Wilderness Paradise Pt 04

Part 4

The Present - The Reluctant Surrender

Rachael had just crossed the yard and cut the first binding of the rope that secured Susan to the stake when she heard the discommodious sounds of feet trampling through the heavy undergrowth of the brush. It had surprised her. It came from behind her and to her left where Kyla should have been. When she looked up it was Kyla that she saw first, that was before her mind could comprehend the incongruence of what was happening. And then the realization that there was a man behind her sank in with sudden and surprising clarity; a hideous monster with a painted face. There it was; the anathema of her nightmares manifested in the flesh.

He had Kyla by the hair; head pulled back acutely so that her face was pointing to the sky with an 8-inch, hunting knife held to her throat. And, through the clammy confusion of fear came the cognitive awareness of an irrational and Byzantine parody. On the one hand, she could hear the melody of songbirds accompanying the bristling percussion of leaves as the trees tops swayed to the timeless signature of the breeze, their harmony building to a spirant crescendo before dying to a reluctant silence, stalling then raising its rasping chords again. And on the other hand, she faced the conflicting and fearful reality squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the polished blade, its honed edge pressing with choleric precision into Kyla's jugular.

"I'm sorry, Rach ..." Kyla started, her voice strained by the pressure on her neck.

Rachael stood frozen, crouched over Sarah, eyes wide and focused with mongoose attention on the monster. The sweet anticipation of exoneration and freedom now curdled in her mouth as the cold fingers of terror squeezed at her heart. It compressed the very breath from her, the pressure building in her chest, suffocating her while her head drummed with the heavy pulse of her pounding heart. "Calm down, calm down, Rachael! Think!" she told herself, "You have to think! It's your only hope!"

Her mind raced out of control, desperately trying to process the myriad of thoughts - some logical, others irrational and bordering on hysteria and yet others steeped in hope and desperation and fear! How could he have overpowered Kyla so quickly and without a sound? Was Kyla okay? Should she fight? Or run? Yes, run away; escape within the realms of fantasy. And when she opened her eyes, things would be the way they should be and this would prove to be nothing but a cerebral hoax; a bad dream. She was sure that it was her mind's subterfuge creating an illusion of madness and on waking the nightmarish creature would be gone!

But when she blinked and looked again, nothing had changed. He was still there, only closer and more ominous with Kyla in imminent and extreme danger. She wavered on the ledge of indecision, her thoughts funneled through a venturi to the one person she had depended on all her life: Luke! Luke, I need you! Now, baby, now ...

"Drop it!" it was a soft command but there was no mistaking the underlying menace.

There was a brief struggle as Kyla fought against the monster.

"Don't! Don't do it ..." Kyla gasped, struggling ineffectively.

The man pulled Kyla's head back father and drew the knife lightly across her throat. A tiny droplet of blood trickled slowly down her neck, the slithering trail of a scarlet Asp disappearing into the collar of her shirt.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" he hissed shaking her by her hair.

Rachael hesitated. If she dropped the knife she was helpless; they were helpless. It was the only weapon she had. And then, through the paralyzing fear flashed the thought - the pepper spray! Shit, it was in outside pocket of her backpack!

She glanced over at it -- about five or six feet away where she had dropped it in her haste and eagerness to get to Sarah. There was no way she could retrieve it in time. She did a quick mental rehearsal: a forward roll that would put her right at the bag, snap the Velcro clasp, fish for the canister and -- and Kyla would be dead! It had been stupid of her to keep it in the backpack. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why didn't she keep the damn thing in her pocket? Oh God, Luke!

"I'm not asking again. Drop it or I'll cut her fuckin' head off!" This time it was a sibilant hiss, his eyes, unblinking; cold blue chips gleaming iridescently.

There was no mistaking the seriousness of the threat. His chilling demeanor was magnified by the sinister anonymity of camouflage and Rachael knew, with utmost certainty, that he would slit Kyla's throat without a second thought.

"Listen, you don't have to do ..." Rachael said in a soothingly conciliatory voice.

He jerked Kyla's head back forcefully, dragging her backwards so that her legs were away from her body unable to support her weight.

