Siblings 9

By the time that Louise Brandon and her slightly younger brother, Peter, had reached their early twenties, they had already had their share of life's highs and lows.

At the time of their birth, the Brandon siblings were what the weekend papers often referred to as 'richlisters'. Not that they would have realised that. They were, of course, too young.

Their great-grandfather, Herbert Brandon (Herb to his friends) had spent the Second World War as a 'sapper' in the Royal Engineers. And, when he was 'demobbed' in 1946, Herb saw an opportunity to put his wartime experience and expertise to good use, demolishing bomb-damaged buildings and other structures, and recycling the salvaged materials.

Herb had expected the business to have a life of perhaps four or five years. After that? Well, after that there would be plenty of time to think about what he might do after that. But, twelve years later, when Herb's son, David, was leaving school and looking for something to do, the business that he had started in Birmingham, and which had by then opened a second yard in East London, was still going from strength to strength.

There was no official apprenticeship for demolition and salvage at the time, but Herb saw to it that David got full sapper-style training. Any thoughts David may have had of the boss's son not having to start at the bottom were soon dispelled. 'Where there's muck there's money,' his father said. 'But there's also danger. If you're gonna be of any use to the family, we need you alive.' Fortunately, David was a fast learner and, under father and son, Brandon's continued to go from strength to strength.

In 1966, David married Dora Thompson, the daughter of Herb Brandon's best friend, Joe, another former sapper, who by then was running the London operation. The following year, Michael, the first of David's three sons was born.

'I don't know what this family has against girls,' Herb said on being told that his first grandchild was a boy. 'Still, one more pair of hands for the business, eh?' The Brandon family's apparent aversion to female offspring was further confirmed with the arrive of Dave and Dora's next two children: Jack and Dane.

While the three brothers got on with each other, they were each, in their own way, very different. As the eldest, Michael was cautious and responsible. Dane, the youngest, was 'one of the lads', one of the workers. And middle brother Jack was a party boy. Jack took it upon himself to hang out with the moneyed crowd. 'To be successful, you need to be seen to be successful,' he used to tell his brothers. He also gave the same advice to anyone else who would listen.

'I don't think customers really care how rich you are,' his grandfather said. 'Just as long as you do a good job.'

'Clients, Granddad,' Jack said.

'Clients?'

'Yes. Shopkeepers have customers. Brandon's has clients.'

'Whatever,' his grandfather said.

In time, all three brothers joined the family firm. Jack and Dane took up apprenticeships when they were sixteen. While Michael completed an engineering degree before joining the firm as a management cadet when he was twenty.

Soon after his grandfather died, Jack set about convincing his father (who was by then the head of the family business) that he, Jack, should become the firm's business development manager. 'We need to ensure a pipeline of work,' he told his father. 'There are mouths to be fed. And, as time goes by, there will likely be more.'

'We're doing OK,' Dave told his son.

'Today perhaps. But I'm talking about tomorrow,' Jack said. 'And, anyway, OK is only OK. We want better than just OK.'

'I'll think about it,' David Brandon said.

While Dave was 'thinking about it', Jack had some business cards printed. Jack Brandon. Business Development Manager. He also introduced himself to their manager at the bank, as well as to a few other potentially-useful contacts. When Dave discovered that Jack had taken a box at the annual Henley regatta, he was far from pleased. But then, when one of the Henley guests favoured Brandon's with a massive project, all was pretty much forgiven.

'Spend a dollar to make a dollar,' Jack told his father.

'A dollar for a dollar doesn't sound like a very good deal,' his father said.

Jack laughed. 'OK, spend a dollar to make a grand.'

'That sounds better,' David Brandon said.

By the time that Michael's children, Louise and Peter, were born, the Brandon's were not exactly royalty, but they were certainly commercial royalty. No social occasion was complete without the presence of at least one of the Brandons. And that one was often Jack.

And then one day, when Louise Brandon was thirteen and her brother had just turned twelve, their father sat them down and gloomily explained that the family might have to be a bit frugal for the next little while. The family's customary summer Caribbean cruise would not be happening that year. In fact, the boat was going to have to be sold. The ski chalet in the French Pyrenees would also need to be sold. A number of business decisions had not gone well.

