Chapter 5

Mona was unsure just how long she lay there. She stared at the roof of the tent, feeling the wetness of her husband's release trickling from the lips of her vagina and running down her thighs. She shuddered.

For the first time in her life, she felt used and degraded. The fluids of Frank's climax felt dirty on and within her. Never had she seen sex to be anything but a beautiful experience shared by a man and a woman. Now... now... she felt no better than a whore. No, not even a whore; at least men seek prostitutes for pleasure. Frank could have found no pleasure in the way he used her body, only relief. He could have used his hand for that!

She became aware of the heavy snoring within the tent. She rolled her head to the side and stared at the man sleeping across from her - her husband. She shuddered again. Husband! Never had that word seemed so strange, so alien. Always the word husband had brought warm feelings to her. A husband was a man to share a life with, someone to love.

Had she ever loved Frank?

Yes, she had loved him. After Tom's death, she had thought she would never be able to love another man. But when Frank came along, he was so gentle and tender. He filled a hollowness within her. She gave him her love, a love he professed to share. And he had asked her to marry him. Six months ago, they had taken the marriage vows. For better or worse.

It had only gotten worse.

The first few times, she had considered Frank's love-making to be caused by the newness of her, his excitement. But after the honeymoon nothing changed, except that Frank approached her but once a week. And then it was only to mount her and sate himself. It was like the old joke about the rabbit - wham-bam, thank you ma'am. She had once thought that was funny. Now it was only frustrating.

For six months she had clung to the hope that things would change. But nothing did. No matter what she tried, Frank was the same. He entered her body, came, then pulled from her only to roll to his side and go to sleep.

Never once were there preliminary kisses, gentle caresses, exploring each other's bodies. Never whispered words of endearment or even a "thank you" when he had finished. It was simply on and off, leaving her aching for sexual release - for love.

And tonight - tonight had been the worst.

Mona choked back her tears. Tears would only be wasted on Frank. In their six months together, she had done more than her share of crying. It never helped anything. Never. Frank didn't even notice.

Something had to be done. But what?

She didn't know. Everything was too confusing.

Frank continued to snore. Anger and frustration grew within her. She pushed up and stood. To remain in the tent with him was too much for her to endure. She had to leave, get away by herself until she could think this out and hopefully find a solution.

The air was cool outside, cool and clean. Yet it did nothing to remove the dirty feeling she had. Quietly walking from the camp, Mona moved toward the river bank. She stood there a moment watching the gentle current. Then hiking her gown, she stepped into the water.

She waded out until the water washed around her knees. Then reaching down, she scooped out handful after handful of the chilly water and bathed herself. Carefully she washed the silvery sperm tracks from her thighs, then cleansed the matted hairs of her public mound. Last of all, she washed out her vagina as best she could, removing every trace of Frank's ejaculation, washing out the dirty feel of his seed.

She felt better now, cleaner, free of Frank. Standing straight, she slowly walked back to the shore and stared at the tents. To go back now would be too much. She couldn't endure the thought of returning to Frank. But where could she go?

Nowhere!

There was nowhere she could run to escape Frank. She was amid one of the largest wilderness areas in the country and there was no place she could lose herself.

The thought was too much for her. The past six months and all she had endured came rushing back to fill her brain. She dropped to her knees and cried.

The sound of sobbing invaded Jason Jefferies' sleep. For a moment he lay there half-awake, wondering if the crying was something left in his mind by an unremembered dream. Then he realized the sobs were real; a woman was crying.

Sitting up, he glanced to his side. Liz was nestled within their sleeping bag. The warmth of her naked body was assuring. Easing back the top of the sleeping bag, he quietly slipped out. In the dark, he managed to find his blue jeans and pull them on without too much difficulty.

The crying was still there. And for some reason it sounded familiar. However, he was sure the sobs didn't belong to his daughter Linda. He had nursed her through too many adolescent heartbreaks not to recognize the sound of her crying. Yet somehow he knew the sound of those tears.

