Chapter 1

Diana Wyatt had this weird feeling in her guts. It was hard for her to put a definition to that feeling, in that it was a combination of nausea and pleasure. Yes, goddamn it, pleasure! And wasn't that pleasure just a little sick under the circumstances? My God, four people were dead, one of those a fellow police officer.

"Are you all right, Diana?" Karl Ralston asked, able to pause momentarily now that most of the mop-up operations were completed, the situation pretty much in hand.

"I'm fine," Diana said, leaning against the fender of the squad car which had brought her and Karl to the scene of the shoot-out. "Just give me a minute or two."

"It's always worst the first time," Karl told her, moving off to give Diana a little breathing space.

Diana took several deep gulps of air, trying desperately to regain her composure. She didn't, after all, see any of the others looking all that peaked, did she? But then, none of the others were rookies at this time, like Diana was, were they?

"Why in the hell don't you have Karl run you back to the apartment?" Georgia Nawson asked, joining Diana by the car. "We've almost got things in control here."

"Really, I'm okay," Diana told her fellow policewoman and roommate. "I just need to catch my breath."

"Yeah, honey, I know just how much this kind of scare can do to blow a girl's mind," Georgia said, remembering her own initiation into the blood-and-guts reality of police work. 'The best thing you could do now would be to have Karl drive you back to the apartment and ball him when you get there."

"Jesus, Georgia!" Diana voiced, wondering if she were blushing. She had more than once wondered if she hadn't made a mistake in moving into the apartment with Georgia. Oh, hell, not because she didn't like Georgia; because, Diana did like her. It was just that Diana and Georgia were simply too different people in some aspects. Sexual differences being the most obvious at the moment. Georgia seemed to think nothing of balling any guy (on the force or off) who caught her eye. Diana, on the other hand, just wasn't as uninhibited. The idea of Georgia having suggested Diana go home and ball Karl was more than a little embarrassing to Diana.

"Take it from me, honey," Georgia said, all authority on the subject, "the best therapy for this bloodbath you just witnessed is a good workout with hard cock. And, baby, your partner has got a big enough cock to make you forget everything you saw here this evening."

"Maybe," Diana admitted. She had, after all, heard from more than one source that Karl Ralson was hung like a horse. "But, I'm afraid lam going to have to pass--. " Besides, there was no therapy Diana could imagine which was going to make her forget what happened here this evening. For that matter, she wasn't all that sure she wanted to forget what happened here. It was just this feeling of pleasure she had been searching out, wasn't she? Hell, yes. She had derived more sexual pleasure from these last few hours than she had those two years of marriage to Mervin.

"You won't mind if I bring back David, will you?" Georgia asked.

"David?" Diana asked, wondering if Georgia were referring to David.

"Yea, I've been wanting to see what that stud has had in his pants for one hell of a long time now. And this evening I could tell he was ready for just what Georgia here had to offer him."

Diana felt a resulting chill run up and down the length of her body. David . . . Jesus, David! Georgia was actually going to bring David back to the apartment!

"You sure you're okay, honey?" Georgia asked, her voice registering genuine concern.

"I'm fine," Diana insisted. "Really I am." But was she? The idea of having David in the same apartment-maybe even having to talk to him-was more frightening than the whole scene Diana had gone through already that evening.

Oh, not that Diana didn't plan eventually to talk to

David. But, that confrontation wasn't something she was prepared to rush into now. Hell, you didn't just walk up to your brother after ten years and say, "Hey, David, how you been?" No . . . no! You planned for the meeting, making it just the right place and just the right time. And at her apartment, when David arrived for an evening of fucking Georgia, certainly wasn't the right time or the right place.

"Listen, kid," Georgia said, turning to take a quick survey of the area. She caught sight of David Miller off to one side, pushing one of the surviving gunmen into a patrol car. She then saw Karl Ralston off to another side, talking to Peter Wyllis. "I don't give a shit what you say. I think you would do good to head on back to the apartment for a good night rest. You officially are off duty at twelve o'clock anyway, aren't you?"

