A Haunting Love

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Chapter Two

The incident in which her brother's semen had splashed on her skin had just been a few days ago. Debbie thought about it as she stared out her window at the roof of the tower where she had played princess, while her brother, the knight, fought all manner of monsters and beasts for the privilege of getting to see her rub her naked pussy while he jerked that lovely slippery stuff out of his prick.

She sighed again as Petula Clark sang the last chorus of Downtown and the announcer promised that the new Beatles hit would be coming up soon. She couldn't go find Robby and ask him to go to the manor. With his friend there that wouldn't work. They hadn't told any of their friends about their secret place, because all their friends would want to go and see it. Then it wouldn't be theirs alone any more, and they wouldn't be able to masturbate there either, since they'd never know if some friend was going to sneak in like they did.

She opened the window to get some air into her room, which seemed stuffy. It was then that she heard the noise coming from the Nettleton Manor next door.

It was a motor noise, that much she could tell, like a truck. There was a clanking sound too, but it came and went, while the motor noise was more or less constant. But that was impossible. There was no way to get a car or truck onto the property. She saw a cloud of black smoke drift upward above the trees and begin to dissipate in the light breeze.

Panic seized Debbie's heart. Fire! Something was on fire over there!

She ran, screaming for Robby.

Robby and Mike were in Robby's room. Each was working on an AMT plastic model, and each was bent over, carefully and intently painting very small parts with tiny brushes. Debbie's screams electrified both boys, whose hands jerked, causing paint to smudge off onto upholstery in one case, and armor plating in the other. She was yelling something about a fire and both boys jumped up and charged out of the room only to run head on into Debbie. She slammed into Mike, who had been closer to the door, and both landed in a heap on the floor while Robby screamed for information.

Debbie was crying by now and her sobs made it difficult to understand her. They heard "Fire ... Smoke ... and our place", but couldn't make any sense of it. Then she pointed toward the Nettleton mansion and Robby paled. He ran outside and stopped to stare at the forest next door. He heard the same motor noises, but saw no smoke. Debbie and Mike skidded to a stop behind him.

"Where?" asked Robby. "I don't see any fire."

Debbie, who had expected to see walls of flame and a tower of smoke, stopped crying when she saw only what the others could see ... basically nothing.

"I saw smoke!" she said. "From my window upstairs."

"What's that noise?" asked Mike. "It sounds like a tank or something."

Robby started for the place in the fence where he and his sister in the past had almost walked through to get on the property, but now had to squeeze through. Then he remembered Mike and his habit of keeping the secret was so strong that he stopped. The fence led down to the street and turned a corner to run almost a block to the big iron gates.

"Come on," he yelled, and took off running for the corner of the fence.

Minutes later the three youths stopped and stared. In all their lives those massive wrought iron gates had always been closed, with a heavy black chain and a huge old padlock with the key hole on the front of it keeping them that way.

But now the gates had been flung wide, the chain lying on the ground with the old padlock, now broken, lying forlornly beside it. A big flatbed truck and trailer were parked on the street, with heavy ramps leading down from the trailer. Where there had only been a choked track through the forest behind the gates, there was now an eight foot wide swath of destruction, making a flat, open expanse to drive on. There were tread marks in the exposed topsoil.

Without a thought the three ran up the newly cleared track. A hundred yards later the motor noise was loud and the teens slowed and left the cleared track to enter the woods. They lurked from tree to tree until at last they could see what had happened.

There was a big yellow bulldozer pushing a huge pile of trees and shrubs that had been growing in the old driveway, but were now a mangled collection of destroyed vegetation. Other than the man driving the bulldozer, only one other person was visible.

He looked at first like what all three kids thought a hermit would look like. He had long, raggedy black hair, with a wild unkempt beard that was at least a foot long. He was wearing a black overcoat, regardless of the fact that it was eighty-five degrees outside. His arms were gesticulating, guiding the man on the bulldozer ... showing him where to push the big pile of cleared plants. As it moved the bulldozer sent a huge plume of black smoke up into the air out of its smokestack. Debbie recognized it immediately as what she'd seen before.

Her relief at finding there was no fire though, was completely overcome by finding strangers on the property ... her property ... her secret property. She stood up and moved from behind the tree she had been hiding behind and started marching toward the scene of destruction.

