Chapter 4
"So big, so fucking big, so god damned BIG!! ! "
Trixie could hear her sister making more and more noise from next door, and found that she was getting hot. White hot, in fact, boiling over with heat.
She once again considered walking in there, simply walking in and saying, "I couldn't help it. Let's make it three."
But Rixie so seldom had a chance to get to know men. It wouldn't be fair. She had a feeling from the way that Dennis had looked at her this morning that he'd found her a little more sexy than Rixie. It wouldn't be fair now, to steal him away from her. It might make their relationship, never the easiest one to begin with, totally unmanageable.
Rixie's moaning grew louder and louder. Trixie closed her eyes and imagined that she could almost hear that massive schlong slurping in and out, almost feel that mushroom-shaped head raking over her own hole, stretching her lips, pulling at the rim.
It was too much.
She wanted it, badly.
Letting her fingers drift down over her naked stomach, she slid them beneath her panties and instantly felt her muscles start to quiver even more.
She pushed the tip of her forefinger down through the wet flesh of her pink gash, down, down, down, till she was touching her throbbing nub of nerve endings, her hardening clit.
She felt thick oily juices oozing from deep within her aroused body, and as she ran her finger up and down through her slit, she felt those juices starting to spread all through her crotch.
Her thighs were moist, slippery, and slid easily over each other.
Then, she jammed her fingers down past her outer lips, ramming them right up into her twitching hole.
It felt good and warm and wonderful.
She wanted more.
She wanted to be taken to the edge and pushed beyond.
She wanted to be....
She remembered her father, the way he had smiled reassuringly that first day that he'd produced the silken cord.
"This won't hurt your wrists," he'd told them, and he hadn't tied the knots tight that the circulation was cut off or anything.
But there had been pain. Various kinds of pain.
First there had been the continually sharpening ache in her arms and shoulders as she'd literally hung from the ceiling by the smooth rope, her toes dangling close enough so that if she really stretched, she could almost support her weight with the tips of her toes....
There had been the hot, burning ache of his cock as he'd rammed it up her ass-hole, taking her by surprise from behind.
And then, worst of all, there had been the utterly incomprehensible pain of his belt, of the whips and the canes that he brought one at a time down onto the soft terrain of her naked flesh.
She had writhed, she had begged, she had screamed.
Rixie had endured the torture more in silence, but neither of them enjoyed it.
But then, had come the gentle fucking, his loving tongue drifting all up and dow through their slits, turning the still hot flesh to aroused flesh, turning the pain of the whip into the spasms of orgasm, binding forever in her mind the two together, pain ... pleasure....
They were the same, really, different versions of the same reaction.
Her body reacted.
It reacted now.
She felt herself coming.
In the next room, Rixie screamed "YES YES YES YES YES YES ... OH. DADDY!! ! YES!! ! "
The words startled Trixie, and for a moment she was more than simply caught up in a recollection ... she was transported back through time, she was suspended once more before her father....
She was ... OH GOD ... she was coming, coming, coming, coming....
It's so big, daddy, so big, so big ... and oh, how it hurts....
And then ... suddenly, there were footsteps on the stairs. She heard a voice. Jack? Chet?
She tried to focus on it, and realized that Jack was sounding somewhat excited.
She jumped up off her bed and buttoned up her pants, still gasping from her orgasm, as he called out through the door.
"Trixie? Hey, Trixie. You better come, quick."
"What's the problem?" she asked, opening the door.
"It's the police. They're all over the outside of the house. There's been some kind of accident."
Across campus, in the softly lit wood paneled room, the old man was talking to his assistant.
"So tell me Jack, what have we heard."
"I'm afraid that he's here, sir, whoever he is."
"Indeed?"
"Yes ... there's been a body located. Again, I have to insist, we have no indication that this is anything other than a deranged psychopath."
"Is the body in that terrible a condition?"
"It wasn't pretty. Our people are checking it out."
"I see. It's a typical diversion. I'm afraid that we may have to order this facility vacated."
"That would be premature, sir."
"Would it?"
They were sipping tea, and smoking Turkish cigarettes, the old man's brand. Their conversation had all the urgency of a seminar on the Brahms/Wagner question.
"Tell me Jack ... you know of course, that our particular branch cares little to nothing of a man's past. Performance is everything, and yours has been commendable when you've been used ... what brought you to us? What I mean is, why did you decide, after so many years of magnificent free-lancing, to associate yourself with the organization on an official basis?"