Diana looked at her wristwatch, squinting to make out the time as registered on her luminescent watch dials. Christ, it was almost three in the morning! She had been here over four hours-and it seemed only like a few minutes.

"I've got all that paperwork to complete, Georgia," Diana reminded. Something like this was bound to have reams of paperwork that had to be filled out for upcoming court cases.

"Karl can take care of most of that routine," Georgia told her.

"I can carry my end, Georgia. Really I can."

"Don't be such a stubborn ass, Diana!" Georgia accused, shaking her head. "No one is going to think you can't handle yourself just because you got a little upset about all of this that went down tonight." She held up her right hand to keep Diana from breaking in with anymore nonsense. "I've seen grown men-the big, butch men, too-puke out their guts after gunning down their first man. No one, least of all Karkl, is going to play male chauvinist just because you don't feel like filling out a few goddamned forms."

Diana had killed a man! Jesus, she had almost forgotten she had killed a man! And, how in the hell did someone forget something like that?

"You wait here," Georgia instructed. "I'm telling Karl to get his ass over here to take you home."

"Georgia, I.. . "

But Georgia wasn't listening to anything Diana had to say by way of argument. She walked quickly across the blood-stained pavement to where Karl was still talking to Peter Wyllis. The three talked for a few seconds more, after which Karl broke away and headed back to Diana at the squad car.

"I'm awfully sorry about all of this, Karl," Diana said by way of apology. "Georgia has mistakenly gotten it into her head that I'm coming apart at the seams, when really. . . "

Karl had opened the passenger side of the car and was motioning Diana inside.

"Really, Karl, I'm fine."

"Did I say you weren't fine?" Karl asked with a big smile. He had an attractive face, especially attractive when he smiled. His mouth was, perhaps, a little too big, his startlingly white teeth a little too large; but, everything seemed to sit just right on his face: rugged but decidedly handsome.

"Then why. . . ? "

"Because, things are pretty well wrapped up here," Karl told her. "They don't need either of us any longer. And, I don't know about you, but I'm bushed."

"I see."

"And you wouldn't want to deprive me of my beauty nap, now would you?"

"Guess not," Diana said with a laugh. She scooted into the front seat, letting Karl shut the door behind her.

While Karl was walking around to his side of the auto, Diana could see how Georgia had moved over to talk to David. In the light of the flashing red lights on several squad cars, Diana saw her brother's attractive body standing so close to Georgia that the two were actually touching.

Jesus, was she jealous? Hell, what an absurd notion! How in the hell could Diana be jealous? Diana certainly couldn't be jealous that way, could she? Christ, David was her brother! Not her lover. And, she hadn't talked to him in well over ten years.

Karl pulled the car out through the blockade formed by several other squad cars. He turned onto a street whose wet pavement reflected the bright orange light of corner-spaced streetlights.

Diana pushed her head back into the leather headrest, enjoying-as always-the exotic smell of the leather. She shut her eyes, opening them with a start when the car came to a stop. She had fallen asleep without even knowing she had done so.

"I dozed," Diana announced, somehow embarrassed that she had allowed herself to drift off.

"Yea, I noticed," Karl said, accompanying again with a smile. "A night like tonight can take the stuffing out of most of us. But it's nothing that a good night's rest isn't going to cure, or.. . "

Diana aborted her efforts to exit the car, realizing that Karl had been going to say something more but had stopped before having done so.

"Or what?" Diana asked, realizing too late that she probably already knew the answer to that question and was only making matters more difficult for the both of them by asking Karl to be more specific.

