Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: The Beach House Ch.  02


Summary: The line between love and hatred is paper thin...


Keywords: inc,fic



   Prologue

   Sarah Ryan never heard the explosion, for the shock wave reached her
before the sound and by then her eardrums had ruptured.

   She felt an enormous force seize her body to fling it forward, and the
agony of her legs as they struck the bow coaming; and then the horizon was
spinning as she cartwheeled over the grey water below before the final
impact blew the breath out of her body.

   She floated on her back for a while and the sky filled her horizon - a
vast cathedral of pale blue, clean and pure and flawless, and she listened
to the whistling in her ears and wondered at the beauty of that ethereal
sky so far above as she tried to comprehend what had happened; and then she
saw the plume of smoke and steam where the boat had been and the splashes
of wreckage raining down around her, and she understood there had been a
terrible accident.

   She never saw the spar that hit her for it had gone far above her head,
whirling upwards in a maelstrom of splintered wood and flame before it
descended, and she never heard it either.  There was only fleeting moment
of pain as it struck her, and a dreadful awareness that this was the end.

   In that final second she understood that Michael was gone too, and that
she would never see him again to say she adored him, nor touch him in the
quiet of the night, happy that he was there.  In the anguish of that moment
she perceived that each of them was destined to make this final journey
without even the comfort of a goodbye, and the knowledge filled her with a
sense of terrible loneliness.

   And then the darkness consumed her and there was only the sound of the
wind and the waves, and the cries of the seagulls circling over her pale
face floating adrift in the troubled waters below.

   Five Months Earlier

   Lucille Carter-Bayliss stared out of the window, her mind on the report
she had just read.  The single page of closely typed words lay on the desk
before her and it confirmed everything she had suspected.

   The report had been commissioned from a female private detective called
Emily who owed her a few favours, and although it was brief she had no
doubt it was correct.  Lucy had seen her working, piecing together scraps
of information to build a bigger picture.  She remembered the intricate way
Emily had gathered information: the innocent little conversations with
family and friends; examination of clues trawled from the garbage, and the
phone taps and email intercepts.  It was amazing what you could find about
someone if you tried, and the woman was a genius at putting it all
together.

   Her eyes flicked back to the report on her desk and she picked it up to
read its contents again.

   Confidential.  Report on Sarah Jane Ryan, Crotton Street, Thruxton.  May
2013.

   You asked me to observe the subject, Sarah Ryan, and to report on any
matters of interest and in particular which persons are in her life and the
nature of her relationship with them...

   The next few paragraphs explained where and how she had observed the
girl and Lucy's eyes skipped over them, resuming with the body of the
report.

   Sarah and her brother Michael live with their parents in a relatively
affluent house just outside of Thruxton.  Her father is a consultant
engineer and during the period of observation was on contract overseas. 
Her mother does not work but is socially active.  She appears to have a
good relationship with her daughter, who lives at home.  Michael, her
brother, is two years older than his sister and is a carpenter by trade
although he does not appear to have regular employment at present.

   Sarah does not socialise and I found no evidence of boyfriends or other
external relationships.  She appears to have few friends and for the most
part lives quietly at home.  She is studying the foundation units for
Veterinary Science at the local TAFE, which occupies her three days a
week...

   There was more background information about the girl: her friends and
her social habits, what music she liked and the hobbies she had.  Lucy
noted with interest that she and her brother were renovating a cottage on
the headland across the bay, and she smiled at her own memories of that
place.  But it was the second page that interested her most, and she read
it again carefully.

   My investigations lead me to believe that Sarah may be pregnant.  She
was observed to visit an obstetrics clinic by herself on two occasions, and
I have also found evidence of the purchase of pyridoxine 20mg, which is a
prescription medication typically used for the treatment of morning
sickness.  If my deduction is correct then I would suggest she is still in
the first trimester of her pregnancy.

   If this diagnosis is correct there is the question of who the father
might be but in this regard I have so far been unsuccessful.  I saw no
contact with any particular male during my surveillance, nor were there any
detectable telephone calls or emails with any person that suggested such a
relationship.  I conclude that it was either a one-night stand, which seems
inconsistent with Sarah's social behaviour, or she is actively trying to
suppress the father's identity.

   Sarah relies heavily on the support of her brother: indeed, although I
observed no intimacy between them I would say their relationship is very
close.  I cannot say if he is aware of her condition, nor, for that matter,
whether the mother has been informed.  So far there is no physical evidence
of her pregnancy, but of course as time goes by this will change.

   Lucy set the pages back on the desk and closed her eyes, thinking of the
first night she had seduced the girl.  She remembered the restaurant, with
the dimmed lighting and the wine and music.  Sarah had been shy but the
Rohypnol had fixed that, and then it had been a night to remember.  She
recalled the softness of her lips in that first kiss and the whisper of her
clothes as she shed them to lie naked on the bed, her long limbs splayed
out and her eyes bright with the drug.  She remembered too the first taste
of her pussy, and how it confirmed what Lucy had known from the moment
she'd first set eyes on the girl - that she was a rare find, a beauty with
a smoldering sexuality that had blossomed under Lucy's experienced tongue.

   The early months had been the best.  They had been inseparable: she as
the teacher and the girl as the pupil, so naïve but eager to learn.  Sarah
had an inventive streak, learning quickly and not afraid to experiment, and
within a week or two she had become the favourite.  There were others, of
course, girls that Lucy had groomed for sex or who did it for money, but
there was none quite like her.  It had been an amazing few months - the
meetings, the wine and soft music, the soft feather beds, the passion.

   Just how far the girl had progressed was demonstrated one afternoon when
they took a trip to Brinsley's head, climbing from the little boat ramp to
the ruined cottage that overlooked the bay.  Sarah had been working alone
to repair the old structure and Lucy smiled as the recalled the girl's
eagerness to show off the renovations.

   'None of the roof was here,' she'd said, waving one arm at the roughly
patched timbers above their head.  'I climbed up and nailed the tarp, and
then cleared the rubble away from the -' she caught sight of Lucy's
expression and the words died on her lips.

   'Don't stop,' Lucy smiled at her earnestness.  'Tell me.'

   Sarah shook her head.  'No...it's boring.  Sorry.'

   Lucy grasped her arm lightly.  'No, really.  I like hearing you tell me
- I like watching your excitement.' She stared into the girl's face, struck
yet again by its perfect symmetry: the wide set eyes and little button nose
and the cupid's bow curve of her lips.  In the subdued light she couldn't
discern the colour of Sarah's eyes but she saw the pupils were distended,
the dark orbs in stark contrast to the pale perfection of the surrounding
skin.  Beneath her fingers she felt the warm flesh of the girl's arm and in
a moment of unity she sensed the blood coursing through its veins and
arteries, bringing life and vitality to the young, firm body.

   A sudden surge of emotion seized her and she leaned forward and pressed
her lips to Sarah's open mouth.  For a moment the girl was passive and then
she tilted her head and responded, her body arching against the older
woman. Lucy's brain was suddenly filled with a maelstrom of conflicting
senses: the subtle smell of cinnamon and apple in the soft cloud of Sarah's
hair and the cloying sweetness of her perfume; the taste of her mouth and
the soft warmth of her breath and the slippery feel of her tongue.  She
dropped the blanket she was holding and seized the girl in a tight embrace,
and they clung to each other in the dappled light, their hearts racing as
their passion spiraled.
At last Lucy broke free.  'Here,' she gasped.  'Let's do it here.' She
stooped to spread the blanket on the fractured tiles of the ruined floor
and knelt upon it, and she looked up at the girl.  'Take off your clothes,'

she whispered.

   Sarah unzipped her skirt and shucked off her blouse, tossing the scraps
of material to one side.  She wore no underwear and in the subdued light
she saw Lucy gazing at her pussy with hungry eyes.

   'Step forward,' the woman commanded.  'Push your cunt into my face.'

   Sarah obeyed, thrusting her hips forward slightly as she did so.  She
felt the sudden heat of Lucy's breath on her labia and a moment later the
hardness of her tongue slipping into the entrance of her body.  The tip
flickered over her clitoris and she gasped at the sudden sensation. 
'Ah...Christ,' she whispered ' - ah, easy...easy.' Her voice was gusty, the
words broken as the intensity of her pleasure ratcheted upwards.  She
seized Lucy's head and held it tightly in the juncture of her thighs. 
'There,' she whispered, 'Ah, yes...just there.  Fuck...fuck...don't stop,
Luce!  Just there.' There was a sudden bloom of moisture at her sex and she
imagined it smeared over Lucy's eager lips.  The image triggered her first
orgasm - a small one that rushed in unexpectedly, and she closed her eyes
and rode the tight little waves of pleasure as they enfolded her.

   Lucy stripped quickly and lay on the blanket on her back, staring up at
Sarah with hungry eyes.  She could still taste the girl on her tongue and
her cheeks were wet with pussy juice.  From her low perspective she could
see Sarah's sex, the lips furled back and the flesh pink and fresh and
clean.  She reached up and touched it lightly before inserting one finger
into the girl's body.  The channel was very tight and she felt its sucking
warmth trying to draw her in.

   'Sit on my face, she commanded, and she watched as the girl crouched
over her, one golden thigh either side of her head.  'Now, press down.'
Lucy's hands grasped the girl's buttocks and drew them towards her face,
feasting her eyes on the wet gash as it descended.

   'You love being eaten, don't you?' she whispered.  'Tell me you love
it.'

   'Ah...God yes!' Sarah's voice broke as she felt the first touch of
Lucy's tongue.  'I...ah...I love it, Luce.  I love - ugh -what you do to
me.'

   'I can taste you,' Lucy said.  She pressed her mouth over the spongy wet
lips of Sarah's sex and drew her tongue upward to the fissured texture of
the tight little anus.  'I can taste your cunt,' she whispered.  'You're
dripping wet...oozing into my mouth.  Are you wet for me?'

   'I am, I am.' Sarah hunkered down, pressing against the restless mouth
below her, and she writhed as the woman lapped at her sex.  She could feel
Lucy's fingers easing her buttocks apart and her anus crimped as the
hardness of her tongue slithering over it, like a fish's mouth grasping at
a morsel of food.  Through the waves of pleasure she regarded the broken
floor littered with dust and rubble and leaves, and the sordid surroundings
reinforced the feeling that she was committing a secret sin.  Little Sarah
Ryan, as pretty as a picture, so clean and virtuous and pure - and yet here
she was, kneeling in the filth like a cheap whore with her heart hammering
and her breath groaning with every thrust of Lucy's tongue.

   This is the other me, Sarah thought.  This is my secret life as a slut,
fucking in the dirt, groveling naked with another woman, gobbling up her
juices like a cat with a bowl of cream.  The thought triggered a sudden
surge of lust and she bent quickly to lick the thick lips of Lucy's sex. 
Her brain was consumed by the primeval urge to fuck: to eat the luscious
fruit before her and to grind her cunt against the woman's face.  She could
feel the seeds of another orgasm building, triggered by her thoughts and
the delicious feel of Lucy's tongue lapping at her pussy, and it spiraled
quickly in her brain.

   'I'm going to cum again,' she whispered.  'Ah, shit, Lucy...I can feel
it...building.  Yes, yes...ah, yes.  It's coming, Luce.'

   'Eat me too,' the woman commanded.  'Like I showed you, Sarah...let's
cum together.'

   Sarah thrust her face between the open thighs and plunged her tongue
into the wet opening.  Lucy's cream was thicker now, a sure sign of her
excitement, and it coated her lips and chin.  She curled her tongue to
capture it, wriggling the tip inside the woman's body and was rewarded by a
groan of pleasure from the twitching form beneath her.  Lucy's tongue was
inside her too, burrowing between her labia and flickering over her
clitoris to ratchet up her pleasure.

   'Ah...fuck...fuck,' Sarah moaned.  'Jesus, Luce...I'm cumming!' She
trembled on the brink for a moment, her vision tunneling rapidly to
swirling darkness shot through with flashes of brilliant light, and then
the pleasure burst in her brain like a super nova and she shrieked as it
consumed her.

   The sound was enough to trigger Lucy's own orgasm and she arched her
back and screamed, her mouth open in a rictus of pain and pleasure.  Just
above her face Sarah's pussy was contracting spasmodically, dribbling a
thin stream of liquid and she plunged her mouth over the opening to capture
the pungent fluid.  She felt the girl's lips encompass her own cunt and she
writhed in ecstasy at the sensation.  On and on and on it went, the waves
of pleasure rolling over them like a tsunami, their bodies twitching and
their hands grasping, grasping, as if each was trying to enter the body of
the other, until at last the sensations subsided and they relaxed with a
final groan of pleasure.

   Sarah climbed off the supine figure and collapsed next to her.  A thin
shaft of sunlight pierced the roof and illuminated her belly and Lucy could
see the sheen of sweat on the firm golden flesh.  The sight stirred her and
she leaned over the girl and kissed her.

   'I have a new lesson today,' she murmured.  'A new trick for you to
learn.'

   Sarah laughed.  'I thought we'd done everything that could be done.'

   Lucy smiled.  'Not by a long shot.  This one lets you possess me.  This
time you will be the aggressor.' She could see the girl's interest.  'If
you go to my stuff you'll find a little tube,' she said, 'the red one. 
Bring it to me.' She watched as Sarah walked to the corner to rummage in
the little bag, and she rolled onto her knees and thrust her buttocks up in
supplication.

   'Smear it on your hand,' she instructed.  'Lots of it...now, put it in
me.  Put your whole hand in me.'

   Sarah examined the woman's sex.  It was still swollen from their
lovemaking but she could see it was too small.

   'It won't fit, Luce,' she said doubtfully.

   'It will...just start slowly - three fingers.'

   Sarah crouched behind the woman and rested her left hand on the smooth
skin of her back.  Lucy's vulva was still bathed in juice and she drew her
fingers over the glistening wet flesh, drawing a groan of pleasure from the
crouching figure.

   'Inside,' Lucy whispered.  'Push inside.'

   Sarah pressed into the wet gash, feeling the sucking warmth as her
fingers slid in.  She watched the vulva stretch to accommodate them, the
ring tightening around her knuckles like an elastic band.

   'Now four,' Lucy gasped.  'Put in four.'

   Sarah bent forward to observe as she applied more pressure.  Her face
was close to the woman's vulva, watching as four fingers slid into the
warm, oily tube.  The tiny eye of the anus above her fingers bulged with
the pressure, the ring opening slightly to reveal the pink flesh of Lucy's
bowels and the girl rubbed her thumb over it.

   'More, baby,' the woman hissed.  'Go deeper.'

   The girl withdrew her fingers a little and curled her thumb across her
palm before sliding her hand forward again.  She watched Lucy's vulva
expanding, the rim stretched tight around her knuckles until she could move
no further.  'It won't go,' she said.  Her voice was breathless.  'It's too
tight, Luce.'

