Chapter 1

It began with the first crushing heat of summer, sparked itself to consuming life with the fury of a brush fire, and charred the personal life of every member of the Brillard family for the rest of his or her life. But the heat alone did not start the conflagration. Fires are not made by the sun without at least a splinter of glass, a gust of wind or a carelessly dropped cigarette butt. All these were there-all acted at once in the steaming humidity of a June night to enflame what the sociologists like to call an upper middle class family in a quietly suburban neighborhood.

The family? Mr. and Mrs. John D. Brillard and their three children: John Jr., aged 19, home on vacation from college; Ann, aged 17, on vacation from high school; and Susanne, aged 15, also on school vacation.

That night of the beginning held all the elements of the classic emotional brush fire-the heat, the overbearing light of burning sun focused exactly on the splinter of mirror, reflected in an exact beam to tinder crisp grass, and aided by a faint, but deadly breeze.

Mr. and Mrs. Brillard had left for the weekend leaving their three children at home. John Jr. had gone out on a date with a girl he had known in high school. Ann had also gone out on a date. Sue was left at home alone where, just before she planned to go to bed, the air-conditioner, long overtaxed by the day's heat, finally broke down.

The stifling heat of early summer swept into the house, covered her slender adolescent body with perspiration and forced her out of her room to the screened porch behind the kitchen. There, clad only in a translucent baby doll nightie, she lay down on the chaise lounge without covers and tried to catch even the faint caress of a cooling breeze.

John Brillard had tried everything he kneweverything he had learned in high school and college to force his date into joining him in a sexual act-any sexual act. All failed. She kissed him, she allowed him to feel the taut jut of her firm breasts, but only if his fingers remained outside the agonizing confines of her bra and blouse. To compound matters, she refused to touch his own desperate organ and, after an hour of talk and touch and pleading, had left the young man an infuriated mass of physical and emotional frustrations.

John took her home just after ten and drove back to his family's house where he arrived just before eleven. He was still drinking one of the cans of beer he had bought on his date in the false hope that the mild alcohol content might help convince the girl. Not only had it refused to convince her, she had refused to drink more than one can. As he walked into the house, John was in the process of finishing his fifth can of beer. The slight easy buzz in his head might have been the splinter of glass that focused the sun's rays on the crisp tinder, but that tinder was another thing.

Sue Brillard had tried to sleep, had closed her eyes, had turned, had tossed, and now lay on the chaise with the flimsy material of her nightie pasted to her jutting young breasts by the thin film of perspiration covering them. As John walked into the kitchen of the Brillard home, finished the last of his beer and started to throw the empty can into the trash basket there, he happened to look out to the enclosed porch and see, through the opening of the door, his little sister's body. He could not see her head. He could only see the long, smooth legs glistening in the muted moonlight. She was lying on her back. He could see the outline of her panties-the soft mound of her genitals and the not-yet-completely-matured sweep of her hips. Above, he could see naked torso and the exposed undersides of pert breasts almost white as silver in the eerie light. But he could not see her face. That was obscured by the door jamb.

The frustrations of his date, the sensual heat of the night and the beer in his stomach erased any association between the lithe young body and family relationship. He was drawn to the glistening soft flesh like a moth, and as he took the three or four paces through the kitchen to stand in the doorway to the enclosed porch, the fire that was to consume the entire Brillard family had already erupted from his groin and filled his entire body.

Somehow, he was able to stop in the doorway. He looked at his sister's young face, the rounded lips half pouting, the closed eyes and the long auburn hair. But it was too late. John Brillard took the two paces through the door to the chaise and knelt beside it.

He looked from his sister's face, to her bust, to her exposed navel, and then down to the cushion of Venus and the smooth legs beyond. He wet his lips and then, gently, almost as if he were terribly afraid of what was going to happen, but powerless to stop it, he touched her on the shoulders.

"Sue?"

