On the few occasions when Alex or Amy had inquired about their parents' families and early lives – and this was no common occurrence; like most young people, the Messenger twins regarded anything predating as very ancient history – they were told a simple and very touching story. A young man, bereft of both hi parents, with no other family in all the world, meeting by change a beautiful young woman only just from the Catholic orphanage where she'd been raised. Rachel, the foundling left on a doorstep in a grocery basket, and Jon – love at first sight, lasting, eternal love.
Well, Rachel thought as she entered the shower and began to pirouette beneath the spraying water, some of it was true. The part about eternal love. No question about that. But… but… oh, God, she prayed, don't ever let the kids find out the rest.
It would destroy all of us. The children, for knowing, for hating us because they knew, and Jon and me in consequence of that. Four lives ruined. If only they'd been more careful. If only it had been different. But she tried to imagine her life without him, without the twins, and there was immediately a sensation of emptiness in Rachel's breast, throbbing where her heart should have been. She felt faint and with one arm she braced herself against the wall of the shower compartment, until that spell of faintness passed. Someday, Rachel knew, she'd have to come to a decision. Tell them? That seemed impossible. Then what about the Bible? She'd have to burn it, page by page, for someday she and Jon would both be dead and one of her children might come across that book. At the moment it was securely locked in a small box in her bedroom closet, hidden beneath a stack of other items, and she had the only key to that box. Why she'd even kept the damned thing all these years was a mystery. But it was an heirloom and there had been no one else to take it after… when… NO! her mind screamed. She could not risk Amy or Alex finding that old family Bible, finding in its pages the proof that they were bastards – that they were worse than bastards…
It was a Bible like any other, printed at a Philadelphia publishing office not long before the Civil War. Not particularly, valuable except to the family that had inscribed its record of births and deaths on the blank pages at the front. A traditional American custom – family Bible records were admissible as proof of identity in most courts, and in a more religious day the practice was a demonstration of a faith in continuity which seemed alien to everything in modem American life. Rachel still knew most of the entries by heart. And as she stood, trembling beneath the warm watery spray, trembling as though ice were sheeting down upon her body, she found herself remembering, against her will, that last sheet in all its damning simplicity.
All these entries in another woman's hand, also very shaky, emotion-distorted, as if their writer trembled while inscribing them. And that was it. She still had no idea why she'd felt compelled to complete the family record, as it was convict herself on paper where the same day read and know of her shame, of her guilt. Never! It wasn't shame, it wasn't guilt! She only wished in her heart that she could tell them, that she and Jon could speak to the children in truth and frankness. But it was impossible. She knew how she felt toward Jon, how he felt toward her. Theirs was a special relationship, and so strong that they'd had no choice. How could you explain to a pair of totally normal children that their parents were not legally married because such a marriage would violate mankind's oldest, strongest taboo and the laws of every state in the nation and every nation in the world? That she and ion had chosen to live together as man and wife even though they had been born brother and sister, flesh of the same flesh, blood of the same blood? How could they ever explain that to Alex and Amy?
Once upon a time, in a castle on the banks of the Susquehanna River, there lived a queen and her two children; a prince and a princess. Their father the king was away, in a fair and distant land. Except that it wasn't a castle. It was a shabby apartment building in a drab area, Harrisburg, and Mom wasn't a queen, she worked night shift in a factory. And the King? Was Okinawa, where he slept in an unmarked grave, a fair distant land? It was distant, at least. No, Rachel thought. There was no use trying to cast a fairy-tale romantic aura over her past.
Had it been inevitable from the beginning? Possibly. The apartment was very small, and the neighborhood so rough and vicious that Mom rarely allowed her and Jon to go out in the streets. Each night, when Mom went to work, her parting instruction was a command to the children to lock the door after her and not to dare venture forth or let anyone in until her return. So many nights, the two of them alone, cast into one another's company. When she had bad dreams, which was often, she tiptoed across the few feet of floor separating them, and crawled into Jon's bed, snuggling close to his warm body for comfort.