   'Push.  Push hard.'

   Sarah pressed forward, rotating her fingers a little as if to screw them
in.  Her fingers were buried to the third knuckle, the widest part of her
hand, and the pressure was intense.  Somewhere beneath her Lucy was
grunting, a primeval sound of pain and pleasure juxtaposed on one another,
and in a sudden moment of insight Sarah understood the power she had over
the pale, twitching body kneeling before her.  She thrust her hand forward
aggressively and the resistance melted, and her hand sank into the woman's
body.

   Sarah stared down at their point of union, seeing her wrist encircled by
the tight ring of Lucy's vulva.  'I'm inside you Luce,' she whispered in a
voice filled with wonder.  'My whole hand is in your pussy.'

   'Ah, God yes...I feel it.  Fuck, that's tight!'

   Sarah began to flex her arm inside the crouching figure, feeling the
sucking warmth of her inner flesh and the iron grip of the vulva around her
wrist.  Her eyes fastened on Lucy's anus, watching as it expanded with the
pressure, opening like an awaking eye.  She stooped and touched the rim
with her tongue, marveling at the rubbery texture.

   'Fuck me, Sarah.' Lucy's voice was tight with lust.  'Fuck me with your
hand.'

   The girl slid her hand sliding deeper into the warmth of Lucy's pussy,
and she watched a strand of juice drool from the tight vulvar ring to lie
like a silver thread on the blanket below.  She heard the wet suck of
Lucy's flesh and smelled the raw odour her excitement, thick and rank in
her nostrils.  In a moment of sudden perception Sarah understood that for
the first time it was she who was totally in control and the slim body
impaled on her arm was utterly helpless.  She curled her fingers into a
fist and thrust deeper, imaging the slippery pink walls of that narrow
channel being forced apart...violated by this symbol of power.  Her senses
were filled with the sounds they made - the gasps and groans and sighs and
the hiss of Lucy's breath; and she saw how she twitched and trembled like a
skewered fish.  The sense of power brought a surge of lust and she began to
pump harder.

   For a long time Sarah fucked the gaping maw, observing how the juice at
the rim was churned to a white froth as her wrist pumped back and forth. 
It was easier now as the bruised and battered opening had relaxed and she
could go deeper still.  She saw beads of Lucy's juice scattered on the
blanket like drops of liquid opal, and she heard the wet squishing as her
fist plunged back and forth inside the woman's body.

   And at last she saw the rising tide of her lover's passion: the spiral
of pleasure that was building, building - the arching of her back and the
tightening of her thighs, and she heard the little squeaks and sighs grow
longer, until at least she was trembling on the brink.  And at that moment
she leaned forward and plunged her tongue like an arrow into the open ring
of Lucy's anus to trip her over the edge.

   The woman screamed and a sudden spray of juice burst from the quivering
lips of her cunt to splatter over the girl's arm.  'Oh, God, baby,' she
shrieked.  'I'm cumming...I'm cumming!  Fuck me deep!' Her head thrashed
from side to side and her back arched like an epileptic's.  'Ah
Jesus...fuck...yes, yes!' The muscles of her cunt contracted sharply,
squeezing Sarah's arm in a vice like grip.  She could feel it rippling, a
sort of spasmodic clutching as if Lucy was trying to drag her deeper
inside, and the ring of her vulva bubbled and oozed with expelled juice.

   Sarah waited until the contractions faded.  Despite the blanket her
knees hurt, and her back ached from the unusual posture.  Her hand was
still buried in Lucy's cunt but the passion had dissolved, leaving an
uncomfortable awareness of how unnatural the act had been.  She extracted
her hand, watching as the vulva stretched around the heel of her palm, and
she saw the spurt of juice expelled as her fingers left Lucy's greasy
flesh. She thought she heard a sound behind her and glanced quickly at the
window, but there was nothing there and she turned back to the sound of her
voice.

   'Lie here with me,' Lucy said, and patted the blanket beside her.  She
lifted the girl's hand to her face and took each finger in her mouth, one
at a time, to lick the cream from between them.  Cunt juice was delicious,
she thought, but only when you could share it with someone else.

   'That was lovely,' she said.  'Now, let's talk about another little
trick I can teach you.'

   *

   In the quiet of her office Lucy smiled as she recalled those days.  The
afternoon on the island had been the best, in the old Beach House, but
there had been others, too: wonderful times as she tutored the girl in the
ways of love...or ways of lust, anyway.  But then it had changed, and the
smile slipped from her lips as she remembered.

   It had happened a little after their Beach House love-in.  Sarah had
travelled from Thruxton and they met in a little café not far from their
favourite motel.  Lucy was there first, as she always was, and she took the
little corner table furthest from the door so she could watch the room.  It
was a quiet afternoon and the café was almost empty when Sarah arrived. 
She opened the door and stood at the threshold for a few moments before
carefully closing it and moving towards her.

   She was wearing a red dress very like the one she'd worn on their first
date, but the resemblance ended there.  The naïve young girl who Lucy had
seduced was gone, and in her place was a self-assured young woman threading
her way though the tables.  Her hair was longer and bleached by the sun,
and it reached her shoulders in a pale curtain of iridescent gold that
swayed softly as she walked, and she was beautiful.

   Lucy rose to her feet.  'Sarah.  It's lovely to see you.' She leaned
forward to kiss her lips but the girl turned her head to offer her cheek
instead.

   'Hello Luce.'

   'Please - sit.  Would you like some tea?'

   The girl settled in the chair.  'Thank you, yes.'

   Lucy lifted the teapot and poured a cup, adding a dash of milk.  She was
aware of Sarah's eyes on her and the lack of any smile.  'You're a little
late,' she remarked.  'I thought you might not be coming.'

   'I said I would.  The train was late.'

   'I see.' Lucy pushed the cup toward her.  'Sugar?'

   'You know I don't.'

   'I haven't seen you for a while, Sarah, and people change.' She examined
the girl, observing the sun-browned skin, glossy with health and vitality.
'You look very well.  What have you being doing with yourself?'

   Sarah shrugged.  'Not much, really.'

   'Well, whatever it is you've been doing it outdoors, by the look of
you.'

   'I've been out the Beach House,' the girl said.  'Doing it up.' Her eyes
flickered to Lucy's face and the woman saw a faint flush appear on her
cheeks.  So she remembers too.

   'On your own?'

   'No...my brother is helping me.  He's a tradesman.'

   'You should take it easy,' Lucy said, 'it would be hard work carrying
all that stuff up to the cottage.'

   Sarah shrugged.  'I like it, and it's not like there's a lot else to do
in Thruxton.'

   'I thought you were studying to be a vet.'

   'I am, but it's the long semester break.'

   'Right.' She regarded the girl for a moment.  'So how come I haven't
seen you for so long?'

   The grey eyes flickered to her face and then slid away.  'I told you,
I've been busy.'

   Lucy smiled grimly.  It was clear that something was wrong.  'You told
me a moment ago you'd not been doing much,' she said lightly.  'Is
something troubling you?'

   'What makes you say that?'

   Lucy leaned forward and grasped Sarah's arm.  'A month ago we had a
pretty special time on your island.  Don't you remember?' She waited for an
answer but the girl was silent.  'But something's happened, Sarah -
something's changed.  I'm getting the feeling you're not the same - so I'll
ask you again.  Is something troubling you?'

   Sarah stared into the woman's face.  The image of her hand embedded in
Lucy's body suddenly popped into her mind.  She recalled the odour of her
excitement and the groans of pleasure as the woman thrashed in wild orgasm,
impaled on her arm.  It was something that had occurred on the spur of the
moment, something that had turned her on.  Lucy was right, it had been a
pretty special moment - for her, at least.  But what had happened a week
later was not.  She opened her mouth to answer but Lucy was talking again.

   'Surely you're not upset about that other thing, are you?' she said
smoothly.  She released the girl's arm and sat back, smiling lightly. 
'That was just a little misunderstanding, a little tiff.  You're not going
to hold that against me, are you?'

   Sarah remembered the sudden crimp of the leather straps that pinched her
wrists and ankles and her fear as she understood what was happening, and
the waves of scalpel-sharp pain even though she begged the woman to stop.

   'You hurt me,' she said, 'and you didn't stop -'

   'But I did!  As soon as I saw you really didn't like it.' Lucy laughed
lightly, a brief tinkling noise, but her eyes were hard.  'Look - I said
I'd teach you and I have.  I've showed you lots of things and you owe me,
right?  And I get that you didn't like that particular gig, but it's no big
deal.' She bent to her handbag and extracted her purse.  'So I've booked a
room in our usual place, Sarah.  Why don't we -'

   Sarah stared at her in amazement.  Had she really forgotten the tears
and the recriminations?  It would seem so.  On the way here she had been
prepared to stay with Lucy again, to try and work through the issues, but
suddenly she understood it would never be the same again.

   'No,' she said.  Her voice was low, but it cut off Lucy's words like a
knife.

   'What did you say?'

   'I said no.  I'm not going to the motel, Lucy.'

   'But -'

   'No!  I said no!  Which bit of that don't you get?'

   Lucy stared at the girl's face.  Up to now she had always been passive
and this was a new side to her character.  The grey eyes were as hard as
chips of granite, and the voice carried an authority she had never heard
before.  A sudden surge of anger seized her and she thrust her face close
to Sarah's.

   'Listen, you little tramp!  I'll decide what we'll do, not you!'

   'Really?  Like you decided to assault me?  That's statutory rape.'

   Lucy laughed, an ugly sound without humour.  'I don't think so!  You're
a consenting adult, Sarah, and you can't prove anything.  I, on the other
hand -'

   'Can do what?' Sarah demanded.

   '- can expose you as a little whore who gives sex for money.'

   Sarah stared at her.  'What do you mean?'

   'Have you forgotten the gifts I sent you?  Those little deposits in your
bank account?  I haven't.  I still have the payment slips.'

   'They were to buy the things that you wanted me to wear.  I don't see
how that proves anything.'

   'Really?  I doubt if others will see it that way.  Perhaps you need to
have a good hard think about that before you refuse me again -
otherwise...' The threat lay on the table for a moment, and then Lucy's
voice softened.  'Look - nobody wants to go that way.  Let's forget
it...come with me now and we can make up, I'm sure.'

   Sarah shook her head.  'I don't think so.' She reached for her handbag
and stood up.  'When I came in here I was thinking I'd like to talk things
through and see if we could stay together, but I don't like threats. 
You're a control freak, Luce, and I can't live with that.'

   'Sit down!'

   'No.'

   Lucy leapt to her feet.  'You'll regret it if you walk out on me, I
promise!' she hissed.  'I can break you.  By the time I'm finished you'll
crawl on your belly and beg me to take you back.'

   Sarah laughed.  'Then do your worst, Lucille Carter-Bayliss,' she said,
'but don't think I'll go down without a fight,' and she turned on her heel
and walked from the room.

   *

   Lucy reached forward and picked up the report again, her mind returning
to the present.  It had been more than two months since Sarah had gone and
although she had tried to contact the girl she had heard nothing.  And now
she was pregnant, and it was clear from the timing that she had conceived
after she had left.  A sudden image of Sarah in wild orgasm flooded her
mind - her beautiful slim body twitching and her head thrown back and a
thin scream of ecstasy bursting from her lips.  Lucy had seen it often but
this time the figure with her was a man, not her, and she felt her belly
twist with loathing and disgust.

   And in the quiet of her office the simmering anger she had harboured
these past weeks suddenly flared into an incandescent hatred, and she swore
an oath to herself that even if it was the last thing she ever did she
would make Sarah Jane Ryan suffer.

   *****

   Michael Ryan steered towards the little spit of rocks off the island,
watching as the sand bar passed safely under the keel.  It had appeared the
day after the wild storm two months ago when the tide and waves had shifted
the sea bed.

   Sarah was hunched over the forward thwart with her hands clasped over
her belly, staring up at the trees where the Beach House was.  She couldn't
see it yet but she always looked.

   'Are you all right, Sis?' he asked.

   She turned to him without smiling.  'Absolutely.'

   He gestured at the water with one hand.  'That sand bar seems to be
getting bigger,' he said.  'Since the storm, I mean.'

   Sarah nodded.  The storm had changed a lot of things in her life.  She
remembered the train trip back from Torbess on the same afternoon with her
mind plagued by Lucy's venom, and her spontaneous decision to join her
brother on the island.  The storm had struck half way over the bay and he
had saved her life by dragging her from the swirling waters half drowned
and frozen.  She recalled the warmth of the fire in the little kitchen and
moment he had seen her naked, and the expression of raw longing on his
face. And she remembered the amazing feel of his body through that long
night of pleasure.

   The roof of the Beach House appeared behind the copse of trees and she
felt a sudden jolt of emotion.  She loved this place, but all of the
turmoil in her life seemed to have had its roots here.  Sarah smiled at the
thought.  Roots...first Lucy and then her brother.  One had filled her life
with poison and the other had filled her with...well, life.  It was growing
in her, getting bigger every day and she knew that people would soon
notice.

   Michael cut the engine and the boat glided the last few feet to the spit
in the sudden silence.  She watched as he jumped ashore and secured the
painter and she saw his face alight with excitement.  'Come on, Sis,' he
said.  'Let's get started.'

   He flung open the heavy shutters and the winter sunshine flooded into
the cottage.  They had whitewashed the walls and laid new flagstones the
week before and the interior looked cool and inviting.  They walked from
room to room and talked about how the furniture would look: the bright
patterned rugs in the lounge, and the big double bed for the single front
room.  Michael was still working out how to get it here, but Sarah knew he
would.  He always did what he said, and she knew too that it would look
amazing with its bright fluffy cushions and crisp white bedspread.

   They carried the furniture from the boat and began to assemble them: the
kitchen cabinets were simple but hooking up the new water tank took some
time.  It was noon by the time they finished and they sat on the front lawn
and opened the lunch she had made.

   For a while they ate without talking, looking out over the bay to the
curve of the coast beyond.

   'You're very quiet,' Michael said at last.

   'I was enjoying the view.'

   'No, I mean since - that night.' He touched her arm shyly.  'Are you all
right?''

   Sarah glanced at him.  'Of course I am, Mike,' she smiled briefly.  'You
know I love it here.'

   He nodded slowly.  'I know you do, but its not just about the Beach
House, Sarah - its about us.  I've tried not to hassle you...tried to give
you space, you know?' He waited for her to respond but she was quiet, her
eyes still on the bay.  'I know you had some things to work out,' he
continued, '...that you needed time.  But its been weeks now and you hardly
talk to me.'

   'What do you expect of me!?' Sarah said.  Her voice was suddenly filled
with emotion.  'What is it you want of me?'