She opened her eyes slowly, looked at him a moment and then smiled, twisting slightly so that, with his fingers still on her shoulder, he could now feel the firm rise of breast under the heel of his hand.

"Oh, Johnny. It's you."

He wet his lips-half compelled-half terrified of what he knew he was going to do. What if she cried out? he thought. What if he touched her and she told their parents? He tried to stop himself with any thought-any argument he could, but nothing worked. Under the shadow of the chaise, his desire had already tingled his own sexual organ to painful life and even more painful confinement under the tight fabric of his trousers.

His hand slipped the merest fraction of an inch lower so that his fingers now rested just below her shoulder, but the heel of his hand was unmistakably on the rise of her left breast. "You're hot," he said. "Yes."

"It's hot down here."

"Yes."

And his hand moved again. This time he cupped the jutting round flesh under his palm, felt the hot dampness of its perspiration in the thin fabric of the nightgown.

She breathed in through her mouth but the sound was in three stages, almost like an effort to control pain.

"You feel good," he said. He had no clever words any more. He'd used them all up on his date. Now he was a stumbling fool, consumed by a blind desire he could not control or even direct. He had to touch her flesh, feel it under his hand, and yet he could not lower his lips to her face. He knelt on the floor beside her, his eyes locked to hers, his left hand slipping under the damp fabric of nightgown so that he cupped the firm flesh of her rich breast, ran his fingers over the smooth underside and up to the tiny nipple jutting upright like a small soldier at rigid attention.

"Oh, Johnny," she said. "You shouldn't-"

A wave of terror filled him. She was going to cry out-she would tell their parents. Fear alone pulled his hand away, but not far. Her own hand snaked gently out and touched his wrist. He moved his fingers back to the demanding flesh, this time covering it with his palm.

"Oh, Johnny," she said again.

"Sis. . . . I-"

"We shouldn't." Her hand was over his on her breast. Her eyes locked to his own. Her lips parted and her pink tongue darted out to moisten them.

He leaned over her slowly, inch by inch, knowing in his brain it was wrong, but in his heart that he could no longer even hope to control the raging inferno that burned within him.

Their lips met tentatively at first-soft, explorative, almost shy flesh on flesh-and hovered that way barely touching to savor the sweet nectar of saliva and the equally sweet expectation of response. She lay pliant beneath him, her mouth slightly open, her breathing heavy against his cheek, and gradually, so slowly the movement could hardly be seen, he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers.

The soft adolescent flesh parted beneath the pressure of his insistence until their mouths were fused together, impossibly linked in the first passionate kiss of damnation. They remained that way for some time-each shocked and yet pleased, each consumed by doubts and yet consumed even more by the strange tingling urges bubbling within them. She, awakened (albeit partially) for the first time in her life; he savoring the sweet nectar of forbidden fruit.

Then, in an instant, her taut body seemed to collapse under his. A great gasp escaped her and her lips parted in innocent surrender. Slender, glistening arms circled his neck and pulled his mouth even tighter to her own, and her mouth relaxed under his in total response to the female instinct for surrender. His tongue responded slowly. The fear and guilt was still in him and an ever smaller part of his mind still raced with the terrifying thought that someone would enter the house and see them in their forbidden caress. But gradually, as the sensitive flesh explored the willing pink of her own lips and tongue, as he probed deeper into her response, all sanity left him. He locked his lips to hers, savored every soft curve of the flesh beneath them, explored and tasted in an orgy of kissing such as he had never known.

His left hand, still resting on the hot-flesh of her right breast, had remained idle and passive during the first moments of the kiss; but as his reeling mind lost more and more logic and was overcome by the lust that could no longer be stopped, his fingers began to move again. Gently at first and then with more insistent demands, they slid over the taut flesh, explored the perfect contour of the small mound and the rigid invitation of the erect nipple.

His mouth slid from hers to her neck and then to her ear as the fingers stroked and caressed. She gasped several times, and when his tongue began exploring the rose petal of her ear she gasped so loud he thought the entire neighborhood must be witness to his guilt.