Jack pressed his cigarette into an ashtray and studied the grain of the wood on the ceiling.
"Tired of looking over my shoulder, perhaps. Tired of staying out there, perpetually in the cold. Security."
The old man nodded. "No family ... am I correct?"
Jack paused. "No,", he then said. "No family."
The old man nodded again. "There was, at one time, though?"
"Excuse me sir, is there a cause for these questions?"
"Simply passing the time, Jack. Simply passing the time. So much of this business if waiting, and so much of the waiting turns out to have been unnecessary ... I certainly do hope that you are correct. I hope that there is no immediate threat to this facility. It would be distressing, to say the least."
"I'm sure, sir. Would you care for more tea?"
"No, I'm going back downstairs. Check in with me later, would you?"
Jack waited for him to leave, and then, he put on his coat and scarf and walked back out into the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon.
Rixie listened to the police detective question Dennis, feeling as though she was in a dream. This was impossible. It simply couldn't be.
"Well, I'm sorry sir," he was saying, but unless you can produce some form of credible identification, and some explanation of your whereabouts early this morning, we're going to have to ask you to come with us."
"I still maintain, officer, that you have no reason to be suspicious of me, let alone detain me."
All around the street, a crowd was beginning to grow, drawn, as are all crowds, by some indefinable ability to sense events that transcended the drab ordinariness of each one's individual lives. No single person could have said why they were there, and yet, the crowd was gathering.
There were four patrol cars now, the additional three having arrived shortly after the first detective had begun asking Dennis some questions.
Rixie at first had vouched for him, but Trixie's curt questions had shut her up.
"How much do you know about him? NOTHING! That's how much! And now Marjorie is dead! Where was he? Ask him? Where was he?"
"You weren't with him at all times today, ma'am?" the detective had asked.
"No," Rixie had been forced to admit. She looked helplessly at Dennis, who returned her gaze evenly enough, but who certainly did not exhibit the expected characteristics of someone falsely accused, someone who could very well be in a very big jam.
With a mounting sense of horror, she realized that everything Trixie was accusing her of was true. She'd brought him into the house, knowing absolutely nothing about him. And where had he been earlier this afternoon, when he'd told her that he was going to wander around the campus? They'd spoken briefly to Marjorie as they'd come through the south entrance off Breed street.
Oh my God! she thought to herself, her feeling of desperation growing. Could it be possible? Had Dennis ... ?
But no! She refused to believe it. Or was she just putting her faith in a superstitious bit of lunacy that had never really been justified? She felt suddenly like crying.
Dennis refused to offer any excuses or alibis for his behavior, maintaining that he'd done nothing wrong.
"Look kid, I'm telling you, shape up or you're going to be in bad trouble. As soon as word gets out about the condition of that body, you're going to be in a fucking spotlight, and unless you come up with some answers fast, it's going to get a lot hotter and a lot brighter.
Trixie suddenly lost control.
"He did it! I know he did it! I was suspicious of him the minute I saw him."
Dennis gave her a pained look of exasperation.
Rixie said, "Stop it Trixie! This isn't helping anything. Stop it. STOP IT!! "
She finally had to slap her sister across the face to calm her down.
Trixie whimpered a little, looked her sister in the eye, and then, with a sidelong glance at Dennis, she turned and ran back into the house.
Rixie noticed that someone at the curb was taking pictures.
"Do we have to continue this out here?" she asked the detective.
"No ma'am, we don't. I'm already very sorry for the trouble we've caused you. I think we've done about all we can for now right here. You understand, of course, some of my men will be needing to talk to you all later on. We're going to want to see if we can establish any patterns ... that sort of thing."
Then he turned to Dennis. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come with us. You decide you want to talk and tell us your story, and if it checks out, you can go."
In a last moment of desperation, Rixie blurted out, "Tell them, Dennis. Tell them."
She wanted so badly for him not to be responsible for this. She suddenly realized just how badly she wanted it. And at the same time, she was developing a growing feeling that there was nothing she could to prevent it from being the case. She felt that she was losing her grip on whatever reality she had. Still, she tried, in one last futile gesture to establish his innocence.
"Tell them about your friends in Maine." The detective looked sharply at Dennis. "You've just come from Maine? Where in
Maine?"
He sighed again.
"I'm sorry. I have no comment at all. None whatsoever. You have no reason to hold me."
"Yeah, well, we'll just have to see about that. Come on. Let's go."
