Chapter 11
When she went in to awaken Johnny at seven-fifteen the following morning, he was already awake. He sat on the edge of his bed, his robe a loose, poorly adjusted tent around his slouched frame, His left arm lay out at his side, almost as if it weighed too much for him to arrange comfortably. His right hand rested on his knee, and Nola stared at it with mounting horror. It looked precisely as his left had looked the previous day, the fingers curled and dtrangely claw-like.
"Johnny? Are you all right?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"
He looked up and smiled one of his crooked, sardonic smiles.
"I'm fine," he said. "Help me to the bathroom, sis."
He raised his right arm and put it over her shoulder, but it was only the kink of his wrist that gripped. It was all Nola could do to get him up on his feet, and then she had to hold him because there was no stiffness in his legs, and he could not control his knees. She virtually carried him to the bathroom, then stood outside in the hallway, terror turning her flesh to ice. The several small thumps and muttered curses that came through the door only sufficed to cement her fright.
When he knocked, she opened the door, and he was on his hands and knees. Nola screamed, then rushed to help him up. It was nearly more than she could manage, and the trip back to his bedroom left her breathless and trembling.
"Johnny, you've got to let me call a doctor! My God, Johnny! Be reasonable! You're sick, honey, terribly sick."
"Shut up. I'm okay. You know how I feel about doctors, and that's that! Anyway, I'll be all right after a few days. I whipped it once, sis, and I can whip it again. Just bring me my breakfast today. Monet can take care of me from there on. Cut out that bawling before I belt you one!"
"Y-yes, Johnny!"
"Fortunately Monet arrived a few minutes early. Seeing Nola at work in the kitchen, she came bouncing in and curled an arm around her.
"How are you this morning, honey?" she asked, her voice an intimate husk. "Hey! What's with the tears, Nola?"
"It's Johnny! Some time last night-Oh, Monet, he can't use his right hand this morning! And he just curses at me when I t-talk about a doctor. Oh what are we going to do, Monet?"
"Wait. Let me go see just what happened."
Nola shuddered. Monet was no doctor, but she had had a great deal of experience around invalids. And no matter how hard Nola tried to convince herself, Johnny was an invalid. More so, she guessed, than in the beginning because his path now seemed downhill. She made a mess of breakfast, her mind leaping from pain to pain, from guess to hope. When Monet came back, her face was expressionless. She shook her head and shrugged her square shoulders.
"I think he had another little stroke last night or this morning. It doesn't seem to be thrombosis or any vascular failure like I've seen. It's more like neuro-muscular deterioration. Oh gee, Nola! I know so little. Only a doctor could really tell. Don't you think-"
"Yes, I do! But Johnny just has a fit whenever I mention a doctor."
Monet shrugged. "So screw him! Call a doctor anyway! There's a big veteran's hospital in Boise. They'll have him in a special care ward in a jiffy!"
Nola looked away, her eyes seeing repeated and accented visions of Johnny back in a hospital. She remembered the many bitter stories he had told her about lying like a chopped vegetable while the Army doctors pondered and treated and hoped there was something they could do with his mutilated body. Foremost in her mind, because she knew nothing about his true physical condition, was his probable mental degeneration once he went back to the hospital. She shook her head.
"Help me give him his breakfast, Monet. Maybe we can both talk to him after he eats. I know he'll have to be fed. He couldn't hold his toothbrush or brush his h-hair, this morning."
Monet patted Nola's shoulder. "Cheer up, honey. We can take care of him. He's not in much shape to fight back, really!"
He fought back with cheerfulness and laughter, taking a bite of egg-soaked toast from Monet, then a piece of crisp bacon and a sip of coffee from Nola. Occasionally one or the other would try to ask a question, and he shrugged answers or ignored them completely. When breakfast was over, Nola mentioned that she would not go to work that day. "I'd just make a million mistakes and probably get fired, anyway."
Johnny chuckled. "And anyway, we have more fun at home, huh?"
"Oh Johnny, I'm so worried!" Nola wailed, when Monet took the tray back to the kitchen.
He swept the covers away with his still-mobile right fist. The sight of his big prick, standing straight and rigid and pulsing hit Nola like a ruthless fist. He lay there, bare from mid-thigh to the top of his head, his flashing eyes and slow smile the same as she had always known them. If there was any difference in him, it was in his hands, lying quietly at his side instead of reaching for her trembling body. Pity, helplessness and a desire to show him her love welled up and joined the secret longing the sight of his lovely cock had brought to focus in her own sex. With an animal cry she fell forward, her mouth closing over his prick as if she were starving.