   Michael blinked at the savagery in her tone.  'I want you to talk to
me...to tell me that you don't regret what happened.  Tell me that you are
OK...that we are OK.' His voice trailed off and he stared at her miserably.
'You know I'll do anything for you, Sarah.  Just tell me what is wrong.'

   'Why does everyone think something is fucking wrong!' she burst out. 
'Jesus!  Why can't you just leave me alone!'

   'Because I love you,' he said simply.

   Sarah stared at him and her anger disappeared in an instant to be
replaced by a crushing weariness.  The burden she had carried for the past
few weeks suddenly seemed overwhelming and she knew she could no longer
carry it alone.

   'I'm pregnant,' she whispered.

   'What?!'

   'I'm pregnant.'

   Michael gaped at her.  'Are you sure?'

   'Yes, I am.  Eight weeks.'

   'Jesus H Christ!' his face was stricken.  'Is it...I mean, is it -' he
said at last.

   'Eight weeks,' she repeated.  'You do the math.'

   'Fuck!'

   Sarah regarded him.  'Well - thank you for your overwhelming support,
Dad.'

   He was instantly contrite.  'God, Sarah - I'm sorry.  It's just...well,
it's a shock.  I never thought -'

   'That cumming in me four times when I wasn't on the pill could have such
a strange side effect?'

   'No...well, I meant I never dreamed it would happen.  When you said in
the boat that it wasn't...well, your fertile time, I never gave it another
thought.' He crossed to her chair and put his arms around her.  'How long
have you known?'

   'Just over a month.'

   'Why didn't you tell me?' He held her shoulders.  'Why the hell didn't
you talk to me...I could have helped.'

   'Really?' She smiled at his earnestness.  'And done what?  Held the
pregnancy test for me?'

   'I could have listened - given you support.  You've had to do this all
on your own and that's not right.'

   Sarah's eyes softened.  'Yes, you could have, Mike,' she said, 'and I
would have welcomed it too, but there were things I needed to think
through.'

   'And have you?'

   She nodded.  'Firstly - I'm going to keep the baby.' She saw him open
his mouth to protest and held up her hand.  'No, listen to me.  I know you
are the father but it was my decision...it is my decision.  This isn't a
normal situation, you know?  You're my brother, and that complicates
things.'

   'So what else have you decided?' he asked bitterly.

   'That I will love this baby no matter what.'

   'What the hell does that mean?'

   She sighed.  'There's a rule in our society that says 'Don't have sex
with first degree relatives' - that's you and me, Mike, brother and sister.
First degree because fifty percent of our genes are shared.  The rule is
there not just because people are narrow minded, but because there's a good
reason for it.' She observed him for a moment but he did not speak.  'So
what I mean is that statistically, more than fifty percent of children
conceived in incest have birth defects, and we may have to live with that
consequence.'

   'But surely they can do tests,' he said desperately.

   Sarah shook her head.  'I can't march into the clinic and say I've been
inseminated by my brother.  People might be just a bit judgmental about it,
to say nothing of how much interest the law would suddenly take in you.'

   'No, but there are other tests - you don't need to mention me...just you
tell them you're concerned.'

   'I have,' she said gently, 'and they will be done, I'm sure.' She stared
out across the placid waters of the bay, so different from the maelstrom
that almost took her life.  'That storm has a lot to answer for.'

   'It was just the catalyst, Sarah...I think it would have happened
anyway.' He touched her cheek gently.  'So what about us?'

   'Us?'

   'You and me.  What does this mean for us?'

   Sarah stood up and began to pack the lunch things into her bag.  She
thought it was a fair question that deserved an answer, but she had none.
Maybe she shouldn't have told him.  Maybe it would have been better to just
go away and have the baby adopted.  Maybe they should never have fucked.

   The questions about Mike and Lucy and the baby, and whether should could
finish her studies and how she would ever tell her parents filled her head
like a field of barbed wire.  Every single question would have to be
resolved, but she didn't even know where to begin.

   She lifted the bag and turned to her brother.  'I don't know,' she said
at last.  'I just don't know.'

   ******

   Lucy Bayliss-Carter lifted her face from between the thighs of her
latest conquest and examined the perspiring face of their owner.  The girl
was her youngest yet and Lucy had enjoyed the chase and the seduction, but
she had proven to be a big disappointment in bed.  There was nothing wrong
with her body, which was delightful, but her pussy didn't taste good and
she lacked any passion.  The image of Sarah suddenly popped into her mind
and she scowled as she remembered how fine she was compared to the insipid
little chit before her.

   The girl propped herself up on her elbow.  'Was I good?' she asked.  Her
voice was high pitched and immature.  'My boyfriend says I'm good...or
rather, he says I'm very bad.' She giggled, an empty frivolous sound.  'He
really likes bad girls.'

   The thought she'd had been eating a pussy that had sheathed cock
suddenly revolted Lucy and she hurriedly wiped her lips on the back of her
hand.  'Get dressed and get out,' she said nastily.

   The smile slipped from the girl's face.  'What did you say?'

   'I said I've had better sex from a piece of wood, Anna - now, get out.'

   The girl jumped to her feet and began to dress.  'I think you're
horrible,' she said.  'And my name's not Anna, its Adele.'

   'A-fucking-disaster, more like,' Lucy hissed.  'Now piss off and close
the door behind you.'

   She watched as the girl scrambled into her clothes and stormed from the
room.  Her knickers were on the bedpost and Lucy picked them up and opened
the door, still undressed.  The motel corridor overlooked the central foyer
two floors below and she saw the girl stamping across it.

   'Hey, Adele!' she yelled, and watched as the girl stopped and peered
upwards.  There were other people looking too, pointing up at her
nakedness.

   'You forgot these!' and she flung the panties towards her.  They
fluttered down and landed in a puddle of red silk on the polished tiles. 
'I'd normally keep them,' she yelled, 'but yours stink,' and she laughed as
the girl fled.

   Lucy lit a cigarette and sat on the bed, thinking of Sarah.  It had been
nearly three months since their argument and other than commissioning the
report she hadn't followed through on her threats.  I suppose I expected
her back, she thought.  I thought she'd come knocking on my door.

   But she hadn't, and Lucy found herself thinking of the girl more and
more, almost to the point of obsession.  She left me...she deserves
punishing.  She's had man sex and I don't want her back.  She's a slut. 
The ugly thoughts rolled around in her head like a pinball hitting all of
her emotional bumpers, but deep inside Lucy missed the raw sensuality that
Sarah had brought to their bed, and in the convoluted folds of her brain
she began to want the baby, too.  We could be like a couple and bring the
child up.

   And after a while she decided what to do, and she dressed and left for
her home feeling happier than she had for weeks.

   *****

   Sarah Ryan sat at the breakfast table in their family home and glanced
at the letter lying on the crisp white tablecloth beside her plate.  She
recognised the handwriting and felt a lump of dread appear somewhere near
the pit of her stomach.

   Her mother sat at the head of the table reading a letter and
absent-mindedly chewing on a piece of toast.

   'Your father says he may be home next month,' she announced. 
'Apparently he might finish early.'

   'I don't know why he doesn't use email,' Michael remarked.

   'He's in Mongolia,' her mother explained, 'they don't have email in
those backward places.'

   Michael thought the construction of the six billion dollar refinery
would have more connectivity than Cape Canaveral and the lack of email was
more about avoiding an electronic deluge from his mother every day.  He
nodded absently and glanced at his sister, noticing the dark smudges of
exhaustion under her eyes.

   'Aren't you going to open your letter?' Olivia asked her daughter.

   Sarah shook her head.  'Later.'

   'Who is it from?'

   'A friend.' Sarah tried to sound disinterested.  'She tends to go on a
bit so I need to be in the right mood to read it.'

   'A local friend?' Her mother was persistent.

   'From Torbess.'

   'I see.' She observed her daughter for a moment.  'So what are you doing
today?'

   'Mike and I are heading back to the Beach House.'

   'You will be careful, won't you?  We don't want any more accidents.'

   'I will Mum.' She dabbed her lips with her napkin and stood up.  'Well,
I suppose I'd better get ready.'

   Her mother examined her critically.  'Are you putting on weight, Sarah?
You've always been so thin, but now -'

   The girl hurriedly covered her belly with her hands.  'Oh, no,' she
said. 'It's just fat, that's all - nothing that a bit of exercise won't
fix,' and with a single anguished glance at her brother she fled.

   Olivia Ryan turned her eyes on her son.  'Do you know what's going on?'
she asked.

   'I'm not sure what you mean, Mum.'

   'Your sister is hiding something.'

   Michael shrugged.  'She's nineteen and entitled to run her life.  Maybe
she's in love with a secret guy, or something.' He touched his mother's
hand in a comforting gesture.  'Look, we've been working together most days
in the past few months and she's fine, as far as I can see.' He folded his
napkin and rose to his feet.  'Well, I'd better get on too.'

   'So how's your building project going?' his mother asked.

   'Good.  We should be finished in a month or two.' The thought brought a
sudden pang of anxiety: when the Beach House was finished there would be
nothing to keep Sarah near him and he could not imagine a life without her.
'Don't forget that we may be spending tonight on the island.'

   Olivia looked up in surprise.  'Really?  What will you sleep on?'

   'I told you - we're nearly finished...there's beds and running water
now, and a loo.'

   She nodded.  'I'd forgotten about tonight, Mike.  Ring me if you do
sleep over - just so I know you're safe.'

   'Right.' Michael leaned forward and kissed his mother on the forehead.
'I will.  And don't worry about Sarah - she's fine.'

   Olivia nodded absently and watched her son walk from the room with a
feeling of foreboding.  She thought he and his sister were the best she
could have possibility hoped for, but all of her instincts told her
something was not right.

   *

   'I need to tell you something,' Sarah said.  They were at the little
kitchen table in the Beach House and in the soft light of the candle he
could see shadows under her eyes and the sense of desperation in them.

   'You're expecting twins.'

   'What?'

   'You're expecting twins,' he joked, 'or even triplets.'

   'It's worse than that.' Her fingers plucked nervously at the chequered
tablecloth.  'You'll hate me for it.'

   'I could never hate you.' He reached forward and grasped her hand.  'You
know I'm here for you, right?'

   'I know,' she whispered, 'but this one -' her voice trailed off and she
sat miserably, staring down at her lap in silence.

   'Tell me,' he prompted gently.  'You know a problem shared is a problem
halved.'

   'Not this time,' she said, 'but I can't do it on my own any more.' She
reached into her pocket and soundlessly thrust a piece of paper towards
him.

   Michael held it close to the candle.  It was an information pamphlet
from an obstetrics clinic entitled "Having Your Baby" and there were a few
words scrawled in the corner.

   Thruxton Café 1200 Saturday.

   Michael read it in silence.  "Is this what arrived in the post today?'

   Sarah nodded soundlessly.

   'And I assume it's not an appointment for your clinic?'

   'No.'

   'Who is it from?'

   'A woman called Lucy.'

   'The friend from Torbess?'

   'Yes.  Not a friend any more, though.'

   He leaned back in his chair.  'The one you went to see before the
storm...when we had the argument.'

   'Yes.'

   'So who is she to you?' It was a question he had longed to ask.

   'I...we - well, we...' her eyes were stricken.  'We had an affair
together.'

   Michael stared at the piece of paper, his thoughts whirling.  Lucy.  So
much of what had happened seemed to hinge around that name.  He and Sarah
had rebuilt the Beach House because of her: she to have a secret lesbian
hideaway and he for the opportunity to watch.  But the work had drawn them
together, given the opportunity to really know the other for the first
time. He remembered how his scorn for his sister had turned into an aching,
hopeless obsession that he had thought could never, ever be consummated -
and yet it had, in one impossible night of passion as the storm battered
the little cottage.  He'd thought that night would bring them together but
she hadn't touched him since.  He'd hoped the baby would cement their love
for one another too, but now, in the very room where they had created it,
she spoke that hated name again.  Lucy.

   'Will you see her?' he asked.  The bitter bile of jealousy was thick
upon his heart.

   'It's more complicated than that.'

   'Tell me why.'

   And in the quiet of that little kitchen Sarah told him the story of a
young girl swept off her feet by the glamour of a worldly woman, and the
exhilaration of a forbidden love.  She told him of the dizzy days when they
were together, of the excitement and the pleasure and way they talked and
laughed, and of the things they did.

   'I could not wait to be with her,' she said simply, 'it was insane.'

   Michael listened in silence, watching as she spoke.  'I would have done
anything for her,' Sarah continued, 'and I did.' He saw the shame in her
expression.  'I did things I would never have dreamed of...you know - with
our hands and mouths -' her eyes flickered to the place on the floor where
she had laid with Lucy in the rubble and the dirt, and the image of her
naked body was razor sharp in her mind.  'I don't know how I could have
done it,' she whispered, 'it was...madness, but I couldn't stop myself.'
Her voice trailed away and she sat staring at the fire in misery.

   'So what changed?' he prompted gently.

   'Not long after we started working on the Beach House I went to see her
and she was...different - aggressive.  She made me do other things - things
I didn't want to do, even worse than before, and she loved it.' Sarah's
voice was barely more than a whisper.  'And then she tied me up and did
them to me, and I hated it.  I begged her to stop but she wouldn't.'

   Michael reached forward and grasped his sister's arm in a gesture of
support.  'Why didn't you tell me?  I could have helped.'

   She wiped her eyes on the back of one hand.  'How could I?  You were the
one person I could depend on in an ocean of crap.  You would have despised
me...I - I couldn't risk losing you.'

   'And yet you are telling me now.'

   'Because of that -' she gestured at the letter lying on the table.

   'So she wants to see you again,' Michael shrugged.  'Tell her to get
lost.'

   'But don't you see,' Sarah whispered.  'She knows.  Somehow she found
out that I'm pregnant.  It changes everything.'

   'I don't see why.  Girls get knocked up all the time, Sarah.  There's no
shame in it.' He squeezed her arm.  'Look - tell Mum you're pregnant. 
She'll do her nut for ten minutes and then tell you how happy she is to be
a grandmother, and you've removed the only thing that Lucy could possibly
have over you.'

   The girl shook her head.  'You still don't get it, do you?'

   'Get what?'

   'If she knows I'm pregnant then maybe she knows who the father is, too.'
The words fell from her lips like blocks of cold stone.

   Michael stared at his sister.  'How could she know that?'

   Sarah shrugged.  'How did she find out I was up the duff?  I haven't
told anyone and I'm sure the hell you didn't.'

   'Maybe she doesn't know anything.' He gestured at the piece of paper
lying between them.  'Maybe this is a bluff.'

   'Really?' She laughed cynically.  'Of all of the pieces of paper she
could have used, you think using a pamphlet about pregnancy was a
coincidence?  I don't think so.'

