A Necklace for Barbara

Literotic asexstories – A Necklace for Barbara by lexlogan8,lexlogan8 Be careful what you wish for?

Owen

I deplaned at DFW and Barbara and I spotted each other at the same time. She waved with one hand while clutching little Jenny with the other. We rushed to together and I lifted Jenny high in the air as she squealed “Unca Own! Unca Own!”

I put her down and Barbara gave me a big hug and kiss. “Owen! I’m so glad to see you!”

“Likewise, little sis, likewise!” We hugged again; little sis was a ‘pleasingly plump’ armful, soft and cuddly with a pretty smile and major cleavage. (I called her Barbara, Jenny called her Mommy, but everyone else called her Boobsie.) I scooped Jenny up in one arm, put the other around Barbara’s waist and we strolled happily over to baggage claim. I only had one suitcase, but to carry that I had to hand Jenny back to to her mom.

We piled into Barbara’s car and drove West to Fort Worth. I enjoyed the familiar sights and always got a kick out of the huge, purple “Killer Frogs!” slogan on a retaining wall alongside the steep hill of University Drive — for those who don’t know, the Texas Christian University teams are the Horned Frogs.

Barbara pulled into her carport and I grabbed my bag from the trunk. I managed to get that to the guest room before giving in to Jenny’s demands to show me her latest artwork from pre-school.

Barbara interrupted to say “I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Oh no, you won’t. Sit down and relax, I’m ordering delivery. Pizza, Asian, or Mexican?”

“Mexcan! Mexcan!”

Barbara rolled her eyes and said “Mexican would be fine.”

We had a lovely dinner, no mess to clean up since we used paper plates. Afterward Jenny insisted ‘Unca Own’ read her bedtime story. I got halfway through The Frog Prince before she fell asleep. Barbara tucked her in and we retired to the family room, sitting together on the couch.

“So, Barbara, I know things have been tough, any good news? Or fresh disasters?”

I could see her fighting the tears, trying to put on a brave face. “Thanks for the mortgage money, Owen. You’re so good to us.”

“Hey, what’s family for? And it’s a mortgage, an investment, you’ll be able to pay me back. We’ve gotta look after each other, sis, we’re all we’ve got!” I hugged her against me.

Our parents died in a car crash a month after I turned eighteen. Barbara was ten; we had no aunts, uncles or grandparents. I dropped my plans for college, went to work in a curio shop and did my best to finish raising my sister. She did graduate from high school but then proceeded to shack up with a string of losers.

She miscarried at ages 19 and 20 (courtesy of two different guys), then stayed with Ricky for three years. When he got her pregnant he pulled a vanishing act and left Barbara on her own with Jenny. A few months later Tanner moved in; they soon married and bought a house together. Tanner had a solid office job and ‘Boobsie’ made pretty good tips waitressing at The Ten Pin Alley, a cocktail lounge attached to a bowling alley.

It looked like little sis had finally gotten things right — but Tanner died from smoking some fentanyl-laced crack and Barbara was once again on her own. Tanner had not taken out any insurance and, in fact, left a sizable amount of credit card debt.

My own love life wasn’t a roaring success, either. I let a friend’s wife seduce me after he told me he was planning to divorce her; turned out she just wanted a one-night stand and when they patched things back up I knew I’d both done wrong and been had.

Then came a cutie who moved in with me and proceeded to screw all my buddies. Last came Jasmine, who seemed perfect until we married and I discovered she hated sex. She sure fooled me while we were dating!

While all this cynicism-inducing drama was going on, I was doing pretty well financially. I landed a purchasing position in the San Francisco office of a firm that imported rare and unusual items from around the world. I had an apartment outside of Frisco and traveled extensively.

Barbara

Owen was a life saver, the only one in my life I could count on. But when he asked me how I was doing, I couldn’t tell him the truth. He knew money was tight and his paying the mortgage was huge; it kept us off of welfare. But money wasn’t my biggest problem — the truth is I was horny as hell! I was scared to get involved again and I tried masturbating and using a vibrator, but I simply craved a good, hard cock giving me a good, hard fucking. Not the sort of conversation to have with your brother!

Beyond that, of course, I wanted someone to love, to settle down with, to raise Jenny and the other children I dreamed of having. My history with men made that about as likely as my flying to the moon.

Owen

After spending a few days in Fort Worth I jetted off to Istanbul. Barbara and Jenny were never far from my thoughts; we kept in touch by text, email and Skype.

