Chelsea Rising Ch. 02

Through the red haze of my lust I could hear her moaning, hear her voice begging me to fuck her again. I stood up and thrust my cock into her, burying myself into in a single plunge, the head forcing her vagina open and levering aside the clenching walls of her cunt to penetrate her deeply. She shrieked in pleasure, thrusting back against me to accentuate the strokes, her back undulating and her hips rotating so that I corkscrewed into her, pinning her down to the bed like a javelin plunging into the earth. Her cunt juice was whipped to a froth where we joined, creaming us both, flecks of it splattering over her thighs and my balls.

I fucked her hard - long, slippery strokes down into her willing body. I fucked her with all the frustration of the last month, each stroke a testament to the silent hours where I had played with myself, imagining this moment where I could feel the clinging suck of her flesh around my shaft and hear the groans and sighs of her pleasure. I fucked her to possess her, to defy the taboos of society, to forever bind her to me in a secret bond that only she and I would know; and I fucked her because I loved her, and this was the ultimate culmination of that love....to possess her, to become one flesh - hers and mine, brother and sister, lovers together.

The pitch of her cries changed, becoming more shrill, and her back arched as she came. A spurt of her juice sprayed from around my shaft and she shrieked, her hands gripping the sheet. Her orgasm triggered my own, and I seized her hips and buried myself as deeply as I could into her writhing body. For a single moment of eternity time stood still, the spiral of my pleasure building rapidly until it seemed as if my brain would burst - and then my sperm erupted from the swollen head of my cock, sizzling hot as it hosed into her, thick and white like clotted cream, splattering against the trembling walls of her cunt. She ground against me, still coming herself, her vagina sucking at me like a greedy, gobbling mouth to draw my seed into her, down into the secret depths of her body and into the fertile field of her womb.

Gradually the storm of our lust passed, and our cries of pleasure were stilled. I withdrew, my shaft bobbing free, and she rolled onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. I climbed next to her and we held each other silently, each of us washed by the tidal wave of passion, each of us a part of the other.

We made love twice more before we slept - long, slow love, my shaft embedded in her as we lay side by side, or me on top, riding her gently, feeling the clasp of her body and the acceptance of her flesh. Twice more I spurted into her, soft orgasms in the quiet of the night, my seed entering her to lie inside her body.

And then we slept, our arms around each other, each of us looking forward to the new day.

******

Ninety miles away, my mother also slept, a fitful and restless sleep plagued with doubt and fears for her children. And as she tossed and turned a segment of the anterior communicating artery in her brain began to bulge as high-pressure blood encountered a blockage. At first it was a minor swelling - a tiny white protrusion on the artery, like a bulge on a bicycle's inner tube, pressing against the surrounding tissue. Like a hole in a dam wall the flow accelerated, the blood building, pressure increasing. The swelling grew rapidly at its weakest point, the elastic wall of the artery stretching rapidly, the tissue bulging and distending until it could stretch no more - and then it ruptured.

She woke in the darkness, almost immobilised by the pain - a blinding, gripping headache unlike any that she had ever known, tearing into the back of her head with such intensity that she felt her skull would shatter. She stumbled to her feet, swaying, feeling her way to the bathroom where she sank down on the cool tile floor overcome by nausea. The pain was a blinding sheet of agony, spreading rapidly down her neck - a paralyzing, debilitating agony that consumed her mind and robbed her of rational thought. She tried to cry out but could not - and so she lay alone in her anguish until, in a little while, her consciousness slipped away and she embraced the comforting blanket of darkness that enfolded her.

Chelsea's Story

The strident ringing of my mobile phone penetrated my sleep, relentless and shrill until I fumbled on the bedside table and answered it. The clock showed it was 4:53.

"Hello?" My voice was slurred, thick with fatigue.

"Chelsea, it's Dad."

"Hello?"

"Can you hear me?"

I fought to clear my mind. "Yes, yes. What is it, Dad? What's happened -"

"It's your mother."

I felt the cold clutch of fear grip me. "What's happened? Is she alright?"

"She's had a stroke...they're trying to stabilise her." I could hear the catch in his voice, his calm a thin veneer over his tears.

"Where is she?"

"She's here, in the hospital. Where are you?"

"Maryville."