"Or, I could come up for a few minutes if you think a little talk-or whatever-would help."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Diana said, trying her best to use a tone of voice that wasn't going to make Karl think she was rejecting him personally. Actually, if Diana hadn't just about given up sex after her unfortunate experience with short-lived marriage, she would have probably been more than happy to have Karl on up. Karl, after all, was a really nice guy who had given Diana none of the static a lot of the guys still managed to lie on the girls who joined the force. "Not tonight anyway. I'm bushed; and, I do recall you saying you were bushed, too."

"Yea, I guess maybe I did say that, didn't I?" Karl admitted with a little boyish grin. He wondered if Diana knew just how willing he would have been to bury his massive prick in her juice-sopped pussy.

"I'll try to make it to the office early tomorrow to fill out my share of those goddamned forms," Diana said, engaging the door handle and opening the car door. "If you get any static, give me a call, and.. . "

'There'll be no static," Karl promised. "I've been around so long, I can fill out those forms with my eyes closed."

Diana got out of the car, closed the door, and turned back to lean in through the open window.

"And, thanks Karl," Diana said. And, she was glad that Karl hadn't asked, "For what?" Because, it would have been a bit embarrassing to explain how Diana really wouldn't have been up to fending off his avarices if Karl had insisted that she let him come on up.

"We're partners, aren't we?" Karl said. "Partners watch out for each other, don't they?"

"Thanks, then, for watching out for me," Diana said. She pulled back, amused when Karl stayed parked right where he was until Diana had unlocked the door to her apartment building and was waving safely from the lobby.

Diana headed for the elevators, finding one waiting for her. She pushed the button for the tenth floor and felt the little lurch as the enclosure began to move.

The apartment Diana shared with Georgia was like none Diana had ever lived in before and would probably never live in again.

"It once belonged to a high-class hooker," Georgia had announced the very first time she had brought Diana around for a look-see. "After one too many busts, she decided to move on; and, one of the guys in vice, who knew I was looking for a place, clued me in on this one. I was sharing it with Barbara Botten-did you get a chance to meet her?-but she got transferred out to be with her boyfriend across town. So, since a cop like me can't afford the rent by myself that the hooker was putting out, I've got to find a roommie quick."

Diana had moved in two days later, not having really been aware of the apartment extras until she happened to open one of the linen closets to put away a couple of towels. She had stepped back, preparing to close the linen closet doors when she had somehow been drawn to the small crawl space beneath the bottom shelf.

"Ah, I see you've run across one of this place's added attractions," Georgia said, her voice filled with obvious amusement.

Georgia's voice, however, had been so unexpected that Diana's head had come up with a start to bang the wood overhang.

"Ohhhh," Diana moaned; however, in spite of the ache, she couldn't help laughing at the same time.

"You okay?" Georgia asked, searching through Diana's silky blonde hair for any sign of split skin.

"I'll survive . . . I think," Diana said, dropping to a kneeling position on the floor that gave her an even better view of the space beneath the shelves. What she saw, she wasn't quite sure. She knew what it looked like.

"That's part of a two-way mirror," Georgia said, realizing Diana's attention had been transferred back to what it had been focused upon at the time of Georgia's arrival. "As I told you, this place was once the stamping grounds of a very professional-type lady. She obviously had a few clients who enjoyed watching while she and some other John performed."

"Jesus!" Diana exclaimed, not knowing what else to say.

"While we're at it, why don't I take you around and show you the peepholes in your own bedroom," Georgia suggested, extending a hand to give Diana a lift to her feet. "Just in case you want to plug them up."

And Diana had plugged them up, too, hadn't she? She had also made sure that the mirrors in her room were exactly one-way, as they should have been. When she had completed her thorough tour, she found herself wondering why Georgia hadn't bothered taking out the two-way mirror that gave a viewer access into Georgia's bedroom; although, Diana didn't ask, since-what with the two women being the only two in the apartment-Diana had suddenly felt guilty about being so fucking paranoid by a couple, of peepholes. What was she expecting Georgia to do, come spying on Diana's activities in the bedroom?

Diana passed the linen closet on the way to her bedroom. Once in her bedroom, she shut the door and locked it.