I took some time off to wander through some of the old parts of the city that, for centuries, had been the greatest in the world. In one shop, a gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant caught my eye: there was a small ruby toward the top. The proprietor quoted a price of 45,000 lyra (about $1700 US), The price stunned me, but the item was high-quality: 18K gold for the necklace, 22K gold for the pendant. I offered 18,000 and he returned it to the case and suggested I try other shops.

We finally settled on 22,500 lyra, far more than I had intended to spend on a gift, but Barbara’s birthday was coming soon and I hoped it would cheer her up. I carefully wrapped the item and filled out the shipping, customs and insurance paperwork. Before I let the package go, I wished with all my heart that all her dreams would come true.

Afterwards I thought about myself; I had almost everything I wanted, but where was love? Was I too jaded and cynical or could I still believe in romance?

Barbara

Working on my birthday was a bit of a downer but with Owen gone I’d’ve been fairly blue anyway. The doorbell rang while I was getting dressed and when I got to the kitchen the sitter, Carrie, pointed to a package — from Turkey! Owen!

Jenny said “Open it Mommy! Open it!”

I said “Just a minute, dear.” I discussed supper and a few other things with Carrie. Looking at the microwave clock I said “I’d better leave this until I get home.”

“No Mommy! Open it now!”

Carrie chimed in “I wonder what it is?”

“Oh, OK, hand me the scissors.”

Removing the outer packaging, I found a note from Owen “Thinking of you. Happy Birthday Barbara!” Tearing off the gift wrap I found a felt pouch. I opened that and poured out a gold necklace attached to a heart pendant with a single ruby– we all gasped! It was simply beautiful!

“Here, let me help you.” Carrie clasped it around my neck; the pendant rested midway down my cleavage — as if I needed help drawing attention there!

“Wow! It looks amazing!”

“Mommy you’re so pretty!”

I walked to a mirror in the living room and checked my reflection. The sitter wasn’t wrong — it really did look amazing. And maybe Jenny wasn’t too far off — I felt prettier, anyway, than I had in quite a while. I only wished Owen was here to see it! I had Carrie take a pic with my phone and sent that off to Owen with lots of X’s and O’s.

I had the next day off but couldn’t resist wearing the necklace, so I chose a V-neck blouse rather than something that covered my tits as I usually did when not waitressing. At the grocery store I imagined all the guys staring at the pendant and checking out my rack — and that made my pussy tingle!

The next night I served a good-looking man wearing jacket and tie. His eyes had been glued to the pendant — or that vicinity anyway — all night. When I handed him his check he grasped my hand and asked “What time do you get off work?”

I smiled but said “Have to get home to relieve the sitter.”

“How much to get her to stay an extra hour?” Our conversation was low and out of range of anyone else’s hearing. My pussy did more than tingle.

“Twenty dollars. I leave here at midnight.”

“I’ll be back here to meet you.”

Carrie was used to my working late if we were unusually busy or the other waitress had to leave early, and she liked the extra money, so I wasn’t worried about imposing on her. I’d been trying to ignore my cravings but it had been months since I’d gotten laid.

I spent the rest of my shift with my pulse racing; what was I doing? But I’d sensed he was wasn’t looking for more than a one-night-stand, and my neglected pussy thought that sounded just dandy. I managed to get through the rest of my shift despite being heavily distracted and was surprised to see I’d had a good night, earning $65 in tips.

The guy was waiting in the lobby at midnight; Sue, the other waitress, saw us leave together and gave me a thumbs-up. He drove to a nearby hotel and took me straight up to his room.

As soon as we entered he grabbed the front of my blouse and squeezed my tits. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on these babies all night!” He unbuttoned the few buttons I’d fastened on my blouse, popped one tit out of my bra and into his mouth. His free hand reached down to squeeze my ass and grind me against his crotch, which featured a large bulge.

I unbuttoned his shirt and delighted in running my fingers through the hair on his head and chest. I let my fingers wander lower and unbuckled his belt.

He broke off his activities to remove my blouse, bra and skirt. I kicked off my heels and lay back on the bed; he peeled off my panty hose, leaving me naked aside from my jewelry. He fingered the heart pendant.

“Boyfriend give you this?”

“Brother. If you don’t mind, please leave it on.”

He let it go, kissed both tits and then removed his own shoes and the remainder of his clothes and climbed on top of me.

