A bright summer sun shone into Amy's room shortly after dawn, and its warm rays tickled the sleeping young woman's eyelids, setting off bright colors and enticing images of the strong, handsome man who had visited her in the night.
Amy awoke, smiling and satisfied, and stretched. Her mind buzzed with the possibilities of who her secret lover might have been. She knew she knew him; she'd smelled that aftershave before, even in his grunting there were hints of familiarity.
But as she ran down the list of the men she knew to still be in the cabin, each seemed less likely than the others. There were three. Of them, Sam had been married for years, but he had never so once as glanced slyly in her direction, and besides, his wife was with him. Chad was a friend of Larry's, but he was too chubby to be the muscular hunk who'd so delightfully ravished her in the night.
That left … no, of course not.
The fact that the whole memory depended on touch and sound, on imagination, left Amy in a state of happy wonderment. She didn't want to spoil the mystery by talking about it. After she donned jeans and a tight black sleeveless T-shirt, she made herself a cup of coffee and went to sip it out on the screened-in sun porch.
So lost in her reverie was Amy that she didn't notice the double doors open, or notice who had come in until she heard the doors locking closed.
"Oh, hi, Larry," Amy said dreamily.
"Good morning, Amy," her brother replied sweetly. "Sleep well?"
Amy blushed to the marrow. She felt as if she had been doused with icy water as the mystery evaporated in a flash. She recognized the breathing pattern now, and that low, guttural laugh as her own brother's. She leapt to her feet, furious.
"You-- you-- rapist!" she snapped.
"I don't think you can call it 'rape' after the fifth orgasm," Larry replied, grinning.
"You bastard! What were you thinking!"
"The same as you, I think," he said. "That maybe Chuck isn't good enough for you."
"Oh, and you are?"
Larry said, approached her. "You had the time of your life last night, Sis. Admit it."
"You son of a bitch," she snarled, and turned her back to him. "Stay away from me."
Silence. Amy almost thought he'd left, but then Larry's brawny arms encircled her waist from behind. A warm, insistent length nestled in the cheeks of her denim-cloaked ass, and Larry's breath was hot in her ear.
"I hate you," she said, stiffening her back.
Larry's lips found the nape of her neck, and his fingers popped the snap in her jeans. He opened the zipper slowly, exposing her dark panties. His hand slid easily, with familiarity, under the elastic, digging happily through her thick, black thatch of pubic hair.
Against her will, Amy sighed. Larry pushed his throbbing cock against her, and Amy pushed back.
"Maybe you hate me," he breathed, "but you love this."
"Larry--"
