index


Message-ID: <28944asstr$982548602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Ms. Which" <mswhich@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed
Subject: {ASSM} (Ms. Which) Bobby and Becky (mf, adult inc)
Date: Sun, 18 Feb 2001 21:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Bobby and Becky
by Ms. Which

If you are not legally permitted to read smut, then please don't. Now, was 
that so hard?

Other Ms. Which stories may be found at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/mswhich/www. For 
email notification when a new story has been posted, join the mailing list 
at http://www.topica.com/lists/mswhich/.  Please send any comments to 
mswhich@hotmail.com

Bobby and Becky
--

"Hey Robert, don't have too much fun this weekend!" The ringing laugh of his 
co-worker echoed as the door closed slowly shut.  Robert stared at his 
computer monitor.  This was what he did, all day long.  This was what he 
did, all night long and all weekend long, more often than not.  He was the 
very model of a socially maladjusted computer programmer.  He was 
soft-spoken and quiet.  He got to work early, left late, and spend much of 
his free time sitting in front of a computer monitor.  As he was doing now.  
His co-workers often made light of it, or at least made fun of it.  Jim, the 
man who'd just left, had first noticed that Robert didn't seem to have any 
friends.

"Hey Robert, don't you have a girlfriend or something?  What do you do all 
weekend?"

He always shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to respond to the jibes; he 
knew that if he were to respond, he would say something that would 
permanently alter the light-hearted nature of the jesting, that would make 
work rather more unpleasant than not.  And so he shrugged, and smiled, and 
let it slide away without touching him.  Now he sat in front of his computer 
monitor, the last one in the office on a Friday night, as was usual.  His 
co-workers, for all their banter, knew next to nothing about him.  They 
didn't know where he lived.  They didn't know what music he liked to listen 
to, nor what movies he preferred to watch.  They were oblivious about so 
many aspects of his life.  They were most certainly oblivious about what he 
was really doing this weekend.

Robert would not be doing any freelance programming this weekend.  He had 
bigger fish to fry.

He shut his system down, emptied his coffee mug in the kitchen sink, and 
conscientiously hung it upside down in the top rack of the dishwasher.  He 
turned the kitchen lights out, checked the back entrance to make sure it was 
locked, and inspected all of the offices to make sure the lights were out.  
When the entire office was silent and dark, he let himself out through the 
side door, locking it behind him.  His car, a ten-year-old Toyota, was 
waiting in its usual spot.  Robert parked in the same spot every day.  He'd 
parked in the same spot this morning, even though his parking spot had been 
the last thing on his mind.  It was simply a habit, and Robert was a man of 
habit.

The Toyota backed slowly out of the company parking lot, and Robert adjusted 
his rear-view mirror.  The drive home took 25 minutes, which was neither an 
exceptionally long nor short drive.  He pulled into his driveway.  But 
instead of getting out of the car and checking the mail before going into 
the house, as he did every single day, he sat inside the car, hands still 
gripping the steering wheel, staring blindly at the house.  Eventually, he 
broke his gaze away from the house and pulled the keys from the ignition.  
His hand trembled slightly, and so he dropped the keys on the floor.  This 
startled him, and when he realized what he'd done, his face hardened, 
becoming more resolved and less anxious.  He scooped the keys from the 
floor, got out of the car, and skipped the mail, walking straight towards 
the door.

Inside, he turned the front hallway light on and hung his keys on the nail 
he'd installed there for the purpose.  He stood still for a moment, gaze 
focused inward, then took a deep breath and entered the living room.

Her head snapped upward as he did.  She was wearing a red anorak and blue 
jeans, and she was bound hand and foot to a kitchen chair that was strapped 
to a wooden support beam.  Her face was shiny with tears and mucus.   She 
made a high-pitched whining sound, but it was unintelligible.  Robert had 
stuffed a Nerf ball into her mouth and taped over it with duct tape before 
leaving that morning.

"Jesus, Rebecca," he said, in a low voice.  He'd noticed her wrists, raw and 
bleeding from her efforts to wriggle out of the ropes.  "Hold on, I'll be 
right back."  He left to go find some antibiotic and bandages.  When he came 
back, she'd started crying again.

