house before. I remember the foyer perfectly, just as it still was. I knew what the next room looked like too, even before I saw it. Something horrible had happened here which had caused me to lose three months of memories. I was still in analysis, but even hypnosis could not help me to reconstruct the memories I had so strongly repressed.

I could ask my mother, but she and my father had tragically been killed in a car accident around the time of my memory loss. Everyone had assumed my memory loss revolved around the sudden and unexpected loss of my parents, but now, seeing this house, the red barn, and the sinister road leading up to the house, I had my doubts.

Beth was there, in her role of hostess for her sugardaddy, and she greeted me happily. She led me off to an antechamber where I discovered Gayle and Susan, too. "Do you know about the Hathaway parties?" Gayle asked.

"No, not really. Want to clue me in?" I replied.

"She's the new girl and probably will be the one tonight, don't you think?" Susan said, and Beth glared at her.

"You know it's not like that. It's just as likely to be you, or Gayle, or me, or one of the others, as it is to be Luisa," Beth said, almost spitting her words out as she glared at Susan.

"Want to clue me in?" I asked. "Please?"

"Oh, it's a little game the men play. Don't worry about it," Beth said.

"They decide on who they want to enjoy tonight, and then they hold a lottery with the chosen woman as the prize. The winner gets to enjoy her for an hour," Susan said.

"What? What exactly do you mean by 'enjoy'?" I asked.

"What do you think it means?" Susan said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"They can't do that! You can't just give away a woman as a prize, even only for an hour! That would make her a prostitute!" I said.

"No money is involved. No money means it's all legal and above board," Gayle helpfully added.

"That changes nothing," I said. "It's still disgusting."

"You've got that right," Gayle replied.

"The woman has to be willing," Beth said. "Nobody is forced to do anything against her will."

"Well, that's a relief!" I said. I meant it too, of course. "But really, the whole idea is offensive beyond belief! Don't you agree?"

"The thing is, the woman always seems to be willing. I know I was," Gayle said. "I predict you will be, too."

"Oh, I don't think so," I said.

"Your Sugardaddy Mike will insist, I'm afraid," Beth explained. A shiver ran down my spine.

***********

I thought back to the only time I had ever had sex when it was kind of against my will. It was with my older brother, Mathew. We were at 'home,' which had become out Uncle's house after the death of our parents, and it was the summer before I left for college.

To be fair, I had been teasing Mathew with my sartorial choices all week, and perhaps there's only so much teasing a man can take? I had a little sexual experience, but not much, due mostly to a short lived, but intense, high school romance with a heartthrob named Craig. The end of it was bitter, and I salved my crushed ego (the guy had left me for Marybeth, of all people!) by having sex with most of Craig's friends, one after the other, as each one asked me out.

That tactic, of sleeping with each of Craig's friends who wanted to have me, one after the other, had three effects: First, It restored my feelings of being desirable to men (Craig had been controlling and he had made me feel ugly and worthless); Second, it drove Craig up the wall, and nothing Marybeth could do for him managed to assuage him; and Third, it made everyone think I was easy to get into bed, or much worse, a slut.

The first two effects were great. The third effect, not so much. One then begins again afresh in college, however, especially if one goes to college out of state, as I did. Each freshman co-ed is a sexual tabula rasa , and a girl has a second chance to illustrate what kind of girl she is. So, I figured if I behaved in college, the high school slut reputation would just be a bad memory. It worked, too.

After our parents had died, during my early adolescence, my older brother Mathew and I moved in with our uncle. He had never married, and we assumed he was probably gay. It turned out he was very much heterosexual, just with strange sexual tastes. My brother never learned this, but I certainly did. Fortunately, while our uncle was sexually unusual, he was also completely correct, and I was both his niece and underage, so he left me alone.

So how do I know just how strange he is? I promised never to tell, but let's just put it this way: My uncle likes to be watch, and to be watched, okay?

That summer before college, however, I was still known locally as a slut, and every guy in town, it seemed, wanted to date me, not so much due to my sparkling personality and tremendous personal charm, but because they wanted to lay me. I had also developed the reputation of being, to put it crudely (and lots of the guys did, in fact, put it crudely), a great fuck. To put it simply, I had learned exactly how to please many a man. I was the submissive yet responsive great fuck of their wet dreams.

