Anonymous Lover Ch. 03

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Desire for Revenge leads to dark deeds.
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Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 03/13/2010
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Hot_Sister
Hot_Sister
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If you read what learned men have said about anger you will find a common thread: an urge for moderation. Mark Twain considered it to be an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it was poured. Albert Einstein observed that anger dwells only in the bosom of fools; whilst Colin Powell, whose very job was to deal in lethal force, advised 'Get Mad, then get over it.'

For me, anger was an eager friend. I embraced and nurtured it, for in its cleansing flame I found relief. It scoured my brain of notions of honour and my heart of the love that I thought had filled it. During the day I held it close, feeding it the chaff and straw of my sister's lies, until the flame shimmered and danced and reached out to warm the sinews of my body; and at night it was a beacon that showed me the way ahead, and I took comfort in its lonely light.

Initially my anger was a blunt weapon. I wanted to lash out, to destroy and obliterate anyone associated with the whole sorry affair - but as time passed I learned to control it, forging it in the anvil of my mind until it became like the burnished blade of a scalpel. I held it close to my heart and its image was sharp and clean and good.

I tried to maintain a balance. Time and again I dissected the events that led to the current point, and I analysed my role as dispassionately as I could. I was aware that some people would condemn me as a complicit partner: after all, it was I who had fucked her - but I had done so without premeditation and in innocence of knowing it was my sister, whilst she had not. I could forgive her in a heartbeat if she had seduced me for love; I could even forgive her if it had been for spontaneous lust, consummated and then regretted; but I could never forgive her for taking me simply to win a two-bit bet, and then to cast me aside with no more feeling than she might tread on a cockroach in the street.

The cold logic of my reasoning fuelled my anger even more, so that it snarled and growled like an animal in a cage waiting to be released.

And all the time I was watching and waiting for the right opportunity to unleash it.

*****

Beth wandered into the kitchen on a Saturday morning a couple of weeks later, whilst I was eating my breakfast. She was wearing a loose tank top and a little pair of white knickers and she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Morning Sis." I needed to maintain a degree of normality with Beth, for although I had not yet settled on a plan of action I knew that when the time came its success might depend on her thinking that all was well between us.

She turned her blue eyes onto me, yawning, and settled into the chair opposite without saying anything. I waited a few moments before speaking again.

"I'm moving out of home."

"What?!"

I turned over a page of the paper, not looking at her. "I'm moving out of home. Jim Bowers has offered me his flat whilst he is overseas and I've decided to take it."

"Oh, so it's not for long then."

"Maybe. He's backpacking Europe so I reckon six months at the least, and knowing Jim he'll find some rich chick in Monaco and end up staying there." I looked up at her. "Anyway, it's time I moved out - I can't live with Mum for the rest of my life."

Her lips assumed the well-known Beth pout. "What about me?"

I considered that that should be her motto, but kept the thought to myself. "What about you?"

She leaned forward so that I was treated to a view of most of her breasts, the nipples barely hidden by the neckline of her top. "That's what I said. You can't leave me here with Mum!"

"Why not? She's a good Mother."

"That's not what I meant. It's just that...well, it isn't fair for you to be heading off and I'll be left here to have all the work and no fun."

"There will be less work to do with me gone."

"No there won't. The house will be just the same size."

"Well, you move out too."

She misunderstood me. "You mean with you? Where's the flat?"

"No, I didn't mean that. I think it will do us both good to be apart and having you living in the flat with me won't achieve that. "

Her voice turned hard. "What the hell sort of statement is that! Are you saying its my fault you have to go? Is that why you're leaving?" Her eyes narrowed with malice "...or is it that you've moving slutty Susan in with you?"

I sighed. "Beth, I don't want to fight with you but you've just demonstrated why it wouldn't work. Do you know how many conversations we've had this year where you didn't get pissed off? Not one!" I leaned towards her. "There's no fun in our relationship any more. I don't know what I've done, or why you are so angry with me, but believe it or not I'm leaving because I'm twenty two years old and I want a life of my own, and...."

I was about to tell her that I couldn't spend another day in the same house as her, with her malicious eyes and sharp mouth, but an idea popped into my mind and I stopped abruptly. Not a plan yet, but just the first notions of how it might start to come together.

She was staring at me, her small face still angry. "And what?"