   'So she found out you're expecting.  Maybe someone in the clinic talked,
or she went to the pharmacy and found out you'd bought a testing kit.  But
there's no way she could know that I -' his voice trailed off, leaving the
last words unsaid.  Fucked my sister.

   'That's a lot of maybes, Mike.  Do you want to take the risk?  Can you
imagine what Mum would say if she found out it was you?  Can you imagine
what everyone would say?  We'd be outcasts.'

   'So what does Lucy want from you?'

   The girl shrugged.  'We had an argument...I told her I was leaving.'

   'When?'

   'A couple of months ago...before I knew I was pregnant.' She laughed
briefly, a dry little sound without humour.  'It would seem she's been busy
spying on me since then, which tells me she's not given up.  She'll never
give up.'

   'So what does she want?' he asked again.

   'She wants me,' Sarah said simply.

   *

   Later that evening Michael Ryan lay in his bed and remembered the night
when he and his sister became lovers.  He recalled how he had watched her
peel off the wet clothes and how the firelight had painted her body a
golden orange shrouded with valleys of flickering shadow, and how he'd
thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

   They had stared at each other across the corridor of that little house,
and each had recognised the desperate need of the other.  He remembered her
words when he went to her: 'Tonight we are just you and me, Michael, as
friends, not siblings,' and her fingertips had traced the line of his lips
before she uttered those fateful words that changed everything.  'Take me,'
she had said, 'just for tonight.  Take me now and then never again,' and
she had put her mouth on his and kissed him.

   He remembered the expression in her eyes as she felt the long slide of
his flesh into her body for the first time.  He had fucked her hard, driven
by a desperate need to possess her - to take her; to feel the grip of her
velvet cunt on his rampant cock, to fill her with his burning seed.  He
recalled her little whimpers of pain and pleasure and the long, trembling
moans as her orgasm swept her to ecstasy.

   It had been a primeval coupling fuelled by their demons, and had it been
the only one he could have accepted there would never be another.  But
though that long night she had taken him again and again, and the urgency
had given way to something far deeper.  They had forged an unbreakable bond
sealed by love and complicity, and the notion that he could never be with
her again suddenly seemed absurd.

   And so Michael rose on silent feet and went to her.  A full moon hung
low over the bay, painting the room in silver and in its light he saw she
was awake and watching as he crept towards her bed.  For a moment he
thought she would reject him, but she raised the blankets so he could slide
in beside her.

   'I need you, Michael,' she whispered.  She rested her head on his chest
and he touched her hair, his fingers moving languorously over the glossy
strands.  'Will you stay with me?' she asked softly.

   'God yes.'

   'Not just tonight.  I mean...when things get tough.'

   'Of course I will.'

   She was silent for a while, luxuriating in the warmth of his embrace and
the touch of his fingers.  'I'm ashamed of what I did with Lucy,' she
whispered, 'but don't feel guilty about you.' She pushed herself up on one
elbow and stared into his face.  'What we did was so wrong, but I don't
feel guilty - not even a little bit.  Why is that?'

   'Because we are as one.  It was always going to happen.'

   Sarah shook her head.  'No.  Before the Beach House we hardly knew each
other.' She looked around at the whitewashed walls and the patterned rug on
the slate floor, its colours muted in the moonlight.  'It's this place,'
she said.  'It seduced Lucy and me and now its captured us.  I don't know
what it is but I...I can't resist it.' Her gaze returned to her brother,
observing the marvelous planes of his face and the steady gaze of his dark
eyes and in a sudden surge of emotion she understood how much she needed
him, and she leaned forward and kissed him.

   The kisses they had exchanged before were hard and urgent, but this one
was filled with tenderness.  The first touch was feather light, nothing
more than a tentative brush of her lips against his, withdrawn almost at
once as if she were testing him - and then a second touch, longer than the
first, her lips warm and pliant.  He felt the tip of her tongue nudge into
his mouth, warm and slippery, and he touched it with his own, each
responding with growing passion until she broke free with a little gasp of
breath.

   'I thought I could be strong,' she whispered, 'but I can't, not any
more,' and she pressed her mouth to his again.

   In the pale silvery light Sarah's skin appeared dark against the crisp
white sheets, her limbs spread-eagled and her body acquiescent.  He could
see the glint of her eyes and the whiteness of her teeth and the darker
shadow of her hair spread over the pillow; and above the muted sound of the
sea he heard the soft panting of her breath as she waited.  He felt her
guiding hands as he mounted her; and then the silken touch of her burning
flesh against the very tip of his cock.

   Slowly, and with infinite care, Michael Ryan penetrated his sister.  He
felt the initial tightness as his knob engaged her narrow opening and heard
the hiss of her breath as she struggled to take him; and then her flesh
surrendered and his shaft slid smoothly inside her.  She lifted her legs to
better accommodate him and he felt the angle of her body change - her hips
rotating and her vulva thrusting forward to swallow his cock, until he
could go no further.

   For a long time they were motionless, each transfixed by the sensations
that engulfed them.  Sarah could feel his length embedded inside her,
levering apart the tight walls of her sex and stretching its narrow
opening. She could feel its heat too, and the little movements it made as
it twitched; and she could feel her pussy pulsing, as if to draw him
deeper. The knowledge that she was fucking her brother filled her with
conflicting emotions: a sense of foreboding because they would forever be
condemned to hide their secret in the shadows; and reckless exhilaration at
the excitement of this forbidden union.

   Michael begin to move, his shaft sliding back and forth within her, and
Sarah heard little sounds they made - the soft sighs and groans of
pleasure, the squeak of the mattress and the soft wet slurp of her sex. 
Under her fingers she felt the muscles of his back tensing and releasing
and his strength and vitality filled her with a deep sense of comfort
because he was with her: a rock on which she could depend.  She felt her
own body responding: her hands clasping his body, her hips rolling
languorously in tune with his thrusts - back and forth, in and out.  Each
stroke of his cock seemed deeper, more primeval, as if he were skewering
her with a great piston that filled every corner of her cunt.  She felt her
juices flowing, mingling with his, smearing over her inner thighs and
trickling over the tight eye of her anus, and it was as if his flesh and
hers were as one.

   'Jesus...,' she whispered.  'Ah, fuck, fuck...that's so good.' Her lips
sought his, desperate to taste him, to unite further.  Their kisses hard
and urgent and interspersed with whispered words of love and lust in the
dappled shadows of her room.

   'God, Sarah...ah, you're tight!'

   'Yes, yes, stretch me open.  Take me, take me.'

   'I will, I will.'

   His eyes were on her face, watching the expressions flit across it:
guilt and pleasure and lust.  'How can this be wrong, Michael?' she
murmured.  'How can anything this good be so wrong?'

   Michael stared down at her face, her words resonating in his brain.  It
was wrong.  He was fucking his little sister, his own flesh and blood, and
he had impregnated her.  His child was growing only inches from where his
rampant cock was now embedded - a child to be born in shame and secrecy. 
For a moment the enormity of what they were doing overwhelmed him; but the
warm, pliant body that writhed beneath him was irresistible, and that was
part of the delight.

   He remembered reading an article once where people who had committed
incest spoke of their feelings.  What was it one of them had said?  'Sex
with your sister is like no sex you will ever experience again,' and as his
cock slid in and out of Sarah he knew that was right.

   Within the cortex of his brain the first seeds of his orgasm grew, and
he whispered to her as it expanded like a great silver bubble rising from
the surface of the ocean.

   'I'm going to cum,' he gasped.  'I'm going to spurt into you again.'

   Her hands fluttered on his back.  'Yes...do it!'

   'I'm going to fill your hungry little cunt...splatter it with my seed.'

   The words spurred Sarah on, and she lifted her legs further still so her
body was bent almost double.  The movement tightened her vaginal canal and
Michal groaned as he felt the velvet grip on his shaft intensify.  'It's
coming, Sarah,' he groaned.  'Ah, Jesus...yes...yes.  Fuck, yes!'

   With a hoarse cry Michael spurted into his sister.  He felt the long
ribbons of his sperm entering her body to paint the grasping, greedy walls
of her sex.  Through the grainy half-light of his consciousness he counted
the burning jets - five, six...  seven, each one more intense than the
last. He heard her shrill shriek as the feeling of his seed triggered her
own climax too - her limbs jolting and twitching beneath him.  On and on
and on it went, their trembling flesh united: his cock jerking as it
emptied and her cunt grasping...milking him in tight, undulating
contractions to draw every drop of his essence into her writhing body.

   And afterwards they lay beside one another, each of them consumed by
their thoughts.  She contemplated the life growing within her and what Lucy
could do to destroy her fragile happiness, he tried in vain to imagine how
they could survive outside of the sanctuary of the Beach House.

   The silence between them stretched out like a black curtain until he
felt compelled to speak.

   'Are you all right, Sis?' he asked at length.

   'What will happen to us?' she whispered, and there was a tremor in her
voice.  'How can we ever have a life together?'

   And he could not answer, for he did not know.

   **

   Lucy Bayliss-Carter sat in the little café in Torbess, waiting for the
girl.

   The clock behind the counter told her there were still a few minutes
before Sarah arrived but she liked being early, for it put her at an
advantage.  She had chosen a table to one side but the restaurant was busy
and other people were seated nearby - a mother and daughter laughing; a
young man with earphones, listening to music; and a family eating fish and
chips.  Each of them busy with their lives and thoughts.

   She reached into her purse and extracted the weekly report from Emily,
and her eyes scanned over the words that interested her.

   I have still been unable to find out who the baby's father is as Sarah
has made no effort to see anyone.  I must say this is unusual as most girls
in her situation try to make contact with the father, unless it was a
one-night stand or they simply don't know who he is.  These events would be
out of character for her, though, which suggests she does know but can't or
won't see him.

   During the week Sarah attended a pre-natal clinic on Wednesday and
embarked in a small boat on the Thursday morning with Michael Ryan, her
brother.  The boat is rented from a local Ships' Chandler as their own
vessel was lost in a storm some weeks ago.

   I assume they were visiting their cottage on Brinsley's Head as the boat
was loaded with furniture and provisions.  The local fishermen told me that
Sarah and her brother go out to the cottage at least once a week, although
it has only ever been for a day.  On this occasion they remained overnight,
returning on Friday evening just before darkness.  I observed Michael help
his sister from the boat and the manner in which he did so suggests he
might be aware of her condition.

   There was a single photograph pinned to the report and Lucy studied it:
an image of Sarah and her brother on the quayside beside their boat. 
Michael was facing the camera and Lucy could see he was taller than his
sister and his colouring darker.  Sarah was looking downwards into the
boat, a smart little vessel painted white with red trim She was dressed in
jeans and a padded jacket that hid any hint of pregnancy, and her face
looked pinched and cold.

   Lucy set the photo down, her eyes distant as she thought about what she
had learned.  Every single report mentioned Michael Ryan, so it was clear
that he and Sarah were very close - but the question was, how close?  Did
he really know of her pregnancy, or was Emily just being fanciful?  If he
did know, did he also know about her, and was he a threat?  And what were
they doing spending nights together, alone in the little cottage sheltered
from prying eyes?  Lucy remembered the quiet solitude of the place and what
she and the girl had done there, and for a fleeting moment she wondered if
he could be the father of her child, but dismissed it as unlikely.

   The memory of the Beach House triggered a picture of Sarah's slim white
body kneeling between her thighs and the feeling of her little wriggling
tongue, and the bright eyes watching, watching, judging the moment. 
Watching as the spiral of Lucy's climax rose like a phoenix to engulf her
in a torrent of unbearable pleasure; and then, as she tripped over the
edge, lapping at her fluttering labia to scoop up the thick cream, and
laughing as cunt juice coated her lips and cheeks and chin.

   And then with a jolt of dismay, Lucy remembered the girl had left her,
and the image of was suddenly replaced by another: of that slender white
body crouching over a shadowed figure, gasping as she lowered herself on
his rampant cock.  In horrifying detail she saw how the tight wet lips were
levered apart by the gleaming shaft, and in her mind she heard the rasping
of the girl's breath as she struggled to take him into her body.

   And in her mind she saw the man's cream spurting from the great purple
knob, racing to impregnate her; and she imagined how that slim, beautiful
body would change - the belly thickening, swelling, bulging outwards to
distort the perfect figure; the hair growing lank and greasy and the
slender limbs thickening with fat and cellulite.  She saw her on the
delivery table, her once trim thighs set apart and her vulva bursting as
she struggled to rid herself of the child - and for what?  A few moments of
pleasure?  A life in shambles as she struggled to raise a bastard brat?

   The thought of the girl's infidelity filled Lucy with a familiar surge
of anger.  We were happy and she left me.  I gave her everything and she
betrayed me.  She is nothing but a whore.

   The chime of the village clock broke into her thoughts and with a
conscious effort Lucy crushed her resentment, forced her racing heart to
slow.  Today she needed to be calm, to decide whether to let the girl back
into her life.  Lucy considered the notion for a few moments: perhaps she
could forgive her, but there would be a price for her deceit - a debt to
pay.  She smiled at the thought of the nights of pain and pleasure she
would extract from that slim and beautiful body to make her truly repent,
for wasn't suffering the only true way to cleanse the soul?  And what about
the child?  Was their room in her life for the brat, too?  Perhaps, if was
a girl, she might keep her, to groom her for another time; but if it was a
boy she would have to let him go.

   She glanced at her watch, seeing the hands together at the top of the
dial, and she saw Sarah walking towards her.  She was dressed in jeans and
a halter top and her body was slim and lithe as she moved between the
tables with the grace of a panther.  Her hair was longer than Lucy
remembered, bleached to the colour of soft ash by the summer sun, and it
was tied back with a scrap of ribbon to reveal the slim neck and shoulders,
and she was beautiful.

   The girl stopped beside the table and stared at her without speaking.

   'Hello Sarah.'

   'What do you want, Lucy?'

   'I'd like to talk to you.'

   'I don't think we have anything to say to each other.'

   Lucy gave a hard smile that didn't touch her eyes.  'We have plenty to
talk about Sarah, and it would be best if you heard it, if you know what's
good for you.' Her eyes flicked to the table.  'Leave your things here -
we'll walk a little.'

   Sarah shook her head.  'Somebody will take them.  Let's talk here.'

   Lucy waved her hand towards the young man sitting nearby.  'Then leave
them with Michael.  I'm sure he won't mind waiting, and there's really
nothing I want him to hear.' She saw the colour rising in the girl's cheeks
and laughed.  'You really didn't think I was that stupid, did you?'

   'I thought you might become angry and violent.  He is here to protect
me, that's all.'

   'No he isn't.  You wanted him to listen to me, to be a witness - and we
can't have that.  Now, are you coming, or not?' She saw the girl hesitate.
'I'll be calm, I promise.'

   'Very well.' Sarah turned to follow her.