"Wait a minute. Are you arresting me?"
"You got it. We're running you in on suspicion of murder. I'm telling you, all you have to do is tell us something that makes sense."
He said nothing.
"Come on, let's go."
The detective was obviously already convinced that he'd found his man. He said "Come on buddy. Go get your things."
Dennis shot Rixie a sharp glance as he said, "I don't have anything with me. I travel light."
The cop looked at Rixie and said, "Honey, my advice, if you want it, is to pick a better class of stranger the next time you pick someone up."
He was almost leering at her, in such a way as to be utterly offensive. Rixie felt her cheeks getting flushed, and her thoughts jumbled and cluttered.
But what had Dennis intended by wanting his pack left here? He'd been so protective of it since she'd met him, she couldn't believe that he'd leave it with her. Unless there was something in it so incriminating that he didn't dare let the police find it!
He shot her one more quick glance as he was being led away. It was amazing. He actually winked at her!
Inside the house, Trixie and Rixie were arguing.
"Stop this, just stop this!" yelled Trixie. "How can you defend that man? All right, even if he didn't do it, you know absolutely nothing about him. You still can't say for certain that he's innocent. You can't say anything about him. Because you don't know."
"Exactly! And I thought in this country a man was innocent until proven guilty!"
"Look, don't go throwing that ideological bullshit at me! We're talking about our friend! Our roommate! She's dead! And that man is responsible. Do you understand! He did it!"
"You stop it! You don't know that. So just cut it out!"
Trixie was close to hysteria.
"What had gotten into you? How can you defend him? At the very least, I'd expect you to be suspicious. But you disregard all the evidence-"
"What evidence?"
"Why wouldn't he tell them where he'd been? Why doesn't he have any identification?
Why? Huh? An innocent man isn't afraid to prove that he's innocent. If they were out of line, you have a better chance of getting back at them once you're out from under the cloud of suspicion, don't you think?"
Rixie didn't know what to think. She was simply confused. Totally, mindlessly confused.
She began to cry.
Trixie, caught by surprise, stopped berating her sister and instead started at once to comfort her.
"I'm sorry Rixie. Honestly I am. But you have to understand. This is frightening. I can't understand your attitude. Just think for a moment ... what if he did do it? Just think about that. What if he did do it? Do you want him back here? At all. Do you want him coming anywhere near you?"
Rixie heard her sister's voice cutting through the jumbled fog of her thoughts, and knew, down deep, that they were words of truth. It was so difficult for her to accept it, but somehow, she knew that she was going to have to.
"Look, I know you trust your intuition. You have a right to. Ever since you got us off that plane, I've trusted your intuition. And it's usually right. But this time, maybe it wasn't. Maybe you were just horny. Have you thought about that?"
Of course she'd thought about that. She didn't want to think about it, because whether or not she was willing to admit it, she had grown fairly dependent on her assumption that she had a special sixth sense, and had almost stopped actually trying to analyze people or situations. If it felt good, she did it. If not, she'd hold back. It was very simple. And now, it was as if she'd been stripped naked in the middle of rush hour on Fifth Avenue. She was confused and scared. And hurt.
Trixie was stroking her hair now, and whispering soothingly into her ear.
"You've always been so shy ... I couldn't believe it when I saw that you'd brought him home. It just isn't like you to do something like that."
Rixie said nothing, knowing that her sister meant well, but resenting the implication that while others could go around and pick up strangers in bars, she wasn't allowed to pick up someone in broad daylight, in the middle of the campus.
Suddenly, she was aware that Trixie was holding her, tightly. Her body seemed to be shaking, shivering.
Rixie looked up at her sister. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Trixie now looked like she herself was going to cry. "Oh GOD! Do you know what they said? They wanted me to go down and identify the body! Can you believe that? It would have been terrible. Thank God Jack was here to do it."
Her body shuddered some more.
"Oh God, Rixie, I'm so scared. I feel cold, I'm so scared."
Rixie placed her hands on her sister's shoulders. It had been such a long time since they'd allowed themselves to get close like this, to openly express their feelings, their emotions. It was as if once the bizarre nightmare with their father ended, they'd put a lock on any further expression between themselves. When you've already revealed all there is to reveal about yourself, what else is there to say?