"I was going to say that I'd be happy to have you visit from time to time, if you like."

I could see her mind working on this new angle, figuring out what was in it for her. "Like, visit, as if for afternoon tea?"

"No - visit as in stay over for a night or two from time to time, if you want. There's a spare room and its close to your work."

"Oh. OK." Grudgingly. Not even the common courtesy of a thankyou. "When are you moving?" I could see her working on something already.

"Tomorrow."

*****

Slowly, slowly, I set down the foundations of my plan, and when I was satisfied with it I started to lay the bricks and mortar that would give it form and shape.

I started with the file that I had found on her computer, copying it to a thumb drive and then to my own computer so I could dissect it at my leisure. It made interesting reading: a journal of a double life that neither Mum nor I could possibly have guessed at. Each night, as I worked though it, more brush strokes were added to the picture that I was building of her life, and they were crude and rough and uneven. What we had taken to be a happy, carefree girl was far from that - shrouded in self-doubt, envious of others and uncertain of where she was going. She clung to the flotsam of her life which, in her case, were her two bosom buddies Lorna and Sam, and they dripped poison into her life until she turned to the bitter little rube that she was.

I knew these girls and I had written them off as frivolous bubble-heads, who knew the value of nothing and whose sole aim in life seemed to be to have a good time. Individually, they were like the thousand girls you would see on the sidewalks outside bars and clubs on a Saturday night, wobbling on high heels, nervously pulling down the hems of their short skirts, cigarettes dangling from their crimson lips as they surveyed the passing crowd with minds devoid of intelligent thought and eyes older than the faces that owned them. Lorna and Sam were a nothing but a couple of tarts who were on the hustling treadmill of an easy life, and they had sucked Beth into their lives and she was running alongside of them.

I dissected the thought processes that lay behind each of the sorry pages in her journal. In truth she really didn't give a fat rat's dick about anyone except her. She was seeped in selfishness - a self-serving spiral of contempt for anyone or anything that wasn't to her purpose. Most of us have some sort of balance in life, but Beth did not. It was the root cause of her problem, and it was the one I needed to tackle.

And as my plan took shape I started to buy the things I needed from a variety of stores: the local Mitre10 yielded the hardware I needed; a down-town sex shop supplied the more exotic requirements and a department store furnished the bedding. I also needed some simple electronic gadgets and the Tandy store in the Mall were able to assist. Finally, I consulted a trusted friend at my Pharmaceutical workplace without telling him why I needed the advice, and he proved very helpful.

My growing collection went into the third bedroom room of my flat which, unlike the rest of the place, was unfurnished apart from some boxes of Jim's junk. It was surprisingly large though, with a stained carpet, and hot water radiator on one wall and a single grimy window set high up on another. I put a small desk in the corner opposite from the radiator and I set up my computer on it with an anglepoise lamp. I went through the arrangements in my mind and I knew that I would be ready soon.

A week or so after I moved into the flat the phone rang.

"Hi David. It's Susan."

"Hey!" I was surprised at the sudden lift that the sound of her voice gave me. "You're back!"

"Yep. Got back on Sunday."

"How was it?"

"OK, I guess. You can only take so much sand and sea, and the oldies were there - sort of cramps your style, I guess." She paused for a moment, as if checking to see if her words might have given the wrong impression. "Well, you know what I mean...you have to watch yourself when they are around. Still, I've got a tan in places that you can only imagine."

"Imagine, or dream about?"

She chuckled. "Dream, I guess. Dreams are achievable if you follow them through, but imagination is only ever conceptual."

"I'll dream about it then. I rather think it will keep me awake, though."

"So don't sleep," she said. Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"Not right now, but I'm hoping."

" My, my. A man who is hoping and dreaming. Sounds like you're desperate."

"I am, I am."

She was quiet for a moment, to let that part of the conversation drift away. "Anyway, I wondered if you were up for another candlelit dinner, seeing as they are on your list. I could tell you all about my holiday."

"And all about your tan?"

"Maybe. Depends if you are good or bad. We'll need somewhere quiet, though, and I'm thinking that there's a new place on President Avenue that's supposed to be OK"

I thought quickly. I knew it. It was only a five minute walk from my new digs. "OK. I'll make a deal. Main meal in the restaurant, coffee and dessert at my place."

"Your place?" She thought I still lived with my Mum.