   'Leave your phone with him as well,' Lucy demanded.  'We don't want any
little surprises later with photographs or recordings, do we?'

   They walked across the road in silence and Lucy turned into the little
bridle path that followed the river.  She could feel the girl's anger and
resentment at being caught out, but she didn't care.

   'I hear you're knocked up,' Lucy said at length.

   'People hear a lot of things around here.  That doesn't mean they are
true.'

   'When I hear it, it's true.' She glanced at the girl walking beside her.
'So you left me to get yourself a belly full of arms and legs.'

   'I left you because you committed an act of gross indecency on me, and
because I saw you for what you are.'

   Lucy laughed.  'In some circles just about everything we did would be
considered indecent, Sarah, or have you forgotten all of that?'

   'That was consenting.  What you did to me was not.'

   The woman shrugged.  'You look well enough.  Are you damaged?  I don't
think so.' She stopped suddenly and turned toward the girl, her eyes hard.
'Listen carefully.  So I hurt your feelings - well, shit happens, Sarah,
and we live and learn, but you're making a big mistake that will fuck up
the rest of your life.  You can do better than that.  Come back to me and
I'll forget this little transgression.  We can be together, you and me and
your little bra- um, your baby.'

   'I don't think so.'

   'You've made one mistake already,' the woman sneered, 'don't make
another.'

   Sarah studied her for a moment.  'You really don't get it, do you? 
We're done, Lucy.  It was good for a little while but it's finished, and
I've moved on and you should too.  And guess what - it's no big deal -
people break up all the time.'

   'Not with me, they don't.'

   'Really?  Well that's pretty sad, because I'm sure you've got some other
delicious little thing to share your bed with, haven't you.' She examined
Lucy's expression, seeing that it was true.  'So have your fun with her,
Luce, and leave me alone.'

   'This is your last chance, Sarah.' Lucy's voice was savage.  'Come back
to me or -'

   Sarah laughed dismissively.  'Or what, Lucy?  What will you do that will
have me trembling in my boots?'

   Lucy heard the tinkling notes of the girl's laughter and her resentment
flared into a surge incandescent rage.  She seized Sarah's arm and thrust
her face closer, and her voice was filled with hatred.  'I'll make your
life fucking miserable, that's what I'll do, you little slut!  I'll fuck up
you and your family and everyone you ever loved, and when I'm done you'll
wish you'd never been born.'

   For a moment Sarah stared at the woman and wondered how she had ever
been attracted to her.  Lucy's face was twisted like a rubber mask, the
lips bared and little white teeth thrust forward like a bulldog's, and she
could see specks of spittle on the woman's chin from the violence of her
outburst.  Her eyes were bulging too, almost as if they would burst from
their sockets, and for a moment the girl thought she was having a fit.

   'Have you finished?' she asked mildly.

   'No I'm fucking not!' Lucy hissed.  'Not by a long chalk, you little
slag!  You owe me, and I'm not going to stand back and let you get
away...not in a lifetime.' She gripped the girl's arm harder, her nails
pressing into the smooth golden flesh.  'So make your tiny little mind up
now - or my next visit will be to your mother to tell her all about her
dirty little slut-fuck daughter.'

   Sarah reached down with her right hand and prised Lucy's fingers off her
arm, and she took a step back and regarded the older woman.  'I've already
told her,' she lied, 'about you and what we did, and about the baby too -
and do you know what, Lucy?  She's OK with it.  She forgives me, and
nothing you can say or do will change that - so go right ahead and do your
worst because -'

   'Have you told her who the father is?' Lucy's voice was suddenly sly.

   Sarah shook her head.  'Nobody knows.  Not even me.'

   'Really?  Are you sure your brother doesn't?  You spend a lot of time
together.  Perhaps -' Her words dried up suddenly as she saw how the blood
had drained from the girl's face.  In a sudden moment of delicious insight
she realised her guess had been correct.  'It's him, isn't it?' she said.
'Michael is the father!'

   'No he's not!'

   Lucy giggled.  'Well, well!' she cooed.  'Who would have thought!  You
and your brother in that little love nest on the island.  Was he good,
Sarah?  Did he give you as much pleasure as me?' She smiled into the girl's
face.  'You know, I bet he did...I can see the two of you, writhing naked
on the floor, just like you and I did.' Her eyes glittered with malice and
she giggled again.  'I bet he just loved playing hide the sausage his
little sister - hidden away where nobody could see him, safe from prying
eyes -'

   'You've got a filthy mind Lucy.'

   'Not as filthy as yours.  Perhaps your Mummy needs to know what you and
little Mikey have been up to.' She laughed again.  'And I won't forget to
use the right word, too - incest.  She'll just love hearing that her kids
have been fornicating together -'

   Sarah thrust her face towards the older woman.  'Don't you dare threaten
me, you bitch, or my very next phone call will be to the police!  I'm sure
they will be very interested to hear how you sit in cafes to solicit young
girls, and what you do to them afterwards.  How many have you got now? 
Two...three?  Five?' she laughed softly.  'And you like them young, don't
you, Lucy!  How many of them are under age?'

   The woman shrugged.  'You don't have a shred of proof.'

   'But shit sticks, Lucy, if you get enough thrown at you.  Do you really
want the cops poking into your life, checking out your past and speaking to
all the girls you've had?  Every single one of them would tell the same
story - about a debauched, bitter woman who has lied and cheated her way
though life and gets her rocks off by hurting people.'

   Lucy stared at the angry face before her.  The slut was right - she
didn't want the cops anywhere near her.  It wouldn't take long for them to
figure out her past - the drugs and the soliciting, the theft and the fraud
- and then her life would unravel like a ball of string, hastened by the
testimony of the girls she had hurt.  That little tart Adele, for example,
with her shrewd piggy eyes and smart mouth.  She'd spout anything to pay
her back.  And what about that other one - what was her name?  Mary? 
Miriam?  Lucy had paid her a handsome sum to keep her little mouth shut,
not to mention the shonky doctor who had fixed her up - but she knew they
would come out of the woodwork as soon as they could.

   '- so maybe you'd better back off,' Sarah continued.  'Let it go, Lucy,
go back to your life and leave me alone.'

   A red mist descended over Lucy's vision, but she managed to control it.
'Well don't say I didn't warn you,' she said savagely, and she turned on
her heel and stormed away.

   Sarah stood and watched her until she disappeared around a bend in the
road.  Her heart was pounding, but it gradually slowed and she took a deep
breath.  It was over, and she could move on.  The horizon that had been in
Lucy's shadow suddenly seemed brighter, more hopeful.  Sure there were
problems to overcome, but they were easier now, and she smiled as she
walked back to the café.

   But she was wrong, for her problems were just about to get a whole lot
worse.

   **

   Lucille Carter-Bayliss had been born mean: or at least, that's what her
mother said.  She'd started life as a petulant baby and progressed to a
bad-tempered child who seemed to delight in making the lives of those
around her difficult.  But the real meanness arrived with puberty when the
plain little girl suddenly bloomed into stunning womanhood and discovered
she could use her body as a weapon.

   Her first time she'd done it was, paradoxically, with a man.  She'd gone
to a local bar with a friend called Cassie who she thought was inclined to
girls, but soon found her mistake when two guys came over to chat them up.

   'Tell them to get lost, Cass,' Lucy whispered.  'We don't need them.'

   Cassie laughed.  'Jeez, Luce, why would we do that?' She regarded the
approaching men with bold eyes.  'They're exactly what we've been waiting
for.'

   'But I don't -' Lucy started, but it was too late.  They were there, and
Cassie was welcoming them with beaming smile that promised everything they
wanted.  She put her arm around the younger one and smiled into his face.

   'So let me guess, sweetie - um, a birthday party, right?  Come to find a
couple of girls to play with?  Well - you've found them...haven't they
Luce?'

   Lucy said nothing.  She had imagined spending an hour or two with Cassie
in the bar to get her in the right frame of mind and the rest of the night
in her bed, and she was annoyed that her instincts had been wrong.  She
felt a wave of hatred for the men well up in her soul like the bitter taste
of vomit.

   She turned to the nearer of the two.  'So what's your name?' His eyes
were bright with alcohol.

   'P-peter.' He stumbled on the word and Lucy could see he was nervous.

   'And him?' she flicked her eyes in the direction of his companion.

   'Richard.'

   Lucy laughed.  'Well - Dick and Peter...how appropriate.' She examined
his face for a moment, deciding how best to deal with him.  'Does Dick
think he'll get to fuck her?' she asked at length.

   'I - uh - I don't know...I guess he's hoping.'

   'And what about you?  Would you like to fuck me?'

   'S-sure.'

   Lucy rested her forearms on his shoulders and gazed into his eyes.  She
pressed her hips forward, feeling the heat of his body against hers. 
'Well, that depends,' she said.  'Are you sure you're up for it?  You look
like a two minute wonder to me.'

   'Other girls think I do OK.'

   'Oh, so you've had other girls, have you?  How many?'

   'A few.'

   'So tell me what you like doing best, lover boy.'

   'I uh -'

   'Do you like kissing them?  Licking their tits?  Having them suck your
cock?'

   Peter tried to pull away but Lucy had her arms around him.  'You're
kidding me, right?' he said.

   'Not at all.  I'm interested what you like, Peter, so we can do it too.'

   She felt him relax.  'Well - I like, well, you know - doing it with
them' he said.

   Lucy laughed, a low throaty chuckle.  'Doing it?  You mean fucking,
Peter.  Say it...you like fucking them.' She ground her hips into his,
finding the hardness of his cock pressing against her.  'Say it, Peter.'

   'I, uh, like fucking girls.'

   'And how do you fuck them?'

   'What?'

   'Tell me how you like to fuck girls.  In the pussy?  In the arse?'

   'I've only ever had pussy.'

   'Really?' Lucy thrust her hand between them and grasped his rigid length
through his pants.  'Well, I don't fuck with my pussy, Peter.  I'm not on
the pill and I don't want to get up the duff.  So do you think you could do
me in the bum?'

   'Uh, sure, if you want.'

   'And I like a little role playing.  Can you do that?'

   'Like, what sort of role?' He clearly wasn't the brightest spark.

   'Shit, I don't know...a teacher and girlie pupil, perhaps.  Yeah...let's
pretend you're my school teacher and you've just caught me drinking
illegally so you grab my arm and march me out of the bar.'

   She could see the interest in his eyes.  'That sounds great,' he said,
'and what happens next?'

   'Have you got a car outside?'

   'Yeah.  It's a van.'

   Lucy laughed.  Men were so predictable - he probably had a mattress in
the back as well.  'Well, you drag me outside and throw me in the back of
your van,' she explained.  'I beg you not to tell my parents, and you
relent but tell me you'll give me the strap, just to teach me a lesson.'

   'I don't hit girls.'

   Lucy rolled her eyes.  'You don't actually hit me, Pete.  It's just part
of the game, right?'

   'Uh, well, sure.'

   'OK.  So you'll tell me to bare my arse for a leathering, but when you
see it you'll decide to use it for something else.  Do you understand?'

   'Yeah.'

   'Right then.  Are you ready to start?'

   Peter looked across at Cassie and his friend.  'What about them?'

   'I'll tell her to wait half an hour before she can have the van.  After
that we might even make a foursome, if you like.  Can you do that?'

   Peter smiled.  'Let's find out, shall we?  What's your name?'

   'Candy.  What shall I call you?'

   'Pete.'

   She shook her head.  'No, I mean what's your teacher name?'

   'Ah, right.  Um - say - Mr.  Hardwick?'

   Lucy smiled.  Everything about this guy was unsurprising.  'I like it.
Well, I'm ready when you are, Mr.  Hardwick.  Make it look real as that
really turns me on.'

   Peter nodded.  'All right.' He set down his drink on a nearby table. 
'Well, Candy, You'd better come with me.' He grabbed her arm and marched
her from the bar, just as she had wanted, and she screeched and writhed in
his grasp and begged to be released.  There was a group of girls at the
door and they drew aside with curious eyes.

   Lucy whispered to one as she passed: 'Call the Cops'.  She saw the girl
nod and reach for her phone.

   The van was in a secluded corner and he flung open the door and thrust
her inside.  Lucy lay on the blankets strewn over the floor and regarded
him with bold eyes.

   'Oh Mr.  Hardwick, I'll give you anything if you let me go,' she said in
a girlie voice.

   Pete slowly unbuckled his belt.  'I know, Candy, but you've been a
naughty girl and I'm going to teach you a lesson.  Take off your skirt.' He
watched Lucy with hungry eyes as she slowly peeled off the tank top and
little black skirt.  She was wearing a lacy half-cup bra and tiny knickers
and her body was small and sleek like a kitten.  He tore off his shirt and
crawled towards her.

   'No, wait,' Lucy said.  'Let's not hurry this.' It looked as if the dolt
might really hit her.  'Uh, what can I do to make you change your mind?'

   'Nothing, honey.  I'm gonna strap that pretty little butt and then fuck
you senseless.' He was nearly upon her, the belt turned in his hand so the
buckle was outward.

   'Wait...wait,' Lucy said.  'Why don't you just fuck me now.' She opened
her legs.  'You'll be my first, Mr.  Hardwick.  Just think how tight it
will be.'

   Pete stared at the girl's crotch.  The outline of her sex was clearly
visible through the thin fabric and a few hairs peeped from around the
elastic.  He could smell the warm animal odour of her arousal, thick and
syrupy in his nostrils, and it was irresistible.  He dropped his belt and
fumbled with his pants.  'Can I do you in the arse?' he whispered.

   'Sure.' She watched him shuck off his underpants and shuffle on his
knees towards her.  His cock was small and bobbed obscenely like a rubber
toy, and Lucy felt scorn rise like bile in her throat.  Everything about
him was repulsive - from the thin hairy legs to the expression of imbecilic
delight on his face.

   'You know what Pete?' she said.  The tone of her voice stopped him dead.

   'What?'

   Lucy smiled.  'You picked the wrong girl,' and she kicked him in the
groin.

   Peter clutched at balls and fell on his side in the van.  His mouth was
open but the scream of agony was almost silent: just a thin squeak, like a
rodent being boiled alive.  Lucy shuffled forward and peered down at him.

   'Did you think it would be that easy?' she hissed.  She pulled aside the
gusset of her panties and thrust her loins towards his face.  'Look - I've
already got one cunt in my pants - whatever made you think I'd want another
one?' she said.  She thrust her hips closer and giggled softly. 
'Look...look, two twats together - except mine is useful.' There was blood
oozing between his fingers where the heel of her shoe had torn into his
scrotum, and leaned forward and smeared it on her fingers and wiped it on
herself.  'The cops will be here soon,' she said, 'and statutory rape is
goal time.  And when you're locked up you can see how you like being
fucked, lover boy.'

