The Making of a Gigolo (6) - Christy Brown
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
This is the sixth in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton was transformed, from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many women. His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and there is much information in that first story that will be useful to you in understanding what happens in this story.
For your fullest enjoyment, and because parts of each story are continued in succeeding ones, please read the stories in order.
It is generally a sad thing, when a woman cheats on her husband. Or when a man sinks so low as to seek solace in the arms of another woman, while his wife waits for him at home.
True, there are those couples who don't mind sharing their spouse with others, but, on the whole, they are rare. More often, there is a schism that separates the husband and wife, and drives one ... or both of them ... to seek what they crave, but cannot get from their mate.
Such was the case with Christy and Sergeant Richard Brown. Sergeant Brown joined the Army because he needed a job and, in the small town of Buxton, where he was from, there were no jobs. At least there were no jobs that appealed to him. He wanted adventure, and thrills.
But, he had recently married the girl he'd met at a 4-H event, and courted from afar. They'd had to live with his parents, at first, and that was cramping his style. His draft number was also pretty low. So, when an Army recruiter told him he would almost surely get the chance to jump out of airplanes, and become one of the famed Green Berets, he jumped at the chance. The recruiter also told him he wouldn't have to go to Vietnam.
The recruiter got it half right, and half wrong. Richard Brown did go to Airborne school, and did jump out of airplanes. He did get accepted into the ranks of the men who wore the coveted Green Beret. He also went to Vietnam, though, where his status was interesting.
As a lowly Private First Class, Richard would normally have had access only to a ... lower class ... of Vietnamese women, assuming he would get much time to be with one at all. But, as a Green Beret, his status was much higher, and the sloe-eyed women, who rubbed up against him in the bars, even though some of them were only fourteen or fifteen, were trained to put stars in his eyes. They did, and while Richard missed his wife of six months, he did not go without burying his prick in a hot, willing woman.
Christy, the wife he was missing, was in much more sober straits. Her in-laws had driven her crazy, and she’d moved back home, to Granger, with her mother and father, both of whom worked and were out of the house all day. She’d tried to resurrect friendships with the girls she'd gone to high school with, but they had scattered, getting married, like her, or getting jobs, or going to college. Some of them had moved to bigger towns and cities, looking for the excitement that Granger just didn't offer. She loved her parents, but they were parents, and still treated her like she was in highschool, which did not match her own self image as a confident, capable, married young woman. As a result, she spent a lot of time in the evenings going for long walks in the woods, and exploring abandoned farm houses, which were cropping up in larger and larger numbers in the Midwest as conglomerates bought the land to farm, but had no use for the fifty, or sixty, or eighty-year-old-house in which generations of farmers had been raised.
She felt perfectly safe, out exploring like this. Very often she saw no one at all, once she got off the main roads. Those people she did see knew her, or knew of her, and just waved as they drove by. Once in a while someone would ask her if she needed a ride somewhere, but she never accepted.
She didn't need to work. She had no expenses, really, living with her parents. And she got twenty-five dollars a month in an allotment check from the Army. Richard had said he needed the other two hundred dollars each month. He said he had "miscellaneous expenses", whatever that meant. In any case, work seemed like school to her anyway, and she was glad to be out of school. Basically, she had nothing to do.
Christy Brown was bored.
Now, as Fall faded the few colorful leaves there were in Granger, and winter loomed in her mind, Christy sat in her old room. It looked just like it had when she'd left it, to go become a woman. She'd left her childhood in this room ... and here she was ... right back in it. She looked at the walls, which were pink, and the bevy of stuffed animals she'd scorned taking with her to her marriage bed. Her dolls were still lined up on top of the dresser.
Quite suddenly, she realized she wasn't happy ... wasn't happy at all. Marriage wasn't like she'd dreamed it would be. Her life wasn't like she’d dreamed it would be. Richard was off in a war, where he might be killed any day. Thousands of men were being killed over there. What was worse was that she couldn't even be proud of him for fighting for America. The news was full of hate and disgust for the soldiers. People spat when they talked about the war, and became cold and distant to her if she told them what her husband did, and where he was. And he'd quit writing. He said he was too busy to write more than once a month. At first, the letters had come almost every day.
She thought about the wedding. That made her feel better. It was one of the few things that had been everything she hoped it would be. She had been beautiful in her gown, and Richard had been handsome in his tux. Everyone had smiled and wished her well. People had winked, telling her to have a great honeymoon.