Robby saw her and intuited what she was going to try to do. His mind reasoned that, without knowing who the crazy looking man was, all that would probably happen was that Debbie would get in trouble. He lunged forward and grasped her slim waist, pulling her behind a huge old oak tree. She struggled against him, her yells overcome by the noise of the bulldozer as it strained to push the huge pile of debris a little further. In the end he had to put his arms all the way around her. His hands inadvertently were filled with her breasts as she strained to get away from him.

Mike looked on in astonishment as his two friends struggled. What was Robby doing grabbing Debbie's breasts? He had the flash of a thought that he wished he could be doing that. Debbie was a good looking chick and he'd tried to get her to go out with him lots of times, but she didn't go on dates. Neither did Robby.

Now Robby was yelling in her ear and she finally stopped struggling. Her hands came to his and dragged them off her breasts. Then she turned around and hugged her brother, burying her face in his chest. Mike could tell she was sobbing, but he couldn't figure out whether it had to do with her breasts, or what was going on that short distance away.

The motor of the bulldozer suddenly went quiet ... so quiet that it seemed to the kids as if they had gone deaf. All three held their breath, Debbie less successfully as she gasped a sob now and again. The driver was getting down and his feet made noises on the metal parts of the bulldozer. The sounds were so clear that the kids suddenly thought any sound they made would be clearly heard by the two men.

The hermit yelled, as if the motor was still running.

"That's fine for now. I can get a truck in here at least. There'll be more work later, but I have to make plans."

He walked over to meet the driver, digging in the pockets of his overcoat. They saw him pull out a wad of money that would choke a horse and he peeled bills off of it, handing them to the driver.

In a softer, but clearly audible voice, the hermit said, "I thank you, sir, for your prompt service. I assume cash will be sufficient?"

"Cash is right fine, mister Smith. And I appreciate the bonus. I can use it. Running one of these beasts is right costly. But they sure do short work of things. When I was a boy we'd have had to do all that with horses and it would have taken a week. But for your bonus it wouldn't have hardly been worth taking her off the truck."

Mister Smith smiled through his thick brush of fur and waved. "I'll get the gate."

With that the driver got back on his iron beast and it roared to life, the blade lifting like some monstrous guillotine, ready to destroy something else.

Debbie flinched. She had been darting looks at the house, and the pile of debris, and the hermit, trying to assess what all this meant. The noise of the bulldozer unnerved her. She saw with her own eyes what it could do. She feared at first that he was just going to make a long sweep back to the gate, destroying more of their precious magical forest, but the thing, with a groan of metal and the screaming of the motor, making huge clouds of sooty black smoke, spun as if it were light as a feather and lumbered off back down the smooth track it had made. With the blade raised it moved much faster than it had before.

The hermit stared at the pile of brush and trees and gave a little shake of his head. Then he turned and just looked at the mansion, hands on his hips, staring, as if he could see something the others could not. The noise of the bulldozer got more and more distant and then there was a grinding noise made by the treads on the big metal ramps leading up to the long, low trailer. The noise cut off and it was quiet as a tomb again.

The three teens stood, stock still, watching the stranger watching the house.

After what seemed like an interminable time, there was the sound of a truck motor starting, revving up and pulling away. Mister Smith turned his head toward the newly cleared driveway and then turned his body and began walking down to the gate.

Silent shadows flicked from tree to tree ... three shadows ... as the teens cut through the forest on a soft carpet of dead, moist leaves. One of them stepped on a branch that cracked like a gunshot to their ears and the other two shot dark looks, raising fingers to their lips. They crept on, arriving just in time to see mister Smith leaned against the one open half of the gate, pushing with all his strength to close it.

"Gonna have to get some oil on these hinges," he muttered.

He moved inside and pulled, getting the two halves closed as much as he could. Then, digging into another pocket of that strange greatcoat, he pulled a shiny new lock from it. Bending he gathered up the old chain and draped it through the iron bars of the gate, pulling on the loose ends until the gate closed even more. He fumbled with the ends and then stood back. The new lock was securely fastened. He nodded, turned on his heel, and began trudging back up the drive toward the manor.

The three kids looked at each other, staring open mouthed.

They were locked in.

Mike started to say something, but Robby shushed him quietly. He held up a hand, standing still, his head swiveling, watching the stranger until the number of trees between watcher and watched got so numerous that they could only catch glimpses of movement. Robby waited longer and then finally dropped his hand. He turned to his sister and friend and beckoned them toward him.