And Mrs. Vance! How could they ever forget Mrs. Vance? She was a war widow, like Mom, and she lived in the building across the alley. But where Mom had gotten a factory job, poorly paying and on the night shift, Mrs. Vance supported herself in quite a different manner. Sometimes she brought as many as ten men to her apartment during the course of a night, and she rarely closed her curtains.
On time Jon and Rachel were playing a game they liked to call "Mrs. Vance." Neither of them knew exactly what it signified – not then – but since it involved taking off their clothes and rubbing their bodies together, they were both aware that Mom probably shouldn't be told how many times they played it during her nightly absences.
It was a funny game. She'd lie down on her back, on her bed, with knees up and widely separated, tier body completely naked. And Jon, just as naked, would crawl atop her and move himself between her legs. His penis was small then, but capable of erecting, especially when he dared to rub his hands on Rachel's body the way Mrs. Vance's customers enjoyed doing to the busty lady across the alleyway. She could still remember how strangely, mysteriously exciting it was to have his hot little tool on her bare skin, and how red his face became, the stiffer his organ grew.
His cock got red, too, especially the tip of it where the foreskin had been removed during his infancy. She liked to touch him, knowing even then that it was naughty, but there was something about the way he responded. The gratified soprano cries of pleasure he made when her fingers grew active rubbing him – the way he'd sometimes cover her hands with his own, and wrap them around her fist so that she couldn't let go of him even if she wanted to… but she didn't want to, for his thing throbbed and burned in her hand with a passion neither of them understood.
By the time their bodies had begun to change, both Jon and Rachel understood a lot more. His voice deepened, and he started to sprout hair in his armpits and around the base of his cock. And he'd grown, too. He was taller now, several inches taller, shooting up like a weed almost overnight Mom used to throw up her hands in despair, wondering how she'd ever keep the boy in clothes and shoes at that rate. And some of that growth that transmitted itself to his thing. It swelled so much more in Rachel's hands when she was permitted to fondle him, and one evening, as she stroked and petted him in the old familiar way, something very unusual happened. He made a strange, startled face, gave a gasping cry, and his cock seemed to shudder in her hands, just before it squirted out a thick, milk-colored kind of juice, all over Rachel's astonished face.
For a time she'd been too frightened to play with him again, no matter how much he implored her.
But gradually, Rachel noticed some changes in her own body. Puberty came to Rachel too, and her breasts began to bud, the slice of her pussy to take definite, feminine shape. The lips thickened, grew more sensitive. It no longer tickled when Jon used his hands between her filling-out thighs. Once upon a time she'd only giggled and blushed when he fingered her; the first orgasm she received from his hands caused Rachel to flush, grow deathly pale, then reel, almost swooning. She could do it to herself but it seemed much more fun when he did it, and of course that led to a resumption of their naive sex play, for turnabout was only fair.
She was a sweet eighteen, her brother a growing boy of nineteen, the first time he put his cock into her pussy. They'd been leading up to it for quite a while, for it seemed such a natural thing to do. His fingers had gone into her tight crack and she'd fisted her, hands around his gushing young cock. Her hole appeared to be just the right size for his foot to fit inside, and eventually they had to give it a try.
"AHHH!!" Rachel whined as he wiggled it into her. She was wet, for he'd been toying with her pussy, but still it hurt, and he was lying upon her, his body heavy and crushing. "No," she told him "let's not do it." But by then it was virtually too late. She cried out again, in response to an instant's sharp, stinging pain inside herself, but Jon sank into her almost immediately, all the way, his belly coming down hard upon hers, and it was really strange how the pain vanished so quickly. In another moment she'd forgotten all about pain and hurt, for something very exciting was happening to her. It was very much like using her fingers on her slit, but much more intense. Her belly seemed to turn into jelly, and the lips of her pussy were… were sucking and contracting while Jon to stick his thing a little deeper. She threw her arms around her brother and held him very tightly, and in another minute or two she felt him jerk inside her twat and then she was even wetter than before, and he seemed to like it a lot, too.