"Is Ben with you?"

"Yes." I said it without thinking, my mind numbed with the awful news.

"You must both come home....it's not looking...she's not good."

"Of course. We'll leave now."

"Drive carefully."

We checked out and were in the car within fifteen minutes, traveling fast on the empty roads, holding hands. Ben spoke quietly.

"You know, its now that you realise how much they've done for you."

I nodded. "She'll be alright, won't she?"

He hesitated. "We don't know very much, Chelsea, but a stroke is a pretty savage thing to have...we should be prepared for the worst."

"Do you think it was us that caused it?"

He turned to me, his voice astonished. "Good God, what a thing to say! Why on earth do you think it is our fault?"

"She's always been in good health...and you said that she suspected us, and then the minute we go away together it happened. Perhaps God is punishing us for what we did."

He gripped my arm. "Listen to me. It is not our fault and God is not punishing us. She had high blood pressure and something let go in her brain. That's all there is to it. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

He stared. "Promise you won't think that again."

I nodded. "Alright."

"And promise we'll have another weekend together as soon as we can."

"I promise."

"All right. Now try and sleep a little - it's going to be a long, hard day."

We drew up at the hospital a little after dawn, a grey sky streaked with gold. The night staff were just coming off shift and a nurse directed us to the intensive care ward. Dad was there, sitting numbly in a chair with his head in his hands and the three of us hugged, drawing strength from each other. He told us of how he had woken and realised that she wasn't beside him, and how he had found her curled up on the floor unconscious.

"They're working on her now," he said, "they say it's too early to tell."

We waited, sitting in a line in the corridor, watching the clock on the wall opposite. At last the neurologist appeared, still dressed in her scrubs.

"Mr Rogers?"

"Yes?"

"Are these your children?"

"Yes."

"Very well. She took us into an office and shut the door. "Your wife has suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage...do you know what that is?"

"A stroke?"

She nodded. "That's right." She seized a pen and drew rapidly on the whiteboard, crude and angry strokes that showed what had happened. "The scan shows significant bleeding under the arachnoid membrane in her brain, suggesting that the artery ruptured a while before you found her. We have done what we can to control the bleeding, but the extent of damage to the brain tissue is not clear."

"How is she?"

"She is in an induced coma, but would be unconscious anyway. It is too early to test her vital signs."

"What area of her brain is affected?"

"Speech, balance, eyesight primarily - and memory." She shrugged. "The bleed was very extensive, so it's difficult to say." Her voice softened. "Mr Rogers, the prognosis in cases like this is generally not good. You should prepare yourself for the worst."

Dad looked at her. "No. I'll prepare myself for the very best outcome."

She smiled at him. "Well, we'll all work towards that." She glanced at her watch. "I'm so sorry, I have to go. Do you have any questions?"

There were a million questions but none that she could answer, and so she left and we discussed our strategy - to have someone by Mum's side 24 hours a day, taking shifts. Dad stayed first. He turned to me as I prepared to leave.

"Chelsea - would you mind giving me a minute."

"Of course." I watched Ben walk from the room, terrified of what my father was going to say. He was close to me, his face only a few inches from mine, and he knew that we had been together. I wondered if he could smell the aroma of our fucking on my skin or the scent of his son's semen as it leaked from my vagina.

He waited until the door was closed, and he turned to me. "Chelsea, you should know that William is on his way."

I was stunned. "Will? I thought he was overseas....after the accident - well, you know, he left so suddenly, and there's been nothing -"

He shrugged. "William choose to stay away for reasons of his own - but he was your mother's son and she would have wanted him here."

"When is he arriving?"

"He just said he would be here when he could." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm not sure what happened between you, but I know that something did. Could I ask you to bury the hatchet with him at this difficult time?"

I nodded, and he smiled at me. "Thank you. God willing, we can all get through this together - and perhaps it will even make us stronger." He turned away, his shoulders slumped with the burden of what had happened.

I told Ben as we walked back to the car, and he reacted as I expected. "That bastard! I'm not having him in the house, after what he did to you! I'll speak to Dad. He can't -"

"Ben, the last thing Dad needs is for us to fight. Let it be - it'll only be for a few days, I'm sure."

He grunted. "What about you, Chelsea? How do you feel about having him here?"