"What are we gonna do?" whispered Mike anxiously. He looked up at the sharp spikes that topped each upright iron bar in the fence that, as far as he knew, completely surrounded the property. The bars were only six inches apart. There was no way to go through, or over the fence.

"We know a way out," whispered Robby. Debbie shot him a look but he shook his head. "We used to play in the woods. Follow me."

He took them along the fence, back toward the corner they'd run around ... not right by the fence, but ten or fifteen yards inside the undergrowth, as if he were afraid someone outside the fence might see them. To his credit he made it look as if he were searching for something, though he knew exactly where the wide spot in the bars was. It took them fifteen minutes to circle the mansion. When they got there it was obvious that there was a trail leading from the fence toward the house.

"Look!" said Mike. "Somebody's been using this!"

"Game trail," said Robby confidently. "You know, rabbits ... deer ... that kind of thing."

There were deer in these parts, though none of the teens had ever seen one that hadn't been shot by a hunter and hung up to butcher. Mike nodded. His primary concern was getting out. There was no way he wanted to go knock on the door and face mister Smith to get that gate unlocked. He saw the gap in the fence. Someone had gone to great lengths with some kind of heavy force to bend the bars apart. What none of them knew was that this was the entrance point that kidnappers had used decades before to gain entry onto the property.

That wouldn't have mattered anyway. Now all three youths squeezed between the bars. As soon as they were out all three ran like the wind toward Debbie and Robby's house.

They were out of breath when they arrived, pounding through the door and into the kitchen where they stood, poised for further flight for some reason. Debbie had a wild look in her eyes. Her hair, which had been in a pony tail, had come partly undone, perhaps from brushing a tree branch, and her hair flew off in several directions. Her heaving chest caught Mike's attention. He could see the dents in her shirt that he knew were made by nipples.

"What was that all about?" he asked, breathlessly.

"I don't know," said Robby, sitting down. Then he stood up again and went to the fridge, pulling out bottles of Royal Crown Cola for them all. He couldn't find an opener, digging through the junk drawer under the counter. Debbie took hers and dug the edge of the serrated cap into the aluminum strip that went along the edge of the counter. She raised it fractionally and then jerked downward. The cap sailed and she tipped the bottle up, drinking thirstily.

"You know mom doesn't like that," chided Robby. "It marks up the aluminum."

Debbie let the bottle fall back, half empty. She let out a long burp and wiped her mouth with her forearm. "That's not important right now," she said edgily. "We have to stop that man."

"Why?" asked Mike, trying to do the same thing he'd seen Debbie do, but unable to make it work. "Maybe he bought the place."

Debbie jerked the bottle from his hands and opened it for him expertly on the edge of the counter, like she had her own. She handed it back to him.

"He can't buy the manor." She unconsciously slipped into her common name for the Nettleton Mansion.

Mike took a gulp of pop and tried to burp. It was a short one and he looked disgusted. "Why not? If he's crazy enough and has the money he can do what he wants."

Debbie was about to hotly exclaim that he couldn't buy the place because it was hers!, but Robby shot her a look that made her mouth snap shut.

"He doesn't look like he has that kind of money," said Robby hurriedly.

"He sure pulled a bundle out of that coat," insisted Mike. "And he paid that guy on that bulldozer. Maybe he's some rich crazy guy or something. He'd have to be crazy to buy that place. That's for sure." He went back to trying to work up a respectable belch.

"We have to tell Mom!" said Debbie urgently. "She'll know what to do."

"Why do you have to do anything?" insisted Mike. "Who cares?" He took another swig of RC Cola. "I can't wait to tell my parents," he said, exhibiting just who he thought would care.

"Yeah" said Robby. "Go home and tell your parents. I need to ... ah, mow the lawn anyway."

Debbie could tell that her brother was trying to get rid of his friend, which was fine with her, because this was an emergency and they needed to do something. Mike, not having any of the urgency that was seething beneath the surface of both twins, kept trying to work up a burp. His eyes fell to Debbie's chest again.

"Hey, I just remembered something," he said.

The other two looked at him anxiously.

"When we were out there, watching them, and you tried to go do something ..." he addressed Debbie, "and Rob stopped you? Remember?"

She nodded, wishing he'd just leave so she and her brother could discuss what to do.