She hadn't bled at all, and she had no name for the feeling that had overwhelmed her during the first copulation. Only later did she find out that its proper term was orgasm. Most girls didn't have orgasms the first time they screwed. Some girls almost never had them, but Rachel generally had only to accept the tip of her brothers steadily enlarging pecker in her young gash and she was churning with the emotional high of a climax. It was a game they couldn't seem to get enough of.
And only after she and Jon had done it quite a few times, did either of them discover that it wasn't something they'd invented spontaneously, that other people did it too. In fact, this was what Mrs. Vance had been doing all that time with the men who came to her apartment. It was called fucking.
They both enjoyed it a hell of a lot, and some nights they could hardly wait for Mom to go off to work so they could strip off their clothes and fuck. In due time Jon learned that shooting his cum up Rachel wasn't a very good idea, unless they were both interested in making babies. So he took to pulling it out of her and squirting on her tummy. One night she tasted the big creamy drops that stained her skin, and they were sweet on her tongue. Again, turnabout was fair play, and, until Jon discovered that he could buy condoms from a machine in the men's room at the gas station two blocks from home. Their usual practice was to begin with mutual masturbation, lead into a session of fucking, then switch around and come in one another's mouths, where it was both safe and fun. By the time Rachel was eighteen and Jon a tall, husky, virile nineteen, they were deep into a relationship that neither of them seemed able to control or call off.
Mom had gotten a promotion at the factory by then, it was the Korean War production boom and they'd moved to a nicer apartment in a better section of town. Each of the children had a small separate bedroom too, too late! But it was a rare night when both beds were actually slept in. Until Mom transferred, finally, from night shift to day shift, which made it much more difficult for Jon and Rachel to continue with the sexual activities they found so fulfilling. But Gloria Messenger also found herself a man after the transfer. His name was Dan Roberts, he was a nice man, a widower who loved children, and she married him.
The very nicest thing about Dan Roberts was that he took up so much of Mom's attention, thought Rachel. She and Jon could usually find an opportunity to be together, to make crazy, passionate love, and no one was the wiser.
At eighteen Rachel began to develop guilt feelings. They'd moved to Paxton, a suburb of Harrisburg, far from the dingy streets where she and Jon had been raised. She'd known for a couple of years that what she and her brother were doing was known as incest, that it was perhaps the mast heinous kind of relationship two people could have within the Judeo-Christian moral tradition. It had to stop. She began to have horrible dreams about dying and being judged by God and St. Peter, dreams in which she was consigned to hell. Anyway, Jon would meet a girl, she'd meet a boy. But as long as they had this fuck relationship going, neither of them was even looking. One night when he sneaked into her bedroom, cock already stiff and jutting from his boxer shorts, she curled up – into a tight ball.
"No," she told him. "I won't let you touch me. Ever again. If you don't leave now, I'll scream, and when Mom comes in to see, I'll tell her everything. This is sick and evil and disgusting, and it has to stop. Please go now."
She almost believed it. Time crept by, and they fell into a normal brother and sister life style, well almost normal. Sometimes she'd look at Jon and know that he was remembering, know that he knew she was remembering too, and at times like that it was impossible for her to stay in the same room with him. Sometimes, in spite of her resolve, she still wanted him so damned much – in her bed, in her arms, his cock ramming in and out of her tight pussy while she whimpered and moaned and clutched him and bathed his dick in sticky cuntal juices.
Rachel was a pretty girl. She had dates when Mom permitted, but none of her dates ever got further than some kissing and quick furtive feels of her breasts or legs or ass. Jon went out with girls – a lot of girls – so many that she wondered if he'd ever get serious about any one of them. He didn't, no more than she did about any of her own boyfriends. Rachel got a reputation as frigid and her invitations to go out dwindled.
