Pictures of You Ch. 04

Continuation of the Jessy19/DanDresden story about a boyfriend and brother that have the same name ...

*

On the short drive home, I turned facing the window. Between drops on the glass, I am sure my expression was unreadable. So deep in thought, shadowed eyes did not appear to focus on anything. I didn't say a word on the trip home.

Nick didn't like the silent treatment and yelled at me in the car: "WOMAN! I brought you to a climax, over and over. That was no fake sigh or a groan. You were trembling and taking short gulps of air gave you away. You did not utter a whisper. At no time did you signal you wanted to stop. In return all I get was the silent treatment and a case of blue balls."

Barely waiting for the car to stop, I practically vaulted out, slamming the car door. Careful to stay upright in slippery grass, a quick sprint was followed by a slower pace as I neared the house. I wanted to be careful not to be noticed or make a commotion, I crept safely to my room as the door sealed in my little world.

Plugging my phone into the charger by the bed, I dialed my own personal 911 -- Kate, picked up on the first ring.

"There you are, I was wondering where you were off to," Her answer was followed by silence. After several seconds of quiet she tested the waters "is everything all right?"

"MEN! All they think about is getting off," I barked though the connection.

"What, no who are you talking about?" Kate probed. After my unintelligible stream of words and noises she followed with "OK, spill it. Take your time and don't leave anything out."

It took several attempts, not knowing where to start or what to divulge, leaving nothing out I went back to the beginning when I couldn't find my phone. I narrated my story from home to school, playing with the costumes and being stuck in the closed.

"What I story, you're making me blush. I wished it were me" she mused, "a lot of women fantasize about being captive, or carried without a choice, then seduced by passion. No responsibility or guilt. I would never say you lead him on, but you were playful and paraded your naked body."

"Are you saying this was some kind of reward? He is my own blood, " I said. "You don't get it. Don't you realize that my life would be over if we were caught? How could I explain being naked in the closet, with my brother no less! Gossip in this town is a social skill. Facebook spreads rumor faster than the flu: friends, family, and strangers; pick your poison. I could almost picture the buzz flying over the airwaves like bees to a flower field. ."

"Take it easy. You're always telling me not to get hung up on the shoulda -- coulda - woulda's. No one saw what was on your phone. You have him to thank for that, and no one suspects you were even there, your secrets are safe with me " Within my chest, I felt a jealous pang when Kate offered: "you leave Nicky to me. I'm really surprised at his skill as a lover. I never saw that side of him. I guess he saved the best for you. You have enough on your hands with one Nick"

"You have a point. Maybe I should give it a rest. I am grateful for his help. I said goodbye, thank you and hung up, not wanting to get into the Kate and Nick connection. Disaster had been averted so the greatest need now was to calm down It might have been my imagination, but my body itched all over. It felt dirty; how many people that worn those outfits? Time for a long, hot shower. Soaping and scrubbing the entire body until tender to the touch. Washing away the last remnants of lather, everything on the outside felt sparkling clean. I didn't feel that way inside. Hair wrapped in a towel, I threw myself on the bed, not even bothering to dry off. A sudden lethargy came, like a ghostly inhabitation. "So tired ... sleep now."

And sleep I did; weighted down by the previous wakeful night. The next thing I knew it was early afternoon. Did mother leave lunch on my nightstand? I don't remember it being there before. An unpleasant reminder of senior high, she would come into my room unannounced to roust me for school; each day was a battle of wills. And the weekends? Sometimes staying in bed all day in late fall, I remember those bitter blues: "What's the use? The day is so short. Why should I get up anyway?" Foggy winter days there was nothing to do, mood matching the muddled grey sky.

Oh, but these days? These days people see a distinctively new me. Maybe the openness of college life; or perhaps the free time to follow my favorite pastime, writing. Nick Quinn chanced upon this different girl who displayed a newfound confidence. Different, perhaps. My social life is certainly different. Inside I am still a shy, quiet girl who likes order, and loves to please - my man, my friends, my family. I drifted into a deep slumber like sleeping beauty.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I walked through the open bathroom door, uncoiled my hair, and jumped back into the shower just long enough for a brief rinse. Then I sat on a stool to take inventory, scolding myself for becoming so angry. Not only had I played the fool, but also looked the part: hollow eyes, new wrinkles, and tense muscles. Mother was right when she said: "don't scowl or your face will freeze that way."

