TABOO TALES(erotica)

Chelsea stood beside him, her face pale as she contemplated what the camera meant. “Who would have done this, Ben? Is it the police?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Chel… they’d need special approval to set this up, and they wouldn’t have come here asking questions if they had that.” He attached a USB lead to his laptop as he spoke, and turned on the camera. “I figure that someone wants to finger us… you know, use it for blackmail.”This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

“But who?”

“I’m hoping that this will tell us.” He fiddled with the camera’s controls and the laptop’s screen lit up. For a moment it was blank, then a series of blips appeared, flashing rapidly for a few seconds before settling down. An image of the empty room appeared, the bed foreshortened by the high angle of the camera and partially obstructed by the metal bars of the grille immediately in front of the lens, but the field of vision was adequate. They could hear clattering, the noise of someone moving out of shot, and then a figure appeared with its face turned away, walking to the bedside cabinets.

“Ah,” said Ben. “Here we go… who is this, do you think?”

Before Chelsea could answer the figure turned, lifting his eyes to the camera’s gaze. The light from the window fell squarely on his face and Chelsea gasped as she recognised him. “It’s Dirk!”

They watched as he stared up at the lens. The camera’s saturation was turned down so that the colours in the room were muted and his face was pale, the yellow orbs of his eyes appearing almost white. He smiled up at the camera for a moment and then drew something out of his pocket, holding it to his face.

“What’s that?” asked Ben.

Chelsea didn’t answer. She was still deeply shocked by the sudden turn of events and by Dirk’s invasion of their home. She held her fingers at her mouth, her heart pounding as she watched him close his eyes and breathe in, savouring the essence of the object, before he held it up to the camera’s gaze.

“Oh, Christ, Ben,” she whispered. “It’s my panties. He’s taken a pair of my panties.”

*

On the other side of town Dirk Phillips lay on his bed and regarded the collage he had set up on the wall above his desk. It comprised photographs of all of those that interested him, and although it was not complete yet, he’d made a good start. To one side was a picture of his Dad, a full-face image that he’d found in an album in the study. Dirk had carefully drawn a black border around it, and placed it to one side of the main board in such a way as his father was looking at everyone else.

His mother was below him – there were lots of photographs of her to be found, but Dirk had chosen ones that were less flattering. There was one of her at a barbeque, her mouth open as she was eating, and another of her bending over beside the swimming pool, her midriff showing white and thick with middle age. Dirk had drawn a likeness of a rifle cross hairs over her head, and he had written a bold “Number 1” next to her image. A single photograph of her new husband that he had found in his mother’s top drawer was next to her. Dirk hoped to find a few more and had left a space to attach them.

Below them were pictures of Cielle and Sarah, the latter in a white smock and her soft, empty eyes on the camera. It was not Dirk’s favourite picture but it accentuated her virginity and he found that appealing, reminding him that it was there for him to take one day. He briefly imagined her underneath him, but he drew his mind away… it was a vision for the future, when the time was right. He regarded Cielle’s photograph, taken only a day or two before. He had held the camera between her calves, pointing upwards, focused on her face. She was gazing at the lens with a mixture of trepidation and some other emotion… fear, perhaps? Closer to the lens was her pussy, made indistinct by the narrow depth of field, but not so blurred that he could not discern the product of their fucking – the shine of her juices and the thick cream of his discharge on the wet, pouting lips.

His attention was drawn to the final photograph, set to one side of the others. He swung his legs out of bed and walked over to the display, leaning close to it so that he could see the picture clearly. It was of Chelsea and must have been taken at college, he thought, perhaps five years ago, showing her face and shoulders against a blurred background of coloured canvas that accentuated the thick mane of her hair and the soft grey of her eyes. Her head was tilted very slightly to one side, and there was a mischievous glint in her expression that belied the sultry curve of her lips, full and glossy and slightly open. Her skin was flawless, a delicate peach colour, and the lines of her face were beautiful.

Dirk touched the image lightly with his fingertips, running them over the shiny photographic paper as if he could capture a little of her warmth and sensuality, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He remembered the smell of her in the kitchen… cinnamon and perfume and the tinge of musk, and he recalled the delicious scent of her sex on the damp gusset of her pants when he had pressed them to his face in her bedroom. They were under his pillow now, all traces of her obliterated by the crust and odour of his semen, but he could still recall her aroma in his mind.

The thought of her cunt made his cock thicken quickly, pushing against his pants, and he felt a tight constriction in his balls. He stood back and released his fly, pulling out the thick column of his shaft and stroking it feverishly. A strand of pre-cum drooled from the end and he scooped it up with one finger and smeared it over her image, the oily liquid gleaming in the light as it lay upon the paper.

“Chelsea,” he murmured. “You’ll be so tight when I fuck you…. as tight as a little virgin.” His hand flew along the shaft and his foreskin rode back and forth, slipping easily over the glans and making small sucking noises as it did so. He imagined it to be inside her, her cunt stretched open by its thickness, bubbles of foam and juice seething around him and long strands of her juice slick and shiny on the inside of her thighs. He envisaged her face, staring up at him as she struggled against her bonds, and in his mind he heard the sound of her belly slapping against his. She was gazing up at him, her grey eyes fearful as he thrust savagely into her body, and she was moaning with pain and desire as her cunt clasped him, sucking him in deeply.