"Oh, Johnny!" she said. "We're not supposed-"

He could not answer her at first. He could only think of the slender young flesh beneath his lips and hand. His mouth became more demanding. Gently, yet with an authority that could no longer be ignored, he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth and nipped it slightly, sending a mingled shock half of pain, half unexperienced ecstasy, through her.

His hand continued to caress her firm breast, but also to explore beyond the confines of its gentle mound. He slid it from nipple to underside and then to her torso and down to the slight cavity of her waist. Finally, he reached the fabric of her flimsy panties covering the first beginning swell of her adolescent hips.

She pulled her lips from his and looked into his eyes. Her own, barely blue in the moonlight that flooded the porch through the screening, held an expression of doubt mixed with pleased wonder.

"Johnny . . . we're not supposed-" she said again.

"Don't you like this?" he said.

"Doesn't it feel good?"

"I don't know. It's sort of-well, scary."

"You don't have to be afraid," he said. And his hand moved over the fabric of her panties, over the swell of her hips, down the valley of her groin and then up again over the swell of her Venus mound.

She gasped again.

He could feel the wet invitation of her body through the thin material of the panties, so different from the dampness of perspiration, so fully wet and open for him.

"You don't have to be afraid," he said again. "I'll be real gentle." He slipped one tentative finger under the elastic and gently tugged at the panties.

She did not resist him, but neither did she raise the weight of her buttocks to allow the material to be slipped easily away.

"Come on, Sis," he said. His voice was choked now. He knew that if she didn't offer herself freely after what they had already done he might even rape her. A small weak voice from the greyest depths of his mind whispered that the woman beneath him, the half-child lying on the chaise, was his own flesh and blood, but the sound of it was so feeble in contrast to the roar of his own turgid desire that it was barely heard. "I'll show you something good."

She still looked at him. Still the expression of doubt was in her eyes. "You won't hurt me?"

"No. I won't hurt you."

Again his fingers snaked under the elastic of her panties, but this time, she raised her hips slightly so that by using both hands, he could pull the fabric away, down her long legs and over her feet. He did not look until he had dropped the garment on the floor beside his own knee. Only then did he allow his eyes the visual luxury of again climbing from her feet, to her smooth ankles, up the long sweeping line of her legs to the beautifully arched mound of her invitation.

Only the slightest down of auburn hair covered his objective from total view. Perhaps her mind had reservations, but her body was unmistakably welcoming him. The slender pink wound had opened partially to reveal the spreading wet flesh within, covered with a film of dew and topped by an erect clitoris that seemed actually to beckon him like a tiny crooked finger.

"Oh, Johnny, don't hurt me," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"I won't hurt you, Sis. I just want to kiss you."

"Kiss me!" She seemed shocked. "There?"

"You'll like it."

She covered her exposed vagina with one hand, but he noticed as she did so that part of his own lust had taken hold of her. She was unable to keep her palm flat against the damp flesh. He saw one finger curl as it caught in an involuntary spasm and dip into the honeyed chalice beyond.

She was his now, he knew. He leaned over the chaise and kissed her on the parted lips again, but this time his left hand only caressed her breasts for a moment before sliding down over the throbbing length of her chest, to her quivering navel and then down, down again.

Gently, he removed her hand from his goal and extended one finger to touch the pool of desire where it had rested. He slid it over the perspiration-damp outer lips and then, slowly, gently down and in to the bubbling cauldron beyond. He pressed farther, sliding easily over the nub of erectile clitoris and then into the pool beyond. She gasped. "Oh, guy, Johnny. Is this what.. . I mean . . . it's so good. Is this what you do on a date?"

His finger still remained within her molten flesh, surrounded by wet desire, exploring and isolating every part of the whole as his lips slid over her neck, down her torso and over her still-covered . breasts. This time, he slid his face completely over the breasts and then began to kiss at them from the underside up. This time she moved her own hands and lifted the baby doll nightie so that it rested around her neck, giving him complete access to both jutting fruits.