I would sometimes take my dates home. It was nicer than doing it in their cars, for example. My brother would be out, doing whatever it is brothers do, but my uncle would be hiding in his man cave in the basement. I'd give myself to my date wherever he wanted me: on the living room couch, or on the plush living room rug, bent over a chair, or up in my bedroom, for the more conventionally minded guys. I knew my uncle would be watching from his man cave. The strange part? I didn't even mind! I would never have admitted it at the time, but it kind of turned me on, you know?

It was in that ambience that I was dressing to flaunt my newly discovered sexuality, and - in fact - I was thrilled by how popular, how in demand, I was with the local talent. I realized the guys didn't want me, Luisa Perkins, so much as they wanted sex, but there were plenty of other sluts in my high school (Lenore, Sandy, Anna, and especially Joanie) that they could lay instead of me, yet I nevertheless seemed always to be first choice.

My brother Mathew never saw my forbidden lady bits, of course, but my attire was skimpy and suggestive. I blamed it on the hot weather, even if our uncle's house was air conditioned to just above freezing. This had the fortuitous effect of making my long nipples stand up at attention.

Mathew would see me dressed in my skimpy, little outfits being picked up by some pimply faced high school milquetoast, and he must have wondered, you know? He decided to have "the talk" with me, in his imagined role as a protective older brother. Here is more or less what happened.

Mathew: Luisa, you have developed an unsavory reputation

Luisa: Mathew, my sweet big brother, that's none of your fucking business

M: Watch your tongue! I'm saying this because I love you and want the best for you

L: That's Uncle Leo's job, now that our parents are gone, and certainly not yours! I'm eighteen and I can do what I want. Now why don't you slink down to your cave and leave me alone? Use your right hand, why don't you?

M: What a mouth you have on you!

L: Uh huh, and it's a talented mouth (as I spoke I sucked on two fingers, pretending they were a boy's cock)

M: That's gross.

L: Why, because it's not for you? Is that what this is about? You not getting any, Mathew? Aww, my poor big brother, sexually frustrated while his little sister is having the time of her life!

M: You're so full of shit

L: Hey, why don't you ask out Marybeth? She might like a mature college guy like yourself. Treat her nice, and she'll treat you nice, if you know what I mean.

M: I don't need your help where women are concerned

L: It looks like you do! Not getting enough of this? (I lifted my blouse, flashing my tits for him.)

M: Luisa! Is this how you behave with those little snots who keep coming to the door to take you out on a date? They're milquetoasts, all of them.

L: You jealous of the little snots, the milquetoasts as you call them, getting some action from your equally little sister, big boy?

M: You just shocked me, is all

L: That shocked you? What about this? (I picked up my skirt and showed him my panties)

M: At least you're wearing panties, and clean ones at that.

L: Mom would have insisted, I'm sure. But shit, you jerk, I don't have to! (I pulled my panties down and then off, and kicked them over to my brother.) Want the view all the 'milquetoasts' in town are getting? You don't even have to buy me dinner to get it! (I lifted my skirt, showing off my pussy to my brother.)

M: Luisa!

L: What? Shocked, are you? Never seen a pussy on a grown woman before? Do you even know what to do with one? The 'milquetoasts' I date sure do! (I again lifted my skirt, and this time I inserted a finger into my already wet pussy.) Some of them are quite talented, you know.

L: Want a little whiff? (I held up my finger, coated with my juices.) I'm told the smell is intoxicating. But then, you're a milquetoast too, aren't you, bro? No, I forgot, you're a stud, I'm sure. When you fuck a girl, I'll bet you make her scream.

M: That's enough, Luisa. Shut your mouth and put your panties back on, and wear a bra, for Christ's sake.

L: News flash, Mathew. I'm an adult. I dress as I like, or not (and I proceeded to strip naked, I was so angry at Mathew). Harrumph! You seem to be enjoying the view (I was looking straight at the tent in his pants). Too bad I'm your sister, you pervert, and I'm off limits. Every milquetoast who wants me can have me, but not you, Brother Mathew. No, even naked before you, you can't have what everyone else seems to crave. (Then I giggled; that was a mistake. Mathew clearly saw red.)