“Chelsea,” he whispered again, “Chelsea. Fuck me like a train… fuck me like a whore. Take my cock into your body and suck it dry.” He imagined looking down at her face, seeing the rim of dried cum around her lips and the salty tracks of her tears on her cheeks. There was cum in her hair too, and in the fine hairs of her eyelashes, and he could smell it on her skin from the countless times he had fucked her. He could hear the squelch of it in her cunt and feel it dribbling out of her anus to splatter against his thrusting balls. His cum and her brother’s, no doubt, lodged inside her from where had Ben fucked her too.

His cock swelled in his hand, thicker and thicker, the waves of pressure building in his brain. His fist flew faster, imaging he was in her ass again, sliding upwards into her bowels with the grip of her battered sphincter around the base of his shaft. He thought he would blast into her rectum, filling her up, and that he would watch it drool and dribble out of her when he finally pulled free.

His orgasm burst upon him and a long jet of hot semen leapt from the eye of his cock. It struck her photograph, splattering over her face, running in rivulets over the glossy image. A second jet, thicker than the first, followed it almost immediately – the clots of his sperm sticking to her face. He grunted as he hosed the wall, his body racked in pleasure and his member jerking with each spurt until there was only the last few drops dribbling and drooling over the carpet from the end of his trembling cock.

Dirk released his prick and it sank downwards, utterly spent. He regarded her photograph, watching as his cum dribbled over the smooth, golden skin of her face. He touched it with his finger, rubbing it into her eyes and mouth, and his desire coalesced into a burning determination to fuck her, just as he had in his imagination; to inject his sperm into her living flesh as many times as he wanted, and to see the helplessness of subjugation in her eyes.

He touched his finger to his lips, the smell of his semen strong in his nostrils and the taste sharp in his mouth. He imagined it was her mouth full of his seed, and his lust to possess her filled his brain. “Soon, my little slutty sister,” he whispered, as he licked his fingers clean. “Very soon now.”

*

Dirk watched their car drive out of the underground car park and turn away from him, disappearing into the traffic at the far end of the street. He waited for a moment and then crossed the road and entered their complex.

The door opened smoothly and he walked into the flat, locking the door behind him. He knew he had several hours now, and he was in no hurry to retrieve the camera. He moved into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee, then strolled into the bedroom. The flat was silent, and his footsteps made no sound on the thick Axminster carpet. He could hear the muted sound of traffic on the freeway to the south, and the sound of the refrigerator purring in the kitchen.

He rummaged through the laundry basket, discarding the men’s clothes and drawing out a pair of thin white panties. He could see the smears of her discharge on the gusset and he pressed them to his face, breathing in her essence. There was a bra there too, and he took it, fingering the cups and imagining the press of her breasts within them. He took his trophies back to the lounge and sat on the sofa, sipping his coffee and sniffing her pants, feeling the pressure of his cock as he imagined the slow drip of her juices into them. At length he tucked them in his pocket and then carefully washed up his coffee mug and put it away.

Dirk lifted the camera carefully from its hiding place and set it down on the dining room table. He had already set up his laptop and he plugged in the camera and started it, his mouth dry with anticipation. He sat back and watched the video, skimming forward over passages that did not interest him. He watched Chelsea undressing, the slide of her dress over her hips and the tight clutch of her knickers as she slid them off. Her breasts were fuller than he had imagined, the nipples dark and swollen, and he watched as she briefly massaged them, her face tilted upwards towards the camera and her eyes closed.

He scanned the camera forward again until Chelsea’s image appeared again, setting out candles in the room. Her hair was loose, free of the usual ponytail, and it rolled languorously over her shoulders as she bent over the task of lighting the candles. The room darkened as she turned out the light, but the lens adjusted to the softer glow, the bed becoming an island in a sea of warmth and light. He watched as Ben appeared and as they stripped, her nipples hard and dark and his penis thick as he turned towards her.

Dirk released his shaft from his pants and rubbed it as he watched. The quality of the image was surprisingly good, and he could see the expression of lust in Chelsea’s face as she took her brother’s cock into her mouth, her cheeks expanding as the mushroom head slipped past her lips. Dirk watched her mouth sliding over her brother’s shaft, the swing of her hair briefly obscuring the view with each thrust; and his fingers worked at his own shaft, gripping it and moving in time to the rhythm on the screen. He could feel the seeds of his orgasm building and he forced himself to slow down, watching the screen with hooded eyes. Ben was crouching over his sister now, her body rolled upwards with him between her thighs, the angle acute so that he was almost fucking her vertically. Her buttocks were toward the camera, opened by the leverage of his hips so the tight, crinkled portal of her anus was exposed, and he could see the long, slow slide of Ben’s cock into her twitching body.