Lost Girl: Julie's Story Ch. 03 Pt. 01

My relationship with Allie had blossomed over the years; because I was her big brother, she'd come to me with the things she couldn't or wouldn't tell her dad, and leave me to work it out for her, while she and Lena huddled together and watched hormone movies and cried a lot.

Lizzie was bemused by it all, but glad that Allie was hanging with us and getting some positive mature-male influence; Allie's dad lived too far away for her to see him more than a few times a year, and his new family occupied much of his time. Still, we must have been doing her good, as she was doing well at school, heading for straight 'A's across the board.

As had become her routine since she was a little girl, Allie still spent most of her weekends with us, playing with the children and going shopping with Lena, she and Lena looking more like sisters than aunt and niece, and working on Lena to ask me for a recommendation to endorse her application to study medicine, which I would have given in a heartbeat. Yes, my kid sister wanted to follow her hero, me, which flattered me inordinately until Lena observed that she was a lot smarter than I was, and medical school should be a breeze for her, not the hard slog it had been for me. Sometimes I wonder about my wife...

Eventually, I resigned myself to having that conversation with Emma, one I really didn't want to have but had been dreading all along; perhaps it was time to start searching through the Registers of Births, Marriages and Deaths, emphasis on the 'Deaths'. I didn't want to bring it up, but we were getting nowhere, and it was looking more and more likely that those two kids had disappeared years ago.

*

JULIE:

As the summer progressed, work and family life once more took up our time, filling our days and occupying our nights, but my mind kept going back to that conversation I'd had with Mark, about the possibility we had an unknown relative, and the almost-argument it had sparked off. While I knew it was probably just wishful thinking, I couldn't let go of that thought, that perhaps we still had family out there somewhere, family we didn't know, and who didn't know about us.

Mark almost certainly had family, half-siblings (like me!) somewhere; his father had still been a young man when he and mum split-up, and from the pictures of him we'd found in mum's things, he was a bit of a looker, too; he'd have had no problem starting over again. Mark wasn't interested in finding out, though; he'd abandoned him, left us both at the mercy of that mad bitch, and as far as Mark was concerned, Lawrence Jameson was dead, buried and forgotten. I knew my biological father had died before I was born, but we'd never been able to find out anything about him, other than he was Lawrence's younger brother and he'd had an affair with mum, which is where I came from.

I spent a lot of time that summer wondering about our past; I didn't know where mum and her family were from; I didn't even know what mum's maiden name had been; there were no papers or anything that were of any use to us that we had found when we cleared mum's house; in the last extremities of her dementia, before she was finally put away, she'd thrown away so much; photograph albums, her marriage certificate, divorce Decree Absolute, all sorts of records, Mark and my birth certificates, stuff that would have been priceless should we ever have wanted to find out who we really were; all were irretrievably lost.

With that avenue closed, all I knew was this mysterious 'South Mead' place mum was born. Eventually, it occurred to me to look it up on the internet, and that was where I struck gold; there was no such place, but one reference that kept jumping out at me was 'Southmead Hospital', in Bristol. I sat back in shock; mum was born in Southmead, not 'South Mead', in Bristol. Mark kept getting mistaken for someone called 'Darryl' again in Bristol, where he travelled frequently; apparently this 'Darryl' looked just like Mark, so the question occupying me was: did we have a relative in Bristol, the place where mum was born? The odds were stacking-up in favour of just that.

Maybe I needed to travel down with Mark the next time and have a snoop myself. I knew mum's date of birth only because her driving license was returned to us after she was committed to the Care Home, but perhaps that was enough to trawl through the records in Bristol; with her date of birth at Southmead Hospital, maybe I could find a birth record giving her family name. It was a long-shot, but it was worth taking, I felt.

Mark came in soon after that, to find me cooking dinner, but no children. I grinned at his quizzical look.

"Jamie and Nia took them to the 'It's A Kid's Thing' play-centre over by Garrett Lane this afternoon and tired them out, and I didn't have the heart to wake them up and bring them home, so Mummy's looking after them tonight; that means we have the house to ourselves. Fancy fooling around a little?"

His eyes lit up, but kept straying to the oven; I'd made him a lasagna, one of the things he'll fight werewolves barehanded for, and I had to suppress a grin at the conflict in him; me or lasagna. Poor Mark had grown up eating out of tins, or sandwiches; proper hot meals had been a rarity in our house; now I loved cooking for him, and watching him eat.

