A Necklace for Barbara

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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.

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lexlogan8lexlogan8about 1 month agoAuthor

I think once I helped my daughter shop for a bra, can't remember why, her grandmothers usually helped her with that. Most of my stories involve some Google or Wikipedia research. What I learned from that is that the classic three-number measurement consists of over-the-bust, waist, and hip measurements, such as the classic hourglass 36-24-36. Back in the 50's bra size consisted of the bust measurement and cup size, such as 36C. IN the 70's, however, bra size switched to being the band size, i.e., around the chest but under the breast. So that 36-24-36 woman could wear a 32D (big-busted) or 35A (small-busted), among other possibilities. I can attest that Playboy magazine gave the 3-number measurement but not the bra size. The original A, B, C, D system was extended to bigger cup sizes: DD, E, EE, F, etc. Each new letter represents another inch difference between the band and bust measurements, with the double letters indicating a half-inch addition. So a woman with a 33 inch band and 38.5 bust would work out to a 33EE bra and either a 38 or 39 bust. I find it difficult to get current star measurements using Google without, perhaps logging into something.

Sometimes I try to avoid giving measurements, using modifiers like "huge" or "impressive"

AnonymousAnonymousabout 1 month ago

author appears to have absolutely ZERO knowledge of women's bra sizing. Just... delusional about what sizes are even out there, much less how band sizes and cup sizes differ, and are tied together in terms of scaling. Just.. reads like an Incel that very much needs to spend 6 minutes in a lingerie shop to quadruple what little they actually do know about the subject.

lexlogan8lexlogan85 months agoAuthor

Well, this might not be a happily ever after story. Then again, maybe the thought of what she's doing turns him on, or maybe he's so stuck on her he doesn't care what or who else she does.

AnonymousAnonymous5 months ago

Poor guy. Has to send off his love every night to be fucked by anyone who can come up with $100. Multiple a night. What a life. That's a "sentence" of darkness and dispare.

Think of the mental torture, every night, night after night. Then going out and everyone smirking and snickering at you behind your back because your sister (and love) is a whore. I would almost prefer going back to Turkish prison.

NewEroticaWriterNewEroticaWriter8 months ago

Not a bad story overall. But like some others, I would have liked some more details. More feeling. More inner dialogue explaining how Barbara justifies going from a woman beaten down by life to a hundred dollar a trick prostitute… and damn proud of it. We women question ourselves constantly. Sowing some doubt into her actions would add some realism too. But keep writing! Thanks for sharing!

Rose Monroe 🌹

P. S. Thanks for reading my story.

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