His hand never stopped working below as his lips circled the mound of one breast, teased at the center and then, after what seemed like hours, finally centered over the erect nipple. He pulled it between his lips, nibbled it gently with his teeth and ran his tongue over the tip, tasting the sweet nectar of perspiration and the even sweeter thrill of the nipple in his mouth as a thing of feeling.

He moved his head from one breast to the other, still allowing his finger the sopping confines of her adolescent vagina, gently rubbing up and down against the throbbing button of clitoris. Her breath was coming faster and heavier now; she was panting and gasping and speaking his name, and then, suddenly, without real warning, she jerked violently, twisting under his head and hand saying "Oh, Oh, Oh," again and again.

At first he didn't know what had happened, and then, as she arched her back and laced her arms around him to pull him tight to her still-throbbing body, he realized. She had had her first orgasm. His little sister, Susanne, had had her first orgasm because of him. It was his lips and his finger that had brought her to it; the knowledge filled him with a sense of power completely untouched by guilt or rationale. All he could think of was that the young girl-half-child, half-woman-now-holding him tight to her throbbing naked body, had experienced her first sense of total sexual release because of his finger in her vagina and his lips on her breasts.

He moved his finger slowly now, but still kept it within the hot confines of her organ and waited several moments for the death lock of her arms around his back to weaken. Finally, her arms dropped away and he pulled back to look at her lying as if stunned on the chaise.

"Oh, Johnny. . . . That. . . that was. . . . "

"You liked it?"

"It's scary. I felt-like...."

"Like what?"

"Like . . . like everything . . . I don't know. . . . "

"You just came off, that's all."

"Came off?"

"Yeah. That's what it's like when you come."

"Can boys do that too?"

"Sure," he said, "only not really the same."

"Why?"

"You mean you've never seen a boy?" She shook her head.

"Never seen Dad or me in the shower."

"Mom would have a fit."

He leaned away from the chaise, suddenly embarrassed and yet filled with the newfound sense of power that had consumed him but a moment before.

"Want to?" he asked. "What?"

"Want to see what a cock looks like?"

She didn't answer. A flicker of modest embarrassment flitted across her face. She averted her eyes, then closed them, but the slight curve of a half-smile was unmistakable on her pouting lips. He rose from his knees and stood beside the chaise. Outside the moonlight flooded the back yard and covered the wide yard with a silver carpet. He unbuckled the belt of his jeans, unzipped the fly and, hooking his thumbs under jeans and underdrawers, at once pulled them down to the floor and stepped out of them.

He stood before her wearing shirt, shoes and socks-no more than that-his organ curving upward before him-a turgid shaft of male power touched by the eerie gleam of the moon's light. She still lay with her eyes closed as if afraid of what she would see when she opened them.

"Want to see?" he asked.

She shook her head slightly. He could see the mixture of fear and expectation on her face.

"Nothing to be afraid of, Sis. It can't hurt you."

Her head, averted before, turned slightly toward him, eyes still closed. She waited an instant, then he saw the lids begin to lift, slowly at first and then they snapped opened in wide alarm. She seemed stunned, hypnotized by the erect organ only a bare foot or two from her face.

"That's . . . that's.. . . "

"That's a cock," he said. "Want to touch it."

"Oh, I-"

"Go on, Sis. Feel how hard it is."

"It's all right? I mean, you wouldn't mind?" He shook his head, secretly laughing at her naivety.

She seemed hesitant. He watched the fingers of her hands bend and relax twice before she moved slightly. The fingers of her left hand extended toward his organ, hesitated a moment, then advanced again. Again they hesitated.

"Go on," he said again.

She waited only a half-second longer, then as if summoning all her courage at once darted her hand forward and upward to him so that, finally, the pointed tip of one slender finger rested on the very tip of his penis. She stopped there allowing the slight touch of his flesh to send a ripple of unexpected ecstasy shivering up her arm and through her body.