That led to less happy thoughts.
They hadn't had the money for a real honeymoon. Richard had already taken her virginity in the back seat of his car. Being in a bed seemed to make less difference than she’d thought it would. That was probably because his parents didn't even let them have the house to themselves on their wedding night. They had been on the other side of the wall, and Richard's lusty thrusting had made the bed hit against the wall, embarrassing her. She’d tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t ... couldn't, he said, grinning down at her as his sweat dripped on her chest and neck.
Richard had been happy. He had climbed on her three times, that night, setting up that knocking sound all three times. Her father-in-law, the next morning, had leered at her and bragged about the masculinity of the Brown men.
She had endured it six more months. It was always the same. With little or no prelude, Richard climbed on top of her, thrust and humped until he came, and then rolled over to sleep, until he woke up to do it again. Then he had joined the Army and, like that, he was gone. She'd seen him twice, since then. The only difference between those two times and all the times before, was that she had strained and tugged to get the big bed far enough away from the wall that it didn't bang against it while he was home on leave.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped at it absently, looking helplessly at the little girl room she was stuck in, for who knew how long.
Silently, she let herself cry, until it was out of her system.
Then, she put on tennis shoes, shorts, and a tank top, grabbed her walking stick and the pocket knife Richard had left behind, and went for a hike.
It was on her walk, where she did her best thinking, that a partial solution came to her. She could redecorate her room! She didn't know why she hadn't thought of that already. Some paint, a little wall paper ... maybe some new posters or pictures, and her room would be updated. Then, maybe, she would feel updated.
She altered her path, to bring her back into town where the hardware store was. She was sweating, even though it was September and the air was cool. Her lithe, tanned legs rippled with muscles she hadn't had as a teenager. Walking five or ten miles a day had reduced her to a slim, muscled young woman who, at nineteen, was in the peak of health and vitality.
She was proud of that, though a little disappointed that her breasts had gotten smaller. Her B cup bras were loose now, when she wore them at all. Her small, tight breasts didn't move unless she ran, and then only bounced, pulling at the flesh on her upper chest. Her nipples had stayed the same, though, which also didn't impress her. They were comprised of puffy dark pink areolas, which stood up above her breast flesh half an inch, like a little hill. From there, at least when she was aroused, darker nipples perched on top of those hills. She thought she looked like an ice cream Sunday, with her breasts as the ice cream, her areolas as the whipped cream, and her nipples as cherries on top. The most horrible thing, though, was that on her right areola, there was a single hair, dark like the hair on her head, that sprouted from the pink skin. That hair was at least two inches long, and had been there as long as she could remember. When she was fifteen, she had pulled it, trying to jerk it out. The pain had been indescribable, and tears had flooded her eyes so quickly, and in such numbers, that she couldn't even see if it had come out, until she stopped crying, and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.
The hair was still there then, and it was still there as she walked into the hardware store. Richard hadn't paid much attention to her breasts, other than to squeeze them and rub them. Eventually, she had grown resigned to that flaw.
She looked around curiously. She'd never been in this hardware store, or any hardware store, for that matter. She had no idea where to go, or how to find what she wanted. In reality, she didn't even know what she wanted yet.
There was a young girl of about sixteen at the register. She was chewing gum, and looked bored.
"Where's the paint?" asked Christy.
"Aisle six," droned the girl, not moving.
Aisle six did, indeed, contain paint ... what looked like thousands of cans of it, in all sizes, colors and brands. She was immediately lost in information overload as she stared at the rows of colorful products.
There was a man, a little older than herself, standing further down the aisle, holding a can of paint. He put it on the shelf.
"Excuse me," she said, timidly, walking towards him. He looked over at her. "Do you work here?"
He grinned. "I feel like I do sometimes, but no, I don't work here."
"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I need help. I haven't the faintest idea what to do."
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"I want to paint my room," she said. "But look at all this! How do I choose?"
"Well," he said. "I can probably help you with that. What kind of finish do you want?"
"Finish?" she asked.
"Flat, satin or semi-gloss," he said. "I don't recommend gloss paint for interior walls."
"I've never even heard of any of those," she said helplessly. "Isn't paint ... paint?"
"Not at all," he said patiently. "Let me show you."