A familiar shave and a haircut knock sounded from Nick's side of the Jack and Jill bathroom. As the door unlocked, Nick went straight to the sink.

"Did you wash your hands? "I grumbled.

"I didn't want to wash away your scent, but I will now," he uttered cautiously. "I'm sorry for what happened. But I'm your brother and you have been my secret crush for a long while. When would I ever get another chance? The first set of pictures was a mistake, the photos we took today were personal. They were for me, right?" Don't be mad, please?"

He picked up the squirt bottle of home-made detangler and comb lying on the counter. A calm rolled over me as creases from worry disappeared. This was a pleasant surprise, a prelude to a fond memory for both -- brushing my hair. Well done brother.

The tradition began when Nick was an awkward 14- year- old boy with a squeaky voice. He said he offered to help because my arms would grow tired from the routine. But he knew the pride held in the long black wavy mane, running down the back to the waist. He could earn a few favors and make me happy at the same time.

Over the years he became obsolete, replaced by a rotating brush and hair dryer with hot-cold settings. They bickered so much as teens that it was hardly worth it. Now, he was a man. A very handsome one.

This was going to be a treat; let the dance begin. I first applied warm oil to the tips, running my fingers through wet hair and shaking my head. Moving left to right, I selected each ribbon with a long handled pic and held it steady. He sprayed, then combed all the way through, carefully stopping for knots. Working in concert: select, spray and comb.

Nick crooned "when your hair is wet, it flows like a gentle stream after twilight, black deeper than midnight."

Nice. Unconsciously we took up the rhythm: select, spray and comb. Repeat, repeat. Hands moved together, a performance duet in balance like pair skaters. A chorus of 100 strokes followed, with the wide flat brush, long strokes over each shoulder and then straight back.

As I stepped into the light, he praised "your locks have taken on the appearance of obsidian volcanic glass reflecting errant rays."

Flatterer. I lost track of time when tilting my head forward, flipping the hair over to blow dry upside down. The hair dryer moved in slow arcs as wisps of hair floated and fell. Anticipating a favorite scene, I folded down her robe exposing my vulnerable neck. Presenting myself in this way had always been an indulgence. Floating in a waking dream with eyes closed, trusting, there was only now, no past or future.

His rock-hard bulge bumped against my shoulder, an accidental or a determined act? Did he suspect I noticed? There is no way he would know my private fantasy. In my mind's eye my lover would start with the arc of my neck., then travel down across with back and down to the spine to ... where? Paradise? The Underworld? Both? I had to will to resist the strong urge to start kissing him, to put his gentle hands on my breasts, barely skimming my waiting nipples.

We settled with massaging my shoulders, applying lavender oil with open palms, working it in with fingertip swirls and steady pressure relieving tight muscles. A faint moan? Whose? Placing his hand over mine, together we brushed out the final stanza, followed by encore after encore. He was raising my fever again, more of a gradual glow enveloping my body, quenched by hot liquid sex.

Settling into his loving arms, I tried to still my racing mind by concentrating on the sounds of rain. Drops pattered against the bathroom window in the next room as drums of thunder beat in the distance . In only a few minutes the room temperature was boiling over. I stood, turned off the vanity lights and discarded the robe. We were now bathed by the dim light glinting from the window. My scent wafted into the space, intoxicating like a drug.

I couldn't spoil the moment. With this act of kindness, we returned to fond times, and that is all that mattered. So, he stroked, and I purred. Slowly ... slowly ... at the velocity of love. He picked up his phone to snap a photo in the mirror, capturing the memory. Imprinted but not seen at the time were beams of light in our green eyes and radiant smiles. They say the camera never lies.

"I should have told you before, I have wanted to hold you for a long time, to make you forget about your suitors," he apologized.

Rearing upright with a wistful grin, I decided if I had to let the resentment go, give him a mental picture of me for his dreams. Yes, he could be a pain in the ass and yet was always there for me in spite of his gusto for ill- fated escapades. From now on, that rascal would be known as Nick Fury, a daring and adventurous comic book character that brother followed like a fanboy.

