Chelsea Rising Ch. 04

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20

By the author.

The success of my “Chelsea Rising” series has been measured by the number of comments I have had and by the scores I have received, and based on that I’ve written a fourth chapter, which I present for your enjoyment. I need to say a couple of things, though.

Firstly, this story contains descriptions of non-consensual sex. I don’t condone such acts for a second, but it is a necessary part of the story and I hope that you will take it as such…and it turns out well in the end, at least from that person’s perspective.

Secondly, all of the characters in this story, as for all of my work, are fictitious. They bear no resemblance to persons living or dead. Which brings me onto the third point: this is an act of fiction, so please don’t abuse me if you think that someone might have acted in a different way, or that some aspect of the story is unrealistic. It is what it is!

Anyone who publishes stories on this site will tell you that we live for feedback. In my case, it decides whether or not I will continue to write, and what. If you like my work (or even if you don’t), please leave a comment and a score…it really will make the difference between my moving on to other hobbies, or continuing to write what I hope are vibrant and enjoyable stories.

Finally, I hope that you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed putting it together, which is to say, a lot!

HotSister. Jan11.



“Mum! We’re going to be late!”

Melanie Phillips regarded her son Dirk in the rear-view mirror and tried to console him. “He’s coming now, honey. We’ve plenty of time.” She tooted the car horn again, more impatiently, her eyes on the front door as if to will her husband out quicker. She glanced at her watch – five to ten. It was at least a thirty-minute drive, and then they had to find parking and walk to the audition room. It was cutting things very fine. She could feel the rising level of stress and she tooted again.

“Here he comes,” Dirk said, a note of hysteria in his voice. “Can we get there on time, Mum? I can’t be late.”

Bruce Phillips hurried to the passenger side and slid into the seat. “Sorry, sorry….I had a client on the phone – a big job.” He leaned over and looked at his son. “We’ll be fine, Dirk, if we hurry.”

Melanie revved the car and shot out of the driveway, turning left towards the town. Dirk had been working for this day for months, and she knew that the auditioning team were very strict on people who turned up late. She spun the steering wheel, negotiating her way around an SUV that was loitering, and accelerated hard. She thought that the coastal road was probably quicker and she entered the left hand lane, filtering at the green arrow and then accelerating out of town.

Bruce turned to her. “Take it easy, Mel. We’ve plenty of time.”

She glanced at him, and her voice was hard. “No, we haven’t Bruce. We’ve got to be there five minutes ago, but I don’t suppose you thought of that while you were chatting on the phone.”

“That’s not fair, Mel. I told you it was important.”

Her voice was scornful. “More important than your son’s future?”

“As it happens, yes. It’s bread and butter on the table.”

“It could have waited a day or two!”

He looked at her angrily. “It couldn’t. Peter wants the draft contract tomorrow.”

Dirk sat in the back seat listening to his parents fighting, his own heart hammering in his chest. He could see their faces set in anger, and he heard the shrillness of their voices. He watched his mother turning to respond, her eyes on her husband and her lips pulled back in fury, and then a movement ahead drew his focus forward, out of the car to the narrow road ahead, and he saw the tractor turning, its heavy trailer slewing across the road into their path.

“Look out!” He screamed.

Dirk watched it all happen, as if in slow motion. His mother, turning her head back, seeing the obstruction and reacting. The squeal of tyres locking up on the road, the back of the car fishtailing, losing control; the farmer’s face looking down, his mouth open in fear and dismay and the trailer’s steel side filling the windscreen, so close he could see the dribbles of rust and the stains of ordure on the dark, pitted metal.

His brain registered the impact – not the crunch of metal he expected, but a single blow that reverberated in the morning air like a giant hammer on an anvil as the two ton car was suddenly halted. The horizon dipped as the back wheels reared up, and the cabin around him was instantly filled with dust and debris flung upwards with the deceleration. He felt the sudden crush of his seatbelt expelling the breath from his chest in an explosive whoosh! and he saw the airbag deploy, his mother cascading into it with her head lolling like a broken puppet. With horrified eyes he saw his father exit from the vehicle, plucked through the windscreen in an instant of time, his body bent and his limbs disjointed, the glass exploding around his illegal bahis head in a shower of glittering fragments like a bucketful of diamonds flung into the crisp morning air.