For the next forty-five minutes, Christy got an education in paint. It wasn't limited to that, though, because, as the man got more and more information out of her about what she might want, she found out about products that could put texture on the walls, and how wallpaper, cut into strips, could be used as a border, to accent paint. She learned that in addition to whatever went on the walls, different paint would be needed for the molding, something she hadn't even thought about. Then there were the tools that could be used for painting. Brushes of all kinds, each used for a specific kind of painting, such as up next to the ceiling, or around the molding, and rollers, and different kinds of roller covers. She was fascinated by it all, and by his seemingly inexhaustible supply of information.
"That's the basics," he finally said.
"I can't do this," she moaned. "It's too complicated!"
"Nonsense," he said.
"No it's not nonsense," she insisted. "I remember the difference between flat, semi-gloss and ... what's that other one?"
"Satin," he said patiently.
"Yes, satin. I remember that, and I think I remember about the difference between thick rollers and thin ones ... but that's about it. I'll have to hire somebody to do this."
"Well," he said. "I'm in the business, but it can be expensive."
"How expensive?" she asked.
"How big is your room?" he asked.
"How would I know?" she moaned.
He stepped away from her, several steps.
"You are standing at one wall. Is the other wall about here?"
"Maybe a little further," she said, not sure. He stepped back another step. "There," she said, sounding more confident than she was.
He looked at the floor and seemed to be counting.
"Is it square, or rectangular?" he asked.
"Rectangular, I guess," she said.
"And that distance we just did," he said. "Is it the long way, or the short way?"
"Short," she said.
"How many windows?" he asked.
"Is the trim ... that molding we were talking about ... is that wood colored, or painted?"
"It's kind of a dark pink, or maybe maroon," she said.
"Do you want to leave it that color?" he asked.
"I guess so," she said. "I don't know."
He sighed. "Okay, I'd guess it would end up costing you a hundred dollars or so. That's an estimate, but it's probably pretty close."
"A hundred dollars?!" she moaned.
"Labor is expensive," he said. He glanced at her left hand. "Can your husband do some of the work?"
"He's not here," she said, uncomfortably.
"Well, when he gets back, can he do it? I can supervise, and it would take less of my time, and cost you less."
"He's in the Army," she said, and then bit her lip, wishing she hadn't said it.
"Oh," he said. "Nam?"
She nodded, and looked down, to avoid seeing his derision.
"That's too bad," he said. "I hope he makes it back okay."
Her head snapped up. He wasn't frowning, and didn't act disgusted.
"You could do some of the work," he said. "I could teach you, and, once you get started, I could go on to my other jobs."
"I'll have to talk to my parents," she said. She didn't have a hundred dollars. She only got that twenty-five dollars a month, from the Army, which was enough for what her parents didn't supply her with, but she used that up on clothes, and other little things she wanted.
"I thought you were married," he said.
"I live with them," she said, feeling like a little girl. "Just for while he's gone," she said, trying to rationalize living with her parents at her age.
"Really?" He smiled. "I live with my mother too."
"You're kidding," she said. When she'd gotten closer to him, she'd confirmed he was older than she was, maybe by several years. "You're not married?"
"Not yet," he said, smiling.
"Well I'll talk to them and see if it's all right," she said. "How can I contact you?"
He picked up a card that had ten colors of paint on one side, and flipped it over to write on the back with a pen he took from his pocket.
"Just call me," he said.
"Bobby Dalton," she read out loud. "Well, Bobby Dalton, I'm so glad I met you. I feel much better about things now."
Christy Brown had no way of knowing it, but that wouldn’t be the last time she made that statement to Bobby.
Bobby watched the girl walk away. He thought of her as a girl, even though she was married. He watched as her buttocks rose and fell in her shorts, which clung tightly to them. There had been sweat stains on the tank top, under her arms, and around the neck, as if she'd been running. That didn't bother him. She was a cute one.
He shook his head and grinned. The last thing he needed was another sexual entanglement. Just a month ago, Tilly had met him at the door, ecstatic that he had gotten her pregnant again. He'd gone there to fuck her, but had had dinner with her and Jake instead.
From there, he had gone to see Jill, a divorced woman who was now intent on having a child ... his child. She had welcomed him with open arms, and taken him to bed, where she lay moaning under him as he inseminated her for, perhaps, the fiftieth time since he'd started fucking her in July, just three months ago. He was, in fact, due at her house after he picked up the paint he needed for another job.