It was a year or so later that the truth started to come out. It seemed that Uncle Jack -- 'Happy Jack' -- had, for some years, had a bit of a gambling problem. On three or four occasions, he had been able to pull things back from the brink. But then, finally, he wasn't able to pull things back. Brandon's was millions of pounds in the red. And Jack's father and his brothers were joint and several guarantors. Meanwhile, Happy Jack had gone to live elsewhere. The rest of the family were not even sure precisely where.

Life changed for Louise and Peter. And then when their parents sold the family's Maida Vale mini-mansion and moved out to Farndon Park, it changed even more. But, as their other 'richlister' friends abandoned them, it brought Louise and Peter closer together.

Not long after Louise turned eighteen, their father, Michael Brandon, died. Officially, he died of heart disease, but his doctor said that he had died from stress.

And life had yet another cruel twist waiting for the siblings. Just two years after their father's death, their mother, Janet, died. In a car accident. 'There was no one else involved,' the police told Louise and Peter. 'It seems that she was just distracted. By what, however, is something of a mystery.'

It was almost as if a big black cloud had settled over the Brandon siblings' world and, almost a year to the day after their mother had died, Louise arrived home from university (where she was studying for a degree in nursing) with a bottle of vodka. 'I don't think that I'm cut out for nursing,' she told her brother. 'I feel I need to do something else. I feel that I need to get away from London. Go somewhere out of the way. Do something simple. Take some time to contemplate life. I don't think I can take anymore of this stressful life we're living.'

Her brother nodded.

'Does that sound silly?' Louise asked.

'No,' Peter said. 'It doesn't.' And then he said that he too felt in need of a break.

'Come with me,' Louise said. 'Come and help me find my new life.'

Peter laughed. But not happily. 'Where are you thinking of going?' he asked.

'I don't know. I have no idea. Maybe we need to conduct a bit of a reccy. Go and see what's out there.'

Peter nodded. Yes, that made sense. It was somewhat ironic that the siblings didn't really know the UK. Whenever they had left Greater London it had usually been to visit France or Spain or the islands of the Caribbean. 'Mother always spoke fondly of her childhood in Lincolnshire,' Peter said. 'Perhaps you should start there.'

Two days later Peter and Louise were headed up the A15 in the direction of Lincoln. They didn't go into Lincoln itself, but skirted around the edge and headed for Otross. 'Why Otross?' Peter asked as Louise relayed instructions from the AZ Super Scale Great Britain Road Atlas.

'I don't know. I just like the name,' Louise said.

At Otross the siblings checked into The Black Horse Inn.

'Just the one night?' the barman-cum-receptionist asked.

'Hmm... I think a couple of nights,' Louise said. 'We want to have a bit of a look around. What's in this corner of the world?'

The barman-cum-receptionist laughed. 'Not a lot. Farms, farms, and more farms. And RAF Billingsby is just up the road a bit. Oh, and if you're into old houses, there's Midsund Hall. That's only about a twenty minute drive away. Probably worth a visit.'

'There you are,' Louise said to Peter. 'I told you there'd be things to do.'

Peter just smiled and picked up their bags.

Their room was at the back of the hotel and looked out over fields. When their host had said farms, farms, and more farms, he had not been wrong.

And then Peter noticed the bed. 'Oh. A double,' he said. 'For some reason, I had been expecting twin beds. The guy must have thought that we were a couple.'

'We sort of are,' his sister said. 'And, anyway, I'm sure we'll manage.'

Peter smiled and nodded.

After they had unpacked a few things, Peter and Louise went out in search of a coffee and a snack. 'A place like this... there's bound to be a teashop,' Louise said. 'A cup of coffee and a nice fresh scone perhaps.' But there wasn't. The village was very pretty, but it seemed to be deserted. Eventually, they saw a woman coming out of the little church. From the things that she was carrying, it looked as if she had probably been 'doing the flowers'. Louise asked her if there was anywhere they might find a coffee and a snack.

The woman frowned and looked at her watch. 'Gosh,' she said. 'Well... the pub doesn't open until four. At least I think it opens at four. But the bakery might still be open. It usually closes at two -- but you never know. I think it depends on how busy they've been.'

'The bakery? Yes, that sounds worth a try,' Louise said. 'And where will we find the bakery?'

'Past the market cross and just around the corner. It's tucked down a small lane. But you'll see a sign. They make excellent bread,' the woman told her.

'Thank you,' Louise said.

When they got to the bakery, a woman in a long apron was just changing the sign on the door to Closed.

'Oh. Are we too late?' Louise asked.