I reached up and pulled him in for a hungry kiss; he acted surprised but eagerly reciprocated, with tongue. His hands massage my boobs, his thumbs rubbing across my rock-hard, erect nipples.

He broke the kiss to suck on a nipple while one hand wandered down to my hot, wet pussy. Satisfied I was ready he got up, fished a condom out of his slacks, got back on to me and guided his dick into my slit. A few hard thrusts and he was all the way in. God that felt good!

He began a steady in-an-out and soon I began moaning and then shattered as I came hard on his meaty tool. My first good orgasm in a long, long time! He fucked me harder and faster and stroked my clit and I climaxed again before he unloaded into the condom.

When we were done I gently pushed him off, cleaned myself up in the bathroom and put my clothes back on. I stood looking at him a minute.

“Oh, right, the sitter.” He sat up on the edge of the bed, took his wallet out of his slacks, handed me a C-note and said “Keep the change, Boobsie. You were great!”

I started to object but then realized I needed to call an Uber, since my car was back at the nightclub and he wasn’t making any move to get dressed and offer a ride.

Still, $100? Maybe $65 after paying Uber and Carrie — as much as I’d made in tips on what had been a good night! One word popped into my head: whore! But I’d enjoyed the sex and I could use the money. What the fuck. I took the hundred and clicked on my phone’s Uber app.

After paying Carrie, who was grateful for the extra earnings, and kissing Jenny, who was fast asleep, I changed into my night gown and crawled under my covers. I lay there thinking — how did I feel?

The answer was simple: I felt terrific! So I’d unwittingly turned a trick — who got hurt? If that guy had a wife or girlfriend I wasn’t the first slut he’d picked up. I got hit on all the time, and flirted to improve my tips; I decided if another opportunity came along and felt right, I’d go for it.

Opportunity didn’t wait long to knock: I accepted three dates the next week and five — one every work night — the week after and the one after that. I noticed we seemed to be busier than usual, especially toward midnight. The owner hired another waitress. I quit driving to work — it was easier to Uber home after a date.

Did I say date? That was the odd thing — no one ever mentioned money, other than for the sitter or perhaps Uber, and the guys I agreed to meet after work I’d’ve fucked just for my own enjoyment. But every damn one of them handed me at least $100 after sex. I didn’t complain!

The bowling lanes were busier, also; more guys bowling solo late and more joining league play. All the new guys spent some time in the lounge after bowling — and while there, kept their eyes on my heart pendant. Right. I’m sure that’s what they were looking at!

When I arrived at work one night the owner stopped me and said he had something to show me. There was a spare room next to his office which had been used for storage. He ushered me in; it had been cleared out, cleaned up, and now featured a double bed.

“You’re free to use this room, Boobsie. On or off the clock. Just be sure to tip the other waitresses when they cover for you. Say $10 each to them and also me?” He opened a drawer from a nightstand, revealing a stash of condoms and some lubricant.

“Fresh sheets are in this cabinet, and towels over here. Just throw what needs to be cleaned in that hamper.”

He was offering me the chance to turn multiple tricks each night, perhaps tripling my income even after deducting his suggested $30 charge — and I wouldn’t need to keep the sitter late.

He had closed the door during this discussion. I said “Unzip me, please? I assume we should test the facilities.”

I knew he had a steady girlfriend but he eagerly banged me to inaugurate what I thought of as the fucking room. After that I turned two or three tricks each shift, sometimes four. I did the math — my income was headed toward high five figures. I had a lot of ‘regulars’ who hooked up with me anywhere from twice a year to once a week.

One night a tall, stocky black man with chiseled features asked “When are you free, sugar?”

“I’m not sure. Are vice detectives allowed to fuck on the clock?”

He laughed, paid his bill, and came back the next evening. “I’m off duty tonight, sugar.”

I signaled Sue and told him “Follow me, then.”

Alone in the room I started unbuttoning my blouse. “Off with your trousers and briefs.” He complied; I lay back on the bed and unhooked my front-clasp bra. I grabbed the lube from the drawer, squeezed out a handful and rubbed it over my bare tits and nipples while we locked eyes and his dick got hard and erect.

“Fuck my tits.” I flipped my pendant out of the way and squeezed my mounds together to make a tunnel.

He climbed over me and slid his tool between my tits, gliding in and out. I enjoyed the feel of his hard dick pushing my boobs aside and then sliding back. After a few strokes I leaned down and licked his tip. He shuddered and picked up the pace.