"Rob touched your titties," announced Mike.

"No he didn't," she said hotly.

"Yes he did! He had his hands all over your titties," insisted Mike.

"What's your point Mike?" demanded Debbie.

"Well I was wondering if maybe you'd let me touch them too." Mike had known the twins for as long as he could remember, and he'd spent hours playing baseball with them, or riding bikes or playing Monopoly. He'd always accepted Debbie as just another friend ... not a girl. It was only recently that he'd noticed her as a member of the fairer sex.

"What kind of pervert are you?" Debbie leaned in close to him.

"I'm not a pervert!" yelped Mike. "He did it! So why can't I?"

"Mike, buddy, I didn't grab her boobs on purpose, you idiot," said Robby. "I was just trying to keep her from running in front of that bulldozer. It was an accident."

"Oh," said Mike with obvious disappointment, looking down. He then looked back up, hope back in his eyes. "What did it feel like? Were they soft?"

"You really are a pervert!" squealed Debbie.

"No I'm not!" defended Mike. "Guys do that all the time. If you like a girl you're supposed to touch her titties."

"So you like me?" asked Debbie, not at all sure how she felt about that possibility. She had too many things on her mind right now to think about that.

"No!" blurted Mike. "I mean you know ... not like that. I think you're cool and everything. I just never got to touch a girls titties before."

Debbie folded her arms under the titties being discussed, framing them nicely, though that wasn't her intent.

"Well you're not going to be feeling mine any time soon. I can't believe you Mike Sumner! I should tell your mother what you just asked."

Mike reacted just like her brother would have, groveling and begging and promising anything if she'd refrain from getting him in trouble. It was a lesson Debbie would remember. Up to that point the only male she had any real sway over was her brother, at least in terms of using extortion and blackmail to control a boy. But she took it easy on him. All she really wanted right then was for him to go home so she could talk to Robby about the manor. So she told him to go home and think about what he'd done, about how he'd hurt her feelings. She even worked up a tear and managed to look sad and confused about how a friend could sink so low.

Mike escaped while the escaping was good.

Once he was gone Debbie's demeanor changed instantly from a weepy teenage girl to a young woman deadly serious about attacking a real problem.

"What are we gonna do Robby?" she asked him worriedly.

"I don't know," he said, just as worriedly.

"We could call the police," she suggested.

"If he hired somebody to take a big machine like that in there he's not trying to hide anything," reasoned Robby. "I mean he's not trespassing or anything."

"What's he doing there?!" cried Debbie. "That's our place Robby! He can't just take it away from us! That's not fair!"

"What about our stuff?" asked Robby.

Over the years they'd taken small personal items to the house. The nest that had been in the root cellar had been moved to one of the bedrooms that they adopted as their own. There wasn't a lot other than a few smuggled pillows and one blanket.

What Robby was talking about, however, was their treasure trove. An old hand-made wooden jewelry box had been found and, while it contained nothing of real value that they could see, they had made it into the place they put all the treasures they did find in their explorations. The two coins were there, along with a heavy salt shaker that they thought was made of silver. There was a polished comb of bone, intricately carved, that Debbie used to pin up her hair when they played dress-up in the past. And, their prize possession, a gold pocket watch they'd found stuffed into a hole in the mattress of what appeared to have been a woman's bedroom. The watch still worked and it was beautiful.

"We have to go get it!" whispered Debbie, even though they were the only two people in the house.

"We can't do that. He'll catch us," whispered back Robby.

"We'll wait ‘til he leaves and then get it," reasoned Debbie.

"He locked that gate from the inside. What if he's not leaving?" reasoned Robby.

"He has to leave sometime," said Debbie firmly.

In the end, they couldn't think of anything to do, and each subsided to think while they waited for their mother to get home. Both instinctively believed that she would somehow know something that would somehow make everything okay again.

Indecision reigned for half an hour as Debbie and Robby tried to divine something to do. Debbie was probably more upset about the changes in their world than Robby, until she pointed out that they no longer had a place to go to ... play. As that sunk in Robby got more and more upset until he was as frantic as Debbie.

"I'll go down to the bank and talk to Mom," he suggested. "You stay here and watch the house." They both knew he meant the mansion, and not their own house.

For lack of a better plan, Debbie agreed and, after Robby pounded out of the front door, she stood in her window and stared at the dunce cap roof of the tower next door.