I thought about it for a few moments. "Nothing, really. What he did was a few years ago now, and remember that I was as much to blame as him." I squeezed his hand. "I've moved on, Ben, and I'm sure he has too. Let it go - we are all here to help Mum now."

"I don't want him alone with you."

"He won't be."

He held on to my arm. "I mean that, Chelsea. Promise me you won't be alone with Will."

I nodded. "I promise."

But even as I said it, I knew that it was a promise that I could not keep. There were too many questions between William and I that had yet to be answered, and time had only emphasized them. In some ways I dreaded seeing him again, and yet there was still that fatal attraction - knowing that he was so vulnerable, particularly now that the only member of the family who had truly loved him was close to death. Perhaps I could put the demons to sleep and we could both move on. Perhaps.

*****

Will arrived and we settled into a routine of sorts. He didn't say much to us, preferring to keep himself to himself, doing his stint at the hospital and then retiring to his bedroom. Mum's condition didn't change much, although she was breathing on her own now and they had reduced the drugs that induced the coma. During our shifts each of us would sit by her bed, watching the flickering lights of the monitors and listening to the beat of her heart, talking to her about anything we could.

On the occasions that I saw William he was civil enough. He was still of slender build, with a long face and thin, bloodless lips that had drooped over the last few years to give a permanent expression of distaste. The irises of his eyes were dark, almost black, so that from even a short distance you could not distinguish them from the pupils, and the overall effect was striking. They didn't reflect his emotions like other peoples' eyes - they were expressionless, dead and black, like those of a shark. Although he wasn't tall, he had a presence about him - a sinister aura that suggested brooding introspectivity and a deep reservoir of hidden anger. I noticed that people treated him with deference, although they never smiled at him. He just wasn't that kind of person.

It was a joyless time, and I think it affected all of us in different ways. Dad spent most of the time at the hospital. He would sit by Mum's bed for hours, holding her hand and talking to her softly about all of the things that they had done together. He seemed to have aged ten years, his hair more white than grey and his figure shrunken, desiccated, as if someone had put him in a drier for a week or two and then popped him in a jar on the shelf. I was as worried about him as I was about Mum - at least she had good care around her, but he wouldn't listen to any advice and although I tried to cook him decent meals, most of the time his plate was untouched.

And so it went on. Mum made gradual improvement, although it was dreadfully slow and the doctors were still non-committal. She could hear what we said at least, although she could not respond. Each day I would drag myself home from the hospital and do the chores around the house before writing up my journal and falling into an exhausted sleep. Ben wasn't much better and we really didn't have any time together, although we would touch hands when we could, or perhaps have a brief hug when nobody was around.

And then, on the thirteenth day, it all came crashing down.

Dad was at the hospital and Ben was at work, trying to hold things together. I came in from the shopping, carrying the bags through to the kitchen, stacking the groceries in the pantry and making a cup of tea. I glanced at my watch. It was just after four - time for a half hour rest before I made supper.

I climbed wearily upstairs and pushed open the door to my bedroom and stopped dead. William was there, standing next to my bed fully clothed. The drawer in the bedside cabinet was open, the lock broken, and he held my open diary in his hands. He looked up at me with his empty, black eyes, and his voice was a sibilant whisper, full of malice.

"Well, well, little sister, who's been a naughty girl, then?"

I stopped, rooted to the spot, my heart hammering in my chest. I suppose I felt outrage more than anger, but my voice was shrill. "What the fuck are you doing in my room - and who said you could read my diary?"

He smiled lazily. "I did. What are you going to do about it?"

I looked at him, weighing up my options. I had no wish to touch him so I struggled to be calm. "Nothing. Put it back, please, William, It's mine."

"In a moment. Let's just talk about some of this stuff" His thick fingers flicked through the pages. "Ah, here we are...all about you and little Benny. What does it say?" He read out the words. "At last, at last! B. and I are together - glorious, wonderful time with M&D away. How can I want someone that much? " He laughed. "B for Benny. B for Bloody little shit! B for Bastard!" He giggled at his eloquence. "Looks like it runs in the family, Chelsea. Wasn't I good enough for you - did you have to diddle your twin brother as well?"