'Depends, love,' the woman said. 'Is it bread you're wanting?'

'Something to snack on actually. We've been driving.'

The aproned woman frowned slightly. 'We made onion tarts today,' she said. 'We still have some of them left.'

'And coffee?'

'I can make you some instant.'

Louise wanted to hug the woman. 'I like this place already,' Louise told her brother as they sat on the bench seat opposite the market cross and enjoyed their tart and instant coffee.

'It's certainly not pretentious,' her brother said.

That evening, the siblings had supper in the bar of the Black Horse. Louise had 'juicy grilled chicken breast with spinach and avocado salad'. Peter had a local pork chop, 'slow-braised with sage and onions and a splash of cream'. Both dishes were delicious.

After supper, they retired upstairs to watch a bit of TV and talk about what they might do the following day.

'I packed the rest of the vodka,' Louise told Peter. 'Do you fancy a small nightcap?'

Peter hesitated. But only for a moment or two. 'Yeah. Why not?' he said. 'We're on holiday. Or something.'

Louise poured a couple of healthy shots of vodka and added some of the orange juice that she had also brought along. And then she passed one of the cobbled-together Screwdrivers to Peter. 'To adventures,' she said, raising her own glass.

'To adventures,' her brother echoed.

It was a warm evening. And Louise was perhaps a little overdressed. After two or three sips of her Screwdriver, she got up and headed for the bathroom. When she returned, she was wearing the over-sized T-shirt that she often wore to bed on warm summer nights. 'That's better,' she said. 'Are you sure that you don't want to slip into something more comfortable?'

'What would you suggest?' her brother asked.

'A cotton T-shirt feels pretty good,' Louise said. 'I assume you brought one.'

Peter smiled. 'And a pair of shorts?'

'Only if you are feeling cold. And I don't think it's cold, is it?'

Peter smiled again. 'I'll see what I can find,' he said.

When Peter returned from the bathroom, he too was wearing a T-shirt. It was a longish T-shirt. But not that long. It only partly covered his cock, a cock that was in a state that he tended to think of as 'half-hard'.

'Nice,' his sister said. 'Are you going to put on a bit of a show for me?'

'Oh? Would you like me to?'

'I do enjoy watching when you give yourself a bit of a seeing to.'

Her brother nodded and took his cock in hand. It wasn't long before he had it standing fully to attention.

'Yes. Nice,' his sister said. And she rearranged her chair so that she was facing Peter. And then she spread her thighs and spread her cunt lips.

Although Peter had only seen four or five cunts in real life, he had seen more than a few on screen. He had certainly seen enough to know that they came in a variety of sizes, shapes, and colours. Some were little more than neat-and-tidy slits. Others were an open tangle of fleshy lips. Some were covered in wisps of hair; some were topped with veritable bushes -- again in various colours. And some were entirely bald. (Peter wasn't sure that he was a fan of totally bald cunts.) But of all the cunts Peter had seen, his sister's was definitely the sexiest. Or perhaps that was just because Louise was his sister.

'Are you going to join me?' Peter asked.

Louise smiled and ran the tips of a couple of her fingers the length of her slippery slot.

'You're wet,' Peter said.

Louise didn't disagree. 'Wetter than an otter's pocket.'

Her brother laughed and increased his stroke rate.

'Keep one for later,' Louise said.

'I think I'm good for at least two,' her brother told her.

'Glad to hear it. We are, after all, going to be sharing a bed.'

Peter frowned slightly. Was his sister suggesting that there would be a further mutual masturbation session once they were beneath the covers? Who knew? Certainly not Peter. But he kept stroking his cock regardless. And then he felt himself getting closer to the summit. 'I think I'm getting close to the peak of Everest,' he said.

'Give me one more minute,' Louise said. And, yes, that was all it took. One more dexterous minute and they were both heading joyfully 'over the top'.

'Oh, yes,' Louise said, as she reached for the rest of her Screwdriver. 'That certainly worked.'

'It certainly did.'

The vodka and orange juice worked too. Neither of the siblings were exactly big drinkers, but the small vodka and orange was pretty much the perfect drink for a mild summer's night in a rather anonymous hotel surrounded by farms, farms, and more farms. 'I think that I could probably handle another small one of these,' Louise said.

Peter smiled and nodded.

After they had enjoyed 'another small one', Louise suggested that they test out the bed.