She kept a diary then. One evening, when she was eighteen, she wrote: "I saw Jon today at school, holding hands with Carolyn Mills. They were behind a post in the auditorium, and he didn't know I was watching. He kissed her. On the mouth. A long time. And he had his hand on her sweater. Feeling her. I wonder if he's doing it with Carolyn. And what about all his other girlfriends? Peggy and Susan and Gilda and Marsha. Is he f-king all of them? And why was I jealous? I told him it's all finished between us. And it is. It has to be. Oh, God, if I don't get away from him, I don't know what I'm going to do!!!" And then she tore out the page and burned it carefully, destroying all the charred fragments.
Time kept passing. Jon graduated, enlisted in the army, served three years in Germany. He hadn't made an overture to Rachel since the night she'd kicked him out of her bedroom. But his eyes – God, it seemed as if he were always looking at her, and she didn't dare look back, afraid of what she'd see in her brother's expression, afraid that he'd see the same desire in hers.
When he got out of the army he used his G.I. benefits to go to Penn State, and it was very infrequently that he stopped by the house in Paxton to see Dan and Gloria and Rachel. Rachel was just as happy that he didn't come around often. Anyway, she was in business school in she got a job with an insurance company in Pittsburgh; that took her even further from Jon and she was confident that she'd forget all about him.
Mom died unexpectedly in the winter of. Jon drove to Pittsburgh, to chauffeur his sister back to the funeral. A blizzard swept down upon them as they drove east from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg, and the Turnpike and Route were both closed to traffic. They found a motel, already crowded with other stranded motorists, and despite Rachel's entreaty to look somewhere else, Jon accepted the innkeeper's offer of his last empty room. At least it had two beds.
She sat down on one, empty and drained with the loss of her mother, with the horrible snowstorm that had blown down out of nowhere. "Oh, God," she said aloud, "I don't ever want to die! I don't ever want to go away and know that there are people grieving for me!" Tears began to flaw uncontrollably. Jon settled beside her on the bed, his arm locking around her trembling shoulders.
"I won't let you," he promised in a soft, soothing voice. "I won't let anything bad, ever happen to you."
Rachel's face turned slowly and she looked into his eyes. They looked so much alike, she realized – the same eyes, the same hair, the same facial structure – almost like a minor image of one another. Her lips trembled piteously. They were closer than they had been in so many years. His hand was encircling her shoulders… his thigh pressed against he… the room was musty, as if it needed airing, but she could smell his aromatic after shave and she wondered if he had noticed the soft, understated perfume she wore nowadays. Rachel blinked her eyes as they misted over, and Jon's face was a blur – a blur that grew nearer and nearer and nearer. He had his hand on her leg, sliding up the hem of her skirt. His skin was hot – or was it her own body heat she sensed?
"No," she told him.
"No?" he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
"YESSS!!" she screamed suddenly, deafened by the sound of her own voice. "YEESSSSS!" and her hands were on him, racing to unbutton his shirt. She tore off a couple of buttons in her haste to bare his chest and her mouth sought his with a passion that could not be denied.
It was happening again, and she couldn't stop it, no more than Jon could. Neither of them even tried. He peeled the clothing from her body – the dress, the bra, the half-slip, the panties, the garter belt, the stockings – and he began to kiss and bite her naked flesh. Her nipples blossomed like flowers in his mouth and her tits ached from the vigorous passion of his sucking. He thrust a hand into her crotch, massaging the swollen, dampening lips of her pussy until she was sopping wet. Rachel twisted on the bed, her desire as naked as her body, and she moaned to him, "Do it, do it, do it, do it to me, Jon…"
And then he was with her, his cock sticking up long and hard and thick – had he been so big the last time she'd allowed him to ball her? She didn't think so. His organ was monstrous now as it stood up before her eyes, lust-engorged, the tip red as a ripe radish. And beneath the lance of his dong, the large sac of balls with its delicate contents. She watched, entranced, as his scrotum jiggled and swung beneath the arrow of his pecker, and she reached with one hand to touch him there. "Oh," she said, "it feels alive!"
"It is alive," he whispered, lying down beside her, "and so are we. We'll always be alive, you and I, Rachel. Because I love you, the way I've never loved anyone or anything else." He kissed her again while she toyed with the swollen barrel of his dick. "I've missed you, Rachel," he added, breathing across her face.
