by Parker Ford
eXcessica publishing
Cry Little Sister © August 2012 by Parker Ford
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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First Edition August 2012
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Cry Little Sister
By Parker Ford
Chapter One
“Right there.”
Silence.
“Right. There.”
That growl was Gareth’s, no doubt. Jordan crept through the house. She hadn’t thought that using her key, even after all these years, would be wrong. But it sounded as if her brother was fighting with someone.
She didn’t want to interfere, but she did want to make sure he was okay. She’d just peek and sneak back out and call before pretending to show up. This hadn’t been her home in years, but it had been his alone for quite a while now.
He came home to take care of dad and you stayed…gone.
No time for guilt. Her mother had always said it was a wasted emotion and Jordan figured her mother would know. Kelly Davis had been gone with the wind for years. Since she was thirteen and Gareth fourteen and a half.
“Right. Fucking. There.” He growled it out and in the silence of the house his voice sounded nearly monstrous. The boogie man in the closet. The big bad wolf on the prowl.
The hair on her nape prickled and she dropped her bag by the archway that divided dining room and living room. She’d snag it on her way out.
The downstairs bedroom was the master suite and had become Gareth’s room as he cared for their dad. He’d put Doug Davis, and all the medical equipment he required at the end of his life, in the study where there was more light and more room to operate.
The master suite was big, but not as big as the study.
Jordan walked as silently as she could on the cream colored carpet and approached the cracked bedroom door.
“Do it. Do it.”
“God damn it, Gareth. You are so not supposed to top from the bottom. You told me I could try.”
“Well you suck at it,” he snarled.
She gasped—whoever she was—at the insult. Jordan knew at that instant that she should turn tail and run, but she didn’t.
This isn’t the first time you’ve snooped on him while he was doing it…
Another rogue thought, another chance to ignore her annoying internal critic. Instead she took another step toward the cracked bedroom door.
She had long red hair. Bottle red—the color of artificial cherry candy. She was long and lean with large breasts and a small waist and pale skin. Her hair swung around her jaw line as she straddled Jordan’s brother. Gareth was also long and lean but more muscular that most men with his body type. All that time working outside, busting concrete or laying fresh road, or roofing and installing windows. All the hard work had left him sinewy and buff. He kept his wheat colored hair close cut but in style.
The couple on the bed could have been brother and sister. They looked more alike than Jordan and her own Gareth ever would. And speaking of her brother, he was the one currently tied to the bed with black silk scarves. His cock was hard and long—and she remembered that yes, this was not the first time she’d seen him this way—naked and erect. And with a woman.
She—whoever she was—lowered herself an inch at a time while Gareth jerked up under her.
The girl swatted his chest and the sound was crystal clear and sharp in the silent house. “Stop it. I’m in charge. Now lay still.”
He growled and made himself still for a moment and his lover rocked from side to side, grinding her body down on his. Her pubic hair was gone but for a tiny strip that was black. Jordan had always thought that lone strip looked silly—like a mustache in the wrong location.
A hysterical burble of laughter tried to rumble up out of her but she clamped a shaking hand over her mouth and watched the girl ride her brother. Her naked, gorgeous, stubborn and apparently into sex games brother.
Gareth chose that moment to thrust up hard under the woman and he hissed, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Isabel, fuck me or get off.”
“I am fucking you,” she said and pinched his nipple between her dark fingernails.
Gareth roared at her. “You’re only doing what feels good to you. We talked about this. If you’re topping, then your premiere job is finding the balance between your pleasure and your bottoms. And you are only worried about you.”
She pinched him harder, her mouth had narrowed down to a mean line and that alone made it almost possibly for Jordan to ignore the very real and very inappropriate thump of arousal in her cunt. She should totally not be watching this.
“And!” Gareth roared louder. “You are supposed to balance pleasure and pain and not just hurt me because I’m pissing you off.”
He bucked up under her, but not to fuck her. The buck was intended to—and succeeded in—bucking the red headed beauty off of him.
Jordan got another fast, but magnificent glance at her brother’s cock and heat flooded her cheeks. Why was she still here? Why had she not fled the scene?
Pervert.
“You cocksucker!” Isabel shouted. It was a screechy kind of cry that set Jordan’s teeth on edge. Not a sound that evoked sympathy by any means.
“Untie me,” Gareth growled. He was struggling now and Jordan couldn’t quite peel her eyes from the scene. Other people’s sex was very much a car wreck in that respect. His body moved, taut and angry, on the bed and against the bonds on his wrist.
