Chapter 12

They checked him constantly, Monet's sure fingers at his pulse and her little thermometer finding no variations whether she tucked it under his arm or slipped in his mouth as he slept. Nola knew he was sleeping because his slightly nasal purr was regular and deep. The fact that his cock remained high and rigid despite his sound sleep seemed proof that he was merely tired-but not tired enough, they decided.

"What a man," Monet remarked, almost giggling. "You know what he's going to want the minute he wakes up, don't you?"

"I wish it would go down," Nola said. "Gives me the quivers, standing up like that!"

"Well, there are some things we could try," Monet said. "But I don't know why we should. It sure isn't hurting anything, and it's kind of cute! If it were anyone else but Johnny, I'd say it might be a strain on his heart. But its going along at a steady seventy-one to seventy-three. Don't worry, Nola. I think he's going to be all right. Would you feel better if I stayed tonight? He's pretty heavy to handle alone, to the bathroom and all. If I went home I'd worry about you, and if you stay alone, you'll worry about him. Might as well worry together."

Nola was delighted and told Monet so. They sat around together and talked, and Nola broke one of her private vows by explaining her relationship with her brother over the past few months. Monet sat with wide eyes and a mouth slack with surprise. Oddly, to Nola the story didn't seem as bad put into words as it had seemed in her mind.

"I don't really know how it all happened," she finally admitted. "Johnny seemed so sick, so different than he had been when we were growing up together. I'm sure he wasn't in love with me or that he even thought about me very much. He just said I belonged to him, and that was that. One thing led to another. And after awhile-I guess I didn't mind too much. He was getting better, and I was geting used to-sex."

Monet got up and came to stand beside Nola, her arm around her. "Don't blame yourself, Nola. God! I don't think I could have argued with him, either. Anyway, I'd sure have traded you my silly marriage stick for him! All of that man and not a chance of waking up some morning with your belly full of papoose!"

"But he isn't your brother!" Nola wailed, looking up at Monet.

"Just like you aren't my sister, either," the Indian girl breathed, and her hand went down from Nola's shoulder to the big, round warmth of her tit. Then she leaned down, and her lips closed firmly over Nola's, spreading and nibbling as her tongue slipped between Nola's teeth. Momentarily, Nola resisted, then her own lips softened and kissed back, and her worry was quickly blanketed by a new, demanding kind of heat. Her hand crept out and slipped up under Monet's loosely buttoned uniform, following the soft quivering flesh of her inner thigh until it merged with dark crisp hair and the hot moistness of her quim. A flash of shame made Nola want to cry out and escape the hideous instant, then the moment was no longer hideous, and her only sound was a moan of passion into Monet's mouth.

"My room," Nola breathed.

"Shall I get the marriage stick?" Monet asked softly.

"No. No, just be with me, Monet!"

Facing each other in her bedroom, they both slipped out of their skimpy clothes, donned carelessly after Johnny had fallen asleep. To Nola, the smooth brown flesh was almost delicious enough to eat, and when their bodies came together in hard embrace, she tipped them both to the bed. They fell kissing, legs quickly intertwining, breasts deforming one against another. They hugged to breathlessness, as each wanted to become one with the writhing, straining other. Nola closed her eyes, feeling her pubic mound hairily kiss Monet's, and the subtle contact sent thrills of eagerness through her body. It was not like loving Johnny, and she had no other comparison to make. The illicit nature of her desire for Monet made it all the more compelling. She dropped one hand behind the girl's broad bottom and felt the soft nates, molding them and displacing them as her brother had often done to hers. She put a finger to Monet's anus, testing the rubbery flesh around it, teasing the swollen pucker as she thought of her finger as a long, slim, hungry prick.

Then Monet, who was the strongest, rolled Nola to her back and like a fat, scrambling crab, he reversed her body, straddling Nola's so that her spraddled bottom hovered over her face. Nola's mouth was barely below the slightly open cunt, and she raised her head to kiss deep into the sexily acrid nest of quaking flesh. At the same moment she felt Monet's kiss, centered by a darting tongue, enter her own sex. Sensation seemed to course around and around the tongue-meshed pair, and from one straining body to the other, the building tensions were perfectly matched. Nola licked and nibbled, and her eyes, wide open, did not focus but merely devoured the brown pillows above with quick concentrations on the smooth valley with its dark brown rosebud.