"Rebecca, I'm going to undo your hands so I can bandage them up, but I swear 
to God if you try to hit me, I'm tying you to the chair again."  She 
squealed again from behind the gag.  He ignored her and did as he said he 
would, untying her right hand first.  She didn't try to hit him, but he 
wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want to or because she couldn't.  
Her wrist had to have gone almost completely numb.  It was bleeding from 
several lacerations.  He felt a pang of guilt as he began gently washing 
away the blood with a soapy washcloth.  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as 
feeling began to return to her hand.

When the right hand was disinfected and wound in a gauze bandage, he turned 
his attention to the left, carefully and methodically cleansing the wounds 
before disinfecting and bandaging them.  When he was finished, he tied them 
together again, but loosely, in front of her, instead of to the arms of the 
chair.    She made no effort to move them, much less attack him.  That was 
certainly a change for the better, he thought to himself.

That morning, he'd been sitting at the kitchen table, eating his toast and 
drinking his orange juice.  This was his morning routine.  He rarely varied 
from it.  But that morning, Rebecca had thrown a snag into his quiet routine 
by showing up on his doorstep.  "Hi, Robert!" she'd announced cheerfully.  
"I'm leaving in four hours for Paris!"

Robert's stomach tightened and his jaw clenched.  Paul was from Paris.  
Paul.  Goddamned Paul.  She couldn't be leaving the country for him.  No.  
No way.

"Robert?  Can I come in?"

He realized he'd been staring into space.  "Yeah, come on in."

"I just wanted to stop by to say goodbye.  Paul--" Robert closed his eyes 
when she said the name. "--is going to find a job there and we're going to 
live in an apartment together."

"Rebecca..  you can't do this."  He meant to say it calmly, but his voice 
was tight, choked-off.  Her face darkened and her forehead pinched together.

"I KNEW you were going to give me some kind of bullshit about this!  I knew 
it!  I just came here to say goodbye, Robert.  I just came here as a 
courtesy to YOU, my big BROTHER, so at least you knew where I WAS.  God!  I 
KNEW you were going to do this!"

"Rebecca, you can't."

"Why the hell not?  Why shouldn't I follow my dream?  Why shouldn't I be 
with the one man who's ever loved me?  Why the hell not?  Because YOU say 
so?"

Robert looked pained, and then angry.  "Because.  Because... Christ, I don't 
know.  Because he's an asshole who isn't going to treat you right, he's 
never going to get a job, and I don't want my little sister living in 
poverty with some jerk who can't support her properly."

He stared at her defiantly.  She was quiet for a moment.  It was the most 
emotion she'd heard in his voice for years.  Finally, in a soft voice, she 
said, "Robert, I love him."

He shook his head.  "No, you don't.  You just think you do, Rebecca.  Trust 
me, I know."

She grew angry again.  "You don't know!  You don't know anything!  Fuck 
this, I'm leaving.  Goodbye, Robert, have a nice life without me."

Robert didn't plan what happened next.  He didn't know he was going to do it 
until it was already done.  In one smooth, fluid motion, he rose from his 
seat, crossed the few steps to where his sister stood, knocked her to the 
floor, and pinned her there.  She was so stunned that for a few seconds she 
didn't move or resist, but then she kicked out against him, struggling 
violently to get away.

Robert was stronger than she was, and had the force of determination on his 
side.  He hadn' t planned to wrestle her into submission, but now that he 
was fully engaged in doing so, he by God was not going to let her go.  Paul 
could just sit and wait, wondering what happened to her.  It wouldn't take 
him long to find some new gullible American girl.

Rebecca kicked and thrashed underneath him, calling him names and swearing.  
Robert was screaming at full decibel, although he wouldn't realize it until 
afterward.  "Goddammit, Rebecca, I won't let you go!  I won't let you go!  
You are not going with that son of a bitch!  You are staying here with me!  
You are not leaving!  I will not let you leave!  Goddammit, stop fighting 
me!  Stop it!"

Eventually he wrestled her into a sort of submission, and was able to drag 
her into the bathroom.  He locked her there while he rounded up the 
materials he wanted.  He'd never tied someone up before.  No kinky sex games 
in the bedroom, no childhood knot-tying lessons, nothing.  He remembered 
reading once about ball gags, so he found a Nerf ball and duct tape along 
with the rope.