When I felt his first spurt I let go of my boobs, grabbed his dick and stroked it while pointing it to paint my face, neck and chest.

“Damn that was good!”

I wiped some of his cum off my face and licked it off my hand; he rubbed my tits and massaged cum into my chest and stomach.

I thought that would finish him but he scooted down, grabbed my hips and ordered “Roll over.” I did so and he promptly smacked me twice, once on each ass cheek.

“Ouch! That hurt, you big bully!” I teased.

“Let me show you how I treat naughty girls!” He drew a finger along my slit, then shoved it in my vagina, curled it back and began stroking me. I shuddered; he pushed in another finger. My pussy approved of the invasion! His thumb made circles around my clit, then rubbed across it. His other hand played with my tits and nipples.

His fingers pulled out; he reached into the drawer for a condom. I had thought he’d be just a quickie but now I was eager for a good, long fuck. He placed the head of his dick against my cunt lips and slid it back and forth while I wiggled my hips trying to capture it.

Grabbing my hips with both hands he shoved his way in; I moaned with pleasure.Taking me from behind he moved his hands back to my boobs while he pounded my pussy hard and fast. When he pinched both nipples and coaxed me “Cum Boobsie, cum for me, cum now you sexy white slut!” I convulsed and shattered and he shot his load into the condom. He lay on top of me awhile, then rolled off to remove and dispose of the condom. I turned over to look at him.

“Does it help a vice cop to know his stuff? That was damn good!”

He laughed, pulled on his briefs and trousers, pulled out his wallet, and said “I’m Luther, by the way.”

“Barbara, but you know what everyone calls me.”

“Yeah. Thanks Boobsie. Maybe we’ll do it again.” He handed me three fifties.

“Thanks, Luther. Let me know.” I took the money.

Luther became a regular at the bar and often cruised past the lot on nights he didn’t stop in. We hooked up every three or four months; he would raise an eyebrow at me and I would cock my head toward the room or tell him what time. I later learned he was divorced and paying child support for a twelve-year-old daughter. I decided he was a decent guy deserving of a little fun, and I certainly enjoyed our sessions together.

One night I was accosted as I left work by an obvious pimp. I’d worried about that. Suddenly Luther appeared next to me. “Come with me, Jimmie, we’re going to have a little chat. Boobsie, you run on now.” I never got hassled by Jimmie or his ilk again. And somehow there seemed to be at least one cop on the premises every night I worked. I gave Luther a blow job next time I saw him and the same every few weeks for him and all the cops who hung around; none of them offered me any money for these ‘complimentary’ sessions, but did tip me for other forms of sex.

All the sex I was having had a surprising effect — I quit craving sweets. I gave up all soft drinks, used alcohol sparingly, and limited my intake of deserts and sweet breakfast foods. I lost two or three pounds a month until I settled in around one-thirty.

I had to buy all new clothes for myself: my figure had slimmed down from 40-32-40 to 38-26-38, my bra size dropping from 34F to a still impressive 33E. I liked the way I looked in the mirror. Really, things were going well. If only I had someone to love.

Owen

I had been working three months out of Istanbul, visiting shops all over Anatolia, Greece and the Balkans. I’d sent a lot of high quality items back to the States and the owners were very pleased.

I was approached by someone about including a particular item in my next shipment. I smelled a rat and refused. I notified the owners I would be wrapping things up and returning to San Francisco.

I sent off one last shipment and headed to the airport the next day — but I was arrested and taken to a Turkish prison. Conditions were awful — five of us crammed into a cell designed for one person. I kept demanding to see the US Consul or a lawyer. The food we were given was revolting; the water nearly as bad.

After four miserable days I finally met with the Consul; he asked about next of kin and I gave him Barbara’s information. I learned that the Feds had raided both the New York and Frisco offices, the owners were under arrest, and all our bank accounts had been frozen. It appeared someone had tipped the Feds off about smuggling with our shipments and they had tipped off the Turks.

I couldn’t believe this! No way the owners were involved in any smuggling, and I sure as hell hadn’t done anything. But I had no funds to post bail or fight the absurd charges.

I thought of Barbara — if she knew about my situation, she’d borrow against her equity or even put her house up for sale. I begged the consul to keep her in the dark as best he could. He assured me he understood. He also said he would find a Turkish lawyer to handle my case. I had no clue how I would be able to pay. The consul also brought me a decent sandwich, advising me to eat it all while in his presence — I would never make it back to my cell with any unconsumed edibles.