Eventually lasagna won out. I've said it before; like Jamie, he's a walking stomach. When Jamie and Nia come over I have to make three, one for each of those bottomless pits, and another one so Nia, the kids, and I actually get to eat something.

While he washed-up, I went and changed; I wanted him on edge all through dinner, so I made a special effort, and when I brought in the food, his eyes popped out. I was wearing one of my old school shirts, which barely fitted, and was tight in all the right places, with a black, lacy push-up bra underneath; after having had two children, my once barely noticeable 'bee-sting' boobs were now a respectable handful each, and wearing an 'Agent Provocateur' bra turned them from nice handfuls into a pair of jutting tits to make an underwear model proud. I'd bought an extremely short plaid skirt, and together with knee-socks, slutty black platform shoes, and my hair in bunches, I looked like his own personal school-slut, if the sudden bulge in his slacks was anything to go by.

"Jesus, Tink, you look...incredible!" he gulped out as I sat opposite him, sticking out the 'girls' as I smiled seductively (I hoped!).

"What, these old things?" I preened, modestly, falsely, turning slightly to show them in profile, watching his eyes track my tits.

"Eat your dinner, Lost Boy," I grinned, then winked at him, "dessert's not far behind!"

Mark was appropriately dazed and bedazzled, eating rapidly, mechanically, while I kept my eyes on my plate. Every so often I looked up to smile at him as he stared at my cleavage as though he'd never seen it before (although, to be fair, it was a new bra, designed to do special things to the whole boob region, so he'd never seen the girls looking so...well presented).

At last, his knife and fork tinkled on the plate, then his plate and mine clattered as he swiped them all together and charged into the kitchen, where he dropped them all into the sink with a clang, then came back almost at a dead run, to yank me upright and grab my bum while he crushed his lips to mine. When I finally broke for air, I smiled at him again as I deliberately ground my crotch against his.

"What's the rush, Peter Pan, don't you want some dessert?" I simpered, watching his eyes slowly cross as I ground against him some more.

"Holy Christ, Tink, I don't know where this get-up came from, but right now all I want for dessert is you! I want to fuck you so hard...!"

That was what I wanted to hear, so I slid my arms back around his neck and spit-sealed my lips to his, while his hands explored my bum, squeezing and clenching the cheeks through the too-tight white cotton schoolgirl panties I was wearing, feeling him groan in my mouth as he worked out what I was wearing, and why. He broke our kiss, still squeezing and clutching my bum, to mutter "bedroom...now", before taking my hand and literally dragging me upstairs.

Once in the bedroom, Mark wasted no time in yanking off my skirt and shirt, leaving me in just my panties, bra, and knee-high white socks. I wanted to look virginal, yet slutty and gagging for a shagging, and judging by the bulge in his shorts I'd succeeded. Mark stripped-off in double quick time and pulled me close, that lovely thick cock of his trapped upright between us as he once more slid his hands down the back of my panties, squeezing my bum-cheeks and running his fingers between the puffy lips of my slit and up my bum-crack to tickle and probe at my tight hole. As we kissed he worked my panties down past my hips, finally tugging them off completely, leaving me in just my bra and socks, making him grin.

"Are you ready for a good fucking, little girl?" he leered, squeezing and pulling my bum cheeks apart, making me gasp and giggle as he groped and plundered my bum.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Blondie!" I retorted, seeing that glint in his eye once again.

He picked me up and kissed me, my legs wrapping themselves around his waist as I clung to his neck, and he held me up against him by the cheeks of my bum. I love kissing him, there's such a gentle, almost childlike innocence still in him; he's never forgotten how he was neglected, but he's also never forgotten how much I needed him, and how I depended on him when I had no-one else. We have a closeness that no-one can ever break, and when he kisses me, it shows.

As I hung on him, kissing him madly, I could feel that great big prong of his nudging my bum, and so I reluctantly left off with the kissing to get down to the serious business of getting my big brother to fuck the living daylights out of me.

Luckily we were both singing off the same hymn-sheet here, so as he laid me down on the bed, our lips met in another passionate kiss, and as we kissed, he slid that oversized cock of his deep into me in one, fluid motion, making me gasp out loud as his thick cock-head forced my swollen, tender lips apart, filling and stretching me once again; no matter how many times we do this, it always feels like the first time, with the added bonus that it doesn't hurt now, just sends bursts of toe-curling pleasure flooding through me.

