Hallowmas - Wicca Sister

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

Many thanks to GrandTeton for editing, sanity-checking, and generally making sure this (mostly) makes sense. All characters are over 18, in a place and time that exists only in my imagination; this is not the real world, please don't attempt to believe for one second this is anything but a story, and no belief or credence is attached or given to anything that happens herein; it's just a story...

Comment if you wish, I do take constructive comment seriously (except the obviously insane ones) and if you want to be nasty or insulting be my guest; depending on how funny they are I'll save them or just delete them. Remember, if you email me, please remember to include a return address if you want a reply, I always reply to those who request a response.

Have fun, enjoy,

BB1958

*****************

She rolled against me in the dark, rubbing her plush, springy little bottom against my aching erection. My hands snaked around her, holding her tight to me, before slipping up to catch and gently squeeze her firm little breasts and taut nipples.

"Oh yes, like that!" she groaned, pushing her buttocks even harder against my cock.

"Now Michael, do it now..." she moaned, rolling her hips to torture me even more with her hot nearness, the soft, earthy, sweet scent of heated skin blending with the fresh, fruity scent of her shaggy, jet-black hair.

"Now, please..." she entreated, her hoarse whisper sexy and demanding, so I obliged, rolling her on to her belly, and slowly, slowly, sliding my over-stimulated cock deep into her hot, tight pussy.

"Oh God, yesss, yesss, yesss..." she whisper-chanted as I pumped in and out of her, building-up a rhythm, jamming my desperate cock deep inside her, wanting nothing more than to hear her cry out in ecstasy when I pumped her full of spunk.

"Harder, do me harder, now, baby, now, harder, yess, yesss, YESSS!"

She came with a shout, clasping me tightly in her spasming pussy, milking me, and I lost it, bolt after bolt of hot spunk blasting out of me, filling her even as her orgasm rolled on and on, taking me with her as I literally fucked myself to a standstill, straining to eject even more spunk into this hot girl fucking me so perfectly!

At last I was done. My chest heaved as I gasped for breath after such a gigantic climax, surely the best of my entire life so far, but I still kept enough presence of mind to not just slump-down on the petite, black haired girl under me, making little mewing sounds as aftershocks quivered through her and communicated themselves to me through my still hard cock, still buried deep inside her.

I slipped from her, grinning at her discontented little purr as I did so, and slumped down next to her, clasping her perfect little apple-bottom as I kissed her shoulder, her ear, the back of her neck, and that's when I saw the tattoo; at the nape of her neck, a tiny pentagram, nothing outrageous, but I'd seen that before somewhere, I knew I had. For a second my muzzy, just-fucked senses made no connection, but just as the truth dawned, she turned her head and smiled at me, her warm blue eyes dancing with glee.

"Thank you, Mike, I needed that!" and my stomach dropped in horror: Abigail! Oh God and baby Jesus, my fucking little sister!

*

I slammed awake, chest heaving and heart pounding loud enough in the darkness to drown out everything as the dream churned and roiled inside me, stirring my senses and scattering my mind.

Abigail! I'd dreamed yet again of fucking my darling little sister, sweet, pretty, withdrawn, quiet little Abigail, with her dowdy, baggy, shapeless black clothes, who wouldn't say boo to a goose, who everyone ignored or treated like furniture because she was too frightened of standing out to ever stand-up for herself, whose one act of rebellion in her quiet, blameless life had been to have that tattoo, and even then it was hidden in case Dad saw it and had a go at her for having it. What the fuck was wrong with me? Night after night the same dream; I'd find myself pounding into a hot little slut who took anything I wanted to do and ran with it, who drained my balls and sucked the life and soul out of me, who performed acts with me I'd never dreamed of in my darkest fantasies, and then she'd laugh and flick her hair out of the way, and it would be meek, invisible little Abi, but in my dream she was the most talented, most alluring of courtesans, a bottomless well of dark delights and perverse pleasures, willing, supple, flexible, and insatiable.

Even as my tumult of emotions quietened, I realised my body's response to the dream had been anything but dreamlike; sperm coated my belly, mute evidence of how aroused I'd been, and the thought sickened me, that I could feel and dream things like that about my meek, harmless little baby sister; I felt unclean, defiled, deeply ashamed that my sick brain could repeatedly put together a fantasy like that about my sweet little Abi.

