Charley Torn Pt. 01

CHAPTER 1: CHARLEY

Ah, the wonderful world of shit. I had just delivered a presentation on the rebuilding of the London sewer system, to the German Society of Civil Engineers, in Berlin. In German. I had done my Masters at the University of Munich and, whilst not totally fluent, my German is pretty good. I had not been to Berlin for ages, and a lot had changed. We civil engineers love building sites. I had been put up by a delightful lesbian couple; engineers both. Georgia was dead jealous. She probably thought we were engaged in threesomes, all night long. I missed Georgia and Thomas so much that my heart physically ached. When I spoke to Gorgeous that morning, she had not been right, saying that her tummy really hurt. Mind you, she is a complete hypochondriac. Even so, something was amiss. Thomas was his usual cheeky self.

Georgia had not been herself for the last month. The amount of puking she was doing, you would think that it was she who was pregnant. When I had reached sixteen weeks the morning sickness passed, more or less. Georgia was usually totally laid back, but had been really snappy, with me and Thomas. She blamed work, but I knew it was something more. I could tell when she was lying. She would tell me in her own time. It seemed to start at the christening. Before that, she had been unnaturally high, after winning her first high profile Crown Court case.

I was godmother to Holly's first child, my niece; a lovely little girl called Grace. When I came out, as a lesbian, my mother disowned me, but Holly did not, and we became very close. She liked the shock value, I think, of her lesbian sister and her unbelievably attractive lover. When Thomas was born, Mum decided to acknowledge my existence, albeit grudgingly. Thomas' christening was OK, especially as Georgia's family had taken me in as one of their own. Outnumbered, mum behaved. Dad did not reply to my invitation.

However he came to Grace's christening. So much for me being his favourite. The scene was set for fireworks. Mum got drunk and lit the blue touch paper. She did not step back. The recriminations came thick and fast. In the church, there were just dark muttering and venomous stares. At the reception, I discovered who the homophobes were. Number one being my father. This put my mum in the awkward position of agreeing with him, which she neatly countered by blaming him for putting me off of men. Quite a lot of red wine was thrown. It felt like I caught most of it, on my white dress. Georgia eventually stopped flirting with Rick, Holly's husband, slapped Mum and dragged me away. I cried all the way down the M1. Georgia ranted intermittently. Holly rang me on my mobile and we blubbed inconsolably at each other. Thomas slept peacefully, behind us, in his car seat.

A nervous looking woman came up to me.

"Fraulein Dr Matthews? I have a message. Please ring this number urgently."

Strict conference rules. Switch off mobile phones, or leave them at reception. It felt like everyone was staring at me as I picked up the phone. It was Imogen, Georgia's sister.

"Thank God, Charley. It's Georgia. She's collapsed. They're operating now. An ectopic pregnancy......I mean......I'm not sure."

Through my panic, I thought I could hear Imogen furiously bolting the stable door.

"Charley, are you still there? Georgia said you weren't due back until midnight. Michael has booked you a flight from Tegel to London City. Lufthansa. It leaves at 2pm. He'll meet you. Charley, are you there?"

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. My legs had failed me, and I was sitting on the floor. I rubbed my tummy and the baby did a little somersault. Our baby. Ectopic. Operating. No, please no. My secretary's sister had an ectopic pregnancy the previous year. She died. No. Not Gorgeous. Goddesses are immortal.

"Sorry Imo. I'm still here. I'm ten minutes from the airport, on the U-bahn."

My finger shook as I struggled to send a text. Georgia checked her mobile constantly. It drove me mad. I kept it short.

"I love you. I'm on my way."

I looked up and through the fog of tears, I recognised Brigitte, my host from the night before. Miraculously she understood my incoherent mewling. She sat me down, rang Imogen, to get the flight details, then took me to Tegel airport by taxi, booked me in and guided me into security, where I was met by one of her friends; a security guard. I can't even remember the woman's name, but she was very kind, and walked me to the first class lounge (typical Clarke touch there) and sat next to me, quietly holding my hand and passing me tissues. Lots of tissues.

The flight was a blur. I had hand luggage only, and took next to no time to clear Customs. Michael was there with Gordon, my father in law. Well that was what I called him. They both looked dreadful.

I dropped my case. I felt faint.

"No. Please no. I'm too late, aren't I? She's dead. I should never have gone away."