As we fucked, I felt his lips curve against mine into that smile of his, and I knew what he was thinking. As I thought of it, I knew I wanted it too, so I urged him off me so I could turn around. Mark slid out of me, and as I turned to lie on my tummy, he grabbed my hips and pulled me back against him, his hands gently pulling my cheeks apart so he could see all my most secret places. I felt his hot breath on me, and then suddenly his tongue was lapping at me, licking and rubbing my sensitive pussy, making me gasp and giggle as he probed me with a stiff tongue-tip, then he slowly kissed and lapped at my rosebud, his tongue-tip making little stabbing motions into the centre of my crinkle, teasing me.

I relaxed and slumped forward, with Mark following me down to keep his face firmly between my cheeks as his insistent tongue probed further and deeper, until I felt him push his tongue inside me as far as he could, stretching me open and sending a sudden zing and zip of pleasure as he rimmed me.

I was writhing and gasping now as I floated away, the feel of my man's tongue deep inside me giving me pleasurable sensations, stretching and relaxing me, until he withdrew, making me mew with loss, even though I knew what was coming next. I gasped and giggled at the feel of the cold gel as he slowly pushed it into me, spreading it around, pushing his finger deep inside me, then another one, while I rubbed and petted my pussy, readying myself for him.

Mark took one last glob of gel and spread it around my relaxed hole, then leaned over me to kiss the back of my neck.

"Ready, Tink?" he whispered, and I nodded, sticking my bottom out and pulling my cheeks open, showing him exactly what I wanted.

I felt him rear up over me, then his velvety cock head prodding at my hole, softness cloaking a stiff rigidity that I wanted deep inside me. I reached back and held him, guiding him as he slowly pressed forward, slowly slipping himself into me. Every time we do this it feels like the first time; I wanted it so much then, and I wanted it now. While there was a little pain, the pleasure zipping around inside me as my beautiful brother-husband slowly invaded my body in such a raw, primitive way was doing things to me, good things, things I didn't want to stop.

Mark slipped his hands around me to cup my fettered, outthrust breasts, his thumbs brushing my rigid nipples through the black lacy material, sending more pulses of pleasure through me, sharp little jolts that seemed to be grounding in my pussy, giving me an almost unbearable urge to touch myself and rub my button as my man sodomised me.

As I tweaked and rubbed my clitoris, Mark finally slid all the way into me, to begin sliding out again, making my whole body jump and tingle with the sensations that caused inside me. Back in he slid, making me gasp as all the air was forced from my lungs, then out, then in, while I rubbed and squeezed my swollen clitoris.

I was floating in a golden haze of pleasure, my pussy pulsing as I neared orgasm, feeling every stroke of his thick cock as it pounded into me, and finally, when he gently pinched and tugged on my nipples, that finally tipped me over, waves of pleasure rising up and crashing through me, my cunt, my nipples, and especially my bum-hole throbbing and convulsing as a hot blast of pure, shuddering delight swept through me.

I screamed as it surged through me, and my anus contracted sharply, clamping down on him as my pussy quivered. Mark groaned loudly as he swelled and jammed inside me, throbbing inside me even as the feel of his spunk filled me, bathing my insides with his warmth, spurt after spurt, sent me off into another white-hot whirl of pleasure, my anus milking him of every drop as it expanded and contracted around him, pulsing in time with my pussy.

Eventually, the flashing lights winked out, and my heartbeat slowed as Mark slowly pulled out of me, micro-orgasms uncurling inside me and making me gasp and quiver as he did, to lie next to me and pull me into him. I felt completely wrung-out from the intense pleasure he'd given me, and all I wanted to do was lie there in the warmth of his body, feeling him curled around me, secure and at peace.

We lay there in that beautiful afterglow, the memory of pleasure given and taken still rolling around inside us, until Mark finally stirred.

"Okay Tinkerbell, what's the reason?" he murmured, his lips brushing my hair as he slowly stroked my back and fondled my bum.

"Reason for what, Mark?" I answered, trying to sound innocent and not really succeeding, judging by the thousand little 'tells' he had that told me he was grinning.

"For the whole 'Naughty School-Girl' seduction routine. If you want me to do something, Tink, all you have to do is ask, you know that, baby-girl!"

OK, so I was busted; perhaps it took more than just devastating good looks to be a successful Securities Trader in the City of London; he'd worked out I wanted something pretty quick, after all; time to try some wheedling...