The lawyer met with me a couple of days later, explaining there was little he could do without funds. I was not even scheduled for trial; I could be stuck here for years. What a bleak prospect!

A week into this ordeal I was starving and tried to eat some of the swill provided. I couldn’t keep it down. I began to accept that I might not make it out alive.

Barbara

When a woman from the State department contacted me about Owen’s arrest, I was devastated. How could such a thing happen? She gave me just the barest details along with contact information for the US Consulate in Istanbul.

The Consul had been unavailable when I called but returned my call at three in the morning Central Time. I was wide awake. He filled me in, then said “Your brother wanted me to downplay things, but he’s really in serious danger. I think he’s completely innocent but as an accused drug smuggler I can’t ask the Embassy to lean on the Turks. Quite simply, conditions in that prison are horrible.”

“Oh my God! What can I do?”

“You could try to post bail but as an Alien he is automatically considered a flight risk. I’ve hired a Turkish lawyer, I recommend you speak to him to find out what can be done.”

“What can he do?”

“I think it’s best you ask him directly.”

“Have you had dealings with this man before?”

“Yes — with quite satisfactory results.”

Oh — money would undoubtedly solve everything, but the Consul could not officially tell me that. His last statement gave me hope. Fortunately money was not a problem — or at least I hoped the several thousand I had stashed away would be sufficient.

Owen

Nine days into this ordeal I felt weak and emaciated; the other men in my cell were also in bad shape. My lawyer met with me, bringing a bottle of clean water and another sandwich — gifts from the Consul.

“I’ve been able to get you re-assigned to a private cell, with better food, clean water for drinking and bathing, soap, and some fresh clothes.”

I was stunned; “Is that all courtesy of the Consul?”

“Let’s just say he inspired some action on your behalf.”

“Tell him I’m very grateful.”

The new cell felt like a luxury suite — a bed, a washbasin, clean water, bread, cheese and vegetables to eat twice a day. I was also permitted to exercise outside the cell three days a week. The lawyer met with me weekly, always asking if conditions continued to be satisfactory, keeping me up to date on my case, and bringing me newspapers, magazines and even books to read. Best of all, he let me use a cell phone to speak with Barbara.

After fifteen months I learned that the Feds admitted they’d been duped; the tipster, who had now vanished, was the likely smuggler. It took another month for the Turks to release me. Incredibly, though, my bank accounts and belongings were still under seizure! But my sister somehow scraped up the money to fly me back to Texas. I worried about how I could ever repay her.

It had been a year and a half since I’d last seen Barbara and Jenny. I looked haggard and felt worse from my ordeal; I’d lost everything I’d worked for and owned nothing; even the clothes I wore were borrowed or charity. But seeing my two girls waiting for me once again as I deplaned at DFW warmed my heart.

When we reached each other I scooped Jenny up, of course, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my sister. “Oh heavens, Barbara, you look fantastic!” She was no longer plump but shapely, her waist much narrower than her hips, her arms and legs well-proportioned, her face downright beautiful, her breasts thrusting out magnificently.

“Isn’t Mommy pretty?”

Barbara gave me a full-body hug and a lingering kiss before I could answer little Jenny. “Owen, you’re finally home!”

It struck me — being with them did feel like home. Somehow all my misfortunes seemed to melt away. I squeezed them both tightly.

Back at the house Barbara apologized for needing to rush off to work; she went over a few details about Jenny’s supper and bedtime. I tried to concentrate but was completely distracted by her deep cleavage and the heart pendant nestled between those luscious mounds. I was glad I’d splurged on that gift, else those funds would’ve vanished along with all the rest. While I mused on that Barbara kissed me again and left for work.

After I got Jenny settled down I found a bottle of wine in the fridge, poured myself a glass and fired up a hack-and-slash video game. It featured a lot of scantily-clad female heroes and villains; I mused that Barbara would make a good model for such characters. I polished off most of the bottle and was feeling fairly buzzed by the time Barbara got home sometime after midnight.

I staggered off the couch to meet her and Barbara hugged and kissed me again, then said “Let me show you something.” We walked back to the bedroom and she pulled a heavy, locked box out of a closet, dialed in the combination and placed an envelope stuffed with cash –twenty’s, fifty’s, and hundreds–in the box and put it away. “Good night for tips.”

