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The Murdered World 49
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 22:00:02 +0000 UTCThe iPad was a mosaic of smaller screens, many of them static or blankness, but some the fish-eyed view of a security camera. Emma recognized what was being monitored, after a fashion. It was the mansion up on the surface, looking like the rubble-strewn husk from a bombed-out village in a war game, but still a place where Emma had slept, ate, even masturbated.
She felt suddenly unmoored, like a dreamer who realized they were having a dream. She was looking at her old life. The shoreline of a country she was sailing away from. The ashes of a childhood home burnt down. There couldn’t be any doubt that this was a new phase of her life. Emma could see the wreckage of the ended life when she looked over her shoulder. It dizzied her how far she’d gotten from it in so short a time. Like she’d taken one step and ended up miles away.
It took her a lengthy moment and a deep breath to even realize why Frank cared about the surveillance footage.
There were men up there in the wreckage. Survivors, scavengers, bandaged and broken, in rags and scabs, picking through the devastation like flies on a corpse. Emma wondered if she knew any of them. She comforted herself by repeating inwardly that she’d barely been in Miami any amount of time, that there was no one she knew there, here, except for Christina.
If she saw some walking skeleton, some living scar, with the face of someone she’d once known—Emma thought she would go mad.
“Looters,” Frank pronounced. “Vultures. They come after every disaster. If they find out we’re down here, they’ll break in, take whatever they can—” He glanced at Emma.
He didn’t finish the thought, but Emma didn’t need him too. In that moment, she felt Angel’s hands on her like an itch on a phantom limb. Her trauma was a part of her that’d been amputated in all the chaos and upheaval. The prospect of these men being able to see her, touched her, sewed the diseased flesh back onto her, letting her feel its suffering again.
“What are you going to do?” Christina asked.
“I’m going to kill them,” Frank said simply.
Emma sucked in a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been unable to take until then.
Christina’s voice came out in a whisper: “Just like that?”
Frank’s came out like metal on an assembly line. “They’re dead already. I won’t let them take us with them.”
“Christina,” Emma said, meaning do something, you’re my big sister, fix it.
Christina sucked in a breath and cleared her throat. Emma could see her gathering her thoughts; something she herself couldn’t do. It was all happening so fast, on some level of instinct Emma couldn’t comprehend. Frank had seen other people, survivors, and he wanted to kill them. And all after she’d had a threesome with her sister… they both had…
Emma wondered how Christina was taking it. They’d both gotten off, hadn’t they? Emma couldn’t imagine not liking how hard she’d come, if Christina had come anywhere near as hard as her…
“Frank, you’re a soldier.” He winced at the word; if Christina noticed, it didn’t deter her. “Right now, the only soldier you’ve got. If you go up there and get yourself killed—”
“I won’t,” Frank interrupted, and his certainty was almost enough to convince Emma. It was just so much more… solid than Christina’s tremulous words.
“But if you do, there’ll be no one to defend us. Don’t you care about that at all?”
“Of course I care,” Frank growled, but what exactly he meant by that, Emma couldn’t tell. Did he love one or both of them? Was he just set on preserving innocent life? Or were they the only two alternatives to his own hand that he was likely to find in the foreseeable future?
Christina didn’t seem bothered by the conundrum. She pressed on: “Then think tactically. Why risk yourself on an unnecessary fight? They’re liable to die off on their own and you’re not even armed.” She stepped close to him. Close enough for her heavy breasts to brush against his chest and remind him of her nudity, as well as his own.
Emma could see the emotions play across his face. He was used to being a killing machine, but he was something else too. As familiar as he was with soldiering, he had enjoyed the sisters. He was only more vulnerable to them, knowing how good it felt between their legs.
Christina stepped closer, now deliberately forcing their bodies together, her bust crushing against his strong pectorals. “We need you here,” she said, her voice deepening. “Keeping up morale on the homefront. Can you do that for me, Frank? Can you keep it up?”
Frank’s face set in an amused scowl. He made no sound, but his rising cock was answer enough.
Emma licked her lips. She wondered if she could get that reaction out of him. Maybe it wasn’t a fair comparison; she didn’t have her sister’s tits.
“Yesss,” Christina breathed. “There are much better things to do down here…”
She looked up into his eyes, her lips still parted from her last word, and Frank gave in like a flamed out building finally collapsing. He bent his mouth to hers and like a race had started, Christina put her arms around his neck, to keep him there moment after moment while he kissed her passionately. Like there was any chance of him going elsewhere.
Emma whimpered just seeing it. She could see his tongue encountering hers; she poked her own tongue into the corner of her mouth, imagining feeling the inside of Frank’s mouth like Christina was. Her sister’s whole buxom body was locked tightly to Frank’s muscular frame and Emma swayed closer, wondering if now was a good time to join in, to share him like they’d sort of done last night.
True, he’d gone from her to Christina and back again, and Christina had had to change her mind… but whoever heard of her sister changing her mind twice in twenty-four hours?
Frank’s hand was in Christina’s hair; he pried her head back, trying for gentleness but managing soft brutality, like those big, roughhewn hands could only be so caring. And with Christina bent backwards, her chest was arched out. Her big, rounded breasts stood up in defiance of their fulsome heft, the nipples pink with a deep rouge coloring.
Frank lowered himself to them, savaging each in turn. Christina could only tighten her arms around his neck and bear pleasure that had to be hitting her like an artillery barrage. Emma watched her quiver, jellied body too full of pleasure to hold still, and heard her moan softly, then not softly.
Somehow, Christina managed to straighten despite Frank bearing down on her like a mine caving in. Instead of holding Frank to her chest, she pushed him down to his knees before the soft pubic thatch growing at the apex of her groin.
“You wanna put it in me?” she asked, her voice wet, simpering, like Emma had never heard it before. It even turned her on. “Isn’t there something you should do with this cunt before you fuck it full of cum?”
Frank buried his head in the silken hair that protected her sex—Emma bit her lip. She could only imagine how overpowering the scent was there. She smelled it faintly from where she was.
As Frank caressed with his tongue, Christina responded, panting and rolling her hips, sighing and sobbing as she was made both aroused and gratified.
Emma couldn’t stop herself now and she knew she that if she tried, it would be worse than just committing. So she did it.
