Sitting in his car, anonymous jazz on the radio, he thought about Matt. He regularly received jaunty texts and emails from his young brother, apparently because he was part of a group mailing list to which Matt saw fit to send the latest smutty link or joke he’d heard at work. He rarely liked the jokes, many of which were racist or sexist, or worse, he’d sometimes enjoyed the links, to his slight liberally-guilty shame. They rarely spoke in person nowadays. Yet he felt a profound responsibility towards his kid brother. He always had, after their father’s death. He wanted the best for him. Hence Lyla. He had, at a certain moment, stepped aside, so that a smitten girl could fall instead for an equally smitten Matt, rather than for the strange initial object of her affections — so obvious when she’d started popping around for ‘homework’, and later for those first ‘dates’ with Matt, later still for real dates as his frostiness did its work — and once, excruciatingly, for dinner. He. Taking from me the bag that had caused all of this trouble he pushed me somewhat roughly towards the bathroom and told me to take care of that chest hair, and any other hair as well. I closed the door and stood shaking with my back to it. I thought about the mess I was in and resolved not to let it get any worse. Opening the door I walked back into the bedroom but stopped dead at the sight that greeted me there. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with my toy bag open. Several coils of rope along with a ball gag, a pair of nipple clamps and a large dildo were scattered around my bag. But what stopped me cold was the wicked grin on his face"I don't think I'm going to be listening to any arguments," he said, "You get your ass back in there and do what I told you to or I'll just tie you up and do it myself." I scurried back into the bathroom and took off my blouse and bra. With shaking fingers I picked up my razor and stood staring into the mirror. How would I explain this to my.
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