The Watching Game Ch. 01

One part of the upper floor had been partitioned off -- a more recent structure, and I entered it. The only furniture was a desk pushed against the window and a narrow bed on the opposite side with a small table next to it. One wall was covered with pictures: in frames, mostly, but interspersed with squares of photographic paper fastened to the rough wood with sewing pins stuck in at odd angles. Old pictures, to begin with: of family, mostly. Happy, smiling faces -- me and Donna straddling the back of a skinny grey mare, and Mum at the beach on one of our rare holidays, sitting in a deckchair and laughing. Dad in front of the old ford, his moustache gleaming in the sun; and another of him under a tractor, peering up at the camera with a smear of grease on one cheek and the trademark cigarette butt protruding from one corner of his mouth. They'd killed him in the end, those little white cylinders.

There was a group picture, too, taken much later - Donna and Jim and Mum and me standing in front of the house. There was a little girl in it too, smiling at the camera with her beautiful golden eyes that were so much wiser than her little face. Amie. I hadn't seen it at the time, but even then she seemed to have a presence about her, as if she was the subject in the picture and the rest of us were there simply as props. She was stood between Mum and me with each of us resting a hand on her shoulders. Little Amie.

My thoughts were broken by a sudden commotion from the far end of the building: a series of heavy thuds that shook the old timbers, and a loud whinnying and snorting filled the air. The noise filled the stables, urgent and insistent: much louder and more strident than the normal sound of horses, and I turned and hurried towards it. I could see now that the top floor ended about two thirds of the way along the building -- almost like a viewing area, set above some of the stalls below. My footsteps were concealed by the cacophony and I was hidden by the relative gloom of the upper floor so that I arrived at the loft undetected, leaning over the protective balustrade to see what the source of the noise was.

A shaft of sunlight streamed from the skylight above my head to illuminate the scene beneath me, its light misted by the dust thrown up by the commotion below. In its beam I could see Amie, crouching slightly to peer through the railings into the first stall. From my vantage point I could see most of her face as she gazed forward: her eyes bright with excitement and her mouth slightly open, and the flash of white teeth between the softness of her lips. The flush of her skin and her furtive glances betrayed her agitation, and I wondered what she was doing and why she did nothing to stop the dreadful cacophony next to her: and then, as I watched, I understood.

There were two horses in the stall - a black stallion, his coat gleaming with vitality and health, and a mare, wedged into the corner with her rump toward him. She had moved her tail to the side in preparation for the coupling and he was massively excited, dancing behind her, rearing up and then falling back in a frenzy of passion and his breath snorted and whinnied through his nose. Amie's eyes were fixed upon his organ -- as black as coal and as thick and long as her forearm, the knob exposed like an apple and gleaming with moisture in anticipation of his penetration. He reared up once more, his forelegs straddling the creature beneath him and Amie pressed closer to the railing, watching closely as his head of his cock punched through the thick lips of the mare's sex, and how she arched her back to absorb the long slide of his shaft into her body.

For a moment of time the two horses below me were still: the mare subservient, bearing the weight of the stallion whose loins were pushed hard against her rump - and then he began to hump into her, his back arching like a bow to drive himself forward with each thrust. The aroma of their coupling filled my nostrils: the odour of crushed straw and dust overlaid by the rank musk of their excitement, as sharp and primeval as the scent of people fucking, and I wondered for a fleeting moment if it was the horses I could smell or perhaps Amie's excitement. I imagined what was in her mind as she watched: the hot glow of lust at the base of her belly and the growing ache at the apex of her thighs, and the sensuousness of the moment burst in my brain like a supernova. I had been without a woman for months and now I was watching one: young and beautiful and aroused. I envisaged her sex pressed against the material of her knickers, her labia thickening with desire and opening slightly as she watched the gigantic cock thrusting before her; and I pictured the ooze of her juices seeping out of the warm, secret passage of her body to smear into her pants.

