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By Succubus
Just one step carried him through the door, but a million
had gone before. Insanity is never but a moment's inspiration, but the cultivation of a lifetime.
The creak of his
heavy steps seemed to scream in the silent house, seemed to scream at him. Voices: screaming, squeaking, laughing, accusing;
voices raised in protest, in condemnation. His voice would be heard this night.
His memory placed one foot before the
other, keeping him clear of furniture in the room. Moonlight slid in from a side window to show him her door. Divine assistance,
he thought to himself: Luna herself gives her blessing. His face cracked into
a grimace of a smile. It looked painful, tearing into his stubbled cheeks.
He reached the door, his nostrils flaring,
catching her scent. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, inhaling her odor, feeling it suffuse him. He placed his hand against
the wooden door and could feel her inside, her heat, her need. She needed him, he knew it.
The knob turned silently,
the door sliding open inch by inch. Not a single sound from the freshly oiled door; not a peep to warn sweet Melissa. He stepped
into the room and paused, gazing down at her.
Every moment in his life had led to this, to now. Everything was there
only so he could be here. He felt it deep inside, the sheer correctness of the moment. It was so very right.
She slept
soundly, one arm flung over her head, the other curled tight to her chest. She faced the room, her shoulder delicate in the
moonlight as it peeked from under the comforter. So fragile. He must protect her, she needed him. He knew, had known his whole
life, that Melissa was his. That he must care for her, love her, as he was meant to do.
She knew it too, had always
known. It was in her eyes. But life was not as simple for her as for him. He knew she could never admit to her love for him,
of her desire. Her eyes spoke volumes, though.
Watching the young woman sleep, his mind was drawn back, into the past.
As
a child his feet had worn this same path to her room. He would sneak in, his little bare feet light upon the carpet, silent,
and watch as she slept. Sometimes, she would awaken, and he would tell her he had a nightmare. Then she would peel back the
covers and put out those fragile arms to him, letting him into her bed. He would burrow his face against her, smelling her.
That's the only place he belonged, was in her arms. As he'd grown, she'd still been there for him, her and him against the
world.
Then one night, when he was 14 and she 16, their father had walked into the room and caught them together. It
was all innocent enough, she holding him while he buried his face into her golden hair, but Dad hadn't thought so. He didn't
understand their love.
He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the cobwebs of the past from his vision of the present.
She was destined to be his, since childhood he'd known that. For while she was comforting him, he was fantasizing, dreaming:
of a life with just the two of them, of a world in which she was truly his. Tonight he'd bring that world to life.
She'd
be so happy to see him; she must have missed him in the years that had passed. He hadn't even seen her at his trial. But he understood that was because she knew he was right, and he understood that she
couldn't bear to see him so trapped, at the mercy of so many others. How painful that must have been to her, his fragile champion.
He
moved to her bedside, his heart aching with the love he held for his sister, pounding with the excitement of what would finally
be. With a soft touch, he ran his finger down her cheek, tracing the line a tear would take.
"Melissa," he whispered
in the darkness.
She stirred slightly, her eyes opening but not yet seeing, her movements disoriented and confused.
"Shhh," he said as she opened her mouth, a million questions
in her head. "It doesn't matter, I've come back to you, as I always said I would."
Coming fully awake, her eyes widened.
But how could he be free? And here?
He reached for her, his hands big and strong now, no longer the hands of a child.
He was easily twice her size. He hugged her to him, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, reveling in the
glorious fruition of love.
"Michael, no, what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice edged with panic.
"What
we were always meant to do, my sister, my love"
He wrapped his arms tighter around her as she started to struggle.
He could feel her heart beating, feel it thumping in her chest. He pictured a pet bird he'd once had, and how the bird would
beat itself against its cage, desperate to get out, as he lit the newspaper below it on fire. Her heart was like that now,
desperate to be free of her chest. It was overwhelming for her, and not as easy as it was for him, he knew. He would be patient.
She
pushed her arms ineffectually against him, her nails digging into his arms as she tried to break free, but he seemed to not
even notice. He pressed her into the bed, his weight heavy on her, holding her trapped beneath him.
He could feel her
passion rising up in her, could feel her body growing tense from the pressure, from the pleasure. He ran his hand down her
side, caressing her, his first true caresses to his always-dearest love. Hooking his fingers beneath her nightshirt, he slid
it up slowly, his hand petting her body as it went.
Melissa squirmed beneath him, her fear growing, desperation mounting
as he seemed oblivious to her resistance.
"No, Michael, no," she pleaded, still whispering in the silent house, "you're
scaring me."
He knew it was really not him she was afraid of. It was herself, it was their parents, it was the world.
He knew this was what she, too, wanted; he knew that she would only be complete with him. He ignored her pleas: they were
just fear of the truth speaking. They were lies she was taught to repeat.
Up and up slid the nightshirt, until it was
pressed tight against her neck. He reached his hands between their bodies and freed his hardening member from his pants, sliding
her panties to one side.
True panic had filled Melissa and she realized that her brother was not going to stop. She
opened her mouth to scream, and in went her own nightshirt. A second later, his cock stabbed into her painfully, tearing into
her. Her body locked tight from the pain and she screamed into the nightshirt, a muffled sound that got not much further than
to Michael's ears.
The ecstasy of entering her was beyond compare. He'd imagined this moment his whole life, imagined
what her body would feel like under his, what it would be like to sink himself into her heat. Never could he have imagined
this. Slowly, with love, he rocked into her.
Melissa choked and gagged on her nightshirt, her tears pouring now from
her eyes. She'd never believed her brother capable of all the things they'd said he did. Now she believed, with all her heart.
He
made love to his sister, licking at her body, caressing her breasts, her neck, nuzzling his face into the smell of her as
his pleasure mounted. Images of her as a child, running hand and hand with him came into his mind. A tear ran down one cheek
and he thought he might die from the beauty of it all. Melissa moved under him, urging him on, pushing his fevered soul deeper
into her. He held the shirt tightly against her, making certain her sighs of pleasure wouldn't wake anyone and destroy this
moment of shared bliss.
Trapped underneath him, Melissa struggled as the nightshirt tightened against her throat. Her
screams now came out as gasps. Futilely she kicked her legs, her arms scratching out, pulling at the cloth, trying desperately
to breath. Her struggles grew weaker and weaker.
He could feel as she reached her pleasure. The spasm ran through her body and he felt it rush into his, as though all her pleasure was to be felt
by him as well. He felt her body lock tightly around him, felt her go weak, go limp, then finally, he too was delving and
diving into heaven.
He lay there for a moment, caressing his love, his sister. He kissed her body, cried in her arms,
and knew he had finally done what he was destined to do. No mere mortals could feel this love, so gods they must be. He pulled
down her nightshirt, freeing her face for his greedy gaze and greedier kisses.
Melissa's blank eyes stared back at
him; the whites were bloodshot and dark. Her tongue protruded slightly between her lips.
From the corner of her mouth, a small line of blood could be seen.
The man’s sobs were unearthly: a keening yell which woke the house around him. Screaming to the heavens, hating the
world of the living and the dead, he fled into the night. |