Gordon hugged me tight. He was my father now.

"Shh, Charley. She's OK. Well physically, at least."

"Oh God, Charley, I'm so sorry."

Michael was on his knees, his face contorted by some emotion I could not quite fathom. I was looking at a stranger. I knew the suave, sophisticated, charming Michael, who had fallen from the same tree of gorgeousness as Georgia. I was, after all, carrying his child: our second.

People were staring. Gordon looked exceedingly uncomfortable; almost as shame faced as Michael. I knew that I was blushing furiously. I was, of course, relieved. The goddess lived, however I sensed that a huge "BUT", made of cast iron, was about to drop on my head.

Gordon dragged Michael to his feet.

"Don't do this Michael. Think of the baby."

"No, Dad, she has a right to know."

I was, by then, confused and a little annoyed. Georgia obviously had quite a lot of explaining to do; but that could wait. What could Michael have to do with it?

By the time we arrived at St Thomas' Hospital I was hyperventilating. My worst fears had not even come close to reality. I had a forlorn hope that this was just a bad dream. I initially feared that the cramps in my lower tummy indicated premature labour.

I needed Georgia to hold me, like she used to do, and tell me it was going to be alright. In that deep feline voice; whilst she stroked my little blonde arm hairs. But she could not be there, and she was the author of my current, utterly desolate misery

CHAPTER 2:GEORGIA

I woke in less pain than I had expected. My head cleared much more quickly than I would have liked. The nurse was kind and sympathetic, and offered me more painkillers. If only she knew; she would have been injecting cyanide, rather than morphine. Why could I not have died on the operating table?

When I was wheeled back to the ward, I had visitors; my parents, and Michael, my brother. Mother was seething; the men were extremely sheepish. Just as well that I had my own room. She started as soon as the nurse left the room.

"Georgia! How could you? Michael has told me everything, so don't even think of denying it. You must have some mental imbalance. What has she ever done to deserve this? The poor child. I'll never be able to face her again. God knows, she's been more of a daughter than you. You're supposed to be one of the great minds of your generation, and yet your brain seems to be firmly between your legs. Your brother as well. I thought you had learned from the last time. And the time before. She will take you to the cleaners. Who could blame her? You'll never see Thomas again, or the new baby. You'll be struck off. You could go to prison. You should go to prison. You should have your bits chopped off. In public. They should let her do it. With a rusty knife. I'll never see any of my grandchildren, particularly once that bitch Helen finds out. Even if Michael wasn't already on strike two. I'll have to resign from the golf club."

I can always argue with my mother.

"OK. You can't make me feel any worse than I already do. She doesn't have to know the whole story. She couldn't handle the truth. Do you really want to tear her apart? Anyway you're hardly one to lecture me."

"What I did was a youthful indiscretion. And you're right; except that Romeo has gone all confessional. He's already spilt the beans to Imogen."

"She won't talk, believe me."

"Agreed, but he's going to tell Charley and beg for forgiveness. He has a moral duty, apparently. Who ever heard of a lawyer with morals?"

Michael's head was buried in his hands, and he was crying quietly. Mum was right.

"Mike, you can't. If not for me, then for her. I thought you loved her. Like a sister. Shit, you know what I mean. She's carrying your child."

He got up, and composed himself.

"It's no good Georgia. We've gone way too far. I wish I were dead. She has a right to know. I am not having a legal debate. I have thrown away everything of value in my life. I deserve whatever I get. Come on Dad, we need to collect her from the airport."

I could not believe that things could get any worse. He was really going to tell her. I shook with tears, as waves of self-pity washed over me.

"I can't believe that I gave birth to you." Mum's parting shot, as she left, too disgusted to touch me even.

The ward sister came in as my mother left, and sat on the bed. She held me tenderly, until I regained a little control

"Your mum said that your partner is flying in to be with you. Charlie, isn't it? I know having an ectopic is really scary, but you do still have a chance of another baby. There's more isn't there? Was Charlie not the father?"

"Charley is short for Charlotte. She's 24 weeks pregnant herself. Proper planned pregnancy. Donor sperm. We already have a little boy."

"Oh, dear. I didn't know. This has never come up before. Is she likely to be violent? Shall I call security?"

"No. Charley doesn't have a violent bone in her body."

No, her punishment would be much worse than that. I knew her so well. I would have to watch her suffer.