My cock hardened rapidly at the image, and I leaned forward a little further to watch. She had pressed her face to the wooden railings, transfixed by the scene before her. One slender hand was against the dark stained wood of the pillar to her left and the other gripped the rails before her, knuckles white with excitement. Her body was pushed back, legs slightly apart and her buttocks were pressed against the tightness of her jodhpurs so that I could see each cheek clearly defined, their roundness curling under the pale material to the dark and mysterious shadow of her crotch.

And as she watched the stallion shuddered and hosed himself into the subservient creature beneath him. For a few seconds he was still, his haunches twitching spasmodically, and then with a final snort of breath he disengaged and the thick black root of his cock drew clear, dribbling and dripping with his seed.

Amie turned away, her eyes scanning left and right to ensure she was alone. She thrust her back against the railings and scrabbled with the buttons at her waist, pulling the thick material of her jodhpurs aside. For an instant I glimpsed her panties, vivid red against the pale flesh of her belly, and stained dark at the crotch where she had leaked into the fabric -- and then her fingers were there, plunging under the elastic to press against herself, rubbing frantically. Her eyes were closed, her face turned toward the sun. She cupped one breast with her free hand, pinching the nipple through her shirt and rolling it in her fingers. Her face was contorted with pleasure, her lips soft and wet and they moved gently as she murmured something to herself.

From my vantage point above I watched her pleasuring herself. She pulled her hand from her pants and lifted it to her face, her little pink tongue lapping between her fingers to draw the shining strands of her juices into her mouth before she plunged them back inside her. I fancied I could see her discharge shining on her lips and discern the soft wet suck of her vulva as her fingers shimmied over it. Sister or not, I imagined it was me crouching before her, my tongue plunging into her pussy and my cheeks coated with the slick oily wetness of her juice as it streamed from her. My hands were grasping the tightness of her little buttocks, pulling her against my face to better eat her, and I could feel her hands in my hair like fluttering sparrows as she spiraled towards her orgasm.

My cock was bursting against my pants and I touched myself through my jeans, rubbing the long shaft, imagining how tight she would be as she lowered her body onto it. I envisaged her eyes on my face as I penetrated her, those serene golden eyes flaring as my shaft reached up towards her belly. I imagined the tight plasticity of her body and the warmth of her breasts filling my hands and the hardness of her nipples pressing against my palms like burning pebbles, and I delighted in the suck of her flesh as she rode me.

With a thin cry Amie came. Her back arched and she rose on tip-toe, every muscle in her body stretched like a bowstring and her face contorted with pleasure. For long seconds she balanced there, her hand twitching spasmodically in her pants and her fingers buried inside her pussy to draw the long waves of pleasure from her body and then, at last, she sagged back against the railings and she opened her eyes, soft and unfocussed from the heights of her pleasure.

I withdrew quietly into the shadows above her head, and like a thief in the night I crept back along the dusty floorboards to the little office where I lay on the narrow cot and waited for her to leave the building. I understood now why she hadn't wanted me to help this morning -- she knew that the mare was in season and had been looking forward to a little session of premeditated sex, even if it was solo. I thought the whole lesbian argument had just been an excuse to send me away, and that perhaps she did like me a bit after all -- or at least, she didn't dislike me.

But most of all I thought about her - a jumbled collage of vivid images flickering my brain: Amie, her face filled with lust as she watched the horses fucking; Amie, leaning against the massive oak beam with her hand inside her pants; and, perhaps most disturbing of all -- Amie, whispering my name as she played with the warm, wet folds of her cunt.

*

We were already sat down at the dinner table when Amie arrived. She had showered and was wearing a dress -- a pale cream creation with brown edging, and a touch of make up. I could see Mum looking at her with some surprise.

"Are you going out, Amie?" she asked.

"No."

"So why are you dressed up?"

A touch of colour crept into her face. "I'm not. I just thought it would be nice to wear something different for a change."

I smiled at her. "It looks lovely, Amie. I was thinking about walking down to the Pub after supper. Would you like to come with me? And you, too, Mum?"

My mother shook her head. "Not me. I've got a few things to finish off and I might get an early night. You two should go, though -- it will be nice for you to catch up after you being away so long, Jack."