Why in the fuck had she locked it? Did she think there was even the slightest chance that Georgia and David would come barging into Diana's bedroom by mistake? Hell, no, there was no chance of that! Still.. .

Diana stripped off her uniform and laid it on a chair by her bed. She stood for a moment in front of the full-length mirror (a mirror very similar to the one Georgia had in her bedroom, except that this mirror wasn't capable of allowing any unwanted eyes to spy into Diana's bedroom).

Diana liked what she saw reflected back to her. There was certainly nothing visible that indicated she was frigid. For that matter, there was no possible way she was going to believe she was frigid, no matter how often her goddamned husband had tried to dump his own inadequacies on Diana during the two-year course of their disastrous marriage.

Diana gave a toss of her blonde hair, watching the way her silky strands flowed outward in a sensuous halo around her head.

She had nice hair, nice eyes (blue), nice nose (pert), nice lips (full and sensuous). She had high cheekbones like some fashion models. She had a long neck, big breasts, narrow waist, long legs. In short, she had everything any man could certainly have asked for in a woman. So, why had her husband, after the first week of marriage, suddenly been unable to perform sexually? Oh, Diana thought she had the answer (that answer being that Mervin hadn't wanted a wife but a mother); but, Diana couldn't help having assimilated some of the blame.

Hell, maybe she should have let Karl come on up and screw her. It had been a hell of a long time since Diana had had real man-cock put to her.

So, why had she said no to Karl, when Karl was such a nice guy? Obviously, Diana had a few problems of her own. Oh yes, she could face up to them. One of her major problems being David. But, Diana didn't really want to begin any self-analysis now, did she? She was too fucking tired to worry herself with that shit!

She turned and walked away from the mirror, paying no attention whatsoever to the tantalizing display made by her firm ass in the reflecting surface of the mirror.

Diana turned on the water in the shower, adjusted the spray, stepped into the flushing liquid.

Goddamn, the water felt relaxing! She would have been content to spend the whole night ensconced within this sensuous wet-warm womb, but she knew she had to hurry and get her ass in bed. If Georgia got home and heard the shower, Georgia would know that Diana was still up. Georgia might have an inclination to ask Diana to come on out for a nightcap. And, Diana didn't want to do that, did she? Diana didn't want to face David quite yet on any kind of personal, face-to-face relationship. Diana just wasn't quite up to it-not yet anyway.

Diana stole the soap from its niche in the tile wall and quickly lathered her long, tapered fingers with the suds. Before replacing the soap, she rode its slick surface over the smooth curves of her full-blown breasts and down over the flatness of her belly.

Diana's caressing hands felt good as they glided over her water-glossed flesh. In fact, she was tempted to masturbate there in the shower: jam a hand up her cock-denied cunt until her whole body was trembling on her poking fingers. Because, there was no denying the fact that the gunfight earlier, accompanied as it was by the sounds of pain and men dying on the darkened city streets, had acted as a powerful aphrodisiac on Diana.

However, as sexually aroused as Diana was, there remained that other "certain something" inside of her which warned her of the possible consequences of doing with her vagina what it was demanding her to do.

There . . . was . . . simply . . . no . . . time!

Diana rinsed off her body and turned off the water. She slid back the door of the shower stall and stepped out. She reached for a large Turkish towel, her eyes automatically going to the small hole (now plugged) which existed in the bathroom wall off to one side. How many voyeurs had paid the last occupant of this apartment good money to stand on the other side of that wall (it was a clothes closet this time) and watch while the young woman stepped naked from the shower and played with herself there in the middle of the bathroom floor?

Diana shuddered, feeling the gooseflesh arise along her arms and legs, pimpling the large brown areola of her nipples.

Wrapping the large towel around her ample breasts (her nipples going harder as they chafed against the terry-cloth material), Diana left the bathroom and entered her bedroom.