"Yeah. I've branched out since you left. New flat - well, new for me, anyway. Not much to write home about, but clean and handy. I'll try out my Crème Brule on you."

"It seems you are a man of many talents, David."

"Only where they count. Is that a deal?"

"Are you trying to lure me back to your den of inequity? That's bad behaviour."

"I thought that's what you wanted. How can you show me your all-over tan otherwise?"

She laughed. "I said I'll tell you about it, not show you. How about Friday?"

"Done deal. I'll make the booking and I'll pick you up at seven."

She looked good, wearing a simple white strapless dress that showed off her golden-brown skin. There was a single strand of pearls around her neck and her hair had been brushed until it shone blue-black in the evening sun. I walked around the car to open the door for her and she leaned up to kiss me on the lips, lingering there for a moment, her hand on my waist and her perfume filling my senses. I climbed in and started the engine.

"I've changed the booking," I said. "We are celebrating more than a Bistro can offer us."

She looked across at me, her brown eyes shining. "Oh? Celebrating what?"

"Take your pick. Your coming back. Our second date without a single argument. Your all-inclusive tan. Being special...."

"The second date bit sounds good. Where are we going?"

"Surprise."

I had been out to the restaurant the previous day and picked the table I wanted, in a secluded corner of the verandah with a view over the ocean. The blue Orchid I had chosen for her looked good on the crisp white tablecloth, and a bottle of Marlborough Region white wine was chilling beside our table. She settled into her seat and looked around.

"David," she whispered "this is lovely. It looks terribly expensive."

"The owner is in debt to me. I saved his sister from certain death in a plane crash."

She smiled. "No, really. Are you sure it's OK?"

"Sure I'm sure. This is a place that you can only enjoy if you share it with someone. I'm glad its you. " I reached over and squeezed her hand.

She regarded me for a moment. "You are really quite a nice person, despite what they say at work."

"What do they say at work?"

"That you are fat, lazy, sleazy, untrustworthy and unreliable. Apart from that, not much."

"I guess that's just what my friends say. What about the others?"

She laughed. "You don't want to know. It's about your fetish for tan-searching."

"It's probably all true then." I waited until the waiter filled our glasses. "Cheers. To friendship." We clinked glasses and settled down to our meal.

We never did get to the Crème Brulee, or the coffee and chocolates I had laid out on a tray in the kitchen. We were as hot as a pistols when we left the restaurant, and the twenty minute drive was enough to ferment our desire to fever pitch. We almost sprinted from the car to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing from the front door onwards. The doona was flung into a corner of the room and she lay on her back on the bed, her skin dark against the white sheets, looking up at me. Her breasts were firm and she had a neat patch of black hair at her crotch, trimmed into an inverse triangle like an arrow head pointing to the prize. She shifted slightly under my gaze, one thigh moving sideways so I was rewarded by a glimpse of her puss, shielded by shadow. Struck by the eroticism of her pose, I stood watching her for a moment.

She propped herself up on one arm, taking off a gangster accent. "What are you looking at, Buster?"

I smiled. "You know me. I'm bad. It's the tan fetish." I let my eyes move over her, slowly, from head to foot. "It's all over, just like you said. Is it real or can I lick it off?"

"It's worth a try." She chuckled, a sexy, throaty sound. "No more dreaming, then. Come and taste it for yourself. Come and be bad on me."

I sat beside her, leaning over her body so that I could reach her mouth. One breast pressed against the underside of my arm and the nipple burned my skin like the touch of a cigarette. Her mouth tasted of wine and spices, her lips as soft as gossamer. She groaned under me as my tongue entered her mouth, her back arching and her free hand reaching up to the back of my head, holding me as we kissed.

I broke off. "Hold still."

I knelt over her, my lips moving downwards, kissing the soft skin just below her ear, my nose touching her hair that was spread over the pillow like a band of black satin; then moving down to her shoulder and into the soft hollow just above her clavicle, feeling her thrust her body up against my lips. She groaned, her voice soft.

"Jesus, that's good. Don't stop."

Down to her right breast, feeling the firm swell of her flesh rise up under my lips, the texture of her nipple in my mouth, my fingers caressing the other breast; then down, leaving a faint trail of moisture across the smooth flat belly, dipping briefly into her navel so that she giggled and pushed my head downwards to her mound, the feel of her hair crisp against my lips and the first scent of her puss - a warm, animal smell of arousal and desire. She opened her thighs, legs bent at the knees, and I leaned down, avoiding her clit for the moment, looking to taste and tease the lips of her cunt, sliding the tip of my tongue over them as soft as a sleeping breath, savouring the taste of her.