Later, Rixie wouldn't even be able to say for certain how it happened. Perhaps it was a reawakening of the old sensibilities, that perfect blend of fear and pleasure, the almost symbiotic linking of the two. So that fear itself became an erotic stimulus. She only knew that she could feel her thighs slipping together, still greasy from the juice oozing between her pussy lips. She and Dennis had just finished making love with each other. He had shot the last of his load only seconds before she'd heard the voices at her door. Her pussy still tingled from the memory. As always, there is never any logic or reason between ones legs. Only stimulus, response, stimulus, response.
How many stimuli were working on the two girls at that moment? Voices calling from the past ... long tendrils of fear, pain and pleasure slithering out of the mists of time, wrapping about their psyches, binding them once more in an interlocking mass of charged flesh. It had always been thus. Six years ... seven ... it had been far too short a time to obliterate the bonds, no matter how effectively they'd been suppressed.
Now, once more, they both felt a reawakened surge of blind sexual lust. Incomprehensible, uncontrollable. Once again, there was nothing else in the world except for the two of them, the commonality of their experience, and whatever else was out there tormenting them. It made no difference that the tormentors were undefined, were invisible, and incomprehensible. They were there. And because of that, the two girls were thrown together.
Yes, it was erotic. There was no way that it could have been otherwise. The comforting touch, the soothing voice, identical to other times, when each of them had performed the same service for the other one. There were no barriers to break down. All the barriers had been broken long ago. Seven years of overlooking that fact did not in any way replace them.
Rixie felt Trixie's lips on hers, felt her sister's hands probing the soft flesh of her breasts, felt fingers pressing between her legs.
They both felt utterly silent, fearful that the first word would break whatever spell had been woven about them, making this right, making this believable, making this what was called for.
Say nothing! Simply do. Simply go forward. Simply ... follow whatever instincts were left to guide you.
Rixie felt her already aroused body begin to surge with energy, and felt responses that she'd almost forgotten. Similar to the feelings that Dennis had already succeeded in bringing out of her ... and yet, these were different, far older in her mind, far more a fundamental part of her emotional make-up.
Trixie's fingers. Trixie's mouth. Trixie's body. Her long slender legs, her firm, well formed thighs. The moist soft flesh where they met ... the wet slit between them....
All this and more was as much a part of the girl's psyche as anybody's primal memories. And now, in a blast that left them both numb, it all came flooding to the surface, with the same intensity that each girl's juices surged forward to the lips of their firm young cunts.
Words were not only feared, they were no unnecessary. Trixie stood, and as Rixie looked deeply into her face, into that mirror image that was exactly her own and yet utterly different, she had a sense that she was gazing into her own past. Or could it be her future.
Again, she would later recall nothing of how they got to her bedroom.
Only that they were there, removing each other's clothes. No longer as an act of lust ... more a ritual of psychological survival. They not only needed each other, they had no one else. Not now, not at this fundamental level of existence.
Trixie's shirt came off, Rixie's jeans inched down her legs, and the two twins stared intently at each other as if voyeurs. There were, of course, no surprises. Only scarcely contained anticipation. For once the line had again been crossed, it was like a reunion. It was like coming home.
They fell into each other's arms, and Rixie pressed her breasts against Trixie's, feeling the soft globes of flesh squeeze and compress, feeling her nipples getting hard, feeling them rub over Trixie's hardening nipples.
Trixie was breathing hard now, seeming to have allowed all the tension, all the uncertainty, the fear to be translated into a blinding surge of sexual heat. She seemed to be utterly mad with lust.
"Oh God, it's been so long," she finally whispered in Rixie's ear, allowing herself, by her words, to not only accept the situation, but to embrace it.
"I always wanted to touch you. All these years," Trixie confessed, "but I never knew how."
Rixie felt herself growing dizzy at the words. She'd worked so hard to establish some objective ground for herself, after their father had hopelessly ruined any hope of it ever truly happening. But she'd worked, and she'd been successful ... except that there'd been a loss of passion. A loss of lust. Dennis had made it possible for her to remember what lust had been. Now, Trixie made it possible for her to once again experience it. To experience the delicious itching between her legs that would not be still no matter what was done to her clit ... to feel her breasts swell and ache from a desire for attention ... to feel her body sinking, falling through an increasing blackness, to feel her thighs getting wetter and wetter as her enflamed pussy began to ooze more and more juice. , Trixie's fingers were now easing down the flat plain of her stomach, pressing lightly against the firm, taut flesh.