Perhaps it was because Debbie had always been self confident, afraid of very little, that she decided she needed to watch the new goings-on from closer. It wasn't a conscious decision that led her back to the fence and their "private entrance", and through the woods to the rear of the carriage house. But that's where she found herself, peering through a tangle of brush at the back of the mansion. There wasn't, of course, much to see. The house sat there, like it always had, lonely looking, run down and forlorn.

She had settled into a comfortable squat, holding on to a branch to keep her balance, when sudden movement at the back door of the house caught her eye. She was suddenly struck by the fact that the boards that had kept that entrance from being used were gone, and the door had opened.

But the man who came out of that door and began walking directly toward her was not the hermit she had seen before. This man was younger, slimmer, without the trench coat. And his face was smooth shaven, with a thatch of brown hair above it ... not the dark and ominous beard and black hair of the hermit. He was wearing shorts and a T shirt that was dark with sweat around the neck and armpits. The man looked gray and she realized he was covered with dust.

About the same time it registered in her brain that he was walking toward her hiding place.

Panic seized her and she froze, not breathing as the man stalked closer. Then he veered to his right and approached the little wooden shack that sat alone in what had been the far reaches of the back yard. The kids had examined that little shack, puzzled at first when all they found inside was a low shelf, like a floor mounted cabinet, with a round smooth-edged hole cut in the top, and a dark, empty pit under it. Then Robby remembered seeing something like this at their grandfather's farm when they were little. It was an outhouse. Once that had been determined, they had forgotten all about the little building. If they needed to use the bathroom they simply went home.

But this man went to the shack, now leaning a bit because of the growth of a big sycamore tree that had grown up right next to it. He went inside and the door slammed shut.

Debbie moved then, getting further behind the bush she was hiding behind. She was amazed to hear singing coming from the outhouse, snatches of an old rock and roll tune from the fifties. He stayed in there for what seemed a long time to her, and she jumped as the door banged open and the man came out, zipping up his shorts. He was still mumbling the words to the song, and he even broke into a dance of sorts as he trudged along the path that led to the structure. When he got to the back door of the mansion he turned around and his head swiveled as he surveyed the carriage house and the woods around it. With a shake of his head he turned on his heel and re-entered the house, slamming the door closed behind him.

It was the normality of his actions that troubled Debbie the most. He acted like he had every right in the world to be in the house ... to have removed the barrier to entry ... to use the outhouse. On impulse Debbie backed out of her hiding place and retreated deeper into the woods. She then began circling the mansion, taking special care to see if there were any other changes that had been made. With a sinking heart she noted that the front door was also uncovered, as were the windows at the front of the house. It looked different somehow, more like a house, though still disheveled and morose in appearance. Some of the windows didn't look as grimy and fly-specked as she remembered them.

It looked like the man ... or men ... were planning to stay.

But there were still so many questions. Who was this new man? Where was the hermit, and who was he? Why had they come to ruin things? What were they doing in the house? Were they searching for treasure? Debbie thought of her and Robby's little stash of recovered valuables. It was lying in plain sight in the bedroom they'd decided was "their" bedroom, which had once belonged to a little girl. Had these strangers found that stash?

It was the desire to get answers to these questions that drove Debbie to the root cellar, and through the tunnel, to attempt to open the secret door as quietly as she could. It made a horrible racket, the hinges squeaking as she slowly pulled it open. It had never made that much noise in the past ... had it?

She didn't have a candle ... hadn't thought to bring one ... but by now she knew the secret passage like the back of her hand and didn't really need a light.

Slowly, taking extra care to step quietly, she crept up the stairs, wincing at each creak her footfalls made. The first peep hole gave her a view of the kitchen, but no one was there. Then she tried the dining room, also without success. As she approached the upper part of the house she began to hear faint noises. She struck pay dirt in the little boy's bedroom. The man ... the second man ... was in that room. She peered through the peep hole and watched as he moved a broom along the floor. She wondered inanely why he wasn't using a vacuum cleaner and then remembered there was no electricity. The bed had been stripped and the decayed mattress was standing, half leaning against one wall as it tried to settle into a lump. What little furniture was in the room had all been shoved to line one wall, leaving the floor open for the man to sweep. He was humming.