Isabel the Red as Jordan had already come to think of her was busy storming around the room naked, hair flying, gathering her clothes. She shoved her legs into faded jeans without bothering to pull on panties. Those panties were shoved in her back pocket, a pale yellow surrender flag. She pulled on a greenish-blue tank and tucked her bra under her arm.
“You’re so fucking good, G. You go ahead and untie yourself. Maybe your magical dick can help you out with that.”
Jordan took a step back, ready to flee. Her brother’s voice slid along the air like thick smoke. He simply said, “Isabel, if you leave me tied here, don’t come back. Ever. Not drunk, not sober. Not horny. And certainly not because you’re craving the kind of pain with a pleasure chaser you know I can give you.”
Jordan watched her consider it. Even through the crack, she could see the woman waver. But at the last moment she turned on her heels, feet still bare, and stalked toward the door.
“I’ll be just fine,” she said with false bravado.
; “I sure hope so,” Gareth said softly and yet it carried perfectly in the still home.
Jordan backpedaled into the bathroom and ducked behind the door just as Isabel flung the door open and stalked down the short hall toward the front of the house. Jordan just hoped the girl was too angry to notice her bag on the floor as she left.
Jordan held her breath and heard Isabel getting her stuff, presumably. And then there was no need to hold her breath to hear that front door slam. Which it did with a resounding boom.
She had two choices here—she could sneak past and pretend to come in, or she could just go and check on Gareth.
…craving the kind of pain with a pleasure chaser you know I can give you…echoed in her head and she shook it off. What did that mean? But she didn’t even have time to consider the words or what they might mean because she heard the most bizarre thing ever.
Gareth. Laughing.
He was laughing his ass off in his bedroom, still buck naked and tied to his bed.
She damn near rolled her eyes. That was Gareth. Very little floored him and even less upset him. She hurried to help him out, realizing it would mean seeing him naked. Touching him while he was naked. Remembering what Isabel had apparently wanted from him.
All very confusing. So confusing and so oddly arousing, judging by the wetness of her panties, that all Jordan could do was not let herself consider any of it.
Chapter Two
“Hey, little sister.”
That was what he said when she popped her head in the doorway—mortified but hell bent on helping him.
“Hi,” Jordan whispered. “Need any help?”
“With the hard-on or the bondage?” He winked.
“Gareth!”
“Sorry, sorry.”
She swore she heard him mutter “mostly” as she started to work the knot on the first black silk tie.
Jordan did her best to ignore the nearly sickening pound of her heart. It wasn’t the most normal thing in the world to be this close to your brother while he was bound and naked. But what could she do…leave him here?
“Stop thinking so hard,” Gareth said, arching up just a bit.
She didn’t miss the jut of his cock or the cut of his hips in her peripheral vision. But Jordan focused hard on the knots in the silk and worked them with trembling fingers.
She’d spied on Gareth and his girlfriend once in high school. He’d been a cocky, horny sophomore and the girl a junior. It had been years of trying to convince herself that it has been the act—the scene—that had stuck with her and erotically haunted her, not her brother.
But deep down you know it was seeing him that did you in. All those nights with it in your head and your own sticky slick fingers between your thighs…
“—okay?”
She blinked and tugged the remainder of the tie off his wrist. A quick glance from the corner of her eye showed her he was still hard. Rock hard. And Jordan swallowed fast and turned away.
“What?” she managed.
“I said are you okay, little sister?”
“I am.” She smoothed her jeans as if they were a skirt and cleared her throat. “I’ll just let you get dressed and then we can—“
“I’ll need a few minutes before I can get dressed,” he said. He sat up and touched her arm. “Welcome home. Now leave the room so I can jerk off. Unless you want to help…”
She started. “Gareth!”
“Kidding, kidding. You know the old saying. Two hand are better than—“
She turned on her heels and headed to the door. She turned at the last second and said, “I didn’t know you were into…that kind of stuff.”
Jordan nodded to the silk ties, looking harmless and merely decorative, hanging from his headboard.
“There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me, Jordan,” he said.
She stood there, keeping her eyes away from his waist, his lap, his hard-on. But even when she unfocused her eyes she could still sort of see it there in the fuzzy unfocused halo of her vision. Jordan waited for him to wink after such a cocksure off-the-cuff statement.
He didn’t. And finally she shut the door for him to take care of business, as it were. The vision of him naked and perfect and grinning remained locked in her head, an after-image she couldn’t shake. The wetness between her legs was a traitorous bit of evidence about feelings she shouldn’t be having.
In the bathroom she washed her face and hands and put a wet cool washcloth on her pulse points. It was easy to try and make noise and hard to blot out the sound of Gareth. She knew he was getting off in there. She knew her brother was highly sexed and also the most straight forward person she’d ever met.