"I've missed you," she told him. "So much that at times I didn't think I could go on living." Her hands gripped his shoulders. "Fuck me, Jon," she implored. "Please fuck me, just the way we used to."
"Not the way we used to," he told her. "We were only kids then. Now we're all grown up, and I'm going to fuck you the way a man fucks a woman, the way a man like me fucks a woman like you. A lot, hard, heavy! I'm going to fill your belly with cum. My cum. In you, where it belongs."
"Yes, yes, yes," she panted, clawing at him. "Do it to me!!"
He did a quick turnabout, burying his face in the sweet moistness of her pussy, and she reached with eager hands for the dick that stood up so near her face. In a moment it was deep in her mouth and she was sucking passionately while his lips and tongue explored as if for the first time her honey-dripping snatch. She sucked him voraciously, with thrilling lip-tremors and tongue passes, and in almost no time at all her cock sucking paid off. Jon quivered in her mouth and he poured a load of semen that nearly drowned Rachel as she struggled to drink it down. So much cum, so much – she couldn't eat it all. Too much of it gushed from the corners of her mouth and spilled down her chin in sad waste. But she kept ox, sucking, whimpering around his cock as he tongued her to a fast, hot, wet release, and she kept him hard in her mouth. Hard enough that round two came up with no rest period needed for either of them. Her cunt was still vibrating with its explosion when Jon pried his penis from her mouth and reversed himself.
"Now," she groaned as he settled in between her widespread, eager legs and rubbed the tip of his dang on her itching slit. "Now!" she repeated, reaching down to entrap his prick and stuff the end of it into her gash, then humping toward him to bury his member in her oozing femininity. Her knees lifted and locked in on his ribcage as he reared above her, and then both their asses were moving in harmony as he fucked and she fucked and they fucked back and forth with a building, driving need.
Not once did she think of the tragic occasion that had brought them together in this motel room, and even if she had, Rachel might have considered her act a declaration for life as opposed to death. All she knew, as she rocked beneath her brother, was that she needed this, needed it now, more than anything else she could imagine.
"Ohhh," she moaned as his thick pecker ravaged her cunt. She was tight. It had been several years since anything larger than her finger or a tampon had been up Rachel's pussy. She'd cut him off then, and she'd cut herself off as well, for no other man had ever gotten this close to her in the years between. It was almost as if she could hear a squeaking when he worked his rod into her, but her snatch opened up as best it could and made room for him. Still, there was the breathtaking snugness of their fit, her twat grasping him as if he were a foot crammed into an undersized shoe. He strained against her.
"Oh, honey, loosen up," he whispered, biting her chin.
"It's – ahhhh!! – it's just fine this way. Oh, fuck me harder, Jon, harder… harder…"
Rachel twisted and bucked beneath him, her knees lifting higher and higher so that more of her pussy revealed itself to his thrusts, and he was ramming her deeply with that big tool of his. Hard, too, but she wanted it fierce and savage, like the coupling of two wild beasts, and she clawed at him with the frenzy of her need.
He lasted longer in her cunt than he had in her mouth, but all the same, it was too soon for Rachel. She pushed herself onward, struggling to keep up with him, and her orgasm began to build. His did as well, and she knew from the trembling of his shoulders that her brother was about to come in her. Rachel thrust a hand into her crotch, finding the jabbing barrel of his cock, locating too the nub of her clit, and she rubbed herself frantically. Two minutes more of deep thrusting and fucking would have sent her over the top automatically, but he was on the verge of blowing his nuts and she didn't want, him to climax without her.
There… there… there… he grunted, stuffing himself up her with a powerful set of plunges, and Rachel was fingering her clit as he screwed, and just as his dick began to blast jism into her womb, she pulled her own trigger and met his flood of cum with one of her own. Her belly swelled, or seemed to, from the abundance of hot wet fuck-fluids in it, and she thought she was about to burst, but she held him in her arms and legs, sucking his ejaculation and his dick up her pussy, kissing and biting his face whenever she could, and he was gripping her tits with their fiery nipples of deep brown, and there was nothing to do but cling together and quiver in the unison of their joy.