She put her palms to the cheeks of Monet's ass and pressed and pulled the moons to enjoy the erotic shapes she created. Her own thighs, pressed by Monet's hands, spread and spread until her hips seemed likely to disjoint, then she began to hunch to the rhythmic lash and plunge of Monet's tongue. When she felt a wriggling finger at her anus, Nola followed suit. And as her finger entered Monet's rectum, the beauty of the intrusion made Nola groan with ecstasy. She seemed completely one with the Indian girl, her tongue like a slithering prick, her finger searching and savoring the secret muscles that gripped it spasmodically. At her cunt another slithering cock kept battering the sensitive tissues, and own anus milked greedily at Monet's deep finger.

Their orgasms came quickly, Nola's slightly ahead of Monet's. To Nola, the cum was blindingly total, as if her whole body were constricted bv a mighty fist, squeezing the fire and ecstasy down and down to burst from her cunt into Monet's gulping throat. Then, while the tensions snapped and whipped, she felt the firming around her own tongue, and she sent it so deep into Monet's cunt, the thrust made her neck muscles complain. Then they lay, each rotating her ass in slow, ecstatic circles, cooling the sex fire with soothing motion.

They played erotic games with each other until five, then discovered Johnny was awake. He seemed cheerful and they made much fun of his seemingly perpetual hard-on, and the three of them had a vodka, Nola and Monet taking turns fondling his cock and holding his drink so he could sip it. It was so exciting that Nola was sure he was much better.

It took them both to get him to the bathroom, and then he couldn't urinate through his massive erection; when they seated him, his cock stood up between his listless thighs, and it was too adamant to be tipped down, even if he could have relaxed enough to piss. It was funny to everybody but Johnny.

"Goddamnit. My bladder's busting! Monet, you're a nurse. Isn't there some way to limp it?"

She flicked the head with her middle finger. He grunted, but his prick only jerked. "Well, maybe I can ease it another way," she said, kneeling between his outstretched legs. She put her hand down and under his ass, and Johnny gasped as she inserted a finger in his rectum.

"Hey, damn it!"

"Be still," Monet told him. "Maybe I can massage your prostate into easing up. It's the valve, you know. Anyway, doesn't it feel a little good?"

Nola stared with strange misgivings while Monet plied her educated finger in Johnny's rectum. His cock jerked and seemed to get harder and stiffer, then Monet took a firm grasp of it and slid the whole of his foreskin forward to nearly cover the puffed glans. And after a moment, his prick began to soften, and when it was limp in Monet's hand, she turned it down, massaging deeply until his urine suddenly gushed into the toilet. Despite the measure of exhaustion she had found in Monet's arms, Nola felt her blood hasten as she watched the incredible scene. The odor of his urine was boar-strong, and her nostrils interpreted the acrid smell as something more erotically fragrant. When he was washed and brushed, they lifted him between them and headed his dragging feet back toward bed.

Before they had him tucked and propped for dinner, his prick had regained its rigidity with a seeming vengeance. Everything was still funny, despite the sense of underlying tragedy that kept flooding Nola's belly with nausea.

They prepared dinner and hand-fed him; he had a remarkable appetite, and Nola searched for any sign that he was holding his own, if not yet improving. She thought he looked so handsome and strong that it seemed impossible for him to be any other way. And there was always the undeniable virility of his prick, either making a pyramid under the sheet or waving stiffly when one of them fondled it.

"That crap had better cease," he laughed, when dinner was cleaned up, and they sat having coffee, Monet's mug-warmed hand going to the root of his cock to caress the point of sturdy departure from his underbody. "Who's first tonight"

"You, Nola," Monet suggested. "I haven't seen you on it, honey. But don't take it all! Leave some for me, because after watching, I'm going to need it!"

They exchanged understanding glances, and Nola removed her housecoat. She wasn't sure she wanted to mount her brother with the Indian girl watching, then she was flooded with desire to be watched. Standing by the bed, she flexed her arms and back, swirling to send her huge breasts jiggling, swaying from side to side. On impulse she reached down and picked up Johnny's hand, holding it to her cunt so he could feel the hot wet lips as she worked her flared hips in excited hunching. She knelt then and used his dampened hand to smear her own moisture on the tips of her throbbing breasts.