Prudence, a widow who was hugely pregnant with his baby, was due in a month. To top that off, his sister, Mary, had, just a few days after she’d returned from her honeymoon, announced that she had missed her period too. Her baby could be his, but it could also be her husband Fred's.
He was in the middle of something that hadn't taken full shape yet, with three of his other sisters. Bev, who was about to turn eighteen, had been getting orgasms from him for over a year. He hadn't fucked her yet, but they'd come close a time or two. Now Flo, who was nineteen, and Linda, who had just turned sixteen, had dipped a toe into the sexual sea around Bobby, and might decide to get much wetter than that. To top it off, Constance, who was Prudence's daughter, and a senior in high school, like Bev, had been brushing up against him lately, when he was over at Prudence's helping her. Prudence was so huge, now, that she was exhausted much of the time. Bobby and Constance picked up the slack, so she could rest. Constance had had a crush on him for over a year, and had actually seen him making love to her mother a little over six months ago. At seventeen, she was allowed to date, but hadn't gone out except for a couple of double dates with Bev, who was now her best friend. Bobby suspected she was horny, and looking for some way to explore that, but she was Prudence's daughter, so he resisted the urge to explore it with her.
So, Bobby put the young woman, whose name he didn't even know, out of his mind, and picked up the paint he'd come there to get, so he could go meet Jill, who would happily relieve him of the pressure that cute girl had produced in his groin.
Jill's eyes were smoky when she met him at the door. Her blouse was already unbuttoned, and she wasn't wearing anything under it.
"I just got back from the doctor," she said, licking her lips.
"I didn't know you were sick," he said.
"I'm not," she said. "My little friend didn't come to visit me last month. I didn't say anything then, because I wanted to be sure. You, my handsome young man, are going to be a father."
Of all the women Bobby had gotten pregnant, Jill was the one who pulled at his heart strings the hardest. She was bright, beautiful, and only a few years older than he was. The thought of coming home to her every night was attractive. But Jill didn't want to be married. Her first marriage had gone very ugly, and she still hadn't recovered from those ugly feelings. She loved Bobby ... in a way. He made her feel fulfilled, and truly a woman, in ways no other man ever had. She was delighted that she was pregnant with his baby, but she preferred to have her time alone ... after she'd had time with Bobby.
"I want to celebrate," she said, her voice husky.
They celebrated on the couch, which was the closest piece of furniture they could comfortably lie down on. She draped one leg over the back, and let the other drop to the floor, as Bobby loomed over her and she got that delicious filled feeling again as he slid into her. He squirted her full of what had made her pregnant, they took a break, and then he squirted her full again in her bed. During what was supposed to be another break, she bent over the kitchen table, and he squirted her full from behind.
Then she kissed him, lovingly, and pushed him out the front door.
Mirriam got out of her old pickup truck, and walked up the sidewalk to a cute, but fairly old house on Maple Street. She carried a basket of laundry with her, which was her excuse for going into the house. The basket did, in fact, contain freshly laundered shirts, belonging to Ted Brandywine, who was the brand new third grade teacher at the school just down the street. Due to the heat, when classes started in August, school had been scheduled to run only in the mornings, until mid September. It had cooled off since that plan was put into action, but the bureaucracy of the school board couldn't keep up with the weather.
She was happy about that, because that meant she had the whole afternoon to deliver the shirts.
Ted grinned, as he opened the door and took the basket.
"You know you aren't fooling anybody," he said.
"Probably not," she sighed, "but it makes me feel better."
"You make me feel better too," he said, putting the basket down, closing the door, and pulling her into his arms.
Within five minutes he was hunched over her, his peculiarly shaped, bent penis plugged firmly into her sex, and she was having the first of what she knew would be four or five orgasms, as the tip of his prick scraped that special spot in her pussy that seemed to just squirt out orgasms.
Fifteen minutes later, he groaned, pushed his hips forward, and squirted so much semen in her that it surged out around the base of his penis and soaked their pubic hair.
They lay there, giving each other little kisses, as they rested, afterwards.
"You know this isn't fair to Pru," she said softly.
"She can't take it anymore," he said. "I still think the doctor is wrong about her due date. She's just too big."
"I feel so sorry for her," said Mirriam. "I know what it's like to waddle around like that." She didn't give a single thought to the fact that Ted Brandywine had filled her pussy to overflowing at least six times in the last two months. She was not on the pill. Nor had she ever owned a diaphragm. She had never used any kind of birth control, nor did she think of it. That was one reason she'd had eight children.