I took a shower and stripped the bed, removing all evidence of my perverted, shameful actions, involuntary though they had been, and tried to clear my head of the dream-memories and go back to sleep, but was a long, long time before I could sleep again.

*

Abi was just six when our mother did a flit; I was nearly ten and I was devastated that she'd just up and left, that our family meant so little to her that she'd just taken her things and disappeared from our lives one terrible afternoon. We didn't even have a chance to say goodbye, to beg her to stay, to hold her, kiss her one last time, nothing. We'd seen her at breakfast that morning, she'd been fine, giving my unruly cowlick one last swipe and tugging Abi's coat closed, humming as she turned to start clearing-up after breakfast, and when I got home from school, collecting Abi on my way, she was gone, no word, no note, no last goodbye, nothing. Poor Dad was destroyed; he'd been my image of strength and my idol to live up to, and now he was lost, a man shrunk in upon himself, with no world left after the one thing in our lives we needed the most had gone without a last word or a backward glance.

It was years before I got the truth out of Dad, of how he'd come home at lunchtime one day because he'd forgotten something, had heard a noise upstairs, coming from his bedroom, and had walked in on my mother, naked in their bed with her legs wrapped around her lover, possibly one of many. Dad had exploded, grabbed this man, whoever he was, and thrown him naked down the stairs, and then dragged him into the street, kicking and punching him in his rage, leaving him naked, battered and bruised, while my mother had stood wrapped in a sheet crying and protesting that it wasn't what it looked like, that it was nothing, that it was a mistake, that she was sorry, all the lies and excuses of the faithless, adulterous wife caught red-handed in her infidelity. That was the day she disappeared, and we never heard of her again, not while Dad was still alive, anyway.

It wasn't until many years later, when Abi was almost seventeen and I was newly-graduated from university, and only after Dad had passed away, that I discovered in his papers the whole sordid story, how she'd taken up almost immediately with someone else, maybe the man Dad had caught her with, had emigrated to Canada with him, posing as his wife, and had had a whole new family. That was when the bitterness and hate began; yes, she and my father had split up, and yes, she'd found someone else, these things happen, but to deny Abi, her little girl, and I even existed, to walk away and so completely dismiss us from her life like we'd never been a part of her, that was cause for hate as far as I was concerned.

Abi had always been a quiet child; silent, non-confrontational, almost invisible, but happy and good-natured. After mum deserted us, she began to withdraw more completely. Never a gregarious girl, what few friends she had gradually dropped away as Abigail withdrew further and ever further into the shell of silence in which she felt most comfortable. She was never withdrawn and disconnected from me; we were all we had, and I never missed an opportunity to include her, to cajole her out of her lonesome world, to be obvious and highly, visibly available to her, but to the rest of the world, Abi gradually faded away into the most distressing (for me, anyway) and insoluble kind of invisibility, just an unremarkable, anonymous, forgettable face in the background, barely seen, and forgotten seconds later.

It scared me that Abi had turned into a ghost, a faceless entity flitting about the place, leaving no impression of her presence, or sense of her absence; I hoped desperately that this whole 'not of this world' thing wasn't the foreshadowing of some kind of dissociative mental illness, because I couldn't lose her; she was my only reason for being, and I was her anchor to reality. We were really all we had, with no other family I knew of, and my care and concern for her was what kept me sane and on the rails.

When she was nearly twenty, Abi stated out of the blue she wanted to find a place of her own; my first thought was 'here it comes; now it begins...', but when I questioned her about her reasons, her answer was disarmingly simple.

"Mike, it's been nearly fourteen years since she left and I still keep bumping into that lying, faithless whore at every turn; she's everywhere, it's like the house soaked itself in her, and I can't get the stench of her out of my nostrils; don't you feel it, too? I open a closet and I can smell her sluttish perfumes, I dig around in the back of a drawer and I pull out her hair-slides and barrettes, and then I have to go and wash my hands. The books in the bookcases had her lying, cheating hands all over them. Even my baby clothes in the back of my closet had her filthy hands on them; she bought them, she dressed me in them, she's all over them, and the thought of going in the back there and pulling them out makes me sick to my stomach, so I have to get away."