He took a half step forward just as she withdrew her hand slightly and then grasped part of his extended length in her fist.

"Oh," she said. "It's so . . . so hard."

"Yes." He could hardly speak. Even with the humid heat of the night, the flesh of her palm was strangely cool, wrapped as it was around the almost steaming flesh of his manhood.

"How do you. . . . "

"Come?"

She nodded. "I mean, it can't be like a girl."

"You hold it," he said. "like that. Then you rub it. See . . . ? Up and down."

"like-" She ran her hand experimentally along the length of his penis, then brought it back, "-that?"

This time, he could not control the gasp of escaping breath that left him, the rush of reaction to the tingle of forbidden pleasure her simple movement had thrilled him with.

"Yeah," he gasped. "like that."

Still with her hand on him, she lifted her eyes to his face. "That's all?" she asked.

"All?" He didn't understand.

"I mean, you came off?"

"No."

"But you said-"

"You can't do it just once. Do it some more. Here."

He sat down on the chaise so that she could raise the upper part of her body and look closely at him as she rubbed her hand up and down on his erect organ.

Too late he realized that his excitement on the date, his almost uncontrolled lust since arriving home, and now the pressure of her hand moving up and down on his penis, were too much. He wanted to control himself, but he couldn't, and then he didn't want to any more; and as her hand jerked down, he gasped with the snapping of release within him, watched as the jet of fluid-silver in and pulled him toward her with such force that he was sure his teeth must have cut the tender flesh.

The cry from her lips seemed to climb the screened walls, soar into the dark sky and skip along the silver flood of moonlight, never ending, echoing to the very stars and beyond to an unknown infinite. Still she pressed hard to him, still she clutched his hungry lips to her, so that instead of her organ being within his mouth, his mouth was now almost entirely within her gaping organ and being pulled even deeper.

A moment of fear-he would drown there-a moment of ecstasy-he didn't care. If he were to die, he would die and be buried all at once. His tongue never ceased its movement along the nub of clitoris and back, never ceased caressing, tasting, fondling the wet welcome of her insides, and now his arms reached out, palms spread so that each hand could grasp one jutting breast. He pressed hard on them as he felt the pressure of her own hands relax on the back of his head.

She was gasping now. He could hear her say, "No, Johnny. No more. I can't anymore. No.. . . "

He lifted his head slightly and looked up to see the flat plain of her stomach, the twin hills of her breasts still covered by his hands and the valley between leading to her jaw. He could not see her face. He only knew that her mouth was open, her breath coming in heavy gasps from between parted lips.

"Come?" he asked.

"Oh, Johnny. Do you always do that? I mean, to your girl friends."

"Sometimes. like it."

"Oh.. . . "

"like it better than finger-fucking."

"Oh. My head almost came off. I can't even breathe."

"Want to come again?" he said. "I mean even better?" His own organ was now fully erect again, throbbing with the desire that her own passion had given him.

"Oh, Johnny. I can't. I-"

"I can."

"How?"

"Same way."

"You mean . . . you want me. . . . In my mouth . . . ? "

"Sure, why not?"

"But that's-"

"All the girls do it."

"Take boys in their mouths?"

"Sure. It's a blow job."

"You mean they just blow on it and the boys come off?"

"No, dummy. That's just what they call it. A blow job. You know, sucking a guy off. Frenching him."

"And you want me to do that? I mean give you a blow job?"

"Well, I ate you, didn't I?"

"Is that what you . . . I mean when you kiss me . . . I mean down there.. . . "

"Oh, Sis, you don't know anything, do you?" She shook her head, but a slight womanly smile flicked across her lips. "I sure want to learn, though. I like coming off, Johnny. I really like it when my head goes away like that. That's a real high."

"Yeah," he said.

"And do you like it? I mean, when you shoot all over like that?"

"Yeah. Only it's even better when you get sucked off."