She was closer to him now and could examine him better. She judged his age to be about that of her mother's. He was deeply tanned and had obviously come from someplace where he was in the sun a lot. His face was strong-jawed and lined, as if he had spent a lot of time in the weather. He wasn't skinny, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. His leg and arm muscles were well defined. He looked like he was in good shape and used to working hard. His hair looked wild and unkempt, but only in the sense that it looked like he'd lost his comb or something. He needed a haircut, or her mother would think he needed one anyway.

Debbie realized her muscles were cramped. She had been staring through the holes at the man for a long time and hadn't moved. She backed up and then had a frantic thought that her brother must be back by now and wondering where she was. She turned and made her way back down to the root cellar, trying to be quiet, and astonished at how much noise her passage made. Once she had stuck her head up out of the entrance to the cellar and made sure the coast was clear, she ran like a deer, dodging between trees and bushes, squeezing through the fence and arriving at her house panting and sweating. She slammed through the back door calling her brother's name, but got no answer.

The phone rang suddenly on the wall right by her shoulder and she jumped.

"HELLO!" she shouted into the handset, and then relaxed, thinking how silly she was acting.

"Honey?" came her mother's voice. "Are you okay?"

Debbie sighed. "Yes Mom, I just had to run to get the phone."

"Oh" said a confused Ramona Franklin. "It only rang once."

"Um ..." mumbled Debbie, trying to think of something to say. "It rang a whole bunch of times here," she lied.

"Well, never mind. Honey, Robby was here. Don't do anything! Do you hear me? Don't worry about anything. I'll explain it when I get home."

"Mom!" complained Debbie. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain when I get home. Don't worry about it, Okay? Don't you go over there and bother that man. Do you understand me Debbie?"

Her mom's voice held an anxious concern, as if there were something terrible going on and she was afraid. It didn't help things at all.

Debbie's take-charge attitude bubbled up. "Mommy I want to know what's going on!" she pleaded. "Who is that man? What's he doing over there?" She almost told her mother what changes had been made to the place and then remembered she wasn't supposed to know anything about the mansion.

"Don't be scared, honey," said her mother's voice in her ear. "I'll explain everything when I get home. I have to get back to work. I'll see you in a few hours. Bye bye."

The phone went dead and Debbie moved the handset to where she could look at it, like she could will her mother to come back on the line and answer her questions. She slumped as she hung it up and leaned against the wall. She was still breathing heavily.

Debbie gave out a little shriek as Robby barged in the back door and almost ran into his sister. His hands gripped her forearms. He had ridden his bike to the bank and was as out of breath as she was. They stared at each other for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do or say.

"Mom said not to worry!" Robby barked as Debbie said, "I went over there!" at the same time.

Then there were the inevitable "What?!"s as they got control of themselves and deciphered what each had said.

Debbie took center stage, though, as Robby stared at her astonished that she'd gone over there to spy by herself. As she described what she saw he got more and more upset.

"Anything could have happened!" he shouted, getting red in the face. "You could have gotten caught! He might have hurt you!" He was shaking, still gripping her forearms, his knuckles white, his fingers digging deep into her muscles.

She shook him off "You're the one hurting me!" she yelled, trying to shake free of his grasp. "Let go of me!"

His grip relaxed suddenly and she fell backward, against the wall. She rubbed first one and then the other forearm.

"I didn't get caught!" she said, her voice forced.

Robby felt weak suddenly. He was thinking about the amorphous man catching his sister. His imagination showed him slaps, her blouse tearing, her breasts exposed to the stranger ... He shook his head to stop himself from thinking more.

He gripped her hands this time, more gently. "But you coould have gotten caught. Deb he might have done things to you," he whined. "I couldn't live without you."

Debbie felt a flush of warmth in her belly at his words. Her anger melted. She felt an overflowing gush of love for her twin brother.

She slammed against him, her arms going around him as he hugged her back instinctively. Her grip was fierce ... possessive.

"You're so sweet," she mumbled into his chest.

All their surprise ... their fear ... their anxiousness ... all the unanswered questions and the tension that went along with everything that had happened ... it all burst forth in each of them in that embrace.

This ... this embrace ... this intimacy, was something they did understand ... something that made them feel safe and warm. All the emotions they felt were suddenly channeled toward that intimacy and the embrace became sexual.