After the meal we cleared up together, with Amie washing the dishes and me drying them, and I could still sense a feeling of reserve as we worked.

I regarded her as I hung the tea towel on the hook. "Are you still up for a drink?"

She shrugged. "If you like."

"Great! I'll get my coat and see you back here in a couple of minutes."

It was about a ten minute walk to the village and we used the Bridle Path to cut through the woods to the east of the farm. The bare branches of the trees were silhouetted against the deep indigo of the sky and a few stars were visible. We walked in silence for a while, not touching, the beam from my torch throwing a pool of light just ahead of our feet.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight," I said at length, more to break the silence than from sincerity.

"I very nearly didn't."

I turned to her in surprise. "Why?"

She looked at me, her face a pale blur in the reflected torchlight. "You've done a lot to upset everyone in the family, Jack," she said bluntly. "And there's other things that happened that you don't know about, which are more complicated now that you're here." She was quiet for a few moments and the only sound was our footsteps on the soft earth and then she stopped and put her hand on my arm.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? You never stayed in contact and what we did hear was through the newspapers or an occasional magazine article...mostly about your lavish lifestyle and women and booze. And then you suddenly turn up, as if nothing had happened for the last eight years, expecting to slot back into everybody's lives." She removed her hand and started walking again, and I could feel the residual warmth of her touch through the material of my coat. "So don't expect us to welcome you with open arms, Jack. There's too many questions in the closet for that."

I smiled at her mixed metaphor. "Don't you mean skeletons?"

"Probably some of those as well -- you know what I mean."

I considered her words as we walked together. It was true -- I had expected to come home and just slot in, as she put it, but even in the few days I had been back I was aware of undercurrents in the house that were odd, to say the least. And Amie had shown herself to be more complex than I had first imagined, too: she wasn't just the dumb kid sister -- she had a view, although I hadn't figured out what it was yet, and she spoke her mind. I had the feeling that it wouldn't be easy to change it, but it suddenly seemed important that I should.

"You are right -- about me, I mean."

"I know," she said. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"What would you suggest?"

"You could start by talking."

"About what?"

"About you. Not just the stuff we read about...I mean, about what you did, and why, and what went wrong." She walked a few steps. "I want to know what makes you tick, Jack," she explained, "and whether you and I have anything at all in common." She looked ahead. "Ah, here we are. Why don't you buy me a drink and I'll get a table."

There were only a couple of other people in the lounge bar and Amie seated herself not far from the fire that was crackling cheerfully in the grate. She looked up without smiling as I put down a bottle of wine and my beer and she sat silently for a while, thinking. When she spoke it was not the angle I was expecting.

"Living in a small village is difficult, sometimes," she said. "Everybody knows everybody else's business, and what they don't know they make up." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "That's Amanda Pascoe over by the bar -- slim, long chestnut hair -- a nice girl. Very friendly, if you know what I mean. She puts out, but she wouldn't like people to think that." She indicated another table with a nod of her head. "And that's Rose Treleven -- a hard nut. She's a man-eater. The going joke is that her pussy has more teeth than a great white shark. Rumor has it that she led a vendetta against a woman here a few years back -- they thought she'd been sleeping with her brother so she ran her out of town. Tarred and feathered her, from what I hear. Nasty -"

I cut her short. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Human beings are all so different, Jack, in the way we behave and what we value and what we don't." She took a sip of her drink. "And you'd expect that, in a community -- but not in the same family. Have you ever thought about it -- how different we all are - Mum and me and Donna and Jim? I sometimes think we can't possibly be related." She regarded me for a moment, her eyes on mine. "But I've figured them out, Jack, over the years. I know all of their strengths and weaknesses. You, on the other hand -"

"There's not much to figure out."

She shook her head. "You know that's not true. Everyone has a cupboard full of secrets. What are yours Jack?"

