Raped by brother(29)

"Ahhhhgh, I'm coming!" Carla cried tightly. "Suck, sweetie – suck my cunt! Ohhhh, wonderful! Christ, you cunt sucker, you're making me come! Ahhhhhgh!"

The silky cavern seemed to swell away from her tongue. Then it clamped back around it, capturing it in the vise of oiled, pulsing silk, and she felt the muscular contractions of Carla's hard orgasm against her mouth.

She wasn't even aware she was doing it until her hips lifted and shook with hard jolts. Then she was conscious of her arm pumping up and down, her fingers circling and swirling over her clit and pussy mouth as she masturbated herself openly to another orgasm at the same time that Carla's was dying away.





CHAPTER SIX




She wasn't sure when they'd started moving again. All she was aware of at first was the way her tongue kept going around inside her mouth and her throat kept swallowing.

She heard soft talking. Carla was sitting up, now, between them, her arm around the back of Whit's shoulders, her hip pressed against Monica's.

Night air blew through an open window, cool and sweet, full of the subtle scents of the Everglades. Islands of palmettos stood out on sawgrass plains in the moonlight.

Then a ghostly stand of cypress, draped with Spanish moss, went past the windows. A heron croaked and beat the air with great wings, outlined for a moment against the moon.

The trees changed. Blue-gray trunks gave a leaden sheen in the headlights, and Monica knew they had long ago crossed the trail and made the wide sweep south toward Joewood Bay.

She sat up and became more alert. Her body still hummed with sexual heat, and she was glad. She would be with Burke soon. And she was really ready now to open her fresh, quivering pussy to his big, hard prick.

The road was now little more than a two-lane trail through the trees and scrub. It began to twist around and follow the high ground of the hammock they were in.

All around, away from the hammock, was wetland. Through the trees, she could see the moonlight glimmer from the surface of the inches-deep river that flowed over the whole face of the Everglades.

She peered ahead through the windshield. The car bumped over rocks and fallen limbs and scraped against branches. It looked utterly desolate ahead.

Then it occurred to her that there'd been no fire-fighting equipment down this trail. That made sense, because there wasn't a hint of smoke in the air, just the dank, rich smell of decaying vegetation and muck.

"Burke's down here?" she asked questioningly.

They both looked at her. "Hey, you're awake," Whit said. "Welcome back."

"Whit, where are we going? You said we were going to meet Burke."

"We are, Sis."

"At Joewood Bay?"

"Yeah. Well – no. We're gonna meet a guy with a boat. Then we're gonna ride in the boat to Blackjack Key. There's an old fishing shack there."

"And Burke's waiting there?" she asked, disbelief mounting in her voice.

"Did you ever hear about Blackjack Key, Sis?" Whit went on quickly, "It used to be a camp for the Calusa Indians before the Spaniards wiped them out. Then it was a base for some of the pirate raids ol' Blackjack himself used to make along the coast. Some guy built a cabin, and it's still there. In pretty good shape, too. There's even fresh water and a neat beach and…"

His voice trailed off as they rounded a thick stand of bushes and skinny trees. Immediately, fresh, tangy air from the Gulf blew into the car.

The headlights picked up the form of a man. He was leaning against a beached runabout, smoking a cigarette. Offshore, there were several mangrove islands standing darkly in the still, moon washed water, only a handful of the thousands of islands making up the group known as the Ten Thousand Islands.

The man pushed away from the boat and walked toward the car as Whit stopped. He bent over and looked in. He was big and heavy and had a stubble of beard. His face was beefy and red, his eyes small, the flesh around them puffy.

"What the hell kept you?" he grated. "I'm about to go out of my fuckin' mind."

"That's impossible, Emmett," Carla said. "You haven't got one."

"Fuck you, dumb bitch," Emmett grated without seeming to take or give offense. They talked as if that were normal conversation between them.

"Where are Harry and Wendy?"

"Shit, I already ran them over. They got tired of waiting too. Bastard's probably fucking the shit out of her – seven times by now, figuring by how long I been standing around here." He peered into the car again, looking steadily at Monica, his small eyes running up and down her body, taking in the thrust of her tits and the naked thighs below the hem of her skirt. "Nice," he breathed, the sound making Monica's skin crawl.

"You just look, Emmett," Whit said. "That's all." He put as much threat and warning into his voice as he could.