"You mean when I put it in my mouth. . . . Gee, I don't know. . . . "

"It's easy. Just put the end in your mouth and suck a little and then sort of slip it back and forth while you play with my balls."

"Your balls?"

"These," he said cupping his hand under his scrotum and lifting it slightly so that she could see the two testicles there.

"Oh!" Her eyes were wide again. "I never noticed them!"

"Here, feel 'em," he said.

She reached out to cup her own delicate palm under his scrotum and, with the sensation of their weight in her hand, squeezed slightly.

"Careful!"

"What?"

"That hurts."

"Hurts? But coming off doesn't hurt. How can-"

"Balls are different, that's all. Here-" he eased himself toward her. "Suck on this and just be careful with my nuts."

She looked from his face to his turgid organ, the doubt still there for a moment before a huge smile lit her face and she lowered her head to his penis. At first she hovered before it, looking closely at the expanded flesh, the hard knob at the top and the glistening covering of sperm that still covered it. Then, still holding her head slightly away, she extended her tongue so that only the tip of the pink dart touched the very end of his organ. She touched, touched harder, and then licked almost like a soft animal savoring milk. Then, after another moment, she turned up to look at his face.

"Tastes funny," she said.

"like it?"

She licked again, waited a moment almost like a professional gourmet or wine taster, letting the strange flavor run from her taste buds to the registry center of her mind and back again. "Ummm," she purred. "It's good!"

And then she slipped her full lips over the end of his penis and slid the throbbing end of it completely into her mouth. He felt the tight squeeze of pressure as she sucked on the tip and the slippery smootliness of her tongue as it circled the organ tentatively at first and then with an unmistakable demand. Her lips slid further down, her fingers played gently with his testicles as her other hand gripped the shaft of his organ below her mouth.

"Go up and down," he gasped. "Up and down."

An inchoate, animal sound escaped her, but she would not let his penis go to form it into words. She obeyed only, pulling his shaft as deeply into her mouth as she could and then letting her lips pull away. An instinct was in her, he thought. She had all the desires of a full-grown woman. And again the feeling of complete power filled him. He was the first. He knew that. He was the first man who had ever shown her any of the joys of sex, and she was responding! She would be in his power from now on. He was no longer worried about her telling their parents when they returned home on Sunday night. He knew that in days to was there. It had always been there, and now he knew that, given a few moments to relax and regain his strength, he might even do that.

"Never played with anybody?" he said.

"Never."

"And never sucked anybody off?"

"Just now. Just now."

"Then you never fucked anybody either."

"Fucked?"

"You know. Had a guy stick his cock in you."

"You mean-" Again her eyes were wide in amazement. She looked from his penis to her own exposed groin. "In there?"

"Sure."

"Oh, Johnny. It's too big. It would hurt terrible."

"Silly, that's where it's meant to go."

"I don't believe you."

"Want me to show you."

"Well, I-"

"You just wait a minute until it's hard again. You can play with it if you want. Just rub it a little more and I'll show you."

"You really mean-"

"Sure."

"But don't you get pregnant."

"You won't get pregnant."

"You sure?"

"I'll pull out. I promise."

She was still fondling his penis, rubbing her hand up and down along it as she had done at first, savoring the feel of it as it grew again from half-limp erection to a full, hard shaft of demanding desire.

"You sure it won't hurt?" she said.

"Sure."

"Well, how do I-"

"You just lie on your back. Here, I'll show you."

Very gently, he eased her down so that she was again lying on her back. The baby doll nightie still crumpled around her neck, but the rest of her body was totally naked. One at a time, he spread her legs apart so that they formed a wide inverted V pointing to her open, down-circled vagina. Her knees bent at the sides of the chaise, her toes touched the floor under it. Slowly, meticulously, almost like a track man about to start a mile-long race, he placed one knee on the chaise, and then the other, until he was kneeling between her spread legs with the shaft of his penis held firmly in one hand.

He leaned forward so that part of his weight was supported by the palm of his left hand beside her hip and gently lowered himself so that the purple head of his penis was only a scant inch away from her open vaginal lips.