She then led me back to the couch, got herself a glass and filled both it and mine with more wine. She sat down next to me and I put my head in her lap, my face turned toward hers — not that I could actually see her face, those astonishing twin peaks blocked my view. I said “It’s good to be here, sis,” and closed my eyes.

Barbara

Owen was exhausted, jet-lagged and drunk, near to passing out in my lap. I drained my glass and pushed him to sit up, “Finish your wine, Owen.” I put the glass in his hand and moved it to his lips; he titled his head back and I made sure he drank it all.

“Time to get you to bed, brother dear.” I got him up off the couch and steered him to my bedroom. I removed his shirt, slacks and briefs, pushed him onto the bed and took off his shoes and socks, then covered him with the duvet. I undressed myself, put a towel down next to him and climbed in. I played a bit with his flaccid cock; it appeared to be average in size. I wondered what it would be like when engorged. At the moment the alcohol left it insensitive. I turned on my side facing away from him, draped one of his arms over me and pushed my butt up against his hip.

I woke up a couple of hours later when his hand squeezed a boob. I reached back to play with his cock and it quickly hardened; he moaned in his sleep. I fingered my pussy a bit and wiggled my butt against his hip. He rolled toward me. I spread my legs, draping one leg over his, wiggled against his erection, took it by the shaft, pushed it against my pussy and popped it in. He shuddered and began fucking me; I stifled a moan.

He seemed to still be asleep, moaning, mauling my tits and pounding my pussy. Oh fuck that felt good! I’d had three dicks in my pussy that evening and cum several times, but the love I felt for Owen and the thrill of the taboo sent me rocketing once again toward the edge. I felt his cock throb and erupt; his hot semen pumping into me triggered a shattering climax. Sometime later I got up, changed the towel, and cuddled back next to him.

Owen

I woke up around six in the morning with the early light. I felt a warm, soft body cuddled against me. I had quite a hangover and was confused about where I was — then I opened my eyes and saw Barbara lying next to me.

“What the fuck!”

She opened her eyes and turned toward me. “Good morning, brother dearest.”

“What am I doing in your bed?”

“I wanted you to make love to me, which you did, thank you very much.”

“Make love…we fucked!!!? Are you nuts?”

“We love each other Owen. You and me — we’re the only ones we can count on. I’m tired of wishing for love. I love you, and you love me.”

“That’s incest!”

“So what?” She sat up, her magnificent chest staring me in the face, my eyes staring back.

“Do you remember that box I showed you last night?”

“Vaguely.”

“Did you notice how much cash I brought home?”

“Sort of. A lot?”

“Damn right a lot! More than $400 from a single night. Do you think I make that kind of money waitressing? What am I, Owen? Say it!”

“A prostitute, Barbara? Oh, sis, how could you?”

“How could I not? We needed the money, but more than that, I needed the sex. I fuck ten to fifteen guys every week, and I love it! Nice, uncomplicated, sex! And I get paid for it! But I also need something else. I need love. And with my sordid history with men, I despaired of ever finding it. Then you got arrested and thrown in that damn cell and I realized I already knew where to find love. I made up my mind that if I ever got you home, I would never let you go. You belong here, with me! And as for incest, I’m a goddamned whore, what difference does it make if I’m also a brother-fucker?”

My head was spinning. I could see tears forming in her eyes. I couldn’t bear to make her cry.

“Last night I got you drunk and horny and then you fucked me and I loved it! Now I want you to do it again, knowingly and willingly. Please, Owen, I need you!”

I gazed at her eyes, her trembling lips, her heaving chest, that mesmerizing pendant nestled between her glorious mounds. My cock hardened and throbbed. I pulled her down and kissed her fiercely. I sucked a tit and took the nipple in my teeth. I threw her on her back, spread her legs and drove my tool into her hot, wet pussy. I pounded her hard and fast; she bit on a pillow case to stifle a scream. Her entire body convulsed, harder than I’d ever seen with any woman. I erupted and emptied the biggest load of cum I’d ever produced into her.

Afterwards we lay together, holding each other, each gazing into the eyes of our beloved. I felt a peace and deep contentment I’d never known. I thought about what she’d said — how prostitution solved her problems with money and sex, and now incest gave her love. I recalled my wish that all her dreams would come true; had they? Perhaps I should’ve been more careful what I wished for — but the love staring back at me convinced me I wouldn’t want to change a thing.

Hope you enjoyed the story. Did the necklace change Barbara’s and Owen’s lives? Nah, it’s just an inanimate object — isn’t it? Comments and ratings appreciated.