When he opened the bathroom door, Rebecca threw the soap dispenser at his 
head.  He ducked and it shattered against the wall behind him.  A can of 
bathtub cleanser followed, and then the toothbrush holder, which grazed his 
shoulder.  He winced, and again wrestled Rebecca into a stranglehold.  She 
squirmed, trying to slip away from his grasp, but couldn't.  He dragged her 
into the living room, tied her to the chair, taped the gag into her mouth, 
and bound the chair to the post.  She wriggled and screamed from behind the 
gag, but couldn't get anywhere.  Robert wiped the sweat from his brow with a 
shirtsleeve and stared at the struggling woman.

He'd just overpowered his own sister and tied her to a chair in his living 
room.  And now what?  Did he stay there and watch her all day?  He looked at 
the clock on the wall.

"Fuck!  I'm usually at work by half an hour ago!"

Rebecca rolled her eyes and made more angry sounds from behind the gag.  
Robert stood and debated for a long moment.

"Rebecca, I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to leave you here today.  
I have to go to work."

Her eyes widened.  He thought that until that moment, perhaps, she hadn't 
fully realized what had happened.  She was tied to a chair in his living 
room.  She was going to miss her flight.  Her boyfriend would be left 
wondering what had happened to her, and would not be able to contact her.  
Robert suspected Paul wouldn't try very hard, but Rebecca didn't know that.  
She looked frightened and confused.

"I'm sorry, Rebecca.  But I'm not going to let you ruin your life.  I'll be 
back tonight.  Be a good girl, okay?"

He surprised himself with his final comment.  He hadn't told her to be a 
good girl since they were kids.  When he'd been in charge of babysitting 
her, he'd often gone off with friends, leaving her alone in the house, with 
the admonition to "be a good girl."  And she always was.  She always had 
been, until Paul.  Robert took her head in both hands and leaned down to 
kiss her forehead.

"It's going to be okay, Rebecca.  I'll be back tonight."

Then he'd gone off to work and pretended as though everything were normal, 
all day long.

"Don't have too much fun this weekend, Robert!"

He thought about his co-workers as he cleaned the blood from his sister's 
lacerated wrists.  He thought about what they might think if they could see 
this, see what he was doing at this very moment.  He dismissed it from his 
mind.  Rebecca demanded his full attention now.

"Rebecca, I'm going to take the gag out.  Please don't scream, okay?  I'll 
just have to put the gag back in, and I don't want to do that."

He untaped her mouth, wincing as the tape pulled at the tender skin of her 
face, then yanked the Nerf ball out.  Rebecca stared at him for a moment, 
then burst into deep, wracking sobs.  She lifted her bound hands and pressed 
them against her face, shuddering and shaking as tears trickled down her 
cheeks.

"Bobby, I thought you weren't coming ba-ha-aaack, oh God Bobby, I thought 
you left me here to die, Bobby, I thought you left me here to die, I didn't 
think you were coming back..."  She burst into renewed sobbing.

He gathered her into his arms, kneeling down by her side, feeling shocked 
and unsettled.  Bobby.  She'd called him Bobby.  Nobody called him Bobby 
anymore, not even her.  Not since she was ten years old.   Bobby.

"Rebecca, you know I wouldn't do that.  I love you.  I didn't want to hurt 
you this morning.  I would never leave you here to die, never.  Do you 
understand that?  Never."

She nodded, a little shakily.  "OK.  OK, Bobby.  Are you going to let me go 
now that I ..I missed my plane?"  Her eyes were wide and searching.

Robert thought for a moment.  He hadn't considered what to do next.  He 
could let her go, but then she would most likely contact Paul and get on 
another plane to Paris, this time without giving Robert the chance to 
imprison her in a chair for 15 hours.  But if he kept her... what then?

"Bobby?  Are you letting me go?"

He shook his head.  "I can't let you go, Rebecca, I wish I could, but I 
can't trust you not to run off to Paris."  He expected more tears, but 
instead she just said, "OK, Bobby, OK," and then fell silent.  Her eyes 
shone dully, unfocused and staring.

Robert whispered again, "Jesus, Rebecca."

Hoping dearly that she wouldn't struggle and fight against him again, Robert 
cautiously undid the ropes binding her feet.  Rebecca didn't fight; she 
didn't even move, still dully staring off into the distance.  Robert scooped 
her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom.  He hadn't 
given any thought to where he would keep her, where she would sleep, or 
anything in any way logistical.  He expected that once she'd had some sleep, 
she'd emerge from this semi-catatonic state and try to get loose again.  He 
had no secure rooms in the house to keep her in.  If he did, he'd have put 
her there all day instead of tying her to a wooden chair.