The vehicle fell back onto its wheels with a thump and there was the tinkle of falling debris and then the tick of cooling metal in the sudden silence. For a long time there was no other sound or movement and Dirk thought they must all be dead, and then he heard the shouts of the men running from the fields nearby.

Dirk stood by the grave as the coffin was lowered. He regarded his mother and elder sister Cielle, clinging together by the graveside, their faces grey and pinched and their eyes red from weeping. His younger sister Sarah was next to them, watching the leaves blowing around the grave with empty eyes – her lack of awareness a blessing for once. Behind them were other mourners – family and friends, the greys and blacks of their clothing reflected in the low winter sky, and beyond them the hearse that had brought his father on the final journey. He saw the priest, his white cassock stark against the raw earth as he leaned over the grave, his voice thin against the sigh of the wind. “We commit the body of our dearly departed son, Bruce Arthur Phillips, to be buried…”

The priest stooped to pick up earth from the grave, fingers stained by the heavy clay. Dirk could see a smear of it on his sleeve, as red as his father’s blood as it dribbled and dripped from his shattered head. Dirk watched as he stretched forward and scattered it into the grave, each clod thudding against the coffin like the beat of a lonely drum, and he heard the dreadful finality of the priest’s words. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

He fastened his eyes on his mother as she stared down into the grave, and his heart was filled with hatred. He felt it rising in his consciousness as thick and bitter as bile, directed towards her lonely figure huddled before the open pit. You killed him, you bitch, he thought, as surely as if you put a gun to his head, and I will hate you for ever. A fanatical gleam flared in his yellow eyes for a moment, like a flame licking at a piece of kindling, and then the light went out of them and they turned flat and cold and empty.

The mourners turned away, singly or in groups, walking through the churchyard to the little car park beyond. For a long time Dirk stood alone, looking down into the grave and remembering all that he and his father had done. At length he sighed and turned away, and the wind swept around the churchyard unimpeded, plucking up the flowers and scattering them across the wet, raw earth of the open grave.

September 2010

The house was silent when Dirk slipped out of his bedroom and moved quietly down the corridor to Cielle’s room. He turned the handle and the door opened silently and he moved quickly to the bed. He could see the faint outline of the window with the gleam of stars beyond, and the shape of her body under the bedclothes. He slipped out of his jocks and then moved forward and placed his hand firmly over her mouth.

Cielle awoke and the terror seized her again. She struggled briefly, knowing even in her sleep and confusion that it was no good, and after a moment she lay quiescent. His voice was low, oozing into her ear like warm oil. “Hello, little sister…you’re not going to make any noise, are you?”

She shook her head, her heart hammering in her chest. He moved his hand and then the bedclothes lifted and she felt him sliding into bed. His fingers reached out of the darkness and she felt the tips touching her, like slithering roaches on her body, brushing over her temple then down over her lips – lingering there for a moment before sliding down the smooth skin of her neck to rest just above her larynx.

“I want to talk to you, Sis. Are you listening?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Put on the light. I want to see you.”

Cielle reached across and switched on the bedside light, blinking in the sudden brightness. Dirk was looking at her, his strange yellow eyes almost luminescent in the light. “That’s a good girl,” he said smoothly. “Mother’s going to talk to you tomorrow…she wants to know if you would like to go away for a while.”

Cielle felt the leap of hope in her breast. Perhaps the nightmare could end after all. “How do you know?”

“She thought it clever to discuss it with the family first.” He chuckled, an ugly little sound without humour. “She seems to think you’re unhappy at the moment. Of course I agreed that it was such a good idea.”

“Where does she want me to go?”

“It doesn’t matter, Cielle – you’re going to say no.”

She shook her head slightly and her voice was desperate. “Dirk…please. I’d like to go…you can’t keep me here for ever…I won’t tell -“

He pressed his fingers downward sharply, his fingers digging painfully into the soft tissue under her chin. His voice was very calm. “You’re not listening, Sis. I said you won’t be going.”