I had about two hours to stew. Charley had told me about her internal dialogues, not something that I really went in for, until that afternoon. Perhaps it was the emotion, or the morphine, but I mentally constructed a court for myself. I was defendant, defence and prosecution counsel, and judge. This court sat without a jury.

"Georgia Clarke, you stand accused of multiple crimes, too hideous to mention in front of decent people. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"I put it to you that on the night of June 24th you did wilfully engage in sexual congress with your own brother, and he did fire his incestuous sperm into all of your orifices, whilst you howled like a bitch on heat."

I felt wet just thinking about it and almost subconsciously slid a finger into my well lubricated pussy. I don't quite recall how it had arisen, but I had been Mike's junior counsel, in my first murder trial. And we had won. Mike took me out for an expensive dinner. We got a little drunk. His place was much nearer than mine. I rang Charley. She was just going to bed, and sent kisses to Mike.

Helen and the kids were spending a week with Helen's parents in France. We had the place to ourselves. Must behave, I thought, but old habits die hard. I made myself at home, kicking off my shoes then, wandering upstairs, availed myself of Mike's en-suite shower. Gold fittings. Charley would not approve. I asked Mike if he wanted to join me, but he declined politely. His self-control was impressive but I knew temporary. The house had three bathrooms, and Mike went off to shower elsewhere. I usually shower quickly, unless Charley is in there with me. She hates wasting water. She hates waste, bless her. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, I did a little exploration of the master bedroom. My first, as it happened. Helen, my sister-in-law, is a snooty bitch, and I enjoyed rummaging through her knicker drawer. That would totally freak her, if she ever found out. On a whim, I stole a pair; cheap plain cotton. She was the sort of woman to miss them. Helen was older than me, so her taste in clothes was just forgivable. I used her hairdryer to dry my hair, and conscientiously picked out my loose hairs from the brush. Michael poked his head around the door and nodded approvingly at my track covering. I stood up and let the towel fall and, over my shoulder, gave Mike my most coquettish smile. However, he had already gone downstairs. I walked into their wardrobe and chose a crisp, pale blue cotton man's shirt, from an expensive tailor. Rolling the sleeves up, I admired myself in the full length mirror. Not bad for 32. The thick cotton struggled to hide my aching nipples and finally surrendered. I left the top two buttons undone. And the bottom one. I did not apply any perfume. Mike has a good sense of smell, and I wanted him to savour my particular musk.

Michael was lounging, on the sofa; a glass of champagne in his hand. I sat on the chair opposite; leaned back, and ever so slowly spread my legs, gradually revealing more and more tanned, toned thigh. I knew that the cotton would fall perfectly to cover my pussy. Michael knew that I would not be wearing knickers. I leaned forward to show some cleavage, licked my lips, and put on my bestest little girl voice. Michael was wearing an old T shirt, and shorts. He was already hard.

"Little Georgie-Porgie, is feeling very small and cold. And needs a big hug from her big brave brother."

I pouted, fluttered my eyelids, and sucked my thumb, then slid off the chair and crossed the carpet on all fours. My eyes were locked to Mike's. I had tried this once with Charley. For a woman who rarely swears, her disapproval was a little shocking.

You never forget your first cock, and I stroked the old familiar organ through the cotton of Mike's shorts. On cue, he lifted his bum, and I yanked his shorts down, my mouth anxious to reach its goal. His cock got slightly caught in the cotton garment then sprang upwards, smacking his belly with a refreshing thwack. Almost instantly his massive organ was at the back of my throat, and I was just managing not to gag. I was out of practice. I slid my tongue up his lovely shaft then teased the smooth, bulbous cock head; licking the salty precum, as it oozed gently from the little slit like hole. Grasping the rigid pole in my right hand, I climbed onto the sofa and enveloped Mike's manhood with my dripping pussy. I gasped as I took his full eight inches. As always, it felt fucking enormous.

Then I kissed him. Like most men, he was not a good kisser. He tended to ram his tongue into my mouth as if it was another cock; and it made me gag more than its priapic namesake.

I pulled Mike's T-shirt off and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. He needed no encouragement at all to bite down hard on my right nipple as I started to ride him. An orgasm was not far off; but this was not what I craved... Grasping Mike's cock I dismounted; leaned forward slightly and speared my arse on his long lance. Whore that I am, I adore anal sex. Always have done.