It happened so fast, it seems like a blur in my memory. I had stupidly become naked for the express purpose of taunting my brother. Now that I'm older and can think more clearly, there may have been another, unspoken and unthought, reason to strip naked in front of him. Maybe part of me wanted what happened next?

What actually did happen next was brutal and fast. I suppose rapes are like that, sometimes. Mathew stuck a leg behind my knees and pushed my boobs, so that I fell backwards. He caught me, breaking my fall, but I continued to the floor and then in a flash he was on top of me, his pants down, his hard cock out, and milliseconds later his cock was at the collective milquetoasts' favorite spot (no guidance needed with my experienced brother!), and milliseconds after that he was inside me.

This is going to sound totally fucked up, but my brother's rape was the most erotic experience I have ever had. He took me hard, and fast, and it was all I could do to catch my breath. My body responded as it is wont to do, and I was inadvertently proving to my brother that my reputation as the best fuck in the county was not without merit.

Mathew had his hands on my tits, playing with my nipples, as he fucked me to the moon and back. I almost never climax during a fuck; it usually takes direct stimulation of my clit with fingers or - better - a tongue, but with his hard, rapid, nasty, and hostile fuck, I came quickly and spectacularly, screaming so loud our neighbors probably heard me.

There's no question our Uncle Leo heard me scream. He didn't come running to the rescue, though, because - as I alone knew - he had bugged my room, and was watching my brother take me live, on the giant monitor down in the basement, in his man cave. I don't even want to think about what his right hand was doing as he watched.

Mathew kept right on fucking me, pummeling me with his cock, punishing me with it, and I couldn't help myself, but I loved it. I was close to a second climax when Mathew suddenly went still, his cock deep inside me, and he squirted what felt like oodles of cum inside me, his own sister. His very own sister.

Mathew lay still on top of me. His passion spent, I guessed he was beginning to realize the magnitude of his own action: Not only had he raped a woman, but said woman was me, his very own sister. Granted, I had teased him without mercy, but still his actions were unexpected and unwelcome.

I had just joined the ranks of the incestuous girls of my high school. I only knew of one other, the most infamous slut of all of us, Joanie. She had seduced both her brothers, and she had tried and failed with her father. (She did seduce her uncle, but that was top secret.) I'm sure there were others in the 'incest club,' for example Anna was a good candidate, but I didn't know for sure. Now I had the incestuous mark of shame to add to my many other marks of shame.

Mark lifted his head and he looked into my eyes. I saw in his eyes, tremendous anxiety over what he had just done. He was looking to see my reaction, hoping - I suppose - to see some signs of forgiveness.

"I had been so close to cumming when you squirted," I said. "You can't leave me like this. You need to finish me off."

Mathew smiled. He spread my legs and planted his face right on my pussy, sloppy though as it was, and from his own cum, no less. He began to lick and tease my clitoris. Oooh, but he was good at it! He made nice noises, as I moaned and wiggled about and I came like a rocket ship in a matter of minutes. Well, after all, I had told him I was close!

I lay there, legs wantonly splayed, too drained even to close my legs. Mathew snapped a photo or two, or perhaps twelve, and he said, "Luisa, suck my cock and get me hard again. I need to fuck you again."

"No way. You didn't fuck me, you raped me. Sorry, brother, no extras today. You're a great fuck, by the way, but I'm not an incestuous girl, you know?" I replied.

We talked about it, and there was some more begging on Mathew's part, but I was adamant. Mathew did manage to get me to admit that it was my best fuck ever, and it surely was. Jacqueline Susann, who titled one of her best-selling novels Once Is Not Enough, was wrong, however. Once was enough in this case. It was more than enough!

We ended up with a compromise. I blew him, and let him cum in my mouth. No, I didn't swallow. Enough is enough!

