Chapter 10
While she poured the vodka, Nola fought to ignore an inner sense of wrongness. Not wrongness for Johnny because he seemed calm and unperturbed. But it had seemed to Nola that during the brief moments when the Indian nurse had said good bye for the day, there had been nearly a conspiratorial understanding between her brother and Monet. There had been some laughter and a quip or two about his inability to beat her at gin rummy. Nothing to put a finger on, but the uneasiness made Nola nervous, and she nearly dropped Johnny's drink.
"Thanks, sis," he said when she brought him the tall glass. "Turn that TV down, if you like. Kind of gets on your nerves when it's so loud." He sipped his drink and stretched his legs by twisting his hips. "Good day at the office?"
Nola blinked. He had seldom before even evinced an interest in her work. "Oh, the usual. How'd things go with you and Monet today?"
"Great. She's a gas, really. Lots of laughs. Takes care of me like I was the big baby I am." He pointed to a little clay jug on the fireplace mantle. "That's her grandmother's snake oil. Gave me a rubdown with it today, and my legs feel great. Boy, are her little stubby fingers strong! Made me yell a couple of times."
"Oh Well, I'm glad you get along well with her, Johnny. It takes a big load off of my mind. And she keeps the house so neat! She's kind of an odd little person, isn't she? I wonder if she's ever been married?"
"Nope. She told me quite a lot about Indians. Little things. She may never get married. She doesn't want to hitch up with an Indian, and she says she's too fat and ugly to get a white man, so to hell with it. I have a hunch she'd make a beter fat and ugly wife than half the good-looking chicks in town. Sure as hell knows how to take care of a man!"
Then Nola knew what her uneasiness sprung from. She was jealous, not of the round little Indian, but of her service to Johnny. In just two days, she had managed to move in and usurp Johnny's dependence upon Nola, and he didn't seem to even notice his shift of allegiance.
"Did-did she give you a bath?" Nola asked.
"No. You can help me tonight. She said the longer the oil is allowed to soak in, the better. Funny-smelling stuff."
Nola sniffed. The odor was all over the house, and to her it smelled exactly like the girl's locker room at college. While they listened to the news, she invented pictures of Monet giving Johnny's legs a rubdown with "-her little strong, stubby fingers." Without his trousers, that was certain, since no pair of shorts ever made could completely hide the length and girth of Johnny's penis. She also doubted that Johnny could submit to thirty or forty minutes of fingers, stubby, strong and theoretically dedicated to therapy without getting a little horny. She wasn't even able to think about it without getting the strong tingling in her belly. Nola could imagine the things Monet had thought, toying with a big handsome man whose half hard cock lay only inches way. No intention of marrying an Indian, and too fat and ugly to get a white man. But jolly fat and ugly, as Nola thought about her, not so very fat and not so very ugly. Nola suddenly wanted to cry.
Throughout dinner she kept waiting, and nothing rewarded her anxiety. Johnny did not lay a hand on her, nor make any acidic remarks about her big tits or prominent bottom that always preceded his sexual attentions. Perhaps, she thought, it was due to his immobility and his worry over his legs. She deliberately managed to stand close or walk by him within arm's length, but he didn't seem to notice. He did seem to laugh a lot, and this only proved that Monet had left him in a relaxed and happy mood. To Nola relaxed and happy meant that she had somehow reached Johnny's unpredictable consciousness. In her own experience, the only way to reach her brother's unpredictable consciousness was to lull him into passivity through sex.
And when she helped him undress prior to giving him a bath, Nola was barely able to contain her heartbreak. Johnny's cock hung in swollen testimony, the foreskin puffed, the head distended by abuse. His body was mildly coated with oil that made his skin as soft as her own, and possessed a subtle gleam. Because it was something she had done before, Nola took his prick in her quivering hand, feeling its oily sleekness. Johnny did not protest. He passed his hands under her robe and fondled her angrily throbbing tits.
"What happened, Johnny?" she asked in a subdued tone.
"Only a bum kisses and tells," he chuckled.
"Johnny, Johnny!" she wailed, going to her knees between his parted legs. "Don't you know how much it means to me? Do you think I-or any woman-could go through the last few months and not end up either hating you or loving you? Loving you not only as a brother, but as a man?"
She felt him tense. "I'm not a man," he growled.
"Oh, you foolish darling!" Nola exclaimed and her mouth came open as she leaned to take his swelling prick in her lips. There was only a faint oily taste; she closed her eyes and loved his cock with all the adeptness of her tongue and mouth.