"I'll take good care of her when she's recuperated," said Ted. "You can watch the baby while I do that."
"You're so sweet," she said, kissing him. She actually meant that.
She'd gotten over the strange feeling of sharing a man with Prudence. Since that day in mid July, when they'd gone on a picnic with him, and he had fucked them both, there had been twice that they all got together and he managed a repeat performance. His stamina was incredible, as far as Mirriam was concerned. She knew that, before she left later, he'd squirt her full of warm juice again, quite possibly twice more. She'd taken to wearing two pairs of panties when she knew she was going to see him ... to do this. One pair couldn't keep up with his production.
She knew that she and Prudence were both smitten with him. She had loved Joe, the father of all seven of her daughters ... loved him desperately. She didn't feel that kind of thing for Ted, though. She felt warm, and loved around him, and wanted to please him ... but it wasn't like Joe. Prudence loved him, in her way, but she loved Bobby too. Ted didn't know about Bobby, and he didn't know that Bobby would probably be taking care of Prudence too, after she'd had the baby.
That didn't matter, though. Ted had plenty to go around. He proved it by getting stiff again.
She rode him, this time, which allowed her to fine-tune the jerks of her hips, as the tip of his penis scraped what she didn't know was her G spot. Her belly ripped through a series of three orgasms in a row before she was out of breath, and had to stop. Then she used her muscles on him, squeezing, and kissed him lovingly, until he gasped, and bathed her pussy in warm semen again.
She had missed this. She hadn't known how much she'd missed it, until she was tempted to lie with her own son. Ted had helped with that ... helped immensely. Now, when Mirriam saw Bobby walking around in his underwear, she was still interested, but could control the urge to pull him into her bedroom and see what he felt like, deep inside her.
Thinking about Bobby got her going again, and she crawled off of Ted to suck him back to life. It took some time, but he got there, and she lay under him again, matching his thrusts with thrusts of her own, as he inundated her womb with a third helping of spunk.
It was getting dark, when she took the empty basket out to the truck, and drove back to the farm.
Bev came to him that night. She had just gone out on her first date with a boy named Bill Gregory, whose father owned a farm implement company on the edge of town.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"I like him," she sighed. "He's funny and cute too."
"Where'd you meet him?" asked Bobby.
"At the 4th of July fireworks," she said.
"And it took him all this time to ask you out?"
"He's kind of shy," she said.
"Is he a good kisser?" asked Bobby.
"I didn't kiss him!" she said, folding her arms under breasts that Bobby was intimately familiar with. "It was our first date!"
"Did you want to?" he asked, slyly.
She unbuttoned her shirt.
"Yes, but I knew you'd be here for me." She stuck her tongue out at him.
Bobby saw the door move. It only opened a fraction ... just a crack.
Bev had her bra off now, and was rubbing her breasts. They'd grown in the last year, but she was still wearing the same bras. She was pushing down her jeans when he sat up suddenly and went to the door. He jerked it open to find Linda on her knees, and Flo bent over her. Both were dressed in their summer nightgowns, and both gave a surprised yip.
"Shhh," he cautioned. "You may as well come on in."
"We heard a noise," mumbled Flo, who was blushing.
"No you didn't," he said calmly. "You're curious and wanted to watch." He motioned them into the room. "So come on in and watch."
"Mamma ..." said Flo, looking around nervously.
"Mamma's dead to the world," whispered Linda, pulling Flo into the room. "Every time she goes and delivers laundry, she comes home dog tired and goes to bed. I think she's working too hard."
Bobby knew what was going on when his mother "delivered laundry". Prudence had told him. She'd told him all about Ted, and what she and Mirriam were doing with Ted. Bobby was delighted. As far as he was concerned, it was high time his mother got some pleasure. He'd been willing to pleasure her himself, but she resisted that, so it was good she was getting some loving somewhere else. She deserved to be happy and satisfied. If Ted helped with Prudence, that would also lighten the load on Bobby, who, at times, had five or more women to keep happy.
He didn't say anything to the girls, though. That was Mamma's business.
"Just stand over there," he said, pointing to the far side of the bed. "And don't make noise."
The two girls scurried to where he had pointed. Bev was naked, now, and completely unembarrassed by being that way in front of her sisters and brother. She'd gotten used to watching him with Mary - even when he had fucked Mary - and to Mary watching as Bobby satisfied her own desires.
