Bobbie starts. “I don’t want to rub one out with any guy, just you; no one else touched my naked body for nine months. Just your hand on my arm is so calming.”
I glance at the side windows and, not seeing anyone there watching us; I ask if I may kiss you. You shake your head no, but you look to the pool pump shed. We go out, and you clean the skimmer; as I clean out the filter at the pump, you touch my back. I turn to you. We kiss; it reconnects us, and I hold onto your arm as you take my hand in yours.
Shaking, you say. “I thought we cum a few times before you caught me, and you would not want to stop; then maybe we could touch.”
“Hon, I see you naked when I close my eyes; you make me hard, baby, and we’ve not started yet, and I don’t want to stop, but I played four times today with Ginger and Jodie. I’m not sure I have another in me, baby, but I’m happy to help anytime fingers or just dirty talk. I’m game either way.” I whispered.
Mom came out as we got the leaves with a net and told us. “Dad wants to go to bed, so we had to go inside and turn the alarm on.”
That was our life every day; Dad comes first. As always, we picked up our books and went to the kitchen to snack and study, and Mom sent us to our rooms at nine pm. About thirty minutes later, I get a Nanny Cam notice of a text message from Bobbie. “Dad just left; he hinted that if I played ball with him, our college would be paid for, baby; weird, huh? He gave me what he thought was a hot wet kiss. What the fuck, dude? Just taking a kiss, not even asking; it was not sweet and sexy like yours was. What the fuck, dude, talk about killing a mood, Sorry, night, brother, see you at breakfast.”
I text answered you back. “Good night, Sis. I have a meeting with the guidance counselors at school first, so I will take my Jeep in early. You’re welcome to ride with me if you don’t mind getting there a half hour early.”
Bobbie says. “Good night, but she have mom to take her to school.”
Bobbie and I got home from school later that day, grabbed an apple, and started reading the books. I had planned on talking to you about the weird vibes from our folks and my trouble at school.
Mom got home with her Sister in law our Aunt, and they were day drinking. They went to Mom’s room, asked Bobbie to come up, and talked. Dinner came and went. I made a bowl of soup and a sandwich wondering where Dad was.
Bobbie left her phone out. I wanted to see if my Sister sent my dick pic to my English teacher to get me busted and kicked out of prom; I got twenty hours of detention today. It was the reason for the damn meeting hell; it would mean I had more hours in detention than in classes left for the school year.
I did not find any record of you sending the photo, nor was there one on my phone, as my Mom has had my phone for a month now since the sexting thing.
There is no way my Mom could be the one sending out the dick picks, could she? As if I was checking image files on my Sister’s phone, I found a spyware app. I searched for it on the Internet. It’s a keystroke logger listing who, when, where, and the website. Your phone is immaculate no trace of our playing. I excepted to see the Nanny Cam app listed, but it’s not even there. I make a note to tell Bobbie about the spyware.
Coming out of Mom’s room drunk, you could not walk. So I had to pick you up in the hallway and get you to bed. Bobbie grabs my arm and says. “Hi, her Mom and Hi, her Aunty me; got so drunk and pulled my pants down to see if am I was still a am am virgin, Aunty wanted to see how hard I could come come, and Mom said something about a contract, not being signed yetNpt not ure sure what that meant night night by bye.”
Bobbie passed out. I removed your shoes and socks, undid your bra, opened your pants, and took them off you. I pulled the cover over you and laid on top, and held you.
I fell asleep and was woken up getting hit in the head repeatedly. My eyes opened, and its a very drunk and angry Mom driving me back to my room and hitting me with a shoe. She locked my door and pushed a linen cabinet on the door, keeping me in the room.
Mom returned to her room, and I ran downstairs through Bobbie’s Jack and Jill’s bathroom and out her door. I pack snacks and drinks and take them back to my room. I go back and check on you; I lock her bedroom door. I stayed on the floor, touching you when you moaned. You sat up and tossed your cookies into the trashcan I held as I kept your hair out of your face. I wash your face off, I made you drink water, and you tossed more water, and you tossed it up, and you drank more, and the water stayed down this time.
I leave for my room when I hear your door knob rattling and cuss words. Your lock has broken on its own four times in the last month alone. I ask in a loud voice. “That you, Mom, Bobbie’s throwing up sick as a horse. What the hell y’all do?”