He deposited her on his bed, where she promptly curled up into the fetal 
position.  He sat in a chair across the room, watching her and thinking 
about what he was going to do.  He couldn't let her sleep in a room by 
herself without chaining her to the bed, and she'd already been tied up 
alone too much today.  He wasn't even sure he could let her sleep in the 
same room with him, without tying her to the bed.  He wasn't a terribly deep 
sleeper, but if she were quiet enough, she could probably make it out of the 
room without his noticing.

Robert sighed.

Her voice pulled him from his reverie.  Her voice, small and soft and quiet, 
a little girl's voice, so different from the brash, over-confident adult 
woman who'd come to his door that morning.  "Bobby?"

"Rebecca?"

"Bobby, come lie with me.  I'm cold."

Jesus.  She'd used to ask him to come lie with her when she was a little 
girl.  A very little girl, six or seven years old.  She'd get scared of 
monsters under her bed, and she'd beg for Bobby -- Robert, he reminded 
himself -- to come lie with her, to keep her warm and safe.  He usually did, 
and once he was at her side, she'd drop right off to sleep.

"Bobby, please come lie with me.  Please?"

He thought for a moment.  If he slept at her side, she wouldn't be able to 
get out of bed without waking him up.  He wouldn't have to tie her to the 
bed.  Her wrists and ankles were so raw already...

"OK, kiddo, I'm coming."

He stripped down to his T-shirt and boxer shorts.  God, he hadn't done this 
for so long.  When they'd been kids, he'd had flannel pajamas, and she'd 
worn a long nightdress.  He looked at her curled-up body.  Christ, she was 
still wearing her jacket, jeans, and sneakers.  He sighed, and began tugging 
at her shoelaces, helping her undress.

Rebecca let him undress her, neither helping nor hindering his progress.  He 
wrestled off her shoes and socks, then her jacket, and was going to let her 
sleep in her T-shirt and jeans.  Then he undid the top button to check how 
tight they were, and saw the red marks circling her belly.  Rebecca loved 
wearing tight jeans, and apparently today had been no exception.  After a 
bit of effort, he managed to pull those off, as well.

When he was done, she lay there on his bed, wearing a T-shirt and sheer 
little panties and nothing else.  He hadn't seen her with her clothes off 
since... well, since the last time they'd slept together.  He gazed down at 
her long, muscular legs, the curve of her hip.  He didn't remember her this 
way.  He hadn't expected it.  Suddenly he wondered about the propriety of 
sleeping with his half-nude sister.  Well, he thought to himself, it was 
better than tying her bloodied wrists to the bedposts.  And he'd gone too 
far to let her fly away to Paris now.

Robert switched off the light and slid into bed next to Rebecca.  Her arms 
immediately snaked around his midsection, and she nestled her head into the 
crook of his arm.  Within minutes, her breathing had become slow and steady, 
a sure indicator of sleep.

Her hair smelled like the summer breeze.  Robert lay there, staring at the 
ceiling, cradling his sister's sleeping body in his arms, for hours before 
he was finally able to sleep.

--

The next morning, after quietly disentangling himself from Rebecca's 
splayed-out limbs, he tied her wrists loosely to the bedpost.  He felt 
guilty, but couldn't think of another way to restrain her while he ran some 
necessary errands.  She stirred in her sleep and moaned a little, but 
miraculously didn't wake up.

When he returned, she'd awoken and was lying stretched out in bed, glaring 
at him.  "You can't keep me tied up forever, Bobby." She sounded better this 
morning, more herself, but still...Bobby.

He set his pile of bags down on the floor, avoiding her gaze, and began to 
hunt through them.  Eventually he found what he was looking for and held it 
up for Rebecca to see.  It was a door lock.  "I don't plan to, Rebecca."

He expected her to swear at him again, or burst into tears, but she only 
watched him with interest.  As he organized his tools and equipment for 
installing the lock, she asked him, "Why are you doing this, Bobby?  What's 
the difference to you whether I stay or go?  Why are you keeping me here?"