If Gareth said he had to take care of business, he would.
Jordan heard a soft groan and imagined him in there, hand coated in come and his face tense before smoothing out to a peaceful façade. She’d seen Gareth have an orgasm once in her life and it was still a very easy image to recall.
Funny, she knew that coming home would be hard. She did not know it would call up old this old…stuff and leave her feeling not only perverse but oddly thrilled too.
The quickening in her belly bled warmly into her cunt and Jordan pressed her thighs together for a moment. Only realizing at the last second that it was a bad move—it only made her desire worse.
“You need to calm down and find a man. So you stop thinking those bad things about your only sibling,” she told her own pale reflection.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump.
“Who you talking to in there, Jojo?”
“Singing!” she called and then she wiped her face once more with the hand towel. The lie had flown easily off her tongue and she was grateful.
“Well come out here and have a beer with me and we’ll see if Isabel did any damage on her way out the door.”
Isabel. The red headed wonder with the shaved pussy and the big breasts and the horrible laugh and…the woman who’d been impaled on her brother’s hard erection. The woman who had been feeling him. Inside of her.
Jordan blew out a breath and shook her head. It couldn’t be jealousy she was feeling. It was something else.
It had to be.
* * * * *
Gareth put his feet up on the wrought iron railing. Jordan tucked hers under herself. The big white wicker chairs were still dominating the front porch. The oversized ferns their father had grown shielded them somewhat from view. They were huge monstrous things he was ridiculously proud of, even bringing them inside the house during the winter months.
“So he died and now you’re here, Jojo. And the mother is still missing.”
“No word at all from her? Does she even know that dad’s gone?”
He shook his head, took a swig of beer from his green bottle. “Nah. And as far as I’m concerned she has no right to know.”
Jordan nodded succinctly. It put her belly in knots to think that way but Gareth was right. When their mother left, she’d grieved for a long time, thinking she’d done something wrong. Her grief had bled into anger and often rage, which her father and brother had soldiered through with amazing patience and grace. And then a soul sucking sadness, followed eventually by acceptance.
When Jordan turned eighteen she hightailed it from Allisonville to move to a small California town. She currently ran a steak house and lived in an efficiency a block from the public beach. And life was good—but she often missed Gareth and she now sincerely grieved the loss of their dad.
And you weren’t here…
“Stop it,” Gareth said, draining his bottle and grabbing a fresh beer from the bucket of ice at their feet. Isabel, thankfully, had done nothing more than throw Gareth’s mail all over the porch upon leaving. Gareth had picked it all up with a simple, it’s all junk anyhow.
“Stop what?”
“Stop blaming yourself and picking at yourself and all that shit you do, Jojo.”
“God, do you have to keep calling me Jojo?”
“Yes. I
t’s my name for you, Jordan. What’s the matter…” He turned his sea green eyes on her and she felt a blush rush to her cheeks. The heat reminding her that she really had to get control over her strange emotions. “Don’t you love me anymore?”
“Don’t be stupid,” she said, drinking her beer and watching the fern-obscured view of the street. “Of course I do. I’m just sorry I missed dad’s…passing. And his funeral and all that.”
“What funeral?” He grinned. “You want to see him, I’ll take you to see him.”
“Jesus Christ, Gareth, you didn’t do something weird and ‘modern’ like stuff him did you?”
Gareth nearly spit out his mouthful of beer but managed to swallow. “Um…no.” He continued to laugh before wiping his streaming eyes. “But dad wanted to be cremated so I have the urn. I figured you and I could scatter his ashes—together.”
She really didn’t expect it when her throat narrowed and her eyes overflowed and the emotion of gratitude slammed her like a runaway train.
“Oh thank you,” Jordan sobbed and went to hug her brother.
He laughed softly and pushed her hair—a lighter corn silk color than his—out of her wet eyes. “Hey, Jojo. Don’t cry now.”
“I can’t help it.”
He kissed her cheek and she turned her face into it, relishing the warmth of his lips and the feeling that always came with being around her brother.
Safety.
Gareth always made her feel safe. And loved. Once upon a time people took them for twins. As they aged people started mistaking them for boyfriend and girlfriend.
As one woman put it, “You just seem to have that special connection.”
“It’s okay, kid. We’ll take care of dad’s final request together.”
Chapter Three
They were going to go the hiking trail the following day. Doug had adored a good hike alone. The only thing to trump that was a good hike with his kids. So they were going to give him a final hike. And spread his ashes so they could day goodbye.