She cried out illegal bahis siteleri in pain, trying to pull his arm away to relieve the pressure, but he was too strong. After a moment he relaxed his grip, and his voice was a sibilant whisper. “You’ve not forgotten our little chats, have you, Sis? Would you like me to remind you?” She could sense his eyes on her face, those strange yellow orbs that had the power to prise open the lid to her soul. “You and I have such a good understanding, Cielle…would you like me to start one with little Sarah as well?” He giggled softly. “Think of it, Cielle – she’s in her bed asleep. I could go there now, and I could do the same things to her that I do to you. Can you imagine that, Cielle – waking her up with my fingers in her body. She’s a virgin, you know. Can you imagine her naked, her legs stretched open, with me -”

“Please, Dirk, don’t.”

“- playing with her. She’d be so confused. I might fuck her pussy first….God, she’d be so tight!! Can you imagine, Cielle, me stretching her open, all dry and tight, breaking her in? And then I’d turn her over and fuck her tight little ass -“

“Dirk, she doesn’t know anything-“

He laughed. “Oh, I know, I know, she’s on another planet!” His fingers moved upwards, touching her lips. “Her mind might be slow, Cielle, but her body’s all there, isn’t it? Have you seen her tits? I reckon she’s got all the equipment, and she’d root like a truck…grunting and moaning, her legs around me.” He laughed. “And it would be so easy…perhaps tomorrow – I could collect her from school, bring her home, tie her to the bed -”

Cielle thought of her sister asleep in her room down the corridor, her mind adrift in whatever ocean of time and space she occupied. She was so innocent, so trusting. She knew Dirk could do it, and she imagined Sarah tied to the bed, her eyes wild with pain and confusion as he rutted on top of her. She would never be able to cope with something like that – it would tear her fragile world to pieces. She felt her willpower shriveling, her instinct to protect her sister overcoming her own fear and revulsion.

“God, Dirk – please don’t…I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt Sarah. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He laughed again, his mouth touching the soft skin of her shoulder and his voice like wet slime. “Oh, I know you will, Cielle, starting right now.”

He rolled on top of her, pushing her legs open so that he was nestled between her thighs. His member felt enormous, the skin hot and stretched to bursting point. His foreskin was fully back and the knob was exquisitely sensitive, as big as he had ever felt it. He pushed his hips forward a little and felt the tip brush against her. She was rigid, her body as stiff as girder underneath him, but he reached down and pulled the leg of her knickers aside and then pushed forward again. He felt his glans pressing against the lips of her cunt, the pressure forcing them aside until there was nowhere else to go but forward, and he felt the heat of her body as slid into her. The walls of her vagina pressed against him, struggling to accommodate the thick wedge of his prick, and her heard her cry out.

He thrust into her, back and forth, his cock sliding in and his own juices starting to lubricate the union. He felt her shift her hips, her torso lifting slightly to ease the angle of penetration, and her arms gripped his waist to try and restrain the depth of his strokes.

Dirk leaned forward, his face brushing against her hair and his voice was hoarse with arousal. “Ah, yes, Sis. Move with me. Can you feel your brother’s cock inside you?”

He waited a moment but she didn’t respond and he spoke again, his voice mocking while he continued to pump into her. “Isn’t it good, Cielle? Feel how deep I am inside you! Tell me you love your brother’s cock….tell me you love fucking him!”

“Yes…yes. I love it.” Her voice was thin and unconvincing.

He laughed. “Liar! You hate it, don’t you? You can feel me deep inside your body, and you hate it!” He leaned forward again, his mouth close to her face and his voice changed, hard and jagged like broken glass. “But you will learn to love it, Cielle, like any other whore…one day you’ll beg me to fuck you, I promise!”

She shook her head and he laughed again, his loins thrusting savagely to plunge his cock deeper into her. She rode the storm of his lust, her hips starting to move with him despite herself, her pelvis thrusting up to meet him. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face and smell the hot musk of his excitement and she heard him speak again, his voice disjointed as he reached upwards for his climax.

“Jesus, Cielle….ah, that’s tight! Ah, yes….fuck, yes! Here it comes…so hot, Cielle, hot and thick into your tight little pussy!”

She felt his body go rigid, his back arching. A flood of warmth entered her body and she felt the jerking of his cock as he squirted his seed into her. His hips shuddered spasmodically and he groaned briefly before lying still on canlı bahis siteleri top of her, his sweat damp on her skin and his rough, unshaven cheek pressed against hers.