"Get well, Johnny, get well!" she whispered. "Try hard, Johnny because without you, I'll just die!"

He chuckled, the deeply genuine sound she knew expressed his pleasure more than any word he could utter. Then with glance at Monet, Nola swung up and over her brother's body, as if he were a pony. Her straddle was well forward of his cock, her cunt lips kissed his high abdomen, and she wiped herself on his hairy flesh while he devoured her lewdness with burning eyes. She crawled forward, and he raised his head, his tongue running out for first sweet contact before she could adjust herself for his full, open-lipped kiss. With two fingers, she held her labia open, and with the other hand she held Johnny's head in hot contact with her cunt.

"My God, my God," she breathed. "Oh, Johnny, do you w-want it this way, or shall-"

His head wanted to drop away, so she let it rest on the stacked pillows. When she met his eyes, they were different than she had ever seen them before, almost sad and certainly less blue. "Monet?" he said, a question in his tone. "Yes, Johnny."

"Beat it. Leave us alone, will you? I mean well, who wants an audience when he's fucking his sister? Please now. Go have a beer or tickle yourself with the wooden cod. Just leave us alone for a few minutes, will you?"

Nola's heart swelled until she thought it was going to burst from her chest. He had spoken in a low voice, vibrant with emotion, and now his face looked softer than she had ever seen it. She twisted and met Monet's eyes, her own slightly wet with the surge of love his words had created. To Monet's questioning look, Nola nodded.

Without a word Monet turned and left the room, pausing at the door for a longing look at the tableau on the bed.

Nola inched back until his cock touched the small of her back, then she bowed down and kissed her brother with feathery lips. So close she could see the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the tiny veins in the whites of his eyes. With gentle thumbs she straightened his eyebrows and petted his forehead.

"We have to trim the darned old hair in your nose, soldier," she said. "And will you need a shave in the morning!"

"Take the pillows away, sis," he said. "My head is too high. Then raise my arms up and fold them above my head. It makes breathing easier and I expect to need all the breath I can get. Those tits, kind of get down and fuck me a little with them, will you, baby?"

He smiled, taking away the peculiar tension of his words. Nola turned, pivoting her cunt on his belly as she traded ends. Then she backed until her mammary globes hung on each side of his prick, and she swayed her shoulders, slapping his organ with the soft but weighty rounds, the nipples dragging on the lightly haired juncture of his legs and body. Holding her back in tension, she put her palms to her tits and caught his cock in their hot press, the flesh billowing around the sturdy shaft and distended head like modeling clay of alabaster white. Slowly then, she began to raise and lower her shoulders, feeling his foreskin roll to the movement of her tits. She sent down a little farther and by ducking her chin, managed to deposit a large blob of saliva on the very tip of his prick. When she raised, the slippery wetness spread with the brush of her flesh. She stared down, fascinated, hypnotized by the lewd deformation of her flesh around his. She could almost feel his eyes caressing her ass and the hanging rolls of her labia; her heart wept for his inability to touch and finger her. Her body ached for his touch with almost as much longing as she knew he felt. Her mind raced with memory, each as strong as the head of his cock, darting through her tits like a small scarlet animal peeking from its burrow. Torn between sadness for how things were now and how wonderful they had been just a few days ago, she let her emotions pile until orgasm shook her in unexpected frenzy.

"Johnny, oh, I'm cumming, I'm cumming! Johnny!"

She let her tits fall away from his prick, and she pressed her fluttering lips to the pulsating acorn of flesh. Then she slowly turned around again and rested for a moment, her face close to his. He chuckled in her ear.

"Remember how you yelped the first time you saw it, sis? What I did was dirty, I know, but I had to do it-like you have to scratch no matter if its a starch thread in your shirt collar or a spider! I don't know-I never did know why it had to be you, baby. Lately I haven't been thinking too much, just remembering and feeling. Fuck me, Nola, and make it good! I can't help you, no matter how much I want to help. Tear it off at the roots, baby!"

"Johnny, are you all right" she quavered.

"I'm fine, baby. And I'm going to be better, count on it!"

"Yes, my darling, of course you are! We did it together, didn't we, and we can do it again. Oh God, how I love you, Johnny!"