She stopped in the center of the room and listened for sounds of Georgia and David. Simultaneously, her gaze was isolating the peepholes which had once given access (visually) to her room. She checked to make sure each of them (there were three) were still patched over.

Hell, what was she expecting: Georgia and David to be posed with their eyes glued to the holes? Those two probably had more immediate needs to satisfy than watching Diana dry herself off after a bath. Besides, Diana was almost certain, from the nature of the silence beyond her door, that Georgia and David hadn't come in yet.

Diana completed drying and carried the damp towel back to the hamper in the bathroom. She then returned to her bedroom, turned back the covers on her bed, turned off the lights, and crawled in between the sheets.

She tried to sleep. God knew, she was tired enough so that she should have dropped off the second she hit the mattress. So, why didn't she? Why did she just lie there, as stiff as a board, waiting?

Waiting for what for Christ's sake?

Diana started suddenly with the distant sounds of a key in the front door of the apartment.

Diana waited, continued listening, hearing the door come open. She heard Georgia say something. She heard a male voice reply. There was a combined laughter. The door shut. There were a few seconds of silence.

What were they doing out there? Diana found herself wondering. Her mind flashed with a series of erotic and obscene pictures.

David and Georgia would be kissing, their mouths straining, their tongues doing battle, their teeth pressing together in their sexual desire. Their bodies would be tight together, Georgia's big breasts mushroomed against David's police uniform. David's muscular arms would be wrapping Georgia's body, his hand gliding down Georgia's back to cup Georgia's firm, young buttocks. And down between David's muscular thighs, his big cock would be swelling to hardness (if it wasn't hard already), gathering strength and power for that moment in the offing when Georgia's legs would come open and David would be placing his prick downward into the moist female gash Georgia was so willingly offering. Oh, how big David's cock was, too, wasn't it? Oh, how big, and how thick, and how. . .

Stop it, Diana! Diana commanded herself. It wasn't right to imagine her own brother's body so vividly, was it? She had devoted way too much time to it in the past, hadn't she? How many times had she been thinking of David while opening her legs for her husband? And had Mervin sensed something to that affect? Was that why he was forever losing steam before he even got started? Could Mervin somehow tell that Diana wasn't thinking of him at all but of her own brother?

No, there was certainly no way Mervin could have known about David. Oh, he might have suspected Diana's fantasies about "someone", but not about whom specifically. Mervin, after all, didn't even know that Diana had a brother, did he? Besides, if Mervin had suspected, he wouldn't have missed the opportunity to throw it up in Diana's face: IT'S NO WONDER OUR MARRIAGE IS SO SCREWED UP IF YOU'RE FANTASIZING YOUR OWN GODDAMNED BROTHER EVERY TIME I TRY TO MAKE IT WITH YOU!

Someone laughed. David? Yes, David; and he was right there, wasn't he? He was right beyond Diana's closed bedroom door, down the hall, in the living room. Diana could tell by the renewed sounds that Georgia and David hadn't yet moved into Georgia's bedroom. But, then, maybe they weren't planning on going into Georgia's bedroom. Maybe they were stripping down to fuck out there on the living-room floor.

"Let's fuck right here, stud," Georgia would be saying (Diana could hear her saying something). "I can't wait to get that blood-engorged prick of yours rammed to its hilt inside of me."

"You've got a roommate, don't you?" David would be asking now (Diana heard his low voice).

"She's knocked out by now," Georgia would be saying, her fingers undoing David's leather belt before unzipping his fly.

"Jesus . . . Jesus . . . Jesus!" David was moaning; anyway, it sounded as if that was what he was moaning.

David and Georgia would step away from each other and quickly begin to strip, throwing their police uniforms into unruly heaps on the floor. Georgia's big breasts would come bounding free of her unfastened brassiere. David's thick prick would come bounding out of his dropped undershorts.

"Fuck me, stud, bastard!" Georgia would command. There was never any beating around the bush with Georgia.