Tiptoeing to the front of the tent, so as not to disturb Liz, Jason stepped out into the night. He glanced around the campsite, but could not locate the source of the sobs.

His eyes moved around the edge of forest, but saw nothing except shadows and trees. Walking away from his tent, he moved toward the river. There he saw her, his sister Mona, kneeling on the bank, holding her head in her hands and crying.

Immediately, his strides lengthened into a trot. Within seconds he was beside her, kneeling and taking her into his arms. Her own arms encircled him, holding him tightly.

"Jason," she managed to say between her sobs.

"Little sister," he whispered; his hand caressed the raven blackness of her hair. "What's the matter? What's wrong with my little sister?"

She shook her head, nestling into the hollow of his shoulder. "Nothing."

"Hey now, all these tears can't be over just nothing." His voice was gentle and soothing. "Remember me; I'm your big brother."

She sniffed a bit, her head lifting to him. Her eyes were red and tears streamed down her face, but she managed a little smile. "And my big brother Jason could always make things better."

"Now, I never claimed to be able to do the impossible." He chuckled, hoping to cheer her. "But I've always tried to help when I could."

"Jason, oh, Jason."

Mona broke into sobs again. Her body shuddered violently. There was nothing he could do now, except to hold her and let her have her cry. Which is what he did.

At least fifteen minutes passed before Mona quieted again. She clung to him even longer, before eventually easing back. Her head did not rise, but she stared out, watching the river.

"Feel better?" Jason asked, his hand squeezing his sister's.

"Just cried out," Mona said. "There's no more tears left in me. I was surprised there were this many after this long. I thought they were all gone."

After this long? Jason wasn't sure what she meant. "Would it help to talk about it?"

"Talk it over like we used to when we were kids?" Mona glanced at him, then back to the river. "I don't know if it would help. We're not kids any more. We've both grown up and have got families of our own now. We don't have the same problems we had when we were kids. God, how simple all those worries seem now, whether or not Billy Smith was going to take me to the prom, what dress to wear to the after-game dance. So simple, almost ridiculous now."

"They weren't ridiculous then," Jason answered. "And I don't think what's bothering you now is ridiculous. Times change and so do the problems."

"But you don't, do you, Jason?" Mona looked at him, her dark eyes pleading. "You're still the same, still my big brother Jason, steady and strong, and willing to lend his little sister a sympathetic ear."

"I don't think that'll ever change. After all, you are my sister and I do still love you."

Mona leaned to him and kissed his cheek. "I know. But it's hard to bare one's soul, even to a brother. Especially when it has to do with something this personal."

"Frank?"

She nodded. "Is it that obvious?"

"No. Just a guess. There's not many things that will get a woman up in the middle of the night. A husband happens to be one of those things though."

"I don't know where to start," Mona said. "In some ways, it seems like this has been going on forever. But Frank and I have been married for only six months..."

Jason listened. It hurt to hear everything his sister revealed. Yet, it wasn't that unusual a story, a husband that used his wife, no matter what the reason. The age of sexual freedom wasn't that free. People still had sexual hang-ups and it seemed the majority of those people were men. Frank just happened to be one of them. What hurt was that he was married to Mona, and she, in turn, had suffered from his sickness.

The usual story was one of possession - a wife is a husband's property, or vice versa. It's hard to accept one's spouse as a human being, despite everything lovers proclaim to one another. Marriage and that legal slip of paper two people sign often is thought to mean "you belong to me, lock, stock and barrel." To be owned by another person makes the owned person nothing but chattel, something to be used.

But as Jason listened, he realized there was something deeper wrong with Frank, something that went beyond the normal property hang-ups usually shared by married couples. Exactly what his problem was eluded Jason. He wasn't a trained psychiatrist and a man that treated his wife that way obviously needed help.

"... That's it," Mona said. "I don't know what to do. I've tried everything I could think of and it's all fallen on its face. Damn it, when I'm around Frank, I don't even feel like a woman any more."

