"It's chilly out here now, Steve. Let's go in."
He looked down at her still widely split beaver. No wonder she thought it was cold, especially without his cock warming her.
But he only said, "Yeah. Let's go in."
CHAPTER SIX
The living room was warm and cheerful but Steve didn't feel that way. He was despondent. It was more than a post-fucking depression, too. That he had long ago analyzed, thought out and become satisfied with his answers.
Sometimes, when he'd really looked forward to balling a certain chick, he'd be depressed afterwards, no matter how much he enjoyed the actual fucking. He figured it was just one of those things. His expectations had been higher than the actual, delivery.
Steve could enjoy the balling a lot, but he thought it should have been better. It could be good, it should have been the greatest ever.
He simply had too big an expectation at times. Steve surprised himself sometimes by screwing a woman he thought would be a real stud, then finding a warm glow inside afterwards. She'd far exceeded his expectations. She may not have been as good in the sack as another, but she was better than he'd thought she would be.
What worried the man now was that he felt so damned good about balling his sister. He'd wondered how great it would be for years and years. Deep down in his head, he'd figured it would be tremendous.
It was.
But it was incest. It was wrong. Everything told him that it was, yet he could find nothing within him to prove it. No depression from false hopes. If anything, she'd kindled the fires of his lust for her. He wanted to fuck Lisa now more than he had when she'd spread those lovely legs for bun out on the parch.
He heard the sliding glass door close and lock. Steve saw his sister give the door a tug, checking the latch. Then she pulled the drapes shut.
"I forget to do that sometimes. It's hard to remember people might be out there watching," she said.
"Not after last night, I hope. Maybe that convinced you to make a mental checklist and follow it. Doors locked, blinds don."
"It did something to me, all right. But I can't say exactly what it was, Steve. You're a man of the world. You've been around. Maybe you can help me get my head straight."
"Shoot. After what we've just done, maybe you can help me get my head straight."
"You're hung up on that?" Her laugh was low, musical. He was reminded of a music box his mother had kept on her dresser.
"Yeah, hung up in a real bad way."
"Because you enjoy it so much." It was a statement, not a question. Lisa had gone straight to the heart of his problem.
"That's it. I enjoyed it and I don't think I should have. But what the hell, tell me about your problem. Rape's got to be more of a mind-fuck than incest."
She settled down in the chair, her jeans barely hiding her belly. She had put them on but not fastened them. He could see a tiny wet spot spreading out from the crotch. She was still hot for him!
He almost bit his tongue as he studied her. She was tense, sure, but it was more than that. The way her tits rose and fell heavily sent tingles into his cock. The nipples were hard and erect with desire. Her entire posture was one of openness to sex.
"It's like this, Steve. I hate that man for what he did to me, but I feel something else, too. It's something that's not hate. Not love," she quickly said, "but not hate. I needed what he did to me. Can you ever understand that?"
He looked at her and saw she was crying. The sight of the tears dribbling down her cheeks leaving salty tracks was more than he could bear. He went to her and took his sister in his arms.
"I guess. I don't know. I just can't put myself in your place."
"Thanks, Steve. Thanks for the honesty. I don't believe I could have stood it if you'd said 'Sure, I know what you feel'. I don't know what's going through my mind. Oh, it's all so damned confusing!"
"It was rough. But that's past. We can hang on to each other," Steve said, only slightly realizing what he was saying.
Lisa was trembling in his arms. He gently led her to the sofa and they both sat down. She was so much like the small child he used to comfort, it was hard to realize she was a full grown woman.
The way her boobs pressed into his arm reminded him constantly of just how full grown a woman she was. The hard nipples at the crests of her tits were pulsing with arousal. He wasn't able to tell if it was sexual or emotional excitement enlarging them.
Her emotions were running up and down the scale like a student playing the piano. It didn't have to be lust for him making her nipples hard.
It a strange way, though, he hoped it was. The incest thing hadn't gotten worked out in his own head yet, but he knew he loved his sister. And that love was complex.
"Lisa, don't cry now. Just listen to me a minute and see if what I say makes sense. Can you do that?" He dabbed away her tern.
She nodded and tried to smile. It wasn't too successful.
"There're many types of love. Brother-sister love is obvious or even mother-daughter. Call it family love. Then there's the love a man can have for a woman. This is a complicated one. A man can be many things to a woman. She can look to him for support. Or to be a provider. Or just for sex. Or all of those and maybe a dozen more. If you weren't getting the type of love from Carl you needed, maybe this rapist gave you a hint of the type of man-woman love you do need."
"Are you saying I have to be raped to make love and like it?"
"No, nothing of the sort. But maybe Carl wasn't doing it right. His sexual techniques may have left something in you unsatisfied. The number of ways of making love depend on the number of people in the world and how inventive they are."
"Carl was pretty inventive. We've even screwed in the shower."
"But was it the same form of balling? Was he always gentle with you?"
There was a pause as the woman thought. Then, slowly, carefully, she said, "Yes, he was. He was the most gentle man I've ever met. Not always considerate, but always gentle." Her voice hardened a little as she said, "I guess he was a bit on the soft side."
"Soft? That's one way of looking at it. Maybe you need to have a man tell you what to do now and then. Not all the time, just occasionally for variety. Maybe you need a real man, one who's masterful, more powerful than you are. Your independence because of your blindness could make you need this to reassure yourself of your femininity."
"You're saying I should be treated like a Goddamn slave? The hell with that!" she flared.
"I didn't say anything like it. I just said maybe you need a man who is a man. You probably ended up telling Carl how to make love all the time. That's as bad as letting the man do it all the time. It's got to be a give and take proposition."
"So with the rapist, I found someone who wasn't going to do what I wanted? You mean that may have actually been good for me?"
"Only if it's opened your sexual vistas and let you see a part of yourself you've kept hidden."
"I don't believe it," she flatly said.
"I do. I've known you for a long time, Lisa. I've watched you row up. Maybe I know you better than you think."
There was a long silence, then the woman tried to pull away from her brother's grip around her shoulders. He didn't let her go.
"I think my cock's in need of a little mouth love. Your mouth. Suck on my cock," he commanded.
"No! I won't do any such thing, Steve Hopkins! I…"
And she was on her knees, pulled down by his powerful arm. His hands snaked into her hair and forced her head down. She felt the muscles in the back of her neck knotting, from the strain. This wasn't what she wanted!
Her brother's cock would be tasty, of that she was sure. She even wanted it, but not this way!