Would Georgia fall back onto the rug, pulling David with her? Would she open her legs wide, hooking her heels in the small of David's back? Would she hump her hips upward, sinking her hair-fringed pussy up over David's big cock shaft until she felt the sweaty slap of David's bull-like balls against Georgia's puckered ass hole?

Or, would the two of them fuck standing up? Georgia wrapping her arms around David's neck and rising to her toes as David squatted slightly to bring his pulpy cock head into a nuzzling position against Georgia's eager pussy? Would Georgia lower her cunt downward as David was thrusting up . . . up . . . up . . . ?

No; they had just gone into Georgia's bedroom, hadn't they? Diana had heard the bedroom door shut and now the voices were no more than whispers muffled by walls and doors.

So, why hadn't they fucked right where they had been standing? Afraid Diana would come in and catch them at it?

Diana could physically feel the shuddering spasm inside of her that gushed lubricating female juices into her cock starved pussy. Sure of that profuse leakage, she was just as sure that some of it was oozing free of her pussy and was drooling down the inside of her milky thighs and into her ass crack.

Goddamn it, she should have had Karl come on up. Yes, goddamn it, she should have! She had been an ass . . . ass . . . ass!

Did Diana need a good fuck? Was that what was the matter with her? Was one good screw the panacea for all of her ills? Was the few-minute ride of Karl's big prick the one thing Diana needed to pull her out of whatever pit it was she had fallen into?

Hell, no! She didn't need a man! Any man! And, she sure as hell didn't need a man's cock, did she? What was cock anyway but a piece of rubbery flesh that moved in and out . . . in and out? Hell, Diana's hand could do just as good a job. As a matter-of-fact, using her ex-husband as a basis of comparison, Diana's hand had done a far better job than his prick.

Diana ran her right hand down over her breasts to her stomach, down her stomach to the blonde-pubic vee that clustered her crotch and grew to the puffy flesh that parenthesized her vaginal crack. She slipped her hand down further, curving her fuck-finger to hook the upper limits of her pussy.

Why in the hell had she ever married Mervin? Why? Or, was she only fooling herself by not admitting that she did know why she had married him?

No . . . No . . . No! To have married Mervin purely for those horrid suspicions of hers-those suspicions that sometimes forced themselves upon Diana-was indeed a perversion. If those reasons were the valid reasons, then the failure of Diana's marriage was undoubtedly more Diana's fault than it had ever been Mervin's blame.

God, Mervin had been one hell of a handsome stud, hadn't he? Diana remembered the first time she had seen him. She had glanced across the room, seen his thick blond hair, his classical features, his wide blue-green eyes, his dimpled right cheek, his cleft chin, his handsome body. And, what had she thought?

Come on, Diana! What in the hell did you think!

MY GOD, ITS DAVID! Yea.. . yea.. . yea. She had thought it was David, hadn't she? For a brief moment, she had believed Mervin was her brother. And for three years thereafter-even in the marriage bed-she had continued to pretend that Mervin was David.

Although . . . it. . . hadn't. . . been . . . the . . . same!

Not that Diana had ever actually gone to bed with her brother. Hell, no! It had been purely fantasy-that part. And, the very fact that it had been-fantasy

(reality would have probably made it far easier for Mervin to live up to it), made it almost impossible for Mervin to come across as anything else but lacking.

Oh, God, Diana was sick, wasn't she? But the sickness hadn't been cured by running away from it, either, had it? All that running had done was screw up Diana's life even more than it had been, besides leaving Mervin in a state wherein it would be doubtful if he would ever successfully service a woman; although, Mervin-during the messy divorce-had screamed out that he managed to satisfy a whole series of women who, unlike his wife, hadn't been carved of ice.

Goddamn, Diana shouldn't have run. She should have stayed. With David, that was: certainly not with Mervin.

But staying with David had simply become too much to handle, especially after that day David had touched her and Diana had touched him-down there in secretly private places.