"Ahhghh ..." Kyla groaned and struggled to regain her feet. Her voice gurgled sickly as the air supply was cut off from her tracheal passage.

His eyes had narrowed to slits, a viper before the strike. Rachael knew she that she was dealing in moments, skirting with her friend's life, she had to decide now. She straightened up, looked over at Sarah, then shook her head helplessly and dropped the knife ... *****

Flashback 6 years -- the Morning After

I woke up when I felt my sister extricate herself from the sensual mosaic of arms and legs braided together in night's sybaritic embrace. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and saw her standing by the bed, nude, looking down at me. The covers had pulled away in our frenzied lovemaking leaving us both exposed.

"You'd better go back to your room, baby," she whispered, "Mom will be up soon."

I raised myself up on one elbow and lay there, on my side, staring at her, my mind numb, not yet fully awake and teased by the remnants of love and lust. She looked ravishing in the hazy light, her body covered in the variegated deceit of shadows, a hypnagogic Aphrodite - my sister, my lover, my sultry whore.

"In a minute," I said sleepily and then asked, "Where are you going?"

"I have to pee. I'm so sore, I can hardly walk!" She murmured then smiled before adding, "You're still leaking out of me."

She saw me looking at the triangle of her sex, at the enticing portal of her cunt hidden within the nexus of her thighs and I knew that she was feeling self-conscious. She turned slightly, looking away. She was so damn cute. My little Bugs! Was this giddy euphoria, this feeling of unbridled elation, was it love? I mean real love, where the thought of being away from her caused a knot in my chest? I couldn't explain the underlying need that parched my throat and fogged my mind, leaving me wracked and useless. I could only wonder whether these were the symptoms of real love or just the result of hormone-driven infatuation. I wasn't sure but whatever it was, I was filled with it. I couldn't get enough of her.

I had fucked her three times during the night and she had sucked me off once claiming that her pussy was too sore to make love. That was the last time. And when I climaxed, it was a dry-pulse, an effete jerking and pumping, spilling nothing but a residual dribble of milky ejaculate into her mouth. But that didn't deter her at all; she kept sucking and swallowing, using her fingers to drain me like a straw, an insatiable dryad, squeezing every drop of the viscid elixir down her throat. It gave new meaning to the cliché of being "sucked dry"! That memory, of her lips riding the rim of my cock, was so fuckin' hot that I wanted to do her again.

She saw my cock twitch, engorging with blood, and let out a squeal, "Oh no! No more. You better leave before I call the police!"

And with that she giggled and ran off into the bathroom. ******

The Confession at the Rookery

By the time Rachael and I came down for breakfast, Dad had left so it was just Mom at the dining table. She was watching the news on the kitchen TV and got up when she saw us.

"Come on, we're going to the Rookery for breakfast," she said and put her arm around my waist.

The Garden Rookery was one of our favorite places. They severed breakfast all day and their omelets were to kill for. My favorite was called the "Twisted Vegan". The name was a bit misleading. It was golden-yellow and fluffy and stuffed full of veggies and farmer's cheese wrapped in twisted strips of bacon and served with a piquant, red sauce that would have you begging for mercy. They also offered the best damn Apple Pie, Dutch style, with a cinnamon-crumbly crust. Rachael and I would get it warmed and a la mode with two scoops of their homemade vanilla ice cream soaking into it. We had always shared a plate and the thought of that buttery-cinnamon flavor revived the memory of my sister's juices -- her mucilaginous sap tinged with hints of cloves and sweet spice!

The large patio had booths against one wall that allowed for privacy while offering a great view of the fountain and gardens. This place was Mom's haven when she wanted to meet with her friends and get away for a few hours.

We made small talk until breakfast was over and just when I felt that this was our first step to normalcy, Mom dropped the bomb.

She looked down into her coffee, gathering her thoughts, and then addressed us, "I think we need to talk about what happened yesterday but before we do, I'd like to apologize for the way your father and I reacted."

Apologize? I stopped chewing -- this was a first.

She looked at both of us and then continued, "I'd better explain. I'm not sure how to say all this but I refuse to be a hypocrite, at least with my children."