****************

Given this history with my brother, there at the Hathaway's mansion, you can imagine my surprise when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man who looked startlingly like my brother, Mathew Perkins himself. I figured it was my eyes playing tricks on me. I saw my brother only at Christmas when I had no choice, and otherwise not at all. This past year I had not gone to our uncle's house for Christmas, so I had not seen my brother. Mathew lived in California, and I lived in New York, so it was especially easy to avoid him.

I had brought up the incest with my shrink, once I had grown to really trust her. She had said one thing that had really got me thinking.

"Why did you strip naked in front of your brother?" she had asked. Shrinks are like that. They never say what they're thinking, they just ask questions. It's really quite frustrating!

"I already told you, it was because I was frustrated and angry with him!" I said.

"Was there another reason, perhaps, a hidden one, if you will?" she had asked.

"No! Certainly not!"

"Let me put it this way. Have you ever been frustrated with another man, and angry, too?" she had asked.

"Ever?" I asked. She nodded.

"Yes, of course, lots of times. Especially with my sophomore English professor. I've told you about him before," I said. I was wondering where this was going.

"Of all those times, how many of them have you stripped naked in front of the man?" she had asked.

"That's completely different! Those men were not inappropriately trying to control my sartorial choices, nor my dating, nor anything of my behavior of a sexual nature. My brother was!" I had said.

"Okay, okay, keep your clothes on," my shrink teased, and then we both laughed. We moved on to talk about my issues of the day. Despite the ensuing banal conversation with my shrink, however, that one time I had stripped naked in front of my brother, did in fact seem to stand out in my mind, alone, like a siren special case. My shrink's simple question had started me to look back on it in a new light.

After that realization, I began to wonder to what extent not only had I provoked the rape, but perhaps, maybe, hadn't I, just maybe, even wanted the rape? Is it even possible to want to be raped? Was I losing my mind? Had I already lost my mind?

As long as we're discussing my conversations with my shrink, another big issue I told her about was my irrational fear that I was being stalked. The two are related, however, and I'll get to that. For the past couple of years, I've had this uneasy feeling that I'm being followed, that someone is spying on me.

Sometimes while walking I would suddenly turn around to see if I could see who it was. At other times I used my compact, ostensibly to adjust my lipstick, but in reality, to steal a glance behind me. I would feel especially vulnerable walking alone, with nobody else on the street. That's not that common in Manhattan, but I managed to achieve it walking on Madison Avenue, on the Upper East Side, long after the shops had closed, late on a Friday night. For the city that never sleeps, people forget about the Upper East Side. If you want people on the street 24/7, then the places for you are Greenwich Village, or Chelsea, or the East Village.

It's been two years, anyway, and nothing has happened to me, so I've chalked it up to an overactive imagination and paranoid delusions. Still, it bothers me, and still, there's the immature woman inside me who wants to fight back, and to taunt my mythical stalker.

One time recently I suddenly had the creepy feeling that someone was watching me even when I was inside my own apartment. I didn't know if it was a man or a woman, or even if there was anyone at all, but the same creepy feeling that told me I was being watched, also told me it was a man who was watching me.

I looked it up on the Internet (where else?). Here in the US, about one in six women, and "only" one in seventeen to nineteen men have experienced stalking in their lifetime. The most likely stalkers were former lovers. Most people experienced it through unwanted telephone calls, texts, and the like. This was not me. If indeed I was being stalked, it was by somebody watching me, following me, always present whenever I went out, but there was no electronic harassment.

I bought blinds for the main room, now feeling exposed by the nice large windows, even if I was high up on the fourteenth floor. I asked the super to help me to install them, explaining my feelings of being watched. He said a lot of women felt that way, and that sometimes they even were right.

The blinds did not provide relief. I felt as if I were still being watched. The super asked me, when I ran into him in the building's lobby, if the blinds had solved my problem, and I said that alas, no, I still had the feelings. He came to my apartment and reassured me that with the blinds down, nobody could see into it.

He then said, "Wait a minute," and he scoured my walls, looking carefully in every nook and cranny. "You have video feeds," he calmly said. He checked out my bedroom (after I gave permission and had hidden away my vibrator), kitchen, and bathroom, and found there were feeds in all of my rooms. He even found one inside the toilet, so someone could watch me during every aspect of my daily ablutions.