They both felt each other's bodies pressed against the other. Debbie's face came up and her lips sought her brother's. It was a crushing kiss, a bruising kiss, a kiss filled with urgency to do something they both were comfortable with.

They'd never done anything sexual at home together. It was an unwritten, almost unacknowledged rule. What they shared was reserved for the manor, that little girl's bedroom, with the ghosts looking on fondly as something loving was done in the house that had so many terrible memories staining its old walls.

But the urge was so strong that that prohibition was blown away as if by a tornado. Still kissing, still hugging, they fumbled with each other's clothing, he unbuttoning her blouse and she tugging at the fastening of his shorts. His hands roamed across her breasts, his palms scraping her sensitive nipples as her hand snaked into his shorts to grip his suddenly stiff prick. The strangeness of their contact - they had never touched each other before ... only watching the other as they sated their passions - that strangeness didn't seem odd at all. Too many other strange things had happened and what they wanted now was something to make them feel good, and happy.

Standing in the hallway by the kitchen, though, wasn't what Debbie wanted. She wanted to be naked ... on a bed. She wanted an orgasm naked and on a bed, and she pulled him, gasping and panting to the short stairway that led to her bedroom. He held her hand with one hand and held his shorts up with the other as he staggered along behind her.

No words were necessary and they both stripped out of their clothes efficiently and quietly. He got naked first and stood there, his prick pointing at her like an accusing finger. As soon as she dropped her panties she melted against him again, though, that hard cock pressing into her abdomen. She shivered, even though both were sweating still, from their exertions and excitement.

Since masturbation was what they knew, they gravitated naturally toward that as Debbie pulled him to the bed and gasped, "Touch me."

They ended up lying side by side, kissing each other with long, breath-stealing kisses as his fingers fumbled at first between her legs. She raised one leg and draped it on top of his to give him room. Her hand gripped his cock and slid sensuously along its length. Then, because they had watched each other dozens of times, their hands took on familiar rhythms. Her stroke was the same speed he used when he started, and his two fingers found her electrifying nubbin and began circling it, scraping sideways across it occasionally. Almost naturally, as she speeded up and his prick began to weep its sticky essence, his fingers moved in faster circles. She moaned as she felt her orgasm within a hair's breadth away and jerked him even faster.

"Oh Robby!" she gasped. "Pinch it for me Robby."

His slippery fingertips found the bump and he tried to grasp it, slipping off again and again. But that squeezing mashed it delightfully and she tumbled into an orgasm harder than any she'd brought on herself. Her tenseness, her whining voice as she made nonsense sounds, and her hand, still whaling on his prick, brought Robby off and his cock delivered its heavy load between them, getting on their stomachs, her breasts and her hand and arm as she kept pulling.

"Uhhh ....Uhhhh ...Ahhhhh," groaned Robby as his seed erupted satisfyingly. Her hand left his prick to grab his own hand, stopping him from abusing her clitty any longer. It was too sensitive now and she didn't need any more stimulation. She sagged, her face rolling into his chest as her hand came to the mess between them and spread its warm mass up to her breasts and over each nipple.

"Oh Robby," she sighed.

There was no shame or remorse. What they had shared was something priceless, to be remembered and savored many nights when they weren't together.

It had also drained them of their anxiety and worry.

"I made a mess," said Robby, rolling away from her.

"I don't care," she said, still stroking her breasts and belly with her spunk-covered hand. "We can clean it up before Mom gets home."

"I really liked that Deb," he sighed.

"Me too," she sighed back. "Why didn't we think about doing that before this?"

"I don't know," he said. He rolled back toward her for a kiss, disregarding the wet between them. It was worth it to taste her lips again.

Eventually his spend cooled, and got uncomfortable for both of them. They rolled apart and bounced up off the bed, suddenly energized by the task of getting the bedspread into the washing machine and using warm wash clothes to clean each other up. Robby paid special attention to the fluff of hair between Debbie's legs and she laughed and pushed him away.

"Stop!" she giggled. "You'll get me going again."

"So?" he asked.

"Mom will be home soon," she chided. "I don't think she'd approve."

"You got that right," he sighed. "Is what we do wrong Deb?"

"I don't think so," she said firmly. "It feels too good to be something bad."

"What are we going to do now?" he asked. They both knew he was talking about the loss of their private place.

"I don't know. Mom said she could explain it. All we can do is wait and see what she says." Debbie sounded sad.

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