They fucked perhaps six or seven times more that night, and their naked bodies were locked, either in a screw or in a hug, until they arose the next morning. Road crews had been out all night, clearing the snow off the highway, and the Turnpike was open to single-lane traffic again. As they got into his car and started toward Harrisburg and their mother's funeral, Rachel suddenly became oppressed by the abnormalness of what they'd done. She started to cry, and she scooted against him, and she said, "It can't ever happen again, Jon."
"Why not?" he asked her. "You can't tell me you didn't like it. And you know that I did, too. Why should we fight ourselves? Why can't we just do what gives us so much pleasure?"
"You know why," Rachel replied. "Because you're my brother and I'm your sister. Jesus, I wish we were strangers, so we could fuck and love and even get married. I'll never love anyone else the way I love you, but it has to stop, Jon. If we keep an, we'll only kill ourselves with wanting it all and not being able to have it."
After the funeral she went back to Pittsburgh, to her job. And she had missed two periods and been sick every morning for a couple of weeks before she worked up enough courage to go to a doctor. After that, she could only think of calling Jon, of telling him. "I'm pregnant," she sobbed into the telephone, "I'm pregnant!"
Then she'd have thought automatically of abortion, but an abortion was the property of back street butchers who killed most of their patients with rusty coat hangers. Rachel didn't know what to do. She quit her job and kept getting bigger and bigger.
"Twins," the doctor said, smiling. He thought she was married and respectable. He didn't know that her brother's seed had impregnated her belly. "Definitely twins."
"I'll give them up for adoption," she told Jon in her Pittsburgh apartment. "I'll go away and have my babies and give them up."
"No," he said, "you can't. They're my babies, too. Gad, I don't… yes. Yes! I do know!! We'll go away," he said, speaking fast. "We'll go away… not just you, but both of us. We'll go someplace no one knows us – the other end of the world if we have to – and we'll settle dawn together. You, me, and our children."
"That's crazy!" she said in panic. "We could never do that!"
"Of course we can," he replied. "We'll go to… we'll go to California. Everyone's going to California. We'll just blend into the crowd. Damn it, Rachel, I can't give you up. I won't give you up!"
And here, eighteen years later, they were. Him, her, their children. Their whole false life. So fragile a structure, so easy to bring down around hers and Jon's heads. But the twins were beautiful, and so was Jon and so, she knew, was she. He had a good job and they lived in a nice house in a nice suburban community, and this evening they were flying to Las Vegas for his company's semi-annual convention, and no one had ever suspected that they were anything but a typical, sickeningly wholesome and normal suburban married couple. Maybe – God, maybe they could get away with the whole thing after all! She turned beneath the shower spray, thinking about the deception and its success, and she beard a sound. The shower door opening.
"Oh," she said, turning. Jon stepped into the shower with his sister wife, his hands immediately reaching for her soap-foamy body. "Stop that," she warned, slapping ineffectually.
"I can't stop," he leered. "I never could, when it was you. The… the buns… you're too much, Rachel Messenger! I've got to have you again right now." He leaned toward her, dick rising with fresh lust.
"You're insatiable," she complained, "and if you persist, I know we're going to miss our plane." His cock touched her wet belly and she grabbed it with frothy, slippery hands. "I'm telling you," she said again, "we'll miss our plane for sure!" her body rocked against his and he caught her by the ass while she went onto tiptoes to kiss him. His cock throbbed in her hand and she petted it possessively.
It was incest, and it had always been and always would be; but it was a special kind of incest because they were special people. The standard laws and morals didn't apply to them. Her nipples erected where her tits rubbed his chest and Rachel didn't protest when he leaned her against the interior wall of the shower compartment. Her legs parted willingly and ion began to tease her cunt with the end of his prick. "Just a quick one," he told her. "We'll still make the plane."
"Mmmm-hmmm," Rachel purred.
"Mmmm-hmmmm."