Monet entered the bedroom, stopped abruptly when she saw Nola sucking the huge hard-on, then slowly moved to stand behind the hunched figure. Then she leaned down and put both hands under Nola's belly, feeling her way into the robe and under the filmy nightgown. Nola, vaguely aware that Monet had returned, shifted her hips, and she felt the soft, eager touch of the Indian girl's fingers at her quim. A wail of unnatural excitement escaped Nola's mouth and became a soft, saliva-wet sound around Johnny's cock. A morbid headiness attacked Nola; somehow, worry, anguish, concern and terror bubbled up and settled back into a furious sexual demand. The feel of Johnny's prick in her mouth was like a powerful pain-killer and she rolled the flesh, tasting its faintly salty goodness, teasing the small curves and sensitive places as if to impart her sudden happiness to her brother.
An almost childish certainty came to her-as long as Johnny could support his delightful cock and gasp and grunt as she made lewd love to him, he was still Johnny. The thick shaft in her fingers was strong and real, the heat of his skin was thrilling. And then she discovered that her ass was rolling and that Monet's adept fingers had parted her cunt to tease her clitoris into rigid thrusting desire. Hands. Johnny's cock in her throat, small intent fingers gathered under her writhing crotch, her tits now thumping with ecstasy as she deformed them on Johnny's thick thigh.
Nola forgot about hospitals and doctors and limp hands, and her whole being crawled up to enliven her tongue and throat, now so hungry. She formed a round circle of her pursed lips, and her head moved up and down, closing around the middle of his cock and dragging out with ever-increasing pressure until the soft layer of head flesh around the hard core inspired her to plunge down again. Back and above her, the heat of Monet's body came in quivers, and Nola shifted her ass again, to give her hunching hips more room to play. She slid one hand up and forward, feeling Johnny's chest. It rose and fell with his building passion. Under the haired curves of his muscles, his heart beat hard and fast. Then she found his neck and discovered that his head was beginning to move from side to side, as if the avidness of her sucking were too acute to stand.
His response nearly drove her wild. She curled more, fucking Monet's fingers, translating the ecstatic pressure to her brother's prick. And then she felt the root of his prick thicken in her fingers and the glans fatten and harden in her lips. She also felt his cum, and let her own join in the writhing frenzy of his belly. It thudded in her mouth, and as she had always done, she swallowed as if jism were there, pulsating her sucks to the tempo of his cock. And not until he was still, except for the nasal rush of breath through his nostrils, did Nola realize that his orgasm had been strangely docile, and that only his cock had thumped. The usual rise and hunch of his hips had not occurred. Dazed, suddenly remembering the underlying tragedy of her brother's condition, she raised her head.
"Y-your hips," she murmured. "You didn't-"
He raised his right hand and gently cuffed her chin with the back of it. "But you sure did!"
"She surely did!" Monet laughed. "I was fine until she started to cum! I damn near pissed my pants when her quiff started to pump and bite. Oh hell! Let's strip down and get with it!"
"All right now, Johnny?" Nola asked, trying to smile.
"Charging, baby! What a life! All I have to do is lie back and get it!" He wriggled so his softening cock slapped back and forth.
Nola let her hand slip out and curl under his splayed buttock. Deliberately, she dug her well-manicured fingernails into the splay. He didn't even wince, and she bit her lip and stood up. Monet was already half out of her uniform.
"Closer," Johnny husked. "I want to see it real close!"
Nola stood, her quivering nakedness seeming very obscene to her but somehow, very exquisite. Monet held the huge dildo in her right hand, rolling a fresh condom over it with her left fingers. She stood so Johnny could feel her low, plump ass with the back of his hand. When the rubber sheath was stretched and smoothed, like a lewd pink-white skin over the brutal knob of the marriage stick, Monet opened the jar of face cream Nola had brought from her bedroom. She thrust in two brown fingers and brought out a thick glob.
"Bend over honey," she giggled. "Let mama loosen you up."
"Close, now," Johnny demanded.