I took Nick Fury's shoulders and directed him to sit. Raising the bottom of my robe, I planted my bottom on his lap. My precious hair was smoothly tossed over the left shoulder. A surprised Nick Fury squirmed, not knowing what to make of this gesture. When he settled down, I placed his hands where I wanted them. Exploring the sides of my bosom, he reached underneath and lifted them. A perfect fit for his hands, slightly heavy but still firm. When he began to pinch and roll the nipples, I quieted the movement with a light touch of my fingertips. Gentle now.

I carefully fished out his erection from his drawers, applied a generous amount of the slightly sweet-smelling oil to coat the girth and positioned him between my buns. Raising myself while leaning forward chanced first contact with sticky netherlips. Forward momentum stopped short above the private entrance. . As I tilted back to close the distance, sexcalibur pressed forward, tip raking my clitoris, then thrust back into the scabbard.

"Oh Vanessa " he almost sang my name, "I will always cherish the feel of your sex, smooth outside with those prominent lips. Hot to the touch and so wet inside. The musky aroma that painted my hand. I will never be unable to summon up these memories."

He tried to adjust his hips to align an angle of penetration, but I held him steady, signaling "no" with a shake of the head. His head over my right shoulder presented a full view of my breasts and slope of my belly, a peaceful picture that contrasted the steady motion between our loins.

I broke the silence with: "Enjoy your special treat. Don't think this is going to be part of the menu. I still have a boyfriend and siblings shouldn't be doing this no matter how much we care for each other."

Satisfied he would behave; I turned my head to brush lips against his. He cradled me in his arms and returned a slow sweet kiss, lips lingering and then parting. With tongues dancing, our bodies and spirits joined for the briefest of an instant. The perfect kiss can be more intimate, pleasurable, and memorable than carnal knowledge. We had come a long way from the novelty of a first incestuous kiss. But where was this leading? Our kisses nearly hypnotized me.

Time to return to reality and finish him. Forming an 'O' with my mouth, I covered the crown with my lips and slid down his penis as far as I could go. He grabbed my head ,but I pushed the hand away. My tongue licked up and down the shaft, then flicked the top, then sliding down again to the base, hair tickling my nose and giving be a whiff of cock-breath. Raising up and down, I increased the pace. Faster now. He surely couldn't hold out much longer. Sensing his climax, I captured him deep in my throat as cried out "I love you" as his seed pumped into my stomach. After one, two, three long spurts, he spewed an arsenal of cum. A dribble of white goo escaped and slithered down my chin. I had now been marked by competing lovers.

Suddenly we were pulled from our reverie by a sharp pounding and mom's voice: "Vanessa, open the door. I need to speak to you." Nick Fury faded back into his room. I turned on the lights, threw on a bathrobe and ran water to erase any remnants of our sin and cover the sound of his retreat. I pulled open the door to step out and answer mother with "What?!" The concern on mother's face stopped me dead in my tracks. I followed to the dining room, bounding down two stairs at a time.

Mother seated herself at the table calmly, taking my hands in her own. Phrases like "knocked out"," blind-side hit" and "didn't see it coming" were scrambled. All I only heard was: "Nick Quinn is hurt!" Mother waited until awareness returned to tell all.

Mr. Quinn wanted his son to shake it off and come home with the team. Football is a physical sport. He had his "bell rung" a few times when he played. According to the injury report there was a "concussion" but no signs of neck injury. The throwing arm and shoulder were intact. A decision had to be made now as the bus would be departing soon to avoid confronting the storm and getting stuck on the road.

Cooler heads prevailed. The mothers spoke over the phone and convinced the trainer to let my boyfriend stay put in the hotel room. He would be watched over for any signs of serious head injury. But what then? Flights had been cancelled and air travel had been put on hold at both ends of the trip and in-between. Why was the choice was given to me? I couldn't puzzle it out and did not want to make the wrong decision. "Let me call Kate; she'll know what to do."

Now outfitted in appropriate winter attire, brother Fury entered the conversation. Speaking to no one in particular: "Dad's jeep has four-wheel drive. I've maneuvered through rough terrain and mud twelve inches deep on his construction sites. The route will be highway all the way and we'll keep the speed down. Right now, it's only raining, if we encounter snow or ice there are chains in the tailgate."

"Vanessa can call in our progress every two hours. Let's not stand here. If we leave now there are still a few hours of twilight left. We will see for ourselves how Nick is really doing when we get there; then decide what is to be done. Come on get dressed; pull on that cherished jacket. Maybe it will bring us luck. Let's pick up Kate on the way; what do you say?"