Chapter 2-2: Bobby
Bobby couldn’t sleep that night, his mind a storm of regret and obsession. He’d left Liza at Mike’s house, and the weight of that mistake crushed him.
All the time I spent taming her…
Was I too reckless? Should I have held back that day?
His impulsiveness had fucked everything up, and the thought gnawed at him, keeping sleep at bay.
How the hell do I get her back from Mike’s?
He racked his brain, but no sharp plan came to mind. Restless, he tossed and turned, his body refusing to settle. Then, unbidden, her image flooded his mind—Liza, standing outside Mike’s house, her face soft with sadness as she wrapped her arms around him. Her scent, that intoxicating mix of skin and sweetness, lingered on him even now. Or maybe it was real, still clinging to his clothes. The faint musk of her body, the fragrance of her hair—tied up but slipping loose—carried on the breeze that day, teasing his senses. In the chaos of the moment, he hadn’t fully registered it, but now it hit him like a drug, sharp and vivid.
Bobby brought his hand to his nose, the one that had touched Liza’s pussy earlier. He inhaled deeply, chasing the ghost of her scent, the faint tang of her arousal still lingering on his skin.
Why didn’t she stop me? Why didn’t she lash out harder?
Was it pity? Because I was bruised from fighting Mike? Because I’m her brother, her family?
Her sad, glistening eyes haunted him, refusing to fade. Those deep, dark pools, brimming with unshed tears, stared back at him in his mind. Her hair, whipped by the wind, grazed her crimson lips, framing her face in a way that was almost too beautiful to bear. The red glow of the sunset had bathed her, her thin dress glowing translucent, hinting at the curves beneath. Looking back, it was fucking transcendent. Bobby couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her beauty behind, abandoned in that moment.
Liza was a goddess. Her eyes, large and fathomless, held a depth that could drown a man. She rarely smiled at him, but when she did—those rare, sly smirks—they were pure sex. Her hair, usually tied back, would sometimes fall loose, long and straight, carrying a shampoo scent so potent it could seduce with a single whiff. Her skin, a sun-kissed bronze, glowed with health. Her breasts, not large but more than a handful, begged to be touched. Her long, slender legs seemed just strong enough to support the firm curve of her ass. And her feet—God, her feet were perfection. Delicate ankles led to small, neat toes, each one a tiny work of art. Bobby had made her wear heels often, especially open-toed ones, just to watch her feet move, to feel the rush of desire they sparked in him.
As he schemed to bring her back, Liza’s beauty consumed his thoughts, stirring something primal. His cock twitched, already half-hard. Without hesitation, he shoved his pants down, ready to lose himself in her memory. Gripping himself, he began to stroke, slow at first, as images of her submission flooded his mind.
Liza had always been fierce, a force of nature. As kids, when Bobby came home battered from a fight, she’d march out and tear into the bully herself, protecting her little brother. But as they grew older, something shifted. Her gaze turned cold, sometimes laced with disdain. She’d grown distant, her warmth replaced by a sharp edge.
She used to be so carefree, lounging on the couch in see-through panties, oblivious to the world as she watched TV. But then she caught Bobby’s lingering stares, and that openness vanished. Like any sister, she’d always had a sharp tongue, but as Bobby matured—his body hardening into a man’s—she seemed to sense the change. A woman’s instinct, maybe, a subtle wariness of the man he was becoming.
And then he’d crossed the line. He’d taken her, claimed her body, made her his. The memories of dominating her surged through him, each one stoking his arousal.
He remembered making her wear a maid outfit, forcing her to clean his room. She’d knelt on the floor, scrubbing, her thighs parting just enough to reveal the curve of her ass, teasing him mercilessly.
He remembered blackmailing her into wearing the lingerie he chose—those sheer, nude stockings that hugged her legs, accentuating every line from her toes to her thighs. Her panties, too small to cover her perfect ass, drove him wild. He’d posed her, snapped photos, her face a mix of defiance and resignation as she obeyed his commands.
He remembered sneaking up behind her in the kitchen, their mother oblivious at the stove, and yanking her panties down. Liza’s eyes had widened in panic, her body frozen as she stifled a gasp. She couldn’t fight back, couldn’t risk the sound of struggle. Instinctively, she’d lifted her hips, letting him strip her bare. The glimpse of her exposed pussy as her panties slid down was burned into his mind. When he brushed his fingers against her, her body had flinched, a delicious shudder that made his cock throb.
He remembered the pool, where he’d trapped her. Handcuffed and helpless, she’d stood there as he peeled her bikini bottoms off. She’d fought, but fear and embarrassment paralyzed her. Terrified of being seen, she could only bow her head and wait for him to return her suit. From a distance, her silhouette—high heels to flowing hair—was a vision of raw beauty. Her tear-streaked face, begging for mercy, had no pride left. She was a slave pleading with her master, and the memory of her submission pushed him closer to the edge.
And that night—the night he’d fucked her. She’d been curled up, defeated, tears staining her face as she slept. He’d taken her anyway, forcing himself on her. She’d thrashed and screamed, but he’d clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her. He’d fucked her hard, lost in the heat of her body. When it was over, he’d stared at her—her disheveled clothes, his cum dripping from her pussy—and a twisted mix of guilt, shame, and exhilaration had overwhelmed him. He’d fled the room, unable to face what he’d done.
Now, alone in his bed, Bobby couldn’t hold back. The memories were too much, too vivid.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his body tensing as he came, hot and desperate.
He cleaned himself up, collapsed onto the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling. Liza was all he could think about. How could he get her back? How could he make her his again? Exhausted, his eyes began to close, her image still burning in his mind as sleep finally claimed him.