At length he pushed himself off and he lay quietly for a few moments before speaking. “You call that fucking? I’ve had better shags from the school mattress!” He leaned over her, his face close to hers. “If you can’t do better I’ll try Sarah next time.”

“I’m sorry, Dirk, I’m -“

“Frigid? Is that what you were going to say?” He laughed. “Perhaps you need more practice, little sister. I might come by more often!” He reached over and seized her nipple, pinching it between finger and thumb, laughing as she squirmed in pain. “And I might stimulate you a little more, you wooden bitch!” He released her and swung his legs out of bed. “Remember, not a word, Cielle, or -“

“I know, Dirk. I…I won’t say anything.”

“Too right.” He picked up his pants and moved to the doorway before turning back. “Oh, by the way, Sis, you’re on the pill, aren’t you?” He regarded her, watching the guilty slide of her eyes. “I thought so. You’ll stop that now, Cielle…I’d like to see you have a little bastard.” He considered her silence for a moment. “What, nothing to say? Wouldn’t you like a son and a nephew all in one?” He laughed at his eloquence. “Three months, Cielle. If you’re not pregnant by then I’ll fuck Sarah instead…she doesn’t know about that stuff, and she’ll have a wagonload of kids by me.” He turned again and opened the door.


He stopped. “What?”

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve never hurt you.”

He laughed again. “Don’t you know, little sister? Well, I’ll tell you!” He crossed the room in angry strides, leaning over the bed and seizing her by the throat, hooking his fingers into her flesh to lift her shoulders off the mattress. His voice was savage, dragged from the very depths of his soul, and his spittle flew into her face. “I hate her! I hate the fucking bitch! I hate everything she loves and I’ll take it bit by bit, until she has nothing left…and then I’ll destroy her!” He stared down at her for a few moments his eyes glinting in the faint light from the open door, and then he flung her back onto the pillow. She heard him panting and she cringed, waiting for a blow, but he stood back and his voice was more controlled. “And I’ll destroy that old bastard she’s going to marry and everything he loves, too!”

She saw his shadow move across the room and then he turned to her again, his voice calm. “And if you think this is bad, little sister, just wait a while. I’ll fuck you to death and laugh when she weeps over your grave.”

The door latch clicked shut behind him. Cielle lay back in her bed and her hand crept downward to her sex. Her brain was awash with conflicting emotions: fear, degradation, guilt and, although she hated it, gratification. Her vulva was swollen and she rested her fingers on it, cool on the hot flesh. She touched her clitoris and a wave of pleasure coursed through her body as she thought about what had just happened and how it would have looked: Dirk between her legs, his buttocks thrusting forward and back, and her slim white body underneath, moving with him. She felt her brother’s sperm leaking from her vagina, slippery against her fingertips, and she remembered how she had clutched his buttocks to pull him in deeper, raising her hips to receive his seed. Her fingers rubbed against her flesh and her brain was suffused with lust and humiliation, lifting her upwards towards ecstasy.

Afterwards Cielle lay in her bed and wept, the hot tears of guilt and shame sliding down her cheeks. She stared upwards into the silent darkness, hoping for a miracle to make everything good again, but she knew it could never happen. She buried her face into the pillow to hide her words, her lips moving silently. I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I’ll try harder to make him happy, just you see. He’ll love me then and everything will be all right. You’ll be safe then.

December 2010

Melanie Phillips walked down the aisle of the great church towards the altar. She could see Jim, her future husband, his face turned towards her, and she could see the smiling faces of her friends as she passed them to either side. She passed Chelsea, her new daughter in law, sitting alone in the west Transept; and she looked to the right, searching for her own children – Dirk, his strange yellow eyes on her face, unsmiling and alone. Cielle was further forward, her eyes downcast, and next to her was Sarah, her soft gaze resting on the great stained glass windows above the altar and a small smile upon her lips.

She reached Jim and held his hand, and the notes of the wedding march died away. The great hall of the church was briefly filled with the rustle and clatter of the congregation as they sat, and then the words of the priest filled the Nave as he joined them in marriage… you have pledged your faith each to the other in the presence of God and in this company… She felt the warmth and comfort of her new husband’s grasp and she saw the calm strength in his eyes, and for the first time in two years she felt that there was someone to share her burden, who could help her cope with the turmoil of her life.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20