   That had been a year ago, but Lucy still remembered how she had felt
when the police arrived and took him away, whimpering like a child.  She'd
learned two things that night - that the cops were suckers for a pretty,
crying girl who had been brave enough to fight back, and that revenge was
irresistibly sweet.

   And now she wanted revenge on Sarah.  She could taste it like warm honey
on her tongue, and she imagined the look on the girl's face when she
understood what was happening.  Little Sarah Ryan.  She'd had her chance to
come back and now it was too late, and her and her fuck-buddy brother who'd
stolen her away must pay the price.

   And so she picked up the phone and dialed the number of a guy who owed
her a few favours.

   **

   Olivia Ryan sat on the bench and gazed out over the view to the north.
She had left home an hour earlier, walking briskly on the bridle path that
wound its way through the woods to the lookout on Leonard's Ridge.

   The view was stunning: the whole coastal fringe from Torbess to
Hammersley set out before her like a patchwork quilt.  Her eyes sought out
Thurston, sleeping in a little fold in the land, where her home nestled
next to the big Cyprus trees marking the eastern boundary.  A wisp of smoke
curled from the tall chimney and she smiled: despite the mild weather Sarah
felt the cold and had probably lit the fire as soon as she was out of
sight. Beyond the house the land fell away to the coast, the mottled green
and gold of fields surrendering to the steel grey hue of the Atlantic.  It
was too far to see any detail but Brinsley's Head was easily visible,
jutting into the bay like the head of an arrow.

   Brinsley's Head.  Seeing it again reminded her of the cottage that
Michael and Sarah were renovating.  It seemed months since they started and
she'd not given it much thought, but it seemed to have drawn them together.
Before then the two hadn't had much to do with each other, but they were
close now: there wasn't a day when they weren't out together, either at the
cottage or in town looking in the second-hand shops for bits and pieces.

   A shaft of sunlight struck her face and Olivia closed her eyes and
luxuriated in its warmth.  Life was busy - there was hardly time to think
about anything and the chance to sit and let her mind wander was a welcome
break.  She remembered her husband, so far away, and wondered what he was
doing and whether he ever stopped to think about her; and she thought about
her children.  She was happy they'd found something in common, and working
in the open air had done them good.  Sarah had always been a pale girl but
the sun had burnished her skin to a light gold and she'd looked all the
better for it.  She'd lost weight, too, although it seemed to be coming
back now.  Olivia remembered the conversation they'd had at breakfast a
week or two back, and the unease she'd felt at the time.

   She opened her eyes to gaze over the lush landscape but saw nothing, for
her mind was suddenly busy remembering that day: her daughter's expression
as she read the morning mail; the purple bruises of exhaustion under her
eyes and the look of panic that flitted over her face when asked if she was
gaining weight.  Olivia remembered too the way that Sarah's hands had
clutched her midriff in response, the fingers spread over her cotton shift
as if cradling it, and in a sudden moment of clarity she understood
something she'd missed at the time: that the gesture was not to cover her
belly from critical eyes, but to protect it.

   Sarah was pregnant!  The thought came like a bombshell.  Sarah, who
didn't have a guy, who stayed in every night and whose only friend was her
brother.  There was no way she could be pregnant - but it explained
everything: the pale, haggard look in the morning; the thickening of her
waist, the mysterious visits into town, and the sense of withdrawal.  So
who was the father?
Olivia's eyes lifted to the horizon and settled on Brinsley's Head
again, and the little pieces of the jigsaw tumbled in her mind like dice in
a roulette wheel, clicking round and round before finally coming to rest.
Michael and Sarah, alone on the island day after day; their whispered
conversations at home; the furtive glances she was not supposed to see and
the touching of hands behind her back.  Gestures of friendship, she had
thought, but suddenly they seemed so much more.  Michael and Sarah, her
children, touching...touching.  Surely it couldn't be true.  Surely not her

children.

   After a while Olivia rose to her feet and started back, her mind full of
unease.  The sunlight shimmered through the trees either side of the path,
a dappled spectrum of gold and green playing on her eyelids like the
flickering images in her brain - Michael and Sarah...touching.  Michael and
Sarah...kissing.  Michael and Sarah lying together in the little cottage,
their limbs entwined as they joined in dreadful incest.

   *

   'What do you mean, you haven't done it yet?' Lucy's voice was shrill
with anger.

   The man's voice was sulky.  'I've been busy.'

   Lucy felt the familiar winds of rage building in her head but she
managed to keep her voice level.  'Then you need to get your priorities
straight.  You haven't forgotten the little agreement we had, have you?'
Lucy had discovered the man sold crystal meth as a sideline and she had
threatened to tip the police if he didn't do the occasional job for him.

   'How can I forget?  You remind me every time we talk.'

   'Well, you seem to forget it.  Look, I don't want any unpleasantness -
just do this last job and you won't hear from me again.'

   'That's what you said last time.'

   'Last time was only a little job.  This one will clear the slate.'

   There was silence for a moment while the man thought.  'All right.  So
how do you want it done?'

   'They have a boat to go to an island near where they live.  Could you
arrange for it to disappear?'

   'Sure.  Do you know which boat it is?'

   'It's in Thruxton harbour.  I have a photograph of it.'

   'Send it to me - and two thousand pounds in used notes to buy what I
need.'

   Lucy opened her mouth to protest but shut it again quickly.  She really
didn't know the going price for murder but it seemed good value for money.
She allowed her mind to dwell on the sweetness of her revenge, to picture
their final moments: the flash of flame, the sudden bloom of ignited fuel
that would envelop the two shrieking figures in a firestorm of unimaginable
pain.  She imagined them burning, their skins crisping like barbequed
chickens as the fire consumed them, and she envisaged their screams of
agony as they threw themselves into the sea.  Ah, Sarah, that is the price
you will pay for your betrayal...you and your bastard brother!

   A feeling of immense satisfaction infused her being, and she laughed
softly to herself.  The only regret was that she would not be there to see
it, to look into the girl's eyes a moment before her life was snuffed out.
Perhaps, in that final second, she might warn her: let her live as a
hideously scarred monster, but she knew it was not possible.  She could go
to Torbess though, and watch from the headland.  With a good pair of
binoculars she might even see them as they died.

   'All right,' she said.  'It will be in the mail tonight.' She put down
the phone softly, still smiling, and her mind turned to Amanda, the new
girl in her life.  Lucy was grooming her for their first night together,
and she promised to be the best yet.

   *

   Patrick John Doherty shone his torch over the boat, seeing the white
paintwork and the red trim, and he laughed softly to himself.  This was
going to be easy.

   The engine was under the deck and he lifted the hatchway and peered
down. He'd been hoping for a petrol engine but the reek of diesel told a
different story - a pity, as the oil wasn't as flammable as gasoline, but
it wouldn't matter that much.  He propped the torch on the engine block and
clambered into the narrow space with difficulty, locating the fuel tank to
one side and the wires to the starter motor on the other.  So far, so good.


   The charge was a small slab of Semtex and he tucked it under the sump,
pressing the detonator into the soft putty and running the connecting wires
under the engine to the timer delay before connecting it to the starter
motor terminals.  The wires were all black and he was sure they would not
be visible in a cursory inspection.  He was also sure the device would
work: power to the timer when the engine was started, and power to the
detonator fifteen minutes later when it opened the circuit.  In fifteen
minutes he estimated the boat would be in the middle of the bay, well clear
of witnesses - unless another craft happened to be going by.  Even if there
were, there would be little to see and even less to pick up.  He had seen
the effect of high explosive on soft body tissue, and it wasn't pretty.

   The job took less than half an hour and the man clambered ashore, his
hat pulled low over his face as he slipped into the shadows, whistling his
favourite tune softly to himself.  He walked quickly towards his car for
was one other job to do tonight, and then he would be free.

   *

   'Do you still want to go to the island today?'

   Michael was sat at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal and eyeing
up his sister who was trying to cook her breakfast with a degree of
difficulty.  Sarah was not a cook, that was for certain, but she sure
looked good in a pair of cut off shorts and tank top.

   She peered into the saucepan, stirring it vigorously.  'Jesus!  This
looks like a murdered omelet rather than scrambled eggs.'

   Michael shrugged.  Cooking was not his thing either.  'Don't sweat on
it, Sis - it all tastes the same, anyway.' He regarded her critically. 
Even to an untutored eye there was a definite bulge in her figure, and she
hadn't told her mother yet.  She seemed to be in denial, whilst he was in
awe of the thought of being a father.  He had secretly downloaded an app
that showed him the baby's development week by week, and it was
fascinating.

   'So what do you think?' he asked again.

   'What?'

   'About going out to the island today.'

   'Oh - sure, if you want to.'

   'We could stay the night,' he suggested shyly.  'That is, if you felt
like it.'

   Sarah stopped stirring the saucepan and looked at her brother.  She knew
very well what he meant by that, and she knew also that the whole issue of
their relationship had yet to be sorted out.  He was watching her closely
with his blue eyes filled with concern, and she cringed at the intensity of
his expression.  He deserved answers but there were none to be had.

   'Let's just go for the day,' she replied gently.  'Perhaps we'll stay
overnight another time.'

   'OK.' He tried not to show his disappointment.  Give her space.

   'Do we need to take anything?'

   'Some food, I guess, and the grout so I can finish off the bathroom.'

   'Well, that's easy then.' Sarah smiled at him.  'Make sure we take
plenty of eggs - they're my thing at the moment.'

   After breakfast they carried the two boxes down to the quay and set them
down on the wooden bench whilst Michael boarded their little boat and
quickly carried out his safety checks.  He lifted the engine hatch and
peered inside with a torch, noting the bilge was dry and there were no
apparent leaks, and he carefully checked the oil level using the dipstick
on the side of the engine block before replacing the hatch and looking up
at his sister.

   'Looks OK, Sis.' He glanced at his watch.  'Ten o'clock...we'll be there
by half past.'

   She handed down the two boxes and he stowed them in the little midships
cabin before turning to help her down the ladder.  She moved to the bow
thwart and sat down, staring forward as he started the engine.

   Michael cast off and carefully maneuvered the boat through the little
harbour before exiting the breakwater.  It was another beautiful day, the
sea as flat as a pancake and the forget-me-not sky clear.  He opened the
throttle and set course for the headland on the far side of the bay. 
Through the salt-encrusted windscreen he could see his sister in the bow
with her hair blowing in the breeze like a flickering curtain of gold, and
his heart was suddenly filled with an overpowering sense of responsibility.
She is my life, he thought.  She and the baby within her.

   The boat headed out into the bay and in the small, noisy cabin Michael
Ryan wondered how he could convince her that they could spend their lives
together.  Perhaps if I give her time, he thought.  She will come to see
that I can be a father to our daughter or son.  The thought comforted him
and for the first time in a week he felt happier about the future.

   And the Gods above laughed and nudged each other, amused by his
assumption that they had time when they could see the little device under
the deck beneath his feet was already counting down the minutes.

   *

   Lucy Carter-Bayliss lifted the powerful binoculars to her eyes and
stared out over the bay.  It was ten past ten and the day was hard and
bright, the water a shimmering curtain of speckled silver and blue.  To her
right the headland jutted out, the blue haze of distance obscuring its
detail but she knew the Beach House was on the island just off its tip; and
to the left the curve of the coast obscured Torbess, just behind the low
ridge.

   She had been watching the small white craft in red and white angling
towards her, its wake arrow-straight across the bay.  A single figure sat
huddled in the bow and for the first time Lucy could discern the fluttering
curtain of her hair and the pale shape of her arms as they clung to the
thwarts, and her heart leapt in her chest.  Sarah!

   With a beating heart she observed the image of the girl changing as the
boat drew closer, each second bringing greater clarity - the colour of her
dress and the shape of her face; the tinge of scarlet lipstick and the
shadow of her eyes.  She was leaning forward, her body tense as if seeking
out her first sight of the little cottage - and then she turned to call her
brother, her arm waving to attract his attention.

   And as her profile changed Lucy saw her face clearly for the first time:
the angle of her cheekbone and the shape of her jaw, and the little button
nose crinkling as she laughed; and she imagined she was there, touching the
soft warmth of the girl's skin and gazing into her smoky grey eyes just
like she used to do.  And in that moment Lucy realised that Sarah was not
just a memory but a human being, vibrant and young and vital, and that she
was living the final few moments of her life.

   Almost at once the boat lost way and a second figure appeared, moving
quickly to join the girl in the bow.  Lucy saw her gesturing forward, the
arm slim and delicate, and the flash of her bracelet as it caught the sun;
and she observed them laughing together, saw him place his hand on her
shoulder in a moment of intimacy.  And then the vision was suddenly blotted
out as a column of water rose from the very spot they stood and, a moment
later, she heard the dull thud of the explosion.  She saw the two figures
flung forward, their bodies jerking like marionettes, and she saw the
impact as they struck the ocean and were lost from view.

   For a while she scanned the spot where the boat had been.  The plume of
water cleared quickly and the gentle southerly breeze swept the smoke away.
She could see the bigger pieces of wreckage but there was no sign of the
two people who had been aboard, and despite the lack of any fire she
imagined they had perished.  She had thought there would be exhilaration or
perhaps even joy, but she found instead a strange melancholy, as if she had
lost an old friend.

   And after a long time Lucy turned away and walked back to the car, where
she sat in the driver's seat staring out over the bay.  There were other
boats there now, quartering the area where Sarah's craft had been, but it
was too far away to see if they had found much.

   With a final sigh she fastened her seat belt and swung the car around
before accelerating quickly across the car park towards the junction with
the main road.  Now that the job was done she wanted to get home quickly,
to ring Amanda as they had arranged and see if she was free tonight. 
Better to ring her from home, though, where she could speak quietly, could
touch herself and dream of what the night would bring.  She glanced at her
watch: forty minutes to go...it would be tight but she could make it.  In
forty minutes I'll hear her voice again she thought, and I'll hear the
wanting in it.  She'll be mine to do with as I please.  The thought was
intoxicating, and she pressed her foot harder on the accelerator.
She sped up Bridge's Hill, driving the car through the tight, twisting
corners, delighting in its power and balance.  The sunlight flickered green
and gold through the canopy of trees and the roar of the engine was
invigorating: it was like a living creature beneath her hands - a thing of
power and beauty to be controlled, just like Amanda would be.  She's big
too, Lucy thought, big and sleek and glossy like a panther, and I'll tame
her tonight with my tongue and fingers and the little toys I have in my
closet.
There were road works on Thirlmere Plains but the lights were green and
she raced to clear them before they changed, roaring past a red-faced
workman holding a slow sign.  Lucy laughed at the expression of alarm on
his face and watched in the mirror as he shook his fist at the speeding

car. Thirty minutes.