She reached back with her hand then and gently took hold of his penis. It was like a heated iron in her grasp, the stiffness of it delightfully frightening. She scrooched, playfully knocking the head between cunt-lips, then between the sharply bended nates. She wanted to tuck it into her asshole, but her cunt seemed a void, and her belly cried for filling. Slowly she moved and lowered his organ, and then she nested it, in her vulva. She had done it many times before, but now there was no enthusiastic hunch from her brother, no brutal jab to hurt and thrill and start her quivering with anticipation. She jerked her ass down, feeling the quick entry, the plug-like core of meat, separated from her greedy flesh only by a thin layer of fire and friction.

She rolled her hips, starting side tensions and pressings before she began to screw herself down on the irresistible pole.

"Fuck me, Nola, and make it good," he had said. "Yes, Johnny," she whispered. "Oh, God, yes, Johnny!" He stirred slightly, and she flailed her tits across his chest and closed her eyes, totally submerged in unthinking passion. Her back curled then, and she came down on his cock with all of her weight. The bed creaked, and his hips bounced up, almost as if he had willed them to her underbody. She felt the head of his cock snubbing deep in her vagina, and she convulsed her belly, trying with every inner muscle to caress and thrill the filling cock. Then she began to fuck him, raising her ass with a slow twisting, lowering it with every fiber of her body writhing as if to peel the skin from it and make raw the billions of eager nerves. She confined her undulations to the lower half of her body, holding her belly to his in solid contact, with only the jelly-like quiver of her tits to caress his chest.

Her breath speeded as the tensions she was sending down around his prick began to rebound and claim her nerves. She had sweet, familiar visions of his cock rippling in her cunt, the delicious shape of his foreskin and coronal ridge distending and cavorting in her aching sleeve of lust. She tried strange changes in her rolling and bottom bobbing, herself controlling the tiny pains and saccharine flashes, fucking him as he had never fucked her. She moved blindly, thinking only of sensation and fulfillment. As her satisfaction mounted, she became certain that his cock was swelling, growing longer, thicker and frighteningly hotter. She clamped her teeth and fought the approach of her cum; Fuck me, Nola, and make it good, she let the words bound around in her mind, each repetition as exquisite as the turmoil in her cunt.

Then an ugly, selfish thought came sneaking through the building blue. To bring her this mad, all-absorbing passion, God had seen fit to take Johnny's testicles. How long had it been? Eight months, nine now, and that was a critical period. Later, when he was happily resting, she would have to tell him how blessed she had been, despite his inner rages, to have never been afraid of the spurt and creep and fertilization of his jism. Now she let gratitude and speculation slip from her mind, to be replaced by pure ecstasy. His cock was gigantic, like the trunk of a tree or an elephant's foot, plunging in and out of her cunt with strange animation.

She hunched down harder and felt his prick thrust up. She felt the movement in his thighs, the heavy lift, the turning under her belly. For a moment she was afraid, then she shut her eyes and let her soul sing with happiness. She felt his hands come down to her shoulders, the fingers spread and smooth her flesh as she remembered his delight in her softness. "Johnny, Johnny!" she wailed and tried to melt her body into his, but it wouldn't melt; his prick kept swelling, filling her cunt to near bursting. She winced with the ecstasy as the elongating member jolted high and thumped against her convulsing womb.

Now his hands crept down her back and curled with strong possessiveness around the cheeks of her ass. She felt his lips on her forehead, and they were mobile, warm, caressive. It was nearly time, she thought, because the root of his cock was thickening and throbbing when it came up for the final stretching of her vagina. She tensed, trying to increase the grip of her labia, trying to milk his prick for that last expansion.

"Now, Johnny Now?" she cried, raising her head to adore the slack-mouthed gasping she knew he would be enduring. Then she screamed.

His mouth was slack, and his tongue, hanging loosely from his lips, was very still. There was no breath hot on her face. Nola screamed again, and then she gave a spasmodic twitch and leaped up and away. Johnny did not move nor speak, and when she looked, his cock was a limp, shriveled nothing, lying down between his flaccid thighs. It was neither moist nor sticky, as if it had never known the channel her love had flooded for him. She stood, half crouched, her eyes so wide they hurt. And while she looked, a brown body came as a stubby ghost, stooping low, doing quick things with adept hands. Then the body slowed to a timeless creeping and twisted.

"He's dead, honey," Monet said, and they both cried.