All three watched, as Bobby got naked too. There were twin gasps as he unveiled his prick, which stood straight out from his body, thick and long. The sources of those two gasps, the only people in the room who were still clothed, had never seen him like this. When, a month before, they had caught him licking Bev's pussy, he had been dressed. Since then, Bev had locked his door, when she came in for what they called "goodnight kisses". On this night, though, she had forgotten to lock the door in her excitement to talk to Bobby about her date, and get some relief from the horniness she felt.
There were more gasps and moans, that night, most of them from the observers. Bev, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, leaned over and sucked Bobby's prick until he warned her. Then she climbed on, laid his thick prick on his stomach and slid her pussy lips along it until she came, and he spurted. While that was happening, they were kissing torridly, and he was sucking her breasts.
Flo and Linda were both flushed when Bev kissed Bobby for the last time, got off, and then sucked him clean, licking up his semen, where it lay on his stomach.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," was all they heard in soft whispers, coming from Flo's mouth, as Bev slurped up his spend and smacked her lips.
Bev got dressed again, and went to the door. She waited for her sisters.
Linda was fairly dancing with passion as she skipped to her sister, who looked completely normal, which blew Linda away. How could anyone look normal after doing something like that? Linda had kissed Bobby, and other boys, and that had been exciting. But this ... just watching it blew her mind. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to feel it. She knew she'd have to rub between her legs to get to sleep that night. She knew that with every fiber of her being.
Flo moved more slowly, still looking at Bobby, as he stood up.
"Kiss me good night," he said, looking at Flo.
"No, please," she whispered.
He turned to Linda. "Kiss me good night?"
Linda did that happily, enjoying in the feel of his lips on hers, and of her body being crushed to his. She could feel the heat of his body, and something was pressing the front of her nightgown between her legs. She backed up, and looked down, breathing hard. He wasn't hard. She'd felt him pushing against her ... and it wasn't even hard!
He turned back to Flo, who was pale, and looked terrified.
"You two go on," he said, to the younger girls. "I think Flo and I need to talk."
The door closed softly.
"T-t-talk?" moaned Flo.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Flo," he said softly. He didn't move toward her. He went to his bed, and picked up the underwear he'd been wearing when Bev got there. He stepped into it and pulled it up to cover his prick.
"T-t-that's way more than she needs to know for dating," gasped Flo.
"Some of that is for practice ... for later. Some of it is to satisfy her now."
"You almost fucked her," whispered Flo.
"I didn't even come close to fucking her," he said softly. "She doesn't want that, and I wouldn't do it anyway. Not until ...” He didn't finish.
"Until what?" She had to ask it.
"When she's ready to go on her honeymoon ... IF she wants it ... I'll make her honeymoon go easier for her."
"Why?" she wailed softly.
"Because I want her to have fun on her honeymoon," he said. "I don't want her to be in pain, or afraid, or nervous. I want her to be able to give herself to her man without any negative emotions in the way. I want her to know what to expect, and to be eager for it to happen." He stared at Flo, and then added, again: "If ... she wants that."
"Did Mary want that?" she whispered.
Flo thought about the wedding. She had been disgusted with all of the furor over it ... all of Mary's panic that things weren't ready ... wouldn't go well. Yet, in all of that, she had not said a single word about being nervous about having sex with her husband after the wedding. And, after the wedding, Mary had been impatient, but only to be gone ... on her honeymoon. She had displayed no panic or worry about that. Flo had lived in the same room with Mary since they were both babies. She knew Mary like she knew the back of her hand.
Or thought she did.
Now, she knew that Mary had come here ... done what Bev had done ... and much more ... and Flo had never had a clue. She found that astonishing, because Mary always talked to her about anything she was worried about, or afraid of, or nervous over. Like a clap of thunder, she realized that, whatever had happened between Bobby and Mary ... it had not, in any way, shape or form, threatened her big sister.
She thought back to what she'd just seen. She'd seen Bev, obviously horny ... happily get satisfied. When she'd left the room, her face was calm and peaceful. Bobby wasn't hurting her either. It was obvious.
Why, then, did she feel so terrified? She felt like she might throw up any second.
She saw movement, and looked, to see Bobby stepping toward her. The panic coursed through her body.
"Noooooo," she whined. Her arms came up and crossed over her torso, in an unconscious defensive posture.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she flinched.