Whoever was at the door stumbled away without talking; I returned to my room an hour later, and there was no repeat of the door. Saturday was shiny and new, but you were so hung over.
I stayed in my room during breakfast and lunch; by dinner time, I was getting yelled at because I skipped eating. I moved the furniture over my door, keeping Mom out of her words. Bobbie looked at me with a question; why? Mom gave me my phone back two weeks early. I expect it’s a trap; the phone now has two trackers.
Bobbie sent me a text. “Asking if I had the English literature homework you left yours at school.”
I go next door, stand next to you, and text. “I’ll bring it over in a few.” I turn your old CD player on, and the old School CD of The Police starts playing.
I started talking; we read lips; we faced each other, speaking too low to hear. “You got a key logger app on your phone. Someone raddled your door last night. I think they thought the lock was still broken, I acted like it was Mom at the door and you were tossing up cookies they left, but it sounded like Dad walking.” I say.
Bobbie says. “I know about the phone. I use my tablet; let me see your laptop.”
In twenty minutes, you hand it back to me, telling me. “Whoever put the key loggers on our things knows how twisted my brother is now, dude fucking clear your history; sometimes mom does daughter and son porn?” Bobbie sighs.
I say. “Wow, we are kind of kept on a short leash. Is it Mom doing or Dad?”
After dinner without Dad, he was out of town for work.
A few days later, my Mom texted me. “Come to the spare bedroom and give her a message now.”
I texted back. “Dad has me moving boxes at his office to storage and will return before noon. Dad said he is golfing with Uncle Bob’s Mom; he told me he won’t be home till after dinner.”
Ginger texts me, and you ask. “If I had our English homework?”
I asked. “Could I call you back from a landline, give you the last four numbers, and call you back?
We are talking on a landline. I say. “Ginger, we have spyware on our phones and told you how to look by looking at loaded and hidden apps.”
Ginger says. “I find nothing on mine other than a GPS app my mom put on it.”
A few times we played Nanny Cam Roulette, Bobbie was not on. I found it odd that when Ginger asked for Cam play, we lost internet service in the house every time Bobbie logged on. Eight out of eight times was a clue.
We talked at school, and everyone in the circle was getting unexplained heat, and we should stay offline till we find the cause. Too many questions and not enough answers until Mom talked me into giving her backrubs. After a few months of simple back rubs, things got hot.
I woke in bed to the smell of hot coffee from my coffee maker and the alert sound of a text message with a dumb row of text emoji smiley faces with big eyes from Mom saying. “Your Sister went to get her hair done for the pool party tonight; she won’t be home for hours and would love one of your special back rubs. We won’t have to stop this time. Dad called away for work and won’t be home till Monday next week wink, wink.”
Great, another one of her take her sexy clothes off. I give a hot back rub, leaving me hard as a rock. So it will be that kind of night. Great more looking forward to a date with Mr. Hand and his five daughters. Maybe I can get my girlfriend to come over to the pool party.
The only time Mom stopped me, my hand was massaging moms ass through her wet panties. Mom moaned and stopped me by grabbing my hand. We heard the garage door open Bobbie or Dad would be bad; getting caught is getting caught.
We went to our rooms, never to speak again of it that was two back rubs ago. Then, finally, I get to the spare bedroom where a professional massage table has been set up, as is a tray of heated oils and scented candles burning; the smells of the hot jungle are sticky sweet, and oddly arousing.
Bridgett, my sexy Mom, is face down on the massage table. Are you naked under your sheet, Mom? That’s slutty of you? It’s not thick like a towel. You wore a thick towel and panties in the last dozen or so massages. You took off your top and would lay down, giving me a little show of side boob.
I see nothing on your round ass under the sheet. My hands shake, but a bit of oil is on my hands, and I pull your cover down some to get to your neck and shoulders.
The fine golden hairs on your back stand on end, and my simple touch on your neck spreads goosebumps down your back like ripples in still water. So was that your moan to my squeeze as my oiled hands pressed your shoulders into the padding on the table?
My hands kneed and pinch your neck, moving slowly from arm to arm, doing your back rubbing up and down your spine. You moan again, but now you’re moving your hips like they need something terrible, and the sheet slides off you, making me gasp.
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