She writhed under me, thrusting her hips upwards so that my tongue slipped into her, pushing aside her labia. I felt a gush of moisture into my mouth as she opened, felt it tart against my palate. I stabbed downwards with my mouth, curling my tongue into a cylinder, penetrating the soft flesh. My senses were filled by her: the warm plasticity of her thighs against my cheeks, the mewing sounds of her pleasure, the feel of her hands fluttering at the back of my head, and her taste and smell.

I stood up quickly, rolling her over so that she was kneeling on the edge of the bed, her head and chest flat against the mattress and her butt pushed up and back. I placed my hands on her tight ass cheeks and pried them apart. Her puss opened like an exotic flower and I knelt on the floor and pressed my mouth to it, drinking her in, running the flat of my tongue in long, lapping strokes from her clitoris to the puckered ring of her anus, savouring her texture: from the slick softness of her cunt to the crinkled roughness of her rosebud. I could hear her cries of pleasure, feel her jerking and trembling as I worked at her, feel her puss fluttering and grasping as if to catch my lips and suck them into her body; hard, rhythmic contractions that accelerated swiftly, until, with a wail that just about shattered the windows, she came, bucking against me.

A jet of juice spurted out of her, squirting between my lips so that my mouth was filled with her essence, and as I lapped at her it dribbled out of my mouth and soaked my chin.

"Enough. Oh God, David. Enough. Stop." her voice was gusty with desire.

I pulled back and stood up. She was still on her knees, legs akimbo, her face pressed sideways onto the bed and her hands clenched, clutching at the sheet beneath her. The light from the bedside lamp illuminated her, so that I could see the sheen of sweat on her back and the darker stains of her juices sprinkled like raindrops on the sheet between her knees.

With a cry of desire I moved forward and pressed my cock against her opening, feeling her push back against me. As I watched, her cunt opened and I sank into her, her lips clutching at my shaft as I slid inwards. She was incredibly tight.

She groaned as she felt me. "God, David. Slowly. Take it slowly. Let me adjust'.

I realised that her cunt was still contracting with the power of her orgasm, and I stopped, feeling the rhythmic grasping as she accommodated me into her body, gradually diminishing as her insides adjusted to my size. In a little while she pushed back to take more, and I slid into her to the hilt, feeling the head of my cock squeezed deep inside her body. Not one millimetre of my shaft was visible. She had it all. Her hard little buttocks pushed against me and I could feel the crisp springiness of her pubic hair meshing with mine.

"Now, fuck me. Start slow. "

"I will, Susan. I'm deep inside you. Can you feel me? Tell me what you feel."

"Full. I feel full. Pull out...slowly." She clenched her puss as I did, so that it grasped at my length as I slid outwards, fighting to keep me in. As the head appeared I stopped.

She was gasping. "Now in. Just a little." I felt her fingers at her puss, feeling me as I entered her again and stopped, just the head buried inside her. Her fingers squeezed at my shaft.

"Slowly. Slowly. God that's good! That's thick." She pushed up on her arms, her head back so that her hair fell over her shoulders. I reached forward and grasped a handful, pulling her head back with it as I slid further into her.

"Ah yes. Yes! Now faster."

I looked over at the wardrobe in front of us. The door had swung open and we were reflected in the full length mirror. Susan on her hands and knees, watching me, her breasts bouncing each time I plunged into her, her head back, her mouth working.

"Ah, that's it! That's good! Fuck it deep! Spurt into me! Cream me!" Her fingers were busy at her clit.

My own voice, shaky with lust. "I will! I'll fill you up with my hot cream."

A roaring in my ears. Every fibre of my being was harnessed to the sole purpose of impregnating her. The tumultuous climb upwards, the moment of time frozen on the brink, trembling on the edge of an endless precipice when all is disconnected from your brain apart from the single burning rod buried deep inside her: and then the crashing wave of orgasm, the boiling jets of spunk spurting like long white ribbons, one after another, filling her grasping cunt and bathing her cervix as she shrieked and writhed underneath me, lost in her own climax.

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