'Oh oh,' he said sheepishly, slowly pushing himself off Tiffany's inert young body. Tiffany stared up at her sister for a long moment with an unfathomable expression in her eyes. Was it triumph… scorn… or merely indifference? June couldn't tell.
'Go to your room!' she ordered the young girl imperiously. 'And you!' She wrinkled her nose in disgust, and her voice dripped utter loathing as she faced Cliff, coldly looking his naked body over from head to toe without missing his now shriveled, helpless-looking penis… 'Get out of here. I never want to see you again!'
Cliff jumped up and began to hastily put on his clothes, but Tiffany insolently took her time gathering up her panties, mini-dress and sandals, which were apparently all she had been wearing when the debauch began. In spite of her anger, June caught herself scanning her sister's body with curiosity because she hadn't really seen it naked for five years. The year after their mother's death, the two girls had slept together in the same bed and been very close. Then one night there had been a scene. June had awakened to find her little sister, who was then only twelve, feverishly fingering herself up between her legs. She had admonished the young girl severely, telling her that masturbation was a sin. But you do it, the child had cried. June denied this furiously because even though she did occasionally make herself cum to relieve nervous tension, she had certainly never done it where Tiffany could see her. Yes you do, the child had insisted doggedly. You only pretend you're asleep! Since then, there had been no intimacy between the two girls and they had grown steadily farther and farther apart. With a sinking feeling of guilt, June realized that, until this afternoon, she hadn't had the faintest idea of what kind of life Tiffany led. She had innocently assumed that her sister was still a virgin as she had been at that age. A virgin! Not this proud young animal impudently strutting her sexuality in front of them both.
'I said go to your room, Tiffany!' June repeated, controlling herself with difficulty.
Tiffany ignored her. 'Bye, Cliff,' she said huskily. 'See you tomorrow.'
'Oh no you won't!' June corrected her fiercely.
'Oh yes I will. If I want to,' the slender blonde-haired teenager replied airily as she strolled still stark naked into the darkened parlor. Cliff was dressed by then and was heading for the screen door of the porch. Probably the way he had sneaked in, June thought. God, they hadn't even been able to wait to get upstairs to Tiffany's room. Anybody could have come along the shortcut behind the house and seen them.
Cliff hesitated uncertainly at the door before turning around. 'June… I…' he stammered, trying to meet her outraged stare.
'Get out!' she interrupted him sharply. 'And, if you ever see Tiffany again, I'll have the police on you. She's not eighteen, you know.'
His manner changed instantly from meekness to arrogance. 'That would make a juicy scandal, wouldn't it?' he sneered contemptuously. 'It might upset your poor father. In fact, it might even put him in his grave if he knew that the apple of his eye, his darling little daughter Tiffany, has been fucking like a mink ever since she was fourteen years old. And not only that. She had the reputation of being the best cock-sucker in Laketon High, and I can tell you from personal experience, baby, that she does a beautiful job. You should watch her some time. You could use a few lessons in the sex department, you know, June dear. Well, see you at the office tomorrow.' He opened the door, strode nonchalantly across the yard and disappeared through a gap in the hedge.
Of all the horrible disgusting filth he had spilled out about her sister one word kept ringing in June's ears… Watch… 'You should watch her some time,' he had said.
'Ju-uune…? Is that you?' a quavering voice called faintly from upstairs. June started guiltily. She had forgotten all about her father.
'Yes Daddy, I'm coming,' she called up. She rushed into the kitchen and feverishly washed her hands, but, when she sniffed them after drying them, it seemed to her she could still smell the faint pungent odor of her rectum lingering on her left index finger. She felt that she would never be able to hold up her head and look decent people squarely in the eye again after the terrible thing she had done that afternoon.
The next three months were hell for June Wright. Her sister ran away to New York with Cliff Farrow and June had to put up with, not only the constant querulous complaints of her father who blamed her for Tiffany's flight, accusing her of having always been too strict with the younger girl, but also with the hypocritical condolences of her friends and colleagues at Chisolm Realty. All that was nothing, however, compared to the secret inner torment she was going through as a result of that awful afternoon which haunted her dreams at night and obsessed her thoughts during the day.
In fact, when Cliff and Tiffany ran away — it was about two weeks after she had caught them on the porch — June felt more relieved than anything else.
At least, she told herself, she wouldn't have to silently suffer Cliff's knowing smirks at the office any longer, or Tiffany's haughty impudence at home. Because, of course, Cliff had been right when he said they would go on seeing each other. She couldn't run the risk of making a scandal which sooner or later would reach her father's ears. With his delicate heart condition, it might very well kill him, as Cliff had said.
So in the morning she found the deliberately cruel and brief little note saying she'd gone to New York to look for a job, June's first reaction was to thank God, and when she learned later in the day that Cliff had gone with her sister, she sighed good riddance to bad rubbish. With both of them out of the way she hoped that she would at last be able to forget what they had done and what she had done on that sunny July afternoon when she had so innocently come home from work.
But that wasn't the way it was to be. It wasn't her father's incessant peevish bickering which she had long since learned to bear with patience, it was the relentless nagging in the pit of her stomach… in her genital area… that was driving her to distraction. She seemed to be in such a constantly aroused condition that she — June Corbin Wright formerly so self-controlled in matters of sex — found herself obliged to masturbate in the toilet like an adolescent two or three times a day just to dampen the fires of lust raging inside her passion-crazed vagina long enough to enable her to do her job.
And at home in the long evenings after her father had turned off his light in the bedroom across the hall, she began to experiment with different ways of making herself cum — with candles, with a pestle she found in the kitchen drawer, even with the rounded head of one of her father's long unused canes which she rammed up her wildly puckering anus one night in a humiliating orgy of self-debasement. That moment she remembered with clarity for she had felt in her shattered brain that she was committing both sodomy and incest at the same time, her flesh crawling with delicious horror as she squatted lower and lower, driving the bulbous cock-like head of the cane farther and farther up her lacerated rectum while she hysterically drubbed the swollen bud of her clitoris so hard that, when she finally came with great gasping sobs, it was too sore to touch again that night…
Underneath all her feelings of guilt and self-loathing because of her enslavement to her body's insatiable demands was the undeniable knowledge that none of the sensations which she artificially provoked in herself came anywhere near in intensity to the one she had experienced that afternoon… just from watching. No matter what she did to herself, she couldn't recapture the soul-quaking voluptuous thrill that had electrified her being as she watched Cliff Farrow's long thick cock pistoning in and out of her sister's hot little pussy.
Was she really a voyeur? Was that to be her lonely unhappy fate? She started taking books on abnormal psychology out of the library to peruse late at night in her bed… Freud, Stekel, Reik. The case histories excited her, and, more often than not, the forgotten book slipped unnoticed off the bed as she thrashed around in her tangled sheets, her proud beautiful face twisted grotesquely in her vain efforts to make the breakthrough into that unknown world of total sensuality which she had glimpsed so briefly.
She felt that each bitter failure was bringing her closer and closer to the brink of madness until that day the telegram arrived…
Tiffany in terrible trouble
Need your help desperately
Wire arrival 72 West 8th
Cliff
June didn't hesitate a minute. She hired a nurse to look after her father, packed a bag and left for New York on the next train. She didn't know why, really… only knew that she was driven… or relentlessly drawn… toward the source of her intolerable misery.