"I knew that, Lost Boy, but it was fun to vamp you a little! You want to know why? Next time you go to Clifton...I want to come with you." I sensed him about to refuse, so plunged on, not giving him a chance to interrupt.

"Don't worry about the kids, Mummy will happily have them, and besides, it'll only be for a couple of nights, oh please, Mark, I really want to go to Bristol with you!"

Mark held me away from him a little so he could look in my eyes.

"Of course you can come, Tink, all you had to do was say so, although I can't think why; I don't go there because I want to, you know; the office has a strict 'No Visitors' policy, which means you can't stay with me in my office, so why would you want to spend two days pretty much alone in Bristol? What's going on, baby-girl?"

This was it.

"Mark, you remember that conversation we had about that crazy bitch and her family, about where she was from?"

Mark looked sideways at me.

"Ye-es, sort of, and as I remember, I said I didn't want to know. What are you up to now, Wee Wendy?"

I had to grin; he hadn't called me that since I was five or six. I gathered my thoughts, because I really wanted him to help me with this.

"Mark, I found out that mum was most likely born in Bristol; 'Southmead' is a big hospital on the outskirts of Bristol, no, no, wait, please..! " I trailed off as he rolled his eyes and sighed, his lips compressing. We locked eyes, then he did what he always does; he relaxed, smiled and nodded for me to continue.

"I want to come with you so I can go there and check if mum was actually born there; if I can find her records, I'll have her birth name, then I can look up her family; it's got to be worth a try, Mark, please, do this for me!"

Mark held me close, his hand absently stroking my hair, something that had always fascinated him, its texture and colour so different from his. I could almost hear the wheels turning as he mulled over what I'd said.

"Sure, why not; I can see you won't let this go until you've ploughed through it, so yeah, why not. I'll book a proper hotel instead of a B&B, and maybe we can stay an extra day and do a little sightseeing while we're there, you know, sort of soak up some of the ambience of the tourist mecca that is Bristol!"

I punched him on the arm for that, and he grabbed me and started tickling me in retaliation, which was not fair, he was so much bigger than me, but we eventually worked out a compromise and did something a lot stickier and more satisfying than tickling...

*

DARRYL:

Progress on our search had stalled, come to a dead-stop as the meagre information we'd managed to collect just failed to pan-out. I'd already decided that the hunt was over, they were gone, when fate decided to take a hand. It was a Friday evening, my first weekend off-roster in a while. We'd just finished putting the kids to bed and were looking forward to an evening with a nice DVD and maybe a couple of glasses of good wine, when the phone rang. Lena and answered it, then grinned and passed it over to me.

"It's Georgie the Hottie!" she stage-whispered, weaving the phone just out of reach and grinning. I eventually managed to snag it and talk to Georgie.

"Darryl, how are you, darling, how's that delectable little wife of yours, still convinced she's straight? Send her over, I'll soon teach her the errors of her ways!"

I had to grin; that was such a Georgie thing to say.

"Down girl; I told you before, my pie, go find a pie of your own! To what do I owe the pleasure of this call anyway, any news, or did you just call up to proposition my darling wife, again, and attempt to lure her into your web of sluttish rug-munching?"

I could hear her grinning even down the telephone line.

"Darling Boy, I'm shocked at such a suggestion! If your mummy had only taught you to share when you were little, we wouldn't be having this discussion about the lovely little Lena, you mean, selfish, greedy little piggy!"

I decided to cut the bantering short; Georgie had rung for a reason, and I was curious as to what it was.

"So Georgie, why did you call, do you have anything for me?"

Georgie's voice lost that bantering tone, became more serious.

"Yes, Daryl. We've finally got something solid. Mum went digging in the old Bolingbroke Hospital record archive on a hunch, and she found everything you were looking for. The girl you're looking for was treated for a left zygomatic fracture and periorbital haematoma, together with a concussion, allegedly caused by a head-clash during a game of volleyball, although the attending noted suspicions that it may have been a deliberate injury; he thought someone took a swing at her. She was released after an MRI scan found no trace of vascular trauma, and referred back to a GP in Clapham Old Town. There was a contact address, also in Clapham Old Town, whether or not it's still valid is something you'll have to find out for yourself; I'll text it to you. Her records were transferred there as there'd been no need to access them for over five years, so they were archived."