Nola leaned over slowly, feeling her throbbing tits swing free as she braced one hand to the bed beside Johnny's immobile legs. She parted her feet, her legs stiffening to raise and lift her ass to Monet. Then she held her breath, caught strangely in apprehension and equally, poignant physical fear. She felt Monet's bare arm go over her back, then the cool kiss of the creamed fingers. Carefully, Monet spread the lubricant in the secret nest, slowly letting her fingertips press into Nola's asshole. The touch sent quivers through Nola, and she caught her breath at the illicit contact. Monet sent her fingers in until her folded third knuckle stopped the intrusion, then she began to work the sphincter ani, stretching, spreading and screwing her two fingers as if to ream the delicate aperture to giant dimensions. Nola fought the urge to clinch her anus around the plunging digits: she wanted to fart and maybe to shit, but the furious sensations made her want to be fucked there even more. Now Monet was massaging the flesh above and the flesh below the relaxed aperture, as if to soften the resistance.
"Hurry up and stick it in her ass," Johnny rasped. "Hurry!"
Nola moaned and sent her left fingers back under to her cunt. She held it open, feeling the near to bursting clitoris with her middle finger. Then she saw Monet's bare legs move behind her own. The feel of the greased dildo was terrifying. It spread her bended cheeks, snugging between their muscular rounds and the semi-pointed tip indented her anus; it would never go, no matter how much Johnny wanted to see it up her ass, and instantly Nola wanted it to go in and in and up and up, no matter how much pain it caused.
She could hear Monet's breath coming in excited pants. Nola waved her ass and tried to relax. The dildo pressed, and it was then she realized just how huge and unforgiving the marriage stick really was.
"Oh God! Oh, Monet, be c-careful! Oh, my ass, my ass!"
"Give it to her!" Johnny demanded.
Nola shrieked then chopped it off with her teeth in her lip as Monet screwed and shoved the bludgeon in. Then it seemed to choke. Nola's asshole felt like fire, her buttocks ached at the spreading. "Wait, wait!" she pleaded.
"Fuck her with it!"
"You all right, honey?" Monet asked. "Jesus, you ought to see!" She turned Nola a bit. "Look in the dresser mirror, Nola!"
Raising and turning her head, Nola stared. She saw herself folded almost double, her perfect ass high, and from her rectum, now only a perforated dimple, thrust the half-buried dildo. It made two valleys in her nates, and below the grotesque shaft with its false balls and twisted handle, her cunt hung low and wet and open, as if the intruder had crowded her pelvic containments beyond limits.
Behind her lewdly entered ass, Monet stood, her fat body half-crouched and her face shoved close, as if to inhale every detail. And behind their obscene bodies, Johnny lay, his eyes burning into the madly entered rump. Her rump. Nola could feel the monstrous knob, filling and straining her rectum. Her cunt throbbed, her tits swung stiffly, so bloated were they with passionate blood. And then the pain seemed to spread and disappear, and she convulsed her belly, trying to feel more of the huge spear.
"All right, all right!" she painted. "I'm ready, Monet! Fuck me with it. Unless I scream, go deep, baby!"
Monet's hand stirred the dildo, then pressed. Shocked by the movement, Nola found she had to straighten up to receive it in her contorted torso. Then she closed her eyes, overcome with brutal passion. She felt it hurt her as if it were spreading and shredding her bowel. But the fire was so exquisite, so excitingly compelling, she could only moan and pant through clenched teeth. Thoughts of what she permitted, of Johnny's warped cruelty in demanding that she submit and Monet's eager manipulation of the marriage stick, combined to flood Nola's brain with delicious shame and agony.
Then she thought of nothing as the greased dildo began to course and stroke in her ass. It moved her insides, pistoning, and she felt pumped, blown full of fire and strangely sucked as the long device retreated before Monet shot it in again. Nola groaned, her head began to roll and her ass fucked back, controlled by the excruciating thrust, hard, unforgiving and ruthless. She manipulated her cunt, pinching her clitoris, digging into her constricting vagina with furious hunger. Then she felt her cum approaching and her knees began to buckle. The tensions tightened, the dildo grew enormously, and with a cry of sweet surrender Nola collapsed across Johnny's legs, her own stiffened and spread, her ass fucking the bodiless giant in her rump.
"Stop, stop!" she panted. "Oh, Monet, baby, t-take it out!"
"Leave it in her ass," Johnny laughed. "Turn her so I can see better!"
"Yes, yes. Leave it-leave it in," Nola pleaded, Oh, my God, it's b-big!"
She pushed back, turning her face to her brother. He was leering oddly; then the leer turned to a crooked smile. Monet was standing, her eyes closed, her legs apart, fucking air with slow, intensely lewd undulations of her plump ass. Nola put out one hand, and with grouped fingers entered the dark scarlet lips in the moist black hair.