My very first penetration had been anal. My dad thinks that he popped both of my cherries. Mike has kept the secret. He was there, for my first time, and watched.

As Imogen, my older sister, deflowered me, with a six inch strap on; first back, then front. I remember it like it was yesterday. Our parents were going away for the weekend, and had absolutely forbidden us from having a party. I suggested a threesome instead. Mike and Imo looked shocked, and then blushed as I described in graphic detail what they had done in the back garden four weeks previously. I even showed them the pictures that I had taken. It was hardly blackmail, I thought. To help their decision-making, I grabbed Imo and snogged her hard. It was a hot day and Imo's short dress made accessing her moist cunt effortless. She did not push me away. Now Imo can kiss. Not in quite the same league as Charley, mind you.

I probably should have waited until our parents had actually left the house, but it seemed like we had not been caught. I could hardly wait. Michael took control and firmly told me that he and Imo needed to consider my suggestion. They had to go to town, shopping, and would discuss the matter further. I was instructed to take a cold shower. I obeyed like a good girl. Just before they got back, I hopped in the shower. I was after all sticky and smelly after wanking myself to a delicious anticipatory orgasm. My siblings returned an hour later, with a large, plain carrier bag. They had been to stock up at the local sex shop. I was to be punished for my disgusting, and illegal, proposal. Both blackmail and incest are serious crimes, I was reminded.

I was ordered to strip, which merely involved removing my long T-shirt. Imogen had donned a pair of black, patent leather thigh boots and a peek-a-boo corset. I was made to bend over the kitchen table and my arms, and legs were secured to the four table legs; my thighs spread uncomfortably. Charley can still do the splits. It's all that gymnastics, when she was a kid.

The air-conditioning unit was blowing cold air directly onto my wet labia, and my bum was covered in goose bumps. I screamed as my sister whacked my arse with a riding crop.

"Dirty little slut. What shall we do with her Michael? Are you a virgin, Georgia?"

"Yes." I was actually blushing.

The second blow was even harder than the first.

"Wrong answer, filthy little tart. It is "Yes, Mistress Imogen," and you're obviously lying. I've seen the way you flaunt yourself; and the length of your school skirt. Belt more like. Let's have a look. Come on Michael, you've popped enough cherries. Let's see. Quite tight; can't see much of a hymen, unless you've stretched it yourself, wanking; which is highly likely. You smell like a bitch on heat. I know your game, Georgia Clarke. Tell the boys at the rugby club that you're saving yourself for your wedding day, unless they want to try doing it a special way. Given that they're all ex public schoolboys, they don't need much encouraging. Do they, you cheap slapper?"

Imogen started licking around my aresehole. I could not believe how good it felt. I started to pant. Then something hard pressed against my entrance. The pressure built, and then I screamed as my sphincter surrendered. I had agonising cramps and felt like I was about to shit myself.

I begged.

"Please, Mike, take it out. It hurts too much. You're too big. I've never been fucked. In any of my holes. By anyone."

"Yes, he is pretty enormous," laughed Mistress Imogen, "That's why I'm breaking you in, with my trusty little strap-on. I'm sure you've sucked lots of cock, though. Let's see how you cope with a real monster. Open your slut's mouth wide."

I gulped when Mike came into view. I could not see what Imo was doing, but I could certainly feel it. The pain in my arse, was giving way to something else. I had of course seen Michael's penis before, both flaccid and erect. I had the pictures after all. I was like a rodent (a rat, most likely) mesmerised by a cobra. Mike held his turgid member and tapped me on each cheek and then the end of the nose. Finally he spoke.

"Do you want it? How many have you sucked before? How much do you want it?"

"I've never sucked a cock before, honest. Please let me lick it. Ram it down my throat."

He held the dark pink head against my lips. It looked ready to explode in a bloody mess. I licked the salty precum from around his pee hole and opened readily as he advanced his organ into my mouth, pushing my tongue flat. He then grabbed my hair and started to face fuck me roughly. It hurt and the pain felt so good, joining the pain and pleasure in my bottom. Mike and Imo were snogging furiously, above me, whilst they used me. That was all it took to make me come. Then Imo roared and Mike choked me with his gushing seed. Try as I might to swallow, most ran down my chin. Not for me, a knee trembler behind the bike sheds, for her first fuck. No I got an incestuous boy-girl anal spit roast. More was to come.