"See," he said. "I just put it right--"

"I want to see," she said.

She adjusted her torso slightly so that she could raise her neck and look down to where their two sexual organs almost touched.

"It's so big!" she said again.

"It'll fit. Believe me."

"You're sure?"

"Sure."

He eased forward so that the very tip of his organ now touched the wet, open lips of her vagina, played over the spread labia and touched the delicate knob of her clitoris. He held it there, gently moving it up and down against the bobbing clitoris.

"Oh, that's good, Johnny." She was still on her elbows, watching the progress of his entry. Now the head was partially submerged in pink flesh, now the head had almost disappeared and was incased in hot bubbling lava.

Then he felt the barrier and knew that he had lied to her. Her hymen was intact, blocking his total entry. It would hurt her, he knew, to thrust forward and rupture the membrane, but he didn't care. He wanted only his own pleasure, and no more.

He eased back slightly, ready to thrust into her with all his power and sink his entire shaft to its full depth within the hot walls of her welcoming vagina.

And then the kitchen lights went on. A shadow fell over their embrace and an indignant woman's voice said, "Well!"

He jumped up, momentarily forgetting where he had left his trousers. His erection dropped as if hit by a sledge and he turned to face his sister Ann, apparently just arrived home after her date.

"Ann," he stammered. "I know this looks-"

"I know what it looks like," his sister snapped.

"But you don't under-"

"Don't I?" She walked to where Sue still lay naked, legs still spread, an expression of shock on her face. As she leaned over her younger sister, her voice was calm. "Can't have you staying up all night while Mom and Dad are away," she said. "You better get some sleep."

Sue nodded and Ann pulled the fabric of her nightgown down to cover the exposed flesh of

Sue's breasts.

John Jr. scurried behind and found his crumpled trousers and underdrawers on the floor, and hastily he slipped his legs into them. He was zipping his fly closed when Ann turned to him.

"Hadn't you better get some sleep, too?" she said. Her expression was part sneer, part knowing smile.

He wondered if she would tell their parents, wondered what they would do if they ever found out. The effects of the beer he had consumed earlier had partially worn off. He wanted to go to the toilet, but was sure the fear in him would not allow any water to pass.

"I guess so," he said.

"Good night, Sue," Ann said as she turned into the kitchen and flicked the light out.

" 'Night," Sue echoed. And then, "Goodnight, Johnny. Thanks."

He knew he mumbled something, but what it was was not clear. All he could think of was that he had been caught almost in the act of complete sexual congress with his own kid sister, and now he was sure he was in a jam he would never get out of.

Almost like a pet dog, he followed Ann through the kitchen and dining room, then through the living room to the foot of the stairs.

"You know," she said, "big boys like you shouldn't go around trying to fuck their baby sisters."

"I was only-"

"I know what you were only. You were almost breaking her cherry. I saw, remember?" He nodded meekly.

"Didn't get your regular piece of ass with your date tonight, did you?" Her voice seemed strangely soft as she started to mount the stairs.

He shook his head.

"So you got all hot and horny and thought you'd stick the old magic-maker into little Sue?"

"Look, Ann, I had some beer. I didn't think anyone-"

She turned to him, looked from his eyes over his chest to his groin, and then up again. "You know," she said finally, "a big, well-hung stud like you shouldn't fiddle around trying to dick young girls." A slight smile lifted her lips as her hand slowly reached out to touch him exactly on the groin. "If you want to play fuck and suck games, you should play with girls your own size."

"You mean-"

"Why not? If you're going to do it with Sue, you're sure as hell not going to get me to sit around satisfied with nothing but a candle sticking up my cunt."

John Jr. looked at his sister for a long moment before snaking his arm around her waist and leading her up the stairs to the landing. There, instead of waiting for her to go into the room she shared with Sue, he led her toward his own room and toward what he was sure would be an even wilder experience than the one he had enjoyed downstairs on the back porch.