   The truck was turning into the road just over the crest of the low hill.
It was filled with earth and it lumbered onto the single lane, belching
smoke from the exhaust and grinding through its gears, and when Lucy
appeared over the crest there was nowhere for her to go.  She stamped on
the brake, feeling the ABS kicking in, holding the road as the traction
control took charge and watching in those last few seconds as the distance
between them closed.

   Another few feet and she would have made it, but the front of the car
struck the tailgate and was forced under the massive axle like a toy car
struck by a hammer.  The inertia lifted the back of the car, twisting it
upwards so it folded like crumpled newspaper around her.

   The truck stopped suddenly and for a few seconds there was silence
except for the ticking of cooling metal.  The car's windscreen had popped
free and Lucy could see the tailgate just above her, its pitted metal
streaked with rust and mud.  She tried to move but her legs were held tight
and the door beside her was twisted inwards, pressing hard against her arm.
There was no pain: only a sensation of pressure, and a feeling of immense
relief surged through her.  I'm all right.  I'm not hurt.  They'll get me
out.

   There were men around the wreckage now and two ran forward to wrestle
with the door but it was hopelessly twisted.  'Through the windscreen,' she
shouted.  'You can get to me there.'

   A bearded man wriggled under the truck and over the crumpled bonnet.

   'Are you hurt?' He peered anxiously into the shattered interior of the
car.

   'I don't think so...I can't free my legs, though.  I think it's the
steering wheel pressing down on them.'

   The man nodded.  'We'd better get you out,' he said.  'One of the others
says there's petrol leaking from the tank.  He's gone to find an
extinguisher.' He seized her arms and began to pull.  'Tell me if I hurt
you.'

   He pulled hard but there was no movement, and he slithered forward a
little to get better purchase, his face close to hers.  For a moment they
stared at one another, and then she saw his expression shift from concern
to shock.

   'You!' he said.  'Jesus.  It's you...the bitch!' He released her arms
and drew back, his eyes on her face.  'Do you remember me?'

   'I've never seen you before.'

   The man laughed briefly.  'Yes you have...Pete, in the pub - six years
ago.  You told the cops I'd raped you.'

   Lucy shook her head.  'No, no!  You're mistaken...it wasn't me.  Pull me
out - please.'

   'I had five years in that festering goal...five years of hell, and I
thought of you every single one of them.  Do you think I'd forget what you
look like?' She saw his eyes shift suddenly to the back of the vehicle
before returning to her face.  'And now, here you are again - just you and
me.' He examined her for a few seconds.  'So what am I to do with you?'

   'Get me out.  We can talk later.'

   The man ignored her.  'I've never forgotten your last words to me,' he
said.  His voice was flat, measured, almost conversational, and he was
smiling into her face.  'Do you remember, in the back of the van after
you'd kicked me in the balls?  You said 'see how you like being fucked'...
and I was, night after night in that poxy little goal cell with those
faggots holding me down...and it was all your fault.' He slithered
backwards over the bonnet before turning to her for the last time.  'I
could have helped you, you bitch, but it's your turn now - the car's on
fire, and you're fucked.'

   Lucy turned her head and glanced into the cabin behind her.  Tendrils of
smoke were seeping from the carpet in sinister wraiths and she was seized
by terror.  She turned to where the man had been.

   'Don't go!' she screamed.  'Come back!  Help me...for God's sake help
me!' She seized the twisted frame of the windscreen and tried to pull
herself clear, but her arms lacked the strength.  A smell of burning rubber
filled her nostrils.

   'Help!' she screamed, 'Yes, yes - it was me!  I'm sorry...Jesus, I'm
sorry!' In the shattered glass of the mirror she saw a flame lick through
the broken floor behind her and the car began to fill with smoke.  'God
Jesus, help me...' she shrieked.  'Please - for mercy's sake!  Get me out!'
She saw him appear beside the car, waving the others back and she screeched
in rage and horror.

   'Fuck you!' The bitter bile of her hatred filled her head like a hot
wind to sweep aside her reason.  'Fucking men!  Look at you - you
cowards...you cunts!' Her mouth was twisted, spittle dribbling down her
chin as she babbled.  'I hate you!  I hate all men!' She saw them looking,
saw their bovine expressions and their shifting eyes as they watched her
madness, watched as the flames took hold.  'You fucking shithead cowards,'
she screeched, 'you bastards -'

   A long tongue of flame licked over the cabin roof.  It touched her head
and Lucy began to burn.  Her hair ignited in a puff of acrid smoke and she
shrieked in agony, her back arching and her hands beating at the flames. 
Her scalp was blistering, the skin sloughing off in crisp black flakes, and
her screams filled the ears of the men watching, battering at their senses.
The tendrils of fire licked over her face and her nose and ears burned away
and the flesh of her cheeks bubbled like crisping pork on a spit, and her
screams grew shriller until a tongue of flame was drawn into her lungs and
the awful sound stopped.  But she was still alive and they watched her
writhing like a skewered fish, her clothes in smoking rags and her skin
blackened and crusty until at last the petrol tank exploded and she was
consumed.

   The fire brigade arrived thirty minutes later, but by then the flames
had devoured everything there was to burn.  What was left of Lucy's body
lay in the smoking frame of the seat, her charred skull peering upwards at
the pale blue sky.  The eyes were gone and the soot stained teeth in the
blackened head seemed to be grinning at the men who surrounded her, as if
mocking them from the grave.

   ***

   Michael Ryan sat on the bench in front of the Beach House and gazed over
the bay before him.  It was early morning and the water was a pale slate
grey, stretching like a sheet of glass to the headland beyond.  Somewhere
behind that dark spit of land was his mother's house and he spared her a
few moments of thought, now living alone with empty rooms surrounding her.
Her rage at what her children had done had been as jagged as shards of
glass and it would take a long time for her to ever forgive.

   His eyes picked the spot where the boat had floundered six months
before, and he pictured for the thousandth time that infinitesimal moment
that changed his life.  He remembered the thud of the concussion, the pain
in his ears and the hammer blow as he struck the water.  His first thought
had been for Sarah and he tried in vain to find her, but his face was so
swollen from the impact he could not see.  He remembered the sound of
voices and the hands that pulled him from the water and the pain from his
shattered shoulder; he'd begged them to let him stay on deck to help find
her - but they had taken him below, despite his desperate pleas.

   Not far below where he sat was the little harbour and he ran his eyes
over the new jetty, finished just last week.  The heavy work had been
beyond him for his shoulder was still weak, but a generous endowment from
his father and a settlement under the Victims of Crime Act had paid for a
contractor and a new boat.  This would be the fourth vessel he had used:
the first two had been lost in the storm last year and the third - or what
was left of it - lay under the waters of the bay.  Michael had decided on
the name for the new boat the moment he clapped eyes on it, and had spent
an emotional hour painting it in tricky capitals on the prow.  Sarah.

   To the right of the little harbour he could see the top of the memorial
he had fashioned: a simple white cross set in stone, looking out over the
bay.  It was shaded by one of the weathered Alder trees that grew on the
island and it was a nice place to sit and remember what might have been.

   A faint sound disturbed his train of thought and he listened for a
moment before rising to his feet and making his way carefully up the path
to the Beach House.  The outside walls were freshly whitewashed now,
contrasting nicely with the green roof and shutters, and the flower beds
surrounding it were filled in a glorious array of colours that tumbled over
the stone edging: red and yellow and blue; and the new trees to one side
were just turning orange.  He remembered how the cottage had looked two
years ago - a derelict shell surrounded by weeds and rubbish.  Sarah had
had the vision to transform it, and nobody but her had ever imagined how
beautiful it would look.  Sarah.

   He entered the narrow hallway and carefully wiped his feet on the mat
before turning into the bedroom on the right.  The girl on the bed looked
up, her head turned away in the mannerism she had developed.

   'Wow, I'm an old Noddy!' she said.  'Look at me - almost seven o'clock
and I'm still not up.'

   Michael sat on the edge of the bed beside her and smoothed back a comma
of her hair.  There were streaks of grey in it now, even though she was
barely twenty one.  They had appeared almost overnight after the accident.
He smiled wryly - The Accident.  Both of them knew it wasn't, but it was a
way of trying to move on.

   'You deserve it, Sarah,' he said gently.  'You've driven yourself so
hard.'

   'I had to keep busy -' She paused and he could see her thinking,
wondering if she should continue.  In the quiet of the room he could hear
the metal roof ticking as the morning sun warmed it and the cries of the
seagulls at the water's edge.

   'Coming back to the Island has given me time to think,' she said at
length.  'It sounds funny, I know - it's not like I had to go to work or
anything, but with Mum and all, and losing the baby -' she broke off
abruptly and although Michael knew the little memorial wasn't visible from
her window he knew that she was thinking of it and the simple engraving on
its face: Samantha Jane Ryan.  Never born but always loved.

   'I was worried about coming back here,' she said.  'I wasn't sure if it
was the right thing to do.' Her eyes moved over the wall beside her, with
its rough whitewash and the bright picture upon it.  'It all started here,
you see...with Lucy...and then you, and of course Sam.  Everything that's
been the very worst and the very best in my life started right here, in
this little cottage, and I wasn't sure which of the ghosts would win.'

   'They're just memories, Sarah,' he said gently, 'and you can only ever
dwell on the good ones.  What do they say about the past?  If it doesn't
kill you it'll make you stronger.'

   'But it killed Sam, Michael, and it nearly killed us.'

   He shook his head.  'Lucy killed her, Sarah.  It wasn't your fault and
it wasn't mine, and it certainly wasn't anything to do with the Beach
House.'

   'I know,' she sighed.  Her eyes were on the floor again but he could see
she was thinking of somewhere else, of another time.  'I think what hurts
the most is that I never had the chance to hold our daughter, to tell her
she was loved...to teach her, watch her grow up.  All of that was taken
away from me.' She shook her head.  'And I was lying in my bed this morning
thinking that you could be taken, too.'

   'Lucy's dead, Sarah,' Michael said gently.  'She can't ever hurt us
again.'

   'I don't mean by her.  I mean that life itself is fragile, and we need
to live it while we can.' She smiled for the first time, one corner of her
mouth lifting slightly.  'And I know you've been vexed with me about that.'

   He shook his head in denial.  'I have not.'

   Sarah squeezed his hand and the smile faded.  'You have, and you hid it
well for the most part.  But I know you think I'm spending too long looking
backwards and not enough to the future.' Her fingers picked at a thread of
cotton on the edge of the bedspread and he suddenly realised how nervous
she was.  'And you were right, Michael, but each time I thought things were
getting better something else came along to thump me.'

   Michael nodded.  He remembered the intensive care ward with her head
heavily bandaged and the dreadful spectre of being permanently blind.  The
bandages came off after a week and her joy at being able to see had been
tempered by the awful news she'd lost the baby, and then the shock of
looking into a mirror.  And then, just as she was coming to terms with it,
her mother had the meltdown.  No wonder she felt as if fate was waiting in
the corner with a lead pipe in its hand.  She'd come out of hospital and
hardly said a word for weeks, until he finally managed to get her to the
cottage, away from the shrill venom of their mother's rage.

   'But I've made a decision,' she said.

   'Which is?' her fingers were warm in his hand.

   'That we don't need anyone else.'

   'So what does that mean?' he wanted to be sure.

   Sarah sighed.  'I never told you the last thought I had when
the...accident happened,' she said.  'It was of you.  I thought I'd never
see you again...that you'd gone and I wouldn't even have the chance to say
goodbye.  It was...almost unbearable.  I've thought about it a lot and I
realize now that we've been given a second chance - to be together, to pick
up the pieces and try and start again.  Just you and me.  We don't need
anybody else.'

   'So why did it take so long -'

   She smiled at the earnestness of the question.  'I know...  it's a fair
question.  I'll try and explain.' She gathered her thoughts.  'Little Sam
was ours, Michael - the love child of a brother and sister, and she would
have carried the mark of Cain for her whole life if our secret had ever
been discovered.' She could not meet his gaze and her voice was full of
emotion.  'Don't get me wrong,' she continued.  'I loved her...would have
loved her through thick and thin, but it was a huge burden to place on any
child - and on us, too.  Can you imagine how her life would have been if
people had found out about us?  She would have been ostracized, shunned -
an outcast.  And we would have been, too.' Her fingers were intertwined,
clutching each other as she spoke, and her voice was breaking.  'Losing Sam
lifted that burden, Michael.  We could have walked away from each other and
nobody would ever have known.  It was a chance to start again, to look for
a normal relationship.  I - I had to think about that.'

   He nodded without speaking, knowing there was more, waiting for her to
say the words that he knew she needed to utter, waiting whilst she gathered
the strength.

   At last she turned to face him full on for the first time, her eyes
filled with uncertainty.  'And then there's me,' she said softly.  'Can you
still love me with...this?' and she raised her hand and touched the side of
her face.

   Michael leaned forward and gently lifted her fingers aside.  The one
side of her face was untouched and flawless but the other was still scarred
from the impact of the spar, the eyelid drooping and thin furrow tracking
to the perfect curve of her lips, the scar tissue still red and livid.

   She was watching him with those clear grey eyes and they were filled
with fear at what he might say.  'Tell me,' he said softly, 'do you think
that has made you a different person?'

   'I feel the same inside,' she whispered, 'but you - you must think -'

   'That you are amazing,' he interrupted, 'that you have been through a
kind of hell and have come out stronger; that you are the most precious
thing in my life and always will be - and I will always be proud and
humbled to stand by your side.' He lifted her hand and held it, smiling
into her face.  'And I think that you have borne the burden of all that has
happened: of Lucy's manipulation and her hatred, the dreadful agony of loss
and the pain of your injuries - and I have suffered nothing in comparison.
You have an inner strength and grace, Sarah, and although I loved you
before it was nothing to what I feel now.'
She stared upwards into his face and tried to speak, to find words to
say that she felt the same about him, but there were none.  Her lips moved
silently and her eyes filled with tears, and she raised her arms and hugged
him, rocking back and forth and basking in the strength of his embrace. 
'Then let's start again, Michael,' she whispered, 'let's be together.  Come

to bed now.'

   She lifted the bedclothes aside and he stared down at her, lying quietly
before him.  The scar on her face somehow emphasised the perfection of her
body: the creamy skin, the full breasts capped with hard pink nipples; the
flat plain of her belly and the fluffy triangle between her perfect thighs.
He climbed over her, his cock thickening rapidly, and he felt her legs
lifting, opening wider, her calves resting under his arms.  He looked down
and saw that she was open to him, submissive, waiting to be penetrated, and
he saw those clear grey eyes watching his face.
She grunted once as he slid into her: a single exhalation of air as if
all the breath was being driven from her body by the piston of his cock,
and he felt her shift under him to better accommodate the length of his
cock.  She was very tight - almost painfully so - and he paused to let her
adjust to his thickness.  Her cunt was pulsing around him, gripping and
releasing him spasmodically to the rhythm of her heart, and she lifted her

head and kissed him.