I crossed the room in three strikes, reaching out to snatch it out of his hands, to rake his face with my nails and to tear out his eyes. I lunged forward but he sidestepped and brushed me aside. As I went past him he struck me once, a short blow to the side of the head that rattled my teeth and flung me sideways across the bed. I lay there, stunned, my vision blurred and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

He bent over me and seized my hair, pulling me up so I was half upright and twisted towards him, and he thrust his face close to me, his voice low and savage. "Now, now. I'm not finished. Do you want another one or are you going to be good?" He waited for a moment and then he released me and I fell back on the mattress. "Now, where was I? Ah - yes!" He read from the page. "Well, we did it! Four times, and I don't feel bad about it. Not on the pill, either. Could I be pregnant? I hope so!"" He looked down at me and shook his head "Four times! I didn't know the little faggot had it in him." His fingers flicked the pages. "What about this, little sister, dated two weeks ago. 'Secret rendezvous with B in Maryville. Lovely hotel, beautiful meal and great sex..." He peered at the page. "It's got three little ticks on the page, Chelsea - does that mean what I think it does?"

I struggled to talk, my voice thick with the swelling where I had bitten my tongue. "You've got it all wrong, William. "B" is Bruce - he's a guy at work and we -" I saw the blow coming this time and tried to dodge it, but he struck me across the face, open handed, knocking me sideways against the bedhead.

"Fuck, you, Chelsea! Do you think I'm stupid? I've seen how you two look at each other, all lovey-dovey and touching when you think no one is looking. You make me sick!" He looked down at me with disgust. "Well, are you carrying his little bastard?"

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading.

"Nothing to say? Does that mean yes?" He laughed. "Well, well, I'm to be an uncle am I? An uncle to an inbred moron, most like." He looked at me. "What am I to do with you, Chelsea?"

"Let me go, William. Walk away and we can forget -"

"Walk away!? I don't think so!" He waved my diary and laughed. "Not with this little beauty in my hand. Did you know that fucking your brother is an indictable offence in this country, punishable by imprisonment?" He laughed again. "Four to six years, last I heard. Now, you wouldn't want that, would you? And before you went to prison we could share your little secret with your school pupils, too - can you imagine the questions they would ask? Their innocent little faces shining up at you in the class: 'Please Miss, is it true you've been humping your brother?'" He giggled at the thought, flecks of spittle flying from his lips. "And what about when I tell our dear parents...it might even kill the old bitch, what with the shame of it all, and that supercilious prick -"

I stared up at him in horror. "You wouldn't tell them, would you? Please..."

"- who thinks he's fit to call himself my father would never be able to front up to his precious University again." He giggled again, a high pitch sound. "Ah, yes, that would be fun...I could send it to the Rector, a nice little letter asking if he knew that his precious Professor of Economics was sticking his own daughter in the ass."

"William, I'm not! I never -"

"Who cares, Chelsea? If you've fucked both brothers why not Daddy, too? Who'd believe a little tramp like you?"

I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Don't, please don't. You'd kill him."

"Yes, it probably would - eventually... what a nice ending that would be! And what about your precious Benny? He'd lose his job, of course, and would be sent to prison....they'd soon work out he was a faggot. He'd be fucked ten times a day." He stopped suddenly, reaching down to seize my hair again, twisting my head so that I was looking at him. "Hey! Look at me when I'm speaking to you, cunt!"

I stared up at him. "William, please. Oh, God, please don't. I'll do anything. Give me the book, please."

He laughed again. "Anything? Too fucking right, you'll do anything! How about we start right now!" He flung the diary into the open drawer and ripped off his belt, strapping it over my forearms before I could move, pulling it tight so that it cut into my flesh. "Time to share a little with me, sister, and tomorrow we can think of other games to play!"

He reached under my skirt and seized my knickers, ripping them downwards, and he plunged his fingers into my pussy, thick and dry. He giggled as I screamed, and he pushed them in harder, watching me with his dead black eyes as I struggled, and his voice was thick with excitement. "I thought you liked sibling cock, Chelsea! Don't you want me? Is Benny better than me?" He stared down at me. "I could take you right now, but I think I want you to beg for it. Be nice to me, sister...ask me what I want and be nice, and I might consider being a little bit nice to you."