"I will never, ever hurt you," he said softly.
She couldn't resist in any way as he pulled her toward him. Her crossed arms pressed to his naked chest, and his arms went around her. He put his chin on top of her head, and just stroked her back.
"Nobody will ever hurt you if I can help it," he whispered.
All he did was hug her. It took a full minute for her to understand that all he intended to do was hug her. The relief she felt was like a warm breeze flowing over her, and she began to relax.
"I'm so scared," she moaned, into his chest. She smelled his skin.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he said.
Slowly, her arms unclenched, and her hands went to his sides. The feel of his skin under her hands was hot. Almost without any thought, her hands slowly slid to his back, and she hugged him back. His hands, smoothing over her back, felt strong. She realized that her breasts, unfettered, under her nightgown, were touching his chest, about the same place that all that thick white stuff had spurted on him. Bev had actually licked and sucked it up, like it was syrup, or something!
She felt the tingle in her nipples, but didn't understand it. She suddenly felt warm and safe in his arms. He wasn't forcing her ... making her do anything. He had demanded a kiss, but he hadn't forced her.
His hand came up to stroke her hair. With sudden, crystal clear clarity, she recognized the things her body was trying to tell her.
She was horny!
She was scared to death of him ... but horny at the same time! It didn't make any sense!
"You okay now?" he asked, quietly.
"No," she moaned. "I feel all twisted up inside."
"You're still scared?"
"No ... yes ... I don't know," she moaned.
"Do you believe I won't hurt you?"
"Yes," she sighed.
"Does your stomach hurt?"
"Do your breasts feel hot and tingly?"
"How did you know that?" she asked his chest.
He pushed her away, gently.
"I won't touch you," he said. "But I need to look at one thing."
She stood there, staring at him, as his fingers came to the neck of her nightgown and pulled it out, away from her body. His head came forward, and he looked down ... inside ... at her body! She felt weak, but the panic didn't come back.
"Your nipples are stiff," he said. "You're just horny. That's all."
"That's all?!" she moaned. "I don't want to be horny!"
"Your body knows what it wants. You can't do much about that," he said.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whined.
"You know what to do," he said. "Go to bed and rub. You'll feel better."
That he knew she did that should have been shocking, but, compared to what she'd just seen, it was only a mild surprise.
"You have a room to yourself, now. Get naked and get satisfied," he said.
"You're just awful!" she moaned.
"I only want you to be happy," he said.
"You want to do that to me," she said, pointing at the bed.
"If you wanted it, I'd be delighted to help," he admitted. "But you don't, and that's fine."
"Why do you want me to kiss you?" she asked. "Why did you kiss Linda like that?"
"Because I love you. Go ask Linda if it felt like I loved her when I did that."
Flo didn't have to. She'd kissed, or been kissed by Bobby twice, now, and both times she'd felt the passion and love in his lips. It had made her squirm, and now she knew why. When he kissed her ... she got horny. For her own brother! The next thing that popped into her mind was that Mary and Bev had gotten horny for him too ... and had done something about it. They made it look so simple ... almost normal.
"You don't have to kiss me," he said. "I was wrong to tell you to. I'll apologize to Linda tomorrow."
Flo was one of those stubborn kinds of women who, if told to do something, just naturally resisted. When given a choice, though, she might choose to do the very thing she would have resisted to do if told to. She did that in this instance. He had stroked the fear out of her. Her body was responding to this man who, at times terrified her, and at times, made her feel more loved than anybody other than her mother.
"I'll kiss you," she said, softly.
Bobby knew how stubborn she was, and didn't argue. He let her come to him, and let her put her hands on his waist. He let her reach up with her lips. His kiss was just as gentle and soft as it had been the last time. He knew, instinctively that a hard, passion filled kiss would scare her. So he sucked and licked just her lips. She held him tighter, the longer he kissed her, and he actually felt her nipples push through her nightgown, into his chest.
She broke that kiss, opened her eyes, and immediately kissed him again. He let her push her lips hard against his, but kept his hands on her back, stroking softly.
She was panting when that one was over.
"I have to go," she said, her voice husky.
"That would be a good idea," he said, looking down. The front of his shorts was sticking out.
"I did that?" she asked, her voice high.
"I love you," he said simply.
"I have to go!" she rasped, and darted for the door.
"Night night," he called softly. She turned her face, just long enough to look into his eyes, and grinned.
Then she was gone.
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