I was astonished; this was the longest, most articulate sentence I'd heard from her in years; usually, in answer to my questions or comments I'd get a shy, murmured, 'yes', 'no', 'OK', or 'maybe'; this was a whole new Abi, a confident, determined Abi. Her reasons made sense, sort of. I hadn't really thought of it in quite those terms, but now that she'd said it, I knew exactly what she meant, and a part of me rejoiced that she was, at last, making adult decisions about what she wanted for herself, and taking steps to make it happen.

Abi giggled at my expression, another first; usually she just smiled wanly if she smiled at all, a brief flicker, and then she slipped away, her head down and her small, delicate feet making almost no noise as she daintily padded off.

"Don't look so serious Mike, I'm fine, honest! My goodness, I'm going to find a flat, or maybe a small house, not run off and join a cult, for goodness sake! I just can't stay in this place any longer, not with that bitch hanging around every corner and jumping out at me wherever I look. A new start in a new home, that's my New Year's Resolution, Mike."

"It's July..." I replied weakly, and she reached up and gently poked me on the tip of my nose, another first. Abi never touched me. She always kept her hands hidden inside the baggy, over-long sleeves of the three-sizes-too-big black pullover (one of mine, now that I think of it) she always wore, but now she was poking me gently with the tip of her pink little forefinger.

"I know, silly; it's just a figure of speech! OK, it's my New Year Resolution for next year, I'm just borrowing it now, and I'll pay it back after Christmas, happy now?"

I had to grin at her little smile. Abi bantering with me was yet another first; usually she either listened with downcast eyes, or nodded when I'd finished speaking and left without saying a word.

Over the next few days she and I interacted more and more positively. Now that she'd made me see what was wrong, what had been bugging her all these years, it made sense to ditch this place, sell-up, split the proceeds, and each get a place of our own, somewhere with no ghosts and no memories, no background pall of loss and anger and pent-up hate. We had money; Dad's insurance gave us a hefty sum, and the house had been in Dad's family for several generations. There were no mortgages or loans outstanding on it, so it made sense to sell-up, divvy-up the proceedings, and each get our own place. I tried asking her if she'd prefer to get a new place with me, the two of us together somewhere new, where I could continue watching over her, but as soon as I suggested it, she shot me down.

"Mike, that's so sweet, but really, I can take care of myself; I'm almost twenty, and I'm legally an adult, you know! I think it would be a bad idea; supposing you want to bring girls back, or you meet someone and want to get married; what happens to me? Do I just sell you my half and go somewhere and start all over again? Mike, we both need new lives, a new start, in a new place, and we have to do it singly."

She smiled gently, and tapped my bottom lip with her finger.

"I think I'm ready to go solo now, but cheer-up; it's not like we're just going to stop seeing each other; you'll still be my big brother, and I'll always, always need you. You just have to let me go and do my thing, and trust me when I say it'll all be fine, I promise you."

And so began the next stage of our lives. Single lives, in separate homes, me with my Civil Service job and Abi working as a general dogsbody for a small independent record label, a job she seemed to really enjoy. I worried about her, of course I did, but I also held back from constantly calling her, dropping in on her out of the blue, compulsively texting and re-texting her, checking up on her several times a day. She'd made an adult decision to make a new life for herself and I respected her wishes for me to not be constantly living in her back pocket or over-involved in her life. Truly, I did. Mostly. We still got together fairly frequently, but it would be an arranged thing; Abi would call me at work and ask me to come over for dinner, or I'd do the same, and we'd sit in her new place or mine and talk about everything except Dad, mum, and what had happened.

I also began to pick up on the fact she'd finally made friends, names she'd pepper our conversations with, selfies on her 'phone of her laughing with other girls, a few boys, but I didn't get any sense of involvement with any of the boys in the pictures. She said they were just friends, or her friends' boyfriends, and I believed her, because she had no earthly reason to lie to me; in fact, if she'd mentioned a romantic interest in anyone, I'd have been gung-ho about her going for it; she was a pretty little thing, almost twenty, it was long past time she started dating and finding out what makes boys and girls so different.

She understood that I was serious in one thing, though. When it came to her, I WAS going to vet anyone who started getting too close or seemed like they were pushing her for more than she was comfortable with; anyone who tried any shady hanky-panky with Abi before she was ready was going to find out how just much a size ten work-boot hurt when I shoved it up their backside. She was my innocent, trusting little sister, and there were too many wolves out there for me to just let her go and graze free.