In her mind she had strange visions. The hot delight in her lips nudging and spreading Monet's Indian cunt, opening her little fatness and snuggling deep. She could hear Monet's gasps and little moans, and she could see how the brown body must have writhed and humped. And the big hands that now rested on her shoulders would have pressed and fondled Monet's, down her back and to her ass, because Johnny loved to handle an ass, even fuck it with his eager fingers. Nola shuddered, her soft sucking and licking speeding as she thought in positive agony. Presently she released his prick and lay her cheek to his inner thigh, idolizing the rigid club of flesh so close before her eyes.
"Johnny, I can't stand it!" she suddenly blurted.
"Oh, shut up, will you? So I fucked the broad! And I'll fuck her again tomorrow. That's got nothing to do with us, and you know it. If I fucked a dozen broads, it wouldn't take anything from you! Prick is prick. It's the balls that count and without jism, not a fucking thing I do with you or any other babe means a goddamned thing!"
His words were like knives in her heart, but she was too stunned to protest or try to explain her feelings. She sat up straight, her fingers weighing and testing the stout root of his cock, then creeping out to gently pinch and deform the ponderous head. Her cunt leaked so, she could feel the wetness between her legs. Her nerves sang with want, and her mind seemed somehow only an extension of her vagina. Trapped by the bitch animal that lurked under her tawny skin, Nola raised her eyes to her brother and smiled wistfully.
"I guess I get-carried away, Johnny. Did you like her?"
He shrugged. "First Indian babe I even hosed," he said. "It was interesting. Once I got it in good and tight and she got going, it was pretty good."
"Everything. Do you do everything with her?"
"Everything Nope! We didn't take a bath together!"
He clung to a towel rack while she climbed into the tub, her body trembling with anticipation. Standing with her tapered legs well apart, Nola leaned and supported Johnny with her hands under his hairy armpits. Then, one by one, he lifted his legs and plunged them into the warm water. He slid off the edge of the tub, twisted and sat down, Nola's feet straddling his hips. With no mirth at all, he leaned forward and put his mouth to her crotch, his tongue slipping between the lips of her cunt to find and titillate her already-vibrant clitoris.
Nola sighed and kinked her knees to open herself for the delightful pressure of his kiss. Her heart sang; he was intimate and tender, and perhaps he hadn't lied about his indifference toward Monet. She felt his hands at her ass, working the cheeks apart then together, feeling their firmness and the tight valley between them. Looking down at the bob and turn of his beautiful head, Nola let her senses reel into the exquisite sensual headiness that seemed not unlike an anesthesia. She rolled and relieved her tits with her own fingers, and as Johnny's tongue began to build an irritation, she strained downward as if to force her sex entirely into his throat. After a moment or two, she decided he was going to suck her off. The prospect was exciting, demanding and Nola cooed with pleasure. When his finger touched her anus, she wriggled, wanting that too, and he sent his forefinger into her rectum with familiar agility. Now she began to pant and twist, urging her sex to his mouth, bobbing her bottom on his deeply inserted digit. Her knees became quivery and she steadied herself against the wall. Tipping her head back, she fucked her brother's face with calculated fury, her tits popping and snapping with the movement of her body, her mouth coming open as if she wanted to scream her passion to the ceiling. Then her left hand went to his head, holding him tight to the pulsating flesh while her massive excitement hovered at the edge of cum.
"Ooh, augh-ugh!" she gasped, and her cunt seemed to gather, wring itself and exploded into the cavern of her brother's mouth. Her legs gave way, and she folded down into his embrace. Madly, she fought his lips with hers, tasting herself while the orgasm thumped and faded into heavenly after fire.
She found his prick with her unsure fingers and Nola melted down on Johnny with shudders of ecstasy.
"Hey, baby, you were hot!" he said in her ear.
She could only nod. "Aren't I always, Johnny?"
"Sure, but not just like you are now! Hey. I'll bet my talking about Monet-Did you think about her while I was sucking?"
She didn't want to, but she had nodded before caution controlled her emotions. "Yes, yes," she breathed. "Oh Johnny, you said many times that I b-belonged to you. Well, you belong to me, too, baby! Oh God! But all I could think about was how you looked when you were making love to her-maybe how she looked, humping and twisting and sobbing while you f-fucked her! Oh, Johnny, if I'd only been here to see it! Am I a terrible bitch, Johnny?"
"Moderate bitch," he replied with a chuckle. "My prick is about to blow up! Do something good with it, baby!"