He glanced up at her.  The question gave him pause, as he wasn't sure 
himself what the answer was.  He'd effectively imprisoned his own sister in 
his house to stop her from being with her boyfriend; it was 
uncharacteristic, it was unplanned, and he still wasn't entirely sure why 
he'd done it.  Slowly, carefully, after deliberating for a long moment, he 
said, "Rebecca, I love you.  Paul is an asshole.  I cannot stand to see you 
with him.  I don't know what the hell you saw in him in the first place, 
frankly.  And I will not let you ruin your life by leaving the country for 
that son of a bitch."  Then he blinked, having not been entirely sure what 
he was going to say until he said it.

They were silent for a while as the hammering of nails precluded any 
conversation.  When Robert paused, Rebecca spoke again.  "Bobby, he wasn't 
that bad... he wasn't, really.  He had a line on a job, he treated me 
okay--"

Robert interrupted her, angrily.  "He treated you okay.  Treated you okay.  
Rebecca, you deserve better than okay, you deserve the best.  Maybe he had a 
line on a job, maybe he didn't, I don't know.  But he wouldn't have treated 
you the way you deserve to be treated.  I know, all right?  I met the guy.  
I saw how he acted towards you.  And I didn't like it."

Rebecca said, "You didn't like him because he was my boyfriend, Bobby, you 
never liked any of my boyfriends, and you liked Paul the least because he 
was the one I got the closest to.  You just couldn't stand to see me with 
another man.  That's what I think."

"That's a lie, Rebecca.  If you'd ever gone out with someone decent, I 
wouldn't have had a problem.  Your taste in men was the problem, not me.  
Not me."

She laughed, but there was no mirth in her voice.  "Bobby, I dated so many 
different guys, and you hated them all!  Come on!"

"Goddammit, Rebecca, they were all worthless, and you can do better.  You 
can do better!  What the hell did you see in Paul?  Huh?  Tell me, tell me 
ONE THING that you saw in him, ONE THING that made him worth your time, ONE 
SIMPLE FUCKING THING that made him deserving of your love."  Robert stood 
from the floor, his voice getting louder and louder.  "I don't think you can 
tell me, Rebecca!  I don't think you know!  I think you just went through a 
string of guys looking to find some kind of security, I don't think you can 
tell me one SINGLE, FUCKING, THING about Paul that distinguished him from 
the others, I don't think you can tell me one GODDAMNED thing about him that 
would change my opinion of him.  I don't think you had one single reason for 
loving him, Rebecca, for flying off to fucking FRANCE for him, I really 
don't think you did!"

By the end, Robert was shouting, and when he stopped, both he and his sister 
looked frightened.  Rebecca looked as though she were now fighting to hold 
off tears, and Robert was unable to look her in the eyes.  He'd never 
screamed at her that way before yesterday.  Never.

"Bobby...Bobby, I did.. I did."  Her voice was tremulous.  "I did have one 
reason, Bobby."

He looked at her now, afraid of what she might say.  "What, Rebecca?  What 
was your reason?"

She turned her head away from him, took a deep breath, then met his eyes 
again.  "Bobby, he looked like you.  Paul looked like you."

Robert stood perfectly still, unable to speak, feeling as though his veins 
had turned to liquid fire.  Eventually, he could not stand to look at his 
sister anymore, for fear of what he might do, and so he turned from her and 
went back to installing the lock on the door.  For the next few hours, the 
only sound in the room was that of the hammer and screwdriver.

--

When the exterior lock was installed, Robert finally untied Rebecca's hands 
from the bed.  She looked as though she wanted to say something to him, but 
before she could, he rose and left the room, locking the door behind him.  
He wanted to go someplace quiet where he could be alone, where he could 
think.  He badly needed to think.  He needed to figure out what the hell he 
was going to do.

He poured himself a gin and tonic and sat in the kitchen, staring out the 
window.  Why had he hated all of Becky -- Rebecca, goddammit, her name was 
Rebecca now -- why had he hated all of her boyfriends so much?  Because they 
were no good for her?  That's what he'd always told himself.  That's what 
he'd convinced himself of for years.   He thought of all the times he'd seen 
a boy touch Rebecca, and how he'd flinched, disgusted.  He remembered the 
time he'd seen her kissing some high school kid on the front porch late one 
night, and how his stomach had tightened, how he'd felt adrenaline surge 
through his blood, wanted to punch the kid in the face.

Was he jealous of his sister?  His own sister, for Christ's sake?