I could feel myself getting annoyed with her presumption. "They wouldn't be secrets if I told you, Amie. Why don't you get to know me like normal people do -- you know, talk, do things together, figure out what we like and what we don't -"

"I don't work like that. I don't have the time or the patience."

"What makes you think I care about how you work or what you think of me?"

She smiled. "Oh, you care, Jack," she said sweetly. "I've seen you looking at me. I think you'd like to know me a whole lot better."

"You flatter yourself, Amie. I've hardly seen you since I've been back."

"You got an eyeful in the stables this morning."

Her words were like a punch in the belly, robbing me for a moment of coherent thought. I gaped at her with my mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. She leaned forward, pressing her advantage. "And you seemed to be enjoying it, too. Isn't that right, Jack? Didn't you like watching your sister with her hands in her pants? From what I could see you were really enjoying it."

"I -- well, I didn't mean -"

She laughed at my discomfort. "Sure you did -- and that's OK Jack. I don't mind -- I really don't. It sort of added to the moment, knowing that you were there. But now you know something about me and I want the favour returned."

I stared at her without saying anything. So much for tranquility and serenity -- she was more like a leopard - with her aggressive, glittering golden eyes and her little white teeth ready to sink into someone's jugular.

I watched her pour another drink from the bottle, her third glassful since we had arrived. "So tell me about your wife," she said.

I gathered my thoughts, happy to move on from the subject of the stables. "Cindy? What can I say? She was a perfect partner -- to begin with. She was well groomed and beautiful. She oozed charm and breeding, and was wonderful at helping my business and my career -- you know, inviting the right people to dinner, making each of them feel they were the most special guest we'd ever had. She was the blueprint of a perfect hostess and a devoted wife -"

"So what went wrong?"

"I'd failed to spot the naked ambition - and the kinky sex drive."

"Tell me."

"She wanted everything, and she took it. Behind the façade of a dutiful wife she was lining her pockets with Company money and filling her bed with Company clients."

"And you didn't notice?"

"Not at first -- but as the Company got bigger she started to spend more time out on so called social events. I took her to task but she just laughed at me -- said that I should be happy that she was out drumming up business. I couldn't prove she was sleeping around, but I suspected it."

Amie laughed. "If she was sleeping you would have had nothing to worry about. Don't you mean 'fucking around'?"

I looked at her sharply. She had shifted the conversation to a sexual flavour very quickly and I could see she was enjoying herself.

"So what did you do about it?" she continued.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I suppose I knew that she needed more from me than I could give. I figured I could either accept that, or lose her. She still did everything I wanted and I was happy with that."

Amie sat back in her chair, her eyes still on my face. "So what was kinky about her?"

I took a swig of my beer, wondering why I was telling her, wondering if I should. The memories came flooding back to me like a flickering film in my head -- things I had never spoken about, things that up to now had been locked in my soul. I looked at Amie, sitting on the edge of her chair half drunk with a hungry expression on her face. It was the same look she had had in the stables, when her face was suffused with lust as her fingers played in the crease of her pussy. She loved this, and I suddenly wanted very much to see where it would take us. If Amie wanted the juicy details, I would give them to her.

I shrugged. "Not much, at first, but then she started hinting about inviting others to watch, or to join in. Just little hints at first, testing me out to see if I was interested -"

"And were you?"

"No. I enjoyed what we had. She was great in the sack and I didn't feel the need to change things."

"Is that what you told her?"

"Yes."

Amie shook her head. "It sounds like you really didn't know very much about women, Jack -- especially that one. So what did she do to change your mind?"

"I came home one day -- it was mid afternoon. The house was quiet and I thought she was out doing one of her visits. I went to put my car keys in the little tray on the hall table - and there was a piece of paper in it, folded in half with my name on it. I remember thinking for a moment that it was a letter to say she'd left me, but when I opened it there was just one word on it. 'Bedroom'."

"Bedroom?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I thought it might be a little game she was playing so I tip-toed up the stairs and along the hall, shedding my clothes as I went. She'd done this before -- enticing me up to the bedroom where she would wait for me, decorated in some way...she liked to see the effect it had on me."