She sat quietly and my mind began conjuring up worst case scenarios when she continued, "You need to know something about me, something that I've kept a secret, um, until now. Not because I'm ashamed of it but because others wouldn't understand. It is not something you normally talk about especially with your kids but considering what happened, it's only fair that you should know how I feel."

She was speaking quickly and our curiosity was now piqued; we both sat staring at her. Rachael had put her fork down and had stopped eating. It was obvious that my mother was struggling with what she was about to tell us and I didn't want to rush her. Mom could talk a monkey off a tree so whatever it was, it must have been important.

"Your father and I disagree because," she paused, "... I know exactly what the two of you are going through ..."

She stopped and stared into her coffee again, then looked at us deliberately and dropped the hammer, "I've shared some of the same experiences with my brothers."

There was dead silence. The shrill cacophony of the neighboring conversations and the restaurant's ceramic clatter faded into a halcyon white-noise leaving the three of us isolated in a Bizarro world. Whoa! Mom and Uncle Phillip? And Uncle Jack? I couldn't believe it. They acted so normal together at our family reunions. They couldn't have done it -- they couldn't have fucked each other! There was a difference once you were intimate with someone and they didn't behave any differently. But what the heck do I know! My mind was spinning from the implications of my mother's confession: Mom with her brothers and now Rach and me? Did this run in families? That was a thought, a possible dissertation for my doctorate someday!

Rachael, who had been quiet until then, was now studying Mom with rapt attention. She gave me a quick look and smiled and then I felt her hand on my lap, squeezing my thigh under the sanctuary of the table.

"You mean you did it with Uncle Phil and ..." her voice sounded breathless.

"Yes!" Mom cut her off, "We can leave it at that or you are welcome to ask me questions and I'll answer them as honestly as I can. But I don't believe I was impacted negatively because of it. On the contrary, I have only positive memories and feelings. Having two people who loved me and allowed me to explore my sexuality was the best thing that could have happened to me at that stage in my life."

We were all quiet for a while coming to terms with the nuances of this revelation and the impact that it would have going forward. I felt Rachael holding my hand, fingers interlaced and resting on my lap. Then she kissed me on the cheek, not like a sister but with the familiarity of a lover, and sighed and laid her head on my shoulder. She disengaged her hand form mine and began rubbing the inside of my thighs.

Mom looked at us and smiled ruefully and then looked away again. I wondered what she was thinking seeing us now, her children sitting across from her, obviously lovers. Did it bring back the memories of her brothers? Was there any regret or did it rekindle her desire? I wish I could have known but some things can't be asked, they need to be revealed.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, without talking, but it was Rachael who spoke first, "When did it start, Mom, and how?" she asked gently.

My mother smiled, a wry smile, as though the incident had been a funny one. Then I saw her take a deep breath before beginning.

"I think the first time I was openly aware of Phillip sexually was when I inadvertently caught Lisa Keating with him. They were behind the garage and she was ..." her voice trailed off and I knew my mom was struggling for the appropriate words, "she was, um, masturbating him. Lisa was his girlfriend and was very pretty. I remember feeling jealous of her when we first met, which was confusing, but it might have been because she was the first girl that Phillip was so taken with. He had just graduated high school and was getting ready to leave for college and they were spending as much time together as they could."

She sipped her coffee before going on.

"I had seen them kissing and fooling around before but nothing serious, just cutesy things. This was a first and the thing I remember most was being extremely excited and very confused. I didn't know if I should stay or run but I guess my curiosity won out. I stayed, hidden behind the side wall, and watched them with fascination. Their sensual burlesque was mesmerizing -- it was like being a voyeur at a private sex show. I was quite naïve so this was a major revelation for me. I also remember feeling frightened and thrilled at the possibility of being caught. I couldn't breathe. I can still recall the anxiety ... it was all so crazy and amazing at the same time. I waited until they had finished and then ran as fast as I could to my room. I wanted to replay it in my head as many times as I could before the memory of it faded!"

Her cheeks were flushed and I could tell she was either embarrassed or excited by her recollections.