She lingered over Rixie's belly button, tickling her sister there just a little bit, and then, she moved on, further and further down, tracing a line right along the top edge of her pubic bush, tickling ever so slightly the kinky hairs growing there, but avoiding her pussy.
Instead she simply let her fingers move around the edge of Rixie's groin area, tickling all the borders of her pubic patch, and lightly moving along the line of flesh at the point where her legs joined her body. It was a very sensitive spot on Rixie, and the slight touch was familiar, a familiarity that spanned the years, from a time when they'd both been called upon to play with each other, while their father watched, gently stroking his long cock. It had simply been one of the variations he'd come up with. There were dozens, but this one, at least involved no direct pain. Only the threat of pain, should they not please him. the threat and the fear of pain. The blinding, crippling fear, hovering over them while they drove each other to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, using their tongues, their teeth, their fingers ... whatever they could find ... whatever would work....
Trixie's fingertips were at the very bottom of Rixie's slit, tickling between her pussy and her ass-hole, stimulating that small isthmus of flesh that was so often ignored.
Rixie felt her stomach muscles suddenly spasm, as a particularly sharp surge rippled out from between her legs. It was growing stronger and stronger, and she felt a moment of fear, not certain that she'd be able to control herself. She knew that once set in motion, her body would continue to spasm, to climb higher and higher on the steep slopes of orgasm until at last, she would collapse, and feel herself falling back, back, back ... back....
Trixie touched her ass-hole. Rixie instinctively clenched her muscles and felt tight puckered ring clamp shut. But Trixie was persistent and began to press harder and harder.
Rixie began to feel uncomfortable. Every time her sister touched a new spot on her body, a flood of images would rise out of the darkness of memory and she would remember ... remember her father pressing his fingers up her, squeezing her buns, stretching them, pressing his fingers up, further and further, filling her ... "But Daddy, I can't hold it in any more, I can't, I can't ... "That's all right Rixie darling, just let it come out ... that's it-all over Daddy's hand ... there, doesn't that feel good, so warm and soft, and sticky...."
Rixie remembered, and as she felt Trixie's finger creeping up her ass, she feared that she might have a similar reaction this time. But it didn't happen. She was at least in enough control to prevent that from happening.
But now, Trixie, still with her fingers up
Rixie's ass, brought her mouth down to her sister's spread legs, focusing on that wet pink slit running between them in particular.
The flesh was shining, like a jewel, like a polished stone. Her lips were almost perfectly formed, thought Trixie, knowing that her own had an identical shape. But Rixie, perhaps because of her minimal sexual activity, had managed to retain the little girl's look to her pussy. Her lips folded under, and the dewy petals of her inner lips poked out only about an eighth of an inch.
It was to this thin, wet line of flesh that Trixie now brought her tongue, licking with the scarcest amount of pressure that she could manage all up along the entire length.
Rixie felt like someone had turned her insides to a molten mass of quivering flesh.
"Oh that's wonderful," she gasped to her sister.
"Do you like that?"
"I love it."
"Do you like it when I pull your lips apart, when I kiss your clit ... like that?"
Rixie let out a low, animal-like moan.
"Oh, do it again. It's wonderful. It's wonderful."
Trixie opened her mouth wide and brought the edge of her teeth directly across Rixie's clit. The tight swollen bud of nerves seemed to explode between the girl's legs, and she once again let out a moan, only this time it was much louder.
Trixie continued to lick, nibble, bite, and chew Rixie's clitoris, and finally she moved her body around on the bed, straddling Rixie's face, so that she could lower her pelvis down onto Rixie's waiting mouth and receive the same treatment.
The second that Rixie's tongue touched Trixie's pussy, another Proustian time warp hit her. It was such a fundamentally familiar taste, so thick, so salty, and yet, so mild and delicate.
Her juice flowed heavily, oozing over Rixie's cheeks. Still the girl probed with her tongue, not wanting to miss a single drop of the oily goo.
They sucked each other to crashing climaxes, and then, utterly insatiable, began the process all over again.
Rixie allowed the world to stop for a moment, for the short time that they were together on the bed. She didn't know how long. She only knew that some vital connection had been reasserted in her life, one that she couldn't understand, one that she had no control over, but one that was undeniable, and that she would never again attempt to deny. She had no idea what the consequences of this action might be. But in the center of her body, buried deeply between her legs, there was a throbbing that she now noticed for the first time, only because in some small way, Trixie had managed to lessen it, if only a little. That was something that she could simply not ignore.