Of course, the two of them had just been kids, hadn't they? Although, that wasn't quite true. They might have been mentally children, but physically they were both functioning adults. Diana, at fifteen, had been menstruating for more than two years. And David's groin was fuzzed with light blond hair. And, David's cock went hard. And, David's balls contained an ocean of gooey man-sperm whose heat Diana could still remember stringing her fingers.

It was that wonderful moment of mutual sexual discovery that had so frightened Diana into running, hadn't it? That wonderful . . . wonderful . . . moment had scared the shit out of her. Why? Well, aside from the fact that its incestuous implications were certainly enough to scare a fifteen-year-old girl, there had been something even more frightening about the idea that the more advanced incestuous longings she had only fantasized up until that point might well have become the reality had she stuck around. Because, on that sunny summer afternoon, there in the woods behind their home, Diana had discovered her brother could be manipulated by Diana into joining in the sexual games. And if Diana had had the ability to seduce David into mutual masturbation, then it would only have been a matter of time before she would have seduced him into. . .

"Ugh!" Diana grunted, her fuck-finger having hooked deeper to make contact with her distended clitoris. And Diana knew that, as good as her finger felt, David's cock would have felt even better. Oh, yes, she knew that without having ever sampled it inside of her. No cock, after all (not that Diana had seen all that many), had gotten her as excited as she had been that first time she had fisted her own brother's hard penis and had stroked it until it had spit out its milky goo.

But the thought of having David's cock letting loose its cum inside of her cunt instead of into her hand had been too horribly exciting a prospect, Diana having realized that it would have been too great of a temptation to resist for long. So, Diana, having thought-at fifteen-that the only solution to her dilemma had been to put David at a distance, had run.

And where does a young girl run when she is only fifteen? She runs to her grandmother, doesn't she? She turns up on her grandmother's doorstep one day in tears. And gives what as her excuse for running? Certainly not that she had a gnawing desire for her own brother's cock and was running away from those perverted needs inside of her. God no! What she said was that she had been molested by her own father, and she could no longer stand to live under the same roof with him.

And would Grandma Miller believe that her own son had taken indecent liberties with his own daughter? Oh, yes, she would believe, wouldn't she? And not because Diana, so obviously scared, had told such a convincing story, either. Oh, no. She believed because she had once walked in and found her son putting his tongue on Diana's hairless pussy before Diana had even known what her father was about. His tongue had felt mighty good as it had traveled back and forth along the slicking of Diana's young cunt.

So, Grandma Ruth Miller, who hadn't been speaking to her son since that first horrible incident, had been more than ready to believe the lie as Diana related it. Not that Diana ever looked upon it as a real lie. When she had become old enough to realize what had happened, she had seen the way her father had looked at her with lust in his eyes, knowing that the only thing that held him back was the fact that his own mother had threatened to turn him over to the police if it ever . . . ever . . . happened again.

Not that Grandmother Miller had turned her son over to the authorities after Diana had arrived on her doorstep with tales of another sexual advance. Ruth Miller had merely called her son's house (Paul hadn't been there, so Grandmother Miller had ended up talking to Diana's mother).

'Tell Paul that Diana is not coming back there, Pamela," Grandmother Miller had said. "She's not coming back there-ever! And if he says one word to the contrary, I swear to God, I'll see that he's ruined."

Which wasn't just idle talk. Not only would Ruth

Miller have gone to the police, but, failing in that, she would have had other means at her disposal to ruin Paul Miller. Paul's mother had still owned a nice little pile of Miller Electronic stock and had enough friendly ties with fellow stockholders to pull in the majority needed to kick the president of the company-that being Paul Miller at the time-out on his degenerate ass.

Paul having known he would be unable to successfully deny the lie, didn't bother to protest it. Possibly because he had known he had been tempted all along to further explore his maturing daughter's developing voluptuousness and, thus, welcomed her removal from the scene.