However, whenever I asked her about boyfriends, or playfully implied that one of the boys in the pictures might be interested in her, she'd get an almost panicked look, and hurriedly change the subject. At first I thought it was because boys didn't interest her, which was fine by me; we all need love, and while it may be a cliché, I honestly don't think the gender matters as long as the love, or at least affection, is mutual, but when I discreetly probed, she actually laughed out loud at the idea she might be gay.

"No Mikey, I'm definitely not warming-up for the other team! If you must know, there is one boy, man, really, who I'd like to be with, but he doesn't know, I haven't made it clear to him yet how I feel. He's really nice, and he likes me a lot, though, I can tell, so maybe one day soon..."

My interest was piqued, but she clammed-up after that, and it wasn't my place to go forcing the issue anyway. Abi was Abi; when she was ready, she'd tell me, as always.

*

After that conversation, her attitude to me seemed to have changed. Now she was more open, more ready to banter, argue good-naturedly over film stars, reality TV, the latest space opera in an apparently endless franchise, cheeseburgers versus healthy, or sit and watch car-crash, bear-baiting TV with me so we could make fun of the weirdoes and half-wits parading their insecurities, cuckoldry, and lies on-screen.

We had fun. The only times she'd shut down was when I'd tell her about my latest date, only brightening-up when I revealed what a train-wreck it had been. I really wanted to meet someone 'nice', who'd jibe with my lifestyle and likes and dislikes, but I never seemed to really connect with anyone. I've been told I'm a reasonably good-looking young man, or at least not totally repulsive, just over six feet tall, toned from all the time I spend in the gym or circuit-training, with a good job and a clear career path in the Civil Service, with my own home and car. I just never seemed to be able to parlay a date into a second date and thence a relationship; something always ended it before it even started.

So yeah, I'm lonely; clubbing and drinking with a horde of beer-buddies doesn't appeal to me, and my work with the Ministry of Defence gives me an erratic home-life, because I bounce around from site to site the length and breadth of the UK, almost perpetually on the road. Sometimes, and with very little notice, I get shunted over to overseas sites in places like Cyprus, Germany, Kathmandu, Gibraltar, Doha, Norfolk, Virginia, and South Georgia in the South Atlantic, so asking a girl to put up with my long, incommunicado absences would be a bit much, anyway.

When I first started my job, right after leaving university (and even that had been at uni here in London so I didn't have to leave Abi alone) I'd been worried that she would morph into some kind of reclusive Goth-stroke-Emo hermit, shunning all human contact, but she was always bright and interested in hearing about the places I'd been and the things I'd seen, and always laughed delightedly over the kitschy, jokey souvenirs I'd bring back for her. She also appreciated anything more substantial and meaningful, especially silver jewellery and anything with lapis lazuli or moonstones; she loved and treasured those above all else.

Occasionally Abi would even come out with me. She wasn't at all into the club/wine-bar scene; to be honest, she barely drank at all. I think she just agreed to come out with me to keep me company so I didn't look too obviously single and alone. That didn't worry me at all; it was Abi being thoughtful, not pitying, and I won't lie, it was kind of nice to have a pretty little blonde, Gothic-looking girl with me, and I did think Abi was pretty, not in a leering kind of way, just an honest appreciation of the fact that, quiet and almost mousy though she was, she was still a pretty little thing, with a sweet smile, and a kind, gentle sense of humour that made her very enjoyable company.

Abi only ever dressed all in black, from her loose, shapeless pullovers to her skinny jeans with the ripped knees and black suede Chelsea boots, usually festooned with the Moonstone and silver jewellery she preferred, big clunky rings she'd got from who-knows where, with glossy black fingernails and dark-purple, deep carmine, or black lip-gloss; with her bright blonde hair and contrasting makeup making her chalk-white skin stand out vividly against the otherwise monochrome look, I had to admit, my quiet, meek little sister knew how to make a visual statement. The first time I saw her like that I wondered what had come over her; this wasn't her at all, at least not as far as I knew, but then the selfies I'd seen on her phone had girls (and boys) who also looked like that; perhaps she'd found something to belong to, a way of being not-invisible Abi. Either way, she always looked dramatic, fetching, and very attractive, and I say that as a man, not as a big brother, which puzzled and disquieted me.