Eagerly, inspired by his declaration of need, Nola gathered herself above him, her knees up under his arms, her bended ass waving and fluttering just high enough to let his cock kiss and indent the rounds of her spraddled ass. His hands went to her buttocks, cupping and controlling and he hunched up enough to bury the head of his organ in her cunt. She understood. Long ago, he had told her about the furious tensions, the magnificent control the Vietnamese girls exercised in the squatting position. Even a flaccid cunt, weary from endless pricks, became gripping and animated when the woman bounced on folded legs. Now, her thighs tugging, her belly tight, she lowered her ass until the water warmed her skin. She knew it was going to hurt her vagina to fuck under the surface because the twisting, undulation movements turned his prick to a pump piston, but she was so hot, so excited that the impending pain seemed almost like a delicious promise. His prick perked straight up into her quim and her ass-cheeks touched his nearly lifeless thighs. It felt so good, Nola could only shudder. Then she began to bounce, and the water formed in small choppy waves around them.
Johnny made a face and grunted, "Yeah!"
Nola clung to his neck to emphasize and increase the tempo of her bouncing. Never loose, her cunt now seemed locked around his distending cock, and she could count the flattened rolls of his foreskin as they coursed in her sex sleeve. It was good, but in a sustaining way because in such a position her clitoris thrust out from her vulval flesh, uncaressed except by the slap and heat of the bathwater. But it was enough, combined with the deep vaginal filling and the overwhelming passions in her mind, to make her body vibrate like the bass pipes of a perfectly played organ. Once more Johnny brought her to cum with his finger, screwing and plunging in her rectum, feeling the soft walls, the hotly constricting sphincters. Abruptly, she raised up and off of his cock, balancing on the thin line of orgasm. It urged and pressured and hesitated long enough for her to move so his prick, as rigidly there as if it were imbedded in concrete, tried to displace his fingers, or join them, Nola prayed. Cock hand, everything up her asshole. Johnny withdrew his finger from her anus and his cock oozed in before her shocked nerves could react. With a cry of victory, Nola dropped her weight and came blazingly as his cock shot up her ass. Johnny gasped and hunched, and his orgasm was like whole new fuck, extending her own cum until they lay in the water like two exhausted cuttlefish.
"Water's getting cold," Johnny complained, after a minute.
Nola sat up on his cock, it was not hard but it lay like a constipated turd, filling her rectum, giving her the delightful feeling of being full. Twisting, she turned on the water, leveling its temperature with hot and cold. Then she let her feet slide back so she could rest her belly on his and lay her cheek to his shoulder.
"This is the way I love it, Johnny," she said. "You and me and all the wonderful things we do together. I don't care what my name is-I don't care about your balls. Of course I want your legs to get well, but you'll never know how much I feared the day when they were strong enough to walk you away from me!"
"You're a nut," he decided.
She giggled and wiggled her ass. "Hot nuts, huh, man?"
Later, lying dreamy and satisfied, the wonderful passions still tingling her body, Nola wondered at herself. For the first time she had virtually told her brother she was in love with him, not as a sister, and now she tried to understand what she had said. It had taken jealously of another woman to crystallize her own feelings. She had been afraid, her mind full of visions of how Johnny might succumb to the little Indian girl.
To Nola, love meant only the maintenance of the status quo. Secretly she did not believe Johnny's legs would ever return to normal or even to the beginning stages of repair they had enjoyed the night he had fucked so hard, he had had a devastating stroke. In another secret compartment of her mind she also didn't believe Johnny could ever fully change his manner of life or his inability to rationalize her or the world around them.
To her private horror, she admitted these things, despite the months she had spent in deepest personal degradation to effect his cure. Or had she really adored the sacrifices she had made? The nerves in her ass purred with content, her tits lay like happy balloons on her chest. What other sister in the world would have succumbed to Johnny's brutal sexuality? What other woman, sister or not? She shuddered. Had he taught her anything at all other than the mechanics of fuck? More realistically, she thought, he had just triggered a natural phase of her sensuality, one that matched his in every extreme even though it flourished in an emotional garden that was patently feminine.
Finally faced with the nature of her confessions, she began to think differently about her brother. It had been the doctor at Letterman who had suggested that Johnny might be suffering from a brain concussion and massive psychological trauma. Nola had no proof of Johnny's mental weakness. It had been her private fears that had momentarily associated him with Cranden's rape-murders. The matter of Freddy was objectively understandable. He had been sure she had entered into some erotic play with the dog. Had it been another man, he would have been equally angry. A man he might not have killed, but Freddy had only been a dog. As Nola justified Johnny's actions, her own personal sense of guilt began to relax. Without understanding how, she leveled herself with her brother. He did things, and she did things, and tonight they had done things together in the bathtub in perfect harmony with each other's mental and physical desires.
And she had no intention of giving up her acknowledged love to a half-breed Indian girl. Then, because her body and mind still vibrated to unrestrained lust, she began again to think about how Johnny and the nurse had looked that afternoon, and her cunt increased its pulsations and her tits revived their points. Thoughts of love and tenderness faded behind the bold images of obscene beauty, and her blood raced with vicarious cum.