He thought of how her hair had smelled last night, and how it was the way he 
had always imagined it would smell, and how he hadn't realized until that 
moment how often he'd imagined the smell of his sister's hair.  He thought 
of her strong, athletic body and how she'd fought back against him 
yesterday.  He thought of how she'd curled around him in bed the night 
before.  He shuddered and took another sip of his drink.

Your sister, Robert.  She's your sister.

And so beautiful, he thought to himself.  She'd always been beautiful.  And 
she'd always idolized her big brother, looked up to him, taken his advice.  
She'd never been in a really long-term relationship, until Paul.  Robert had 
never noticed the resemblance, never noticed that the one man his baby 
sister had fallen in love with happened to look almost identical to her big 
brother.  He'd been blind to it, blinded by jealousy, blinded by fear.  He'd 
masked his true feelings, afraid to realize them, afraid of what might 
happen.

He smiled grimly.  Rebecca was locked into his bedroom and had spent most of 
the last 36 hours tied up with ropes.  Even if he'd allowed himself to think 
about his deepest, most hidden desires, he would never have imagined this.  
Not in a thousand years.

He drank from his gin and tonic again.  He had to make a decision.  His room 
was secure now.  He could let her sleep in the bed there while he slept in 
one of the guest rooms.  Or he could return to her and sleep with her as he 
had the night before.

As the shadows lengthened in the kitchen, Robert sat and thought, silent and 
unmoving, for a very long time.

--

Robert opened the door to the bedroom slowly.  Rebecca was sitting on the 
bed, in the dark.   The door closed behind him, clicking shut.  He sat down 
on the bed next to his sister, so close their shoulders touched.

"Bobby," she whispered, "I thought you might not come back."

In a low, thick voice, he answered, "What did I tell you about that?  I will 
never leave you, Becky.  Never."

He drew her close, into his arms, holding her against him.  Quietly, he 
spoke.  "Becky, what do you want?"

A long pause, and then, in her little girl's voice, she said, "You, Bobby.  
I only want you."

He took her hand and placed it in his lap, over the erection growing there.  
"Is this what you want, Becky?"

She shivered a little, and then nodded.  "Yes.  That's all I've ever 
wanted."  He watched her face for a long time, waiting, giving her a chance 
to change her mind.  She slowly bit her lip as he grew harder and harder 
against her hand, but she did not pull back, did not tell him no, did not 
ask him to stop.

Bobby stood and helped Becky undress, then rapidly took off his own 
clothing, artlessly and hurriedly, leaving it in piles on the floor.  He got 
into bed next to her, feeling the heat of her body, feeling her pressed up 
against him.  He whispered into her ear, "Becky, it's all I've ever wanted 
too."

When he pushed his cock into her, they both gasped.  He held still for a 
moment, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of being inside his 
beautiful sister, then began to thrust, slowly.  She wound her fingers 
through his hair, and by the moonlight, he could see that her eyes were 
half-lidded, her back was slightly arched.  "Becky..."

"I love you, Bobby."  He spoke her name and thrust harder inside her.  She 
pressed her fingers into his back and said it again, "I love you, Bobby, I 
love you so much, Bobby, I love you Bobby oh God I love you Bobby I love 
you, I love you so much, I've always loved you, I only ever wanted you, 
Bobby, only you, Bobby, oh God, Bobby, oh God--"

She arched against him, gasping, and rocking her hips back and forth, again 
and again.  Bobby, unable to think clearly, unable to speak, hearing only 
the refrain, "You made her come, you made your sister come, you made Becky 
come, she came for you," over and over in his mind, thrust hard and deep 
inside her, causing Becky to cry out rhythmically, in time with his 
lovemaking.

"I love you too, Becky, I love you too, I love you--ah... ah, God...."  
Bobby gripped her shoulders tightly and moaned as he, too, reached his peak. 
  Becky's eyes were wide and shining, reflecting the moonlight, staring at 
the sweat dripping from her brother's brow.

--

Jim smirked as Robert arrived at work, uncharacteristically late.   "Hey, 
Robert, have a rough weekend?  You look a little tired!  Too much 
programming?"  Jim and a few of the guys sitting nearby guffawed.

Robert smiled evenly as he responded, "No, Jim, actually I think it was just 
a little too much fucking."  He turned away from their open mouths and 
gaping jaws and powered up his computer for another day of work.

--
Ms. Which
Copyright 2001

_________________________________________________________________
Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+