"That night I couldn't sleep; my mind was buzzing with what I had witnessed. I tossed and turned thinking about them and about Phillip, about ..." she waited a bit, as though she was sorting through and arranging the memories so she could verbalize them, "... about how incredibly exciting the climax was. What I didn't know was that my brother had seen me standing there. That night, after my parents had gone to sleep, he came into my bedroom and took me. Not by force but gently and with love -- I wanted him to. I couldn't have asked for a better initiation for ... um, you know, for my first time; to lose it, to lose my virginity! And, I have never regretted gifting it to my brother. So there, now you know."

She looked away into the distance and I could tell that she was uncomfortable having shared something so intimate with her children. After all, she was our mother. I loved her phrasing of the last part -- "gifting" -- for that was exactly what it was. A woman gifts herself to a man especially the first time!

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand, "Thanks, Mom. That's pretty intense and must have been difficult ..."

"What about Uncle Jack?" Rachael asked, cutting me off.

"Oh, Uncle Jack, yes, of course; one night about a year later Phillip brought Jack with him and we had a threesome, a ménage a trois. They had to talk me into it and even though it was really exciting, I preferred being with each of them alone. Jack was only two years older than me and was the quiet one. We were intimate for a very short time. He was also a lot more religious and honestly, he was a lot less enthusiastic about the liaison. I think he thought of it as some egregious blasphemy against the church. But with Phillip ..."

She left it unsaid. She didn't need to elaborate, the answer was there, said with simple honesty if you bothered to read between the lines.

"Do you two still ..." I started but didn't quite know how to ask the question.

"No. We were lovers for quite a while but it stopped when I married your father."

"Does Daddy know?" Rachael asked.

"No. And I don't ever want him to find out. It would hurt him deeply and I'd rather die than see him hurt!"

I had a feeling she said that for our benefit, for us to use some discretion and to be careful when my father was around.

"When was the last time Uncle Phil and you were together?" Rachael persisted, "Like lovers?"

My mother was quiet. I don't think she had meant this to be about her; with us delving into her past. I think she thought that her empathy would have been sufficient. However, she hadn't counted on Rachael who was, well, just being Rachael. To her credit my mother tried to answer the question as forthrightly as possible but like most relationships involving love and sex, the answers weren't quite that simple.

"When things got serious between your father and me, I called Phil and told him we couldn't be lovers anymore and that I had found the man I wanted to marry. At first he was upset but later, after we had talked about it, he calmed down and said he understood, that it was all for the best anyway. He was posted in Germany at that time so it was actually a blessing. I could focus my entire attention on your father."

She reached across the table for the sugar, added another packet and stirred it into her coffee -- Mom had a sweet tooth and the joke at home was that she drank sugar with her coffee!

"On the day of our wedding, Phil surprised us. He had been granted emergency leave and caught a late flight from Frankfurt to New York and then drove all night. It was early when he got home and I was still in bed. Normally in the mornings, Mom and Dad were quieter than monks in a monastery. Dad would watch the news and Mom would read the newspapers until we were all up but that morning, I could hear voices in the kitchen. I didn't think much of it -- I mean it was my big day and I assumed they were talking about it. Then things quieted down again and I dozed off to sleep."

She fell silent again. It didn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure out where this was going.

"You don't have to explain, Mom, you really don't! We understand. Right, Rachael?" I said and elbowed my sister.

"No, I want to know. I have a right to know ..." she said, her tone turning brattish and petulant.

"It's okay, dear, I don't mind," she said to me before continuing, "It's just that some of this is pretty complex and convoluted. I loved your uncle in ways sisters don't normally love their brothers ..." she paused and looked at my sister, "I think you'll understand that."

Rachael blushed then nodded and a little later I felt her hand groping between my legs for me.

"He told Mom and Dad that he was going to surprise me that he had a special present for me: and he did. Before I knew what was happening, he was in bed with me ..." she stopped and I could tell that the memory was a difficult one, maybe even painful, but she collected herself and continued, "... and was forcing himself into me. I struggled at first and threatened to scream but that didn't stop him. He just laughed telling me to go ahead, that he would tell Mom and Dad everything and would tell your father to call off the wedding, that I was not in love with him. And while he was saying this he was on top of me, doing it; making love to me, if you could even call it that."