'It certainly looks comfortable,' Peter said.

'It does,' his sister said. 'But first I think that I need to pee.'

While Louise went off to the bathroom (she didn't close the door), Peter finished his nightcap and then scanned the dial on the bedside radio until he found some suitably laid-back music. 'Better?' he asked his sister when she returned.

'Better,' she said. And then she sat on the edge of the bed. 'Well so far so good,' she said. And she lay flat on her back. 'Oh, yes. This should work. Come and see what you think.' And she patted the empty space next to her.

'I think, first, I might just have a quick whizz,' Peter said. And while he was in the bathroom, he also washed his cock. If there was going to be another mutual masturbation session, it might be nice to start with a freshly-prepared cock.

'Right,' he said when he returned. And he lay down beside his sister. 'Oh, yes. This is rather nice. A bit of a surprise. The sort of bed you expect in a five-star hotel -- not somewhere in the middle of nowhere.'

'It is,' Louise said, and she reached out and took her brother's hand. 'So... what shall we do tomorrow?'

'Well there's that country house that our host mentioned. Midsund Hall, was it? Unless I'm getting totally confused, I think Midsund is an example of Christopher Parrot's handiwork. It might be worth a visit. What do you think?'

'Yes. Why not?' Louise said. And, having partially sorted the activities for the following day, she took her brother's hand and gently placed it on her furry -- and rather pronounced -- mons.

'Nice,' Peter said.

'I have a feeling that I could be getting wet again,' his sister said. 'Just a feeling. Perhaps you could check for me. Perhaps a finger or two? What do you think?'

'Would you like me to check?'

'Perhaps if I hold your cock.'

'While I check your...?'

'My cunt. Yes.'

'Right. A first,' her brother said.

'A first? I think your cock has seen my cunt on more that a few occasions.' And she laughed.

'Well, yes. But only from a distance.'

'Then perhaps,' Louise said, 'it's time that your cock saw it... close up. From the inside even. I'm pretty sure that's where the wetness comes from.'

'But fingers first?' Peter said.

'Well, we need to start somewhere,' his sister said.

Her brother nodded.

Louise spread her thighs a little further. Her cunt was already opening up. Or perhaps it was still open from earlier. And, yes, it was definitely getting wet again. But her brother dipped a finger anyway. He had, after all, sort of promised that he would.

'Wet,' he said. 'Yes. Wonderfully wet. And warm. And slippery.'

'Yes. I thought so.' And then Louise said: 'Perhaps you should test it. With your cock.'

'Would you like me to?'

'I would. But only if you would like to.'

'I think I would,' her brother said. And he readied himself to enter his sister's wet and warm and slippery cunt.

'Do you have a condom?' Louise asked.

'Oh. No. No, I don't. I wasn't expecting that we would be... well... you know... doing it. Sorry.'

His sister laughed. 'Well then, just as well that I was hoping that we would be doing it.' And she reached over the side of the bed and retrieved a small foil package. 'I've been looking forward to this moment for some time. A good Girl Guide. I came prepared.' And she laughed again.

As Louise ripped open the package, Peter's cock, which was already well on its way to doing an impression of Nelson's Column, grew a tad more. And then, suddenly, Louise was dressing it for the main event. 'Ready?' she said. And she spread her well-toned legs, pulled her knees up, and lined up the tip of her brother's condom-clad cock with the entrance to her slippery fuckhole.

'Ready,' Peter confirmed, and he was on his way in.

'Oh, yes!' Louise said. 'Yes! Yes! Yes! Does that feel good? Or does that feel good?'

'Fucking fabulous,' her brother said.

As first fucks go, the siblings' first fuck didn't set any duration records. Louise didn't even get a chance to come. At least not while her brother was still inside her. But she finished herself off with her well-practised fingers afterwards.

'So... how was that?' she asked her brother as they lay in each other's arms in post-coital bliss.

'Brilliant,' he said. 'The best.' And then after a while he said: 'I know you're not supposed to make comparisons, but it was totally different from when Annabelle and I did it. I'm not saying that it was bad with Annabelle. It just wasn't... well... it wasn't... I don't know... just not as good as I had expected.'

Louise laughed. 'Perhaps you were both trying too hard,' she said. 'Perhaps you were just expecting too much. With you and me it was just you and me.' And she kissed him -- not as a woman might kiss her brother but as she might kiss a lover -- which is what they had become.