"You're still a woman," Jason whispered, pulling his sister to him and holding her tightly. "You don't ever have to doubt that, just look in the mirror. You're a woman, quite a beautiful one."

"Big brother inflating little sister's ego. You were always good at that, Jason," Mona said, her head lifting to his. "Why couldn't Frank be like you?"

With that she once more kissed his cheek. Her arms tightened around her brother, holding him close.

What exactly happened next Jason was never totally sure of. One moment Mona's lips were against his cheek in a sisterly kiss, and in the next instant, her lips were pressed to his. The kiss was far from being sisterly. Her tongue flicked out and taunted his lips, teasing at them, cajoling them to open.

And his reaction went beyond brotherly love. His mouth opened and accepted the offering of her tongue as it moved inward. His arms tightened, pulling her to him, while her tantalizing oral digit dueled over and under his tongue.

Beneath the fabric of her nightgown, he could feel the warmth of his sister's body. His fingertips could feel her slight trembling, a quivering sensation he was sure was not caused by the coolness of the night. It was the same trembling he now felt within himself.

Mona's tongue coyly retreated from his mouth. He followed it with his tongue, delving intimately into the sweetness of his sister's mouth. She moaned softly, nestling even closer against him as he toyed and teased, his tongue flicking and probing toward her throat.

He was suddenly aware of the persistent cushion of her breasts. Warm mounds of flesh pushing out from beneath her gown, rolling over his shirtless chest. And atop each of those fleshy pillows was a hard pebble-like nipple, each trying to dig small holes in his skin.

This woman, this woman he found in his arms, was his sister. Yet there could be no denying the sensations astir in his loins. His testicles tightened in their sac with the old familiar feeling of want and desire. He knew in that instant that if Mona wanted him, he was willing to enter her body. Whatever social taboos existed against a brother and sister sharing the same bed didn't matter, not here and now.

They parted. Mona's head tilted back a bit, her dark eyes meeting his. Her expression was uncertain, filled with the realization that she had tasted forbidden fruit. But when he made no indication that their action was wrong a small smile danced at the corners of her sensuous mouth.

"I wanted that," she said softly. "I think I've always wanted that."

Jason didn't answer, except to pull her to him once again, his mouth covering hers. Passion rose in their kiss. They clung to one another, brother and sister, man and woman, lovers. Their hands now explored their faces, caressing cheeks, tracing the lines of their mouths. They stared at each other, love shining in their longing gaze. They kissed, then kissed again, losing themselves in their embrace.

"Love me, Jason," the black-haired woman who was his sister whispered when they parted again. "Make love to me. Make me your woman, even if it's only for this moment."

"Yes," he said, tenderly caressing her cheeks.

She smiled and eased from his arms. As he watched, she stood and disrobed to stand naked above him.

"I've always wanted you to look at me naked," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I wanted you to see me as a woman and not as your sister."

That was the way he saw her now, a woman - a beautiful woman. She looked so fragile and feminine. Her breasts were white cones of milky perfection. Perched precariously atop each of those satiny-smooth cushions were bud-like nipples, dark mushrooms, stiff and erect with her arousal.

Downward over the sleek flatness of her stomach his gaze moved. For an instant he probed the sensual well of her navel. Then his eyes moved even lower, his groin feeling tight and hot.

Between her slightly spread thighs was the thick black bush of her cunt. The silky strands were shining in the silvery rays of the moon. And barely perceivable beneath the soft looking fur of her pubis was the shadowy slit of her sex.

There was no doubt in his mind that his sister was a woman - a very desirable one!

"Beautiful" he said, meaning it. He opened his arms for her to come to him. "Let me kiss you."

She came, stepping quickly to his side. But before she could kneel to receive his promised kiss, his arms wrapped around her thighs. He drew her to him. His lips pressed to hers, but not the lips of her mouth - the lips of her cunt.

"Ahhhhhhh!" She moaned aloud with unabandoned relish.