   For a long time Michael Ryan lay quiescent on his sister, luxuriating in
the tightness of her body, in the soft wet kisses they shared, in the
probing of her tongue and the scent of her skin.  He felt the rigidity of
her cunt relaxing, her juices oozing to ease his way, and his cock burrowed
deeper towards her belly.  Her posture had thrust her pudenda forward and
at last he felt his own pubic bone touch it, and he understood that he was
as deep within her as he had ever been.  He imagined his foreskin drawn
back and the great purple helmet of his cock embedded in her centre,
gripped by the tightness of that still throbbing tube, and he heard the
soft panting of her breath as she absorbed the full length of his shaft

   'Jesus, Michael,' she whispered, 'you're touching something inside me.'

   'I am, I am.' He envisaged the head pressed against her cervix, far
inside her body.

   'I love it,' she said.  'I love having you inside me.'

   'I love you,' he responded simply, and it was true.  He could not
imagine doing this to anyone else.

   She began to roll her hips forward and back, the mattress protesting
softly, and he heard the wet suck of her vulva as it slid back and forth on
his shaft.  He thrust with her - small strokes at first but then growing
longer until he was pumping back and forth into her grasping body.  The
head of his cock seemed huge: he could feel it rubbing, rubbing: an
exquisite sensation that seemed to get more intense with every stroke, and
her gasps of breath filled his ears.

   'Ah, fuck, fuck,' she murmured.  'Fuck me, Michael...that's it!  Right
inside me...my big brother.  Ah!  That's so good!'

   'I can feel your ring gripping me.'

   She grunted softly.  'It feels tight, doesn't it?  I think you've got
bigger.'

   He chuckled.  'I doubt it.  My hand has just about worn it away.  It
must be that you've got tighter.'

   Sarah laughed softly.  'Maybe I was healing over.'

   'It's a good job I was here to help you open it, then.'

   'Yes, yes,' she murmured.  'You're opening it.'

   They lapsed into silence for a while, each of them enjoying the
sensation of fucking.  Sarah felt the prickle of his unshaven cheek against
hers, contrasting to the silky smooth feeling of his shaft sliding back and
forth within her.  His mouth was close to her ear and she could hear the
soft panting of his breath, and beneath her fingers she felt the rubbery
texture of the muscles in his back, flexing with each stroke.  She lifted
her legs higher and locked her ankles above him, the mattress squeaking as
the angle of his thrusts altered.

   'I think my pussy is squeaking,' she said, and he could hear the
laughter in her voice.  'Do you have anything to help, Mr.  Ryan?'

   'I do, I do, Miss Ryan.  I'll deliver some lubricating salve in a few
minutes.'

   'Only good quality, mind...and lots of it.'

   'Right.' The notion that he was to cum in his sister again was
exhilarating.  He remembered the first time he had done it, as the storm
raged outside and the firelight flickered in the corners of the little
kitchen.  Their bed had been an oil-stained blanket on a mattress of
cardboard boxes and it had been amazing.  By dawn he had emptied into her
four times, his cream oozing from the swollen lips of her vulva like an
overfilled eclair.  That was the night he had impregnated her, when it had
all started.  Did she want that again?

   'I'm on the pill,' she whispered, as if reading his mind.  'I want you
to cum into me.  I want to feel you spurting.'

   Her words triggered the seeds of his orgasm: the tingling at the base of
his spine, the heightened sensitivity of his cock as it slid back and forth
within her, the tightness of his breath as the bubble began to grow.

   'I will, I will,' he gasped, 'but not yet.  It's too soon.'

   'Then come out.  Let's make it last.'

   Michael withdrew his shaft, watching as it left his sister's body.  It
was bathed in her juice, gleaming in the pale morning light and a strand of
silver connected them for an instant.  Behind it her lips gaped open,
furled back to reveal the shell-pink flesh inside.  He slithered down and
placed his mouth over it, his tongue flickering at the little seed at its
entrance.

   'Ah, gently!' her hands fled to his head to clasp it.  'Go gently, my
love.'

   'Sorry.' He withdrew his mouth for a few moments and regarded the prize
before him.  'Tell me what you like.'

   'Use the tip of your tongue.  Not on my clit...lower - ah, that's it,
yes, just there -' Sarah's voice was husky with pleasure.  'Just the
tip...up, through the furrow.  Now - curl it in.' Her hands fluttered on
his head.  'Yes, like that - now again...that's it.' She closed her eyes to
concentrate on the sensation and her voice guided him.  'Now, a little
deeper...yes, yes.  Press it in as you lick...scoop up my juice.  Ah, God,
that's perfect!' Her hands fluttered on his head as the waves of pleasure
grew.  'Now, with the flat of your tongue...ugh, yes...harder.'

   Her legs were waving wildly and she grasped the back of her knees to
steady them, pulling them up towards her chest to give greater access.  She
could feel him lapping - long strokes from the puckered rim of her anus to
the soft down of her triangle, and with each stroke his tongue dipped to
her centre in perfect cadence.  She could hear the snuffling of his mouth
as he devoured her, feel the stubble on his cheeks rough against the soft
white flesh of her thighs.  She envisaged her cunt to be a river, pouring
juice from its trembling lips to fill his mouth; and she imagined him
drinking it, gulping down the creamy liquid like the finest liqueur.  The
image brought a sudden surge of lust and she clasped his head to pull him
tighter against her.

   'That's it...that's it,' she gasped.  His tongue was flickering around
her clitoris, bringing sharp little spasms of pleasure.  'Just there,
Mike...softer - just there.'

   Michael heard her voice from a thousand miles away.  In the long, lonely
nights of the past few months he had tried to remember every detail of the
first time he had taken her, but the memory was disjointed: a series of
flickering images like a fractured jigsaw.  But now his senses were filled
by her taste and texture, flooding his palate and filling his brain.  He
could smell the odour of her skin juxtaposed with the salty tang of her
sex, and its warm, oily texture delighted him.  Her juice oozed from the
soft wet flesh under his lips and he devoured it like a kitten lapping
cream, and with every stroke his face rubbed against her: his nose and
cheeks and mouth drenched in her essence.

   He lifted his face from between her thighs and regarded her, seeing the
brightness of lust in her eyes.

   'Tell me -' he whispered.  'Tell me what you want.  I'll do anything.'

   'From the back,' she gasped.  'Eat me...from the back.'

   Michael watched his sister scramble to her knees before pressing her
face to the rumpled sheets to thrust her bottom upwards.  She grasped her
cheeks and drew them apart to give him greater access, and he plunged his
face between the mounds of perfumed flesh.  From this angle his tongue slid
into her easily and his senses were suddenly assailed by a sharper taste,
as if her inner juice was more pungent than that which he had been eating.

   'God, Michael...fuck, fuck...you've no idea how lovely that is.' Her
voice was broken, splintered by the waves of pleasure that surged through
her.  She felt wanton, like a cheap tart offering the most secret places of
her body, and the thought was intoxicating.  It was as if a dam had broken
and the constraints of the past had been swept away by an irrepressible
need to be utterly and completely possessed.

   'Lick me,' she demanded.  'All of me...lick it...taste it, eat it.  It's
yours, Michael.  Do what you want.'

   Michael drew his mouth over the full length of his sister's crotch,
delighting in the different textures under his lips: the sucking embrace of
her vulva; the firmer bridge of her perineum and then the crinkled
roughness of her anus.  Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined
she would submit to this, and he understood that she was utterly his to
take.

   'Do you want me to fuck you again?' he said, his voice was thick with
passion.

   'God yes...put it in.' She thrust her bottom higher, the posture
thrusting her sex further out.  'Put it in.'

   'Say it!  Tell me you want to be fucked.'

   'I want to be fucked.' Her voice was pleading.

   'Tell me you want to be fucked by me.'

   'Shit, Michael...yes...I want you to fuck me!  Come on, fuck your baby
sister.  Put it inside me.'

   Michael laughed.  'Not yet, Sis.  I want to play some more first.' He
bent forward again and placed his mouth over the tiny eye of her ass, and
he strummed the tip of tongue against it.

   Sometimes, in the lonely hours of the night, Sarah's hands had stolen
downwards to fondle the soft folds of her sex, delighting in the
gratification it brought.  But it was nothing to the crashing waves of
pleasure that surged through her body with the touch of her brother's
tongue.  It was fluttering over the rim of her anus as lightly as a
butterfly, ratcheting up the level of her excitement until the breath
caught in her throat; and it dabbed at the twitching centre as if seeking
entry to that secret place.

   But it was not just the intensity of the feelings that excited her: it
was the sheer fucking wrongness of it.  That reflection in the wardrobe
mirror couldn't be her, could it?  Not the girl crouching on the bed like a
little bitch in heat with her arse in the air and her brother's face buried
between its cheeks.  Not the one grunting like a primeval little slut with
every delicious stroke of his tongue; nor the one desperate to be fucked in
every orifice until she had drawn every last shred of cum from his
twitching balls.  Surely it must be some other girl?

   But it was her, she knew, and the thought terrified and exhilarated her.
This was the new me, she thought.  The one whose inhibitions have been
swept away forever.  I'm the one in the mirror, and I can't wait a second
longer to feel him inside me again.  She rolled on her back and stared up
at Michael with hungry eyes.  'Fuck me,' she demanded.

   Later, when they finally collapsed on the bed next to one another, she
was surprised to see it was nearly nine o'clock.  They had been fucking for
over an hour, and yet she could only remember scattered details of it: the
long, slow strokes as sweet as warm honey; the fast ones, battering down
into her like a jackhammer.  The taste of her cunt on his mouth, the girth
of his cock jammed in her throat.  She recalled her first tiny orgasm, as
thin as a razor; and the longer ones that swept her to the edge of the
stratosphere and held her there, breath pounding, heart beating so fast she
thought it might burst.  She remembered too the pain when he entered her
rectum, and how it diminished as she relaxed, and the incredible feeling of
fullness as he took her there; and she recalled holding him, cradling his
head in her arms as he emptied into her for the final time.

   And now he was lying next to her, his eyes closed as the sweat dried on
his skin and his hand in hers, and she was filled by a sense of deep
contentment.

   At length she released his hand and swung her legs over the bed to
stand.

   'Where are you going?' he asked, his eyes still shut.

   'If I don't go to the loo I'll wet the bed.'

   'Right.'

   'And some paper to wipe myself.  You're leaking out of me.'

   'Really?' he raised himself on an elbow and observed his sister with
interest.  'Let me see.'

   'You're a pervert.' She turned to show him.  'Look - there.  Dribbling
down my thigh.'

   Michael laughed.  'Doesn't look like much, considering how much I put up
there.'

   'That's not where it's coming from.'

   'Ah!' he sank back on the bed, smiling.  'I'd forgotten about that bit.
Nice, wasn't it?'

   'Nice for you, maybe.  I feel like I've had a baseball bat up there.'

   'Well you did, figuratively speaking.' He glanced at her face.  'I
didn't hurt you, did I?'

   'Not much,' smiling at his concern.  'Just the first bit.  It was nice,
though...once I got used to it.'

   Michael lay on the bed and listened as his sister clattered in the
kitchen.  Last night he had been filled with doubts about whether she would
ever want him again.  Now, he was concerned about how they might stay
together in a world that would never condone such a union.

   He turned as she entered the room bearing a tray, naked except for a
small apron tied around her waist.

   'Aren't you worried about that hot teapot?' Her breasts were wobbling
dangerously close to the spout.

   'In the last hour or two I've discovered things that size can do very
little damage.'

   'Ha, ha.' He observed her appreciatively.  The lovemaking had brought a
little colour into her cheeks and her lips were still swollen from their
kisses, giving her a more voluptuous look.  'Are you still leaking?'

   'A bit.' She set the tray down on the side table and sat beside him.  'I
quite like it, actually.  It's sort of - well, rude.'

   'When you dry out I'll be happy to top you up again.'

   'I bet you would.' She reached over and brushed the comma of hair from
his forehead.  'When I was in the kitchen I was thinking.'

   'Go on.'

   'I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but not here.'

   He glanced around the room.  'Why not?'

   She smiled.  'Much as I'd like to live on love alone, we have to find
work.'

   'I can work on the mainland.'

   'There hasn't been any work around Thruxton for the last year or so,
Mike, and there probably isn't still - and even if you did find some I
can't sit here every day with nothing to do, waiting for you to come back
in a little boat.  We've both seen what a storm can do on the Bay.'

   'We go back to Mum's then - at least until we find something.'

   'You really want to do that?' Sarah remembered her mother's rage each
night, the tears and recriminations, the bitter words as sharp as a
butcher's blade.  Things had been said that could never be fixed, and it
would only get worse.  'She'd never put up with us, especially if she
thought we were still -' she left the last word hanging.  'And anyway, we
can't live where people know us as brother and sister.'

   Michael nodded.  Sarah was right - there was nothing for them in
Thruxton, or even Thirlmere for that matter.  Better they move on.

   'I was thinking London,' she continued, 'we know a couple of people
there but it's a big -'

   'How about Australia?' he interrupted.

   'Christ!  Really?'

   Michael laughed at his expression.  'Why not?  If we have to move
somewhere different, it may as well be there.  And at least the weather is
good.'

   'But we don't know a soul in Australia.'

   'That's the idea.  Everyone would think Mr.  Michael and Mrs.  Sarah
Ryan were a young married couple making a new start.'

   'But their Immigration people would know we were siblings.'

   He nodded.  'Sure, but the rest of the country wouldn't.  We could set
up home somewhere and live as a couple.  Nobody would ever know, and from
what I hear of the Aussies they wouldn't care much even if they did.'

   'And how do we pay to get there?'

   'I have some money put aside, and I can sell my car.  It's not much, but
it will be enough to get started, and I can work anywhere as a carpenter.'

   Sarah looked around the room: so much of their time and effort had gone
into this place and it had a special meaning to both of them, but
ultimately it was just a house.  The most important thing in her life was
lying next to her, watching eagerly to see if she would agree.  He was like
a puppy, all keen to set off to the other side of the world and start
again. To him what was done was done and only the future mattered, which
was so unlike herself.

   She would miss the Beach House, though.  It had been derelict when she
first saw it and now it was a warm and cosy home.  Perhaps her mother might
let it out as a little holiday cottage, but she doubted it.  She was three
quarters on the way to madness, and even her long-suffering husband was on
the brink of leaving her.

   'It's a pity we can't take all this with us,' she said, gesturing with
her arm.  'I can just imagine it overlooking some tropical beach down
under.'

   'So you agree?' Michael asked.  'We go to Australia?  As soon as we
can?'

   Sarah nodded.  'Of course.  I go where you go,' and she leaned forward
and kissed him.

   *****


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