Pamela Miller, surprisingly enough, had been just as glad to have her daughter out of the way as Paul had been. While Pamela had been able to convince herself she was concerned mainly for the safety of her daughter from Paul's amorous advances, Pamela had secretly been jealous of Diana ever since that moment (maybe even before) Grandmother Miller had brought the house down with the screams of abhorrence at the scene Ruth had inadvertently come across in an upstairs bedroom.

So, Diana had gone off to Europe with her grandmother, growing spoiled on the money and the gifts Ruth had lavished on her in an effort to make up for the supposed abominations performed on Diana's person by Diana's father-Ruth's son. Diana had moved on to private schools and finally to college.

Diana's life hadn't been sexless before Mervin; but neither had it been all that exciting, either. Diana had lost her virginity to a dark-haired Italian in Lucerne, one spring vacation, all the while listening to his huffs and puffs and comparing them to the sounds of shocked surprise David had exclaimed that moment his cock had shot off in Diana's hand.

Just as Diana had spent most of her last ten years listening to the young men atop her, comparing them to David (or how she imagined David would sound).

David.. . who.. . was.. . right.. . that.. . moment . . . in . . . the . . . very . . . next . . . bedroom.

"Ahhhhh, yesssss!" Diana sighed, her thumb and index finger tweaking the swollen bud of her clitoris.

And what a road Diana had traveled to get back to David! On several occasions, Diana had suggested to Ruth that it might be nice if Diana could once again see David. Ruth had been appalled at the idea, apparently believing-intuitively-like father like son. And had Ruth Miller still been living (she had since died of a stroke), it was highly unlikely that Diana would be here where she was now.

Of course, while Ruth's death had certainly simplified matters to some degree, they certainly hadn't made any proposed reunions as simple as falling off the proverbial log, either. Especially since Paul Miller had been completely cut off in Ruth's will (except for the pittance that Ruth's lawyers had assured would keep Paul from bringing suit against the estate). Diana had gotten everything, which certainly hadn't made her any welcome addition back in the Miller household as long as Paul had been alive.

However, by that time, the only thing which might have brought Diana knocking on her parents door was no longer living at home. David had, in fact, become a full-fledged policeman. Which Diana had found strange only until she remembered how David had always been fond of doing dangerous things. David had always been jumping the big gap between the house and the garage. At a picnic one summer, he had ridden the rapids in an inner tube before anyone had even missed him (he had broken his little finger in the process).

And that day in the woods-that day Diana remembered so well-something had happened, then, too, hadn't it? Something quite beyond the sexual, which was somehow-mysteriously-part of the catalyst which had brought them together in subtle incestuous sexual games. The two had climbed to the top of a pine tree, rocking the tree back and forth . . . back and forth. Then, holding to the top, they had completely dropped their feet free, letting their combined weight pull the treetop down to the ground, David screaming his, "Let go!" just before the pine trunk could snap under the strain.

David and Diana had been panting after their ordeal. Diana's knees had been skinned (she would later get hell for her torn dress). David had a cut on his left cheek that was bleeding. Diana remembered the blood, remembered other things about that afternoon, too, didn't she? She recalled the glazed look in David's blue-green eyes. She remembered the bulge in the crotch of David's pants. She remembered . . . she remembered . . . OH, GOD, SHE REMEMBERED . . . she . . . she . . . she. . .

"EEEEEEIIIIIII!" Diana squealed helplessly on the bed, her body jerking out of control. Her juicy cunt spasmed violently around her plugging fuck finger. Her clitoris pulsed against the rubbing tips of her index finger and thumb.

Diana's mind flashed one final time with the erotic visions of her brother's sweat-glossed body banging the total length of his cock inside of her. She then let out one long, low mewl of shame and enjoyment before collapsing exhausted on the bed.

Diana pulled her finger out of her slippery cunt, ashamed. . . ashamed . . . ashamed that, in spite of being ashamed, she had done what she had just done.

WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS SHE DOING HERE?