"Aaugh-ha!" Monet gasped and her cunt spewed Nola's, fingers out as the violent orgasm burst in her pumping belly.
Nola stood with her legs well apart, trying to be comfortable with the marriage stick's handle sticking straight down from between her weary buttocks. Her stance was an awkward arc, her cunt was distended, drooling, half-open. She let small motions flutter from her tits down to ease the growing agony in her bowel and to please the fire in her vagina.
On the bed, Monet was rolling and humping down on Johnny's revived prick. He lay flat, arms uselessly out, his face a mask of pure animal pleasure. His cock waved and twisted in Monet's quim as if on a ball joint. There was no movement of his hips and no tensing of his legs. So violent were Monet's fucking movements that her tit tips scraped and tickled Johnny's chest, and her belly slapped on his. Her hands gripped him convulsively, and her fingers dug and raked his flesh. Once he turned his head and smiled sleepily at Nola, licked his lips and let his eyes close again in placcid lust.
Nola turned and waddled from the bedroom, bracing her battered body against the wall when she reached the hallway. Restrained tears, of pain and mental anguish, trickled down her cheeks. She bowed with difficulty and took hold of the dildo handle. She tugged, writhing to help the expulsion. The slide of the long column made her groan with hurt and good, and then she had to twist and jerk it to free her numbed anus of the head knob. Her asshole seemed to suck in cool air; her belly twitched with relief. Holding the fouled device, she moved to the bathroom. Through the door to Johnny's room, she could hear Monet croon and laugh, and then the deep chuckle from her brother and indistinct words.
Nola sat on the toilet a long time before her shocked body could evacuate. She held her head in her hands and panted, vainly trying to think, instinctively afraid to remember, and unwilling to give up trying. Then she looked at her watch and it wasn't even noon yet.
She stripped the condom from the dildo and flushed it. Then she gently washed her soiled body with warm soapy water and a most irritating washrag. She was drying herself when Monet appeared at the door, her rounded belly heaving, her brown throat pulsing with the race of her heart.
"My God, Nola!" she wailed, and they closed in a tight embrace.
"I'm so-so afraid!" Nola cried. "He seems to be just-just wilting before my very eyes!"
"No, no," Monet murmured. "He's just tired, baby. Christ, he's blown his wad three or four times since breakfast. He's all right. I think he's sleeping now. Oh, you poor, poor darling!"
Nola winced as Monet's petting hand sent a cautious finger to her swollen anus. "It's all right. It was what he wanted. It'll be f-fine in the morning."
Monet laughed drily. "I hated so to do it to you, Nola. Then I popped my gun twice while I did it! Oh, Jesus. Let's make some coffee and lace it good with something tough! My nerves are shot!"
Arm in arm, they went to the kitchen, their naked bodies making sex sounds as thighs and tits rubbed and smacked. Nola put on the coffee. Then as if they were both motivated by the same emotion, they leaned against the sink counter and embraced, breasts and bellies close, hands moving as if freshly charmed by the feel of soft, hot flesh.
Johnny was not asleep. He lay flat, his body strangely relaxed but acutely able to feel. He was very sure he was dying. He had already grown used to the constant pain in his head. It shifted from just above his right eye to just above his left, then it slid to the back of his skull. Every time it went to the back of his head, some small segment of his body tingled and went dead. He didn't have to test it to be sure it went dead. He could feel it die, and then it became slightly cold, as if a hunk of ice had been held there a long time.
He couldn't remember how long ago he'd been hurt. He wasn't even sure of how he'd been hurt, but it had something to do with mud and pain and a big noise. He looked up at the ceiling. Still cracked. His eyes rolled, and he saw the table and the chair and the door through which they'd gone. They hadn't left him. They couldn't live without his prick. He smiled inside. The memory of his beautiful sister bent over while Monet worked the big phony cock in her asshole was sharp and pleasant. He could feel his prick now, thick, lazy and tingling from its rigid romp in the Indian girl's wild cunt. The revenge of the redskin; fuck the white man to death and run away with his prick snapped off in her clutchy cunt. Good fuck. He rolled his eyes down and his cock was making a tent of the sheet. He opened his mouth to call, but his throat was tired. He sighed. They'd be back. They couldn't live without his prick. He'd taught them both that balls weren't everything. In fact, balls weren't important at all. He closed his eyes, thinking about his cock, standing up there at attention like a good private. Funny joke. Like a good private. He wondered if it would stand up after he went to sleep. He thought it would because his back was tired.