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As the crowd dispersed (some of them following Brayden), Brittney turned to DJ. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, but she was smiling.

“I know, but he was being a pain, getting on my nerves. You really don’t have to put up with jerks like that. You could have any guy you want.”

She shrugged, the smile fading. “Eh. Most guys are like that. He wasn’t that bad.”

“Brittney, he was getting ready to rape you when I came in,” he retorted.

She shook her head. “No he wasn’t. I wasn’t in the mood was all. He’d have warmed me up—he asked for the lube and all. Some guys don’t even bother with that. Besides,” she added, “if that’s a crime, then what do you call what you did?”

“It’s not,” he shot back too quickly, too defensively. “You agreed to it, didn’t you? And, um, you seemed like you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” she said. “You were so… I dunno. Appreciative. It was sweet. And I’m not pressing charges, am I?”

He smiled. “What’re you doing for fall break?”

She looked taken aback by the question. “Me? Oh, nothing much. Heading home, family stuff.”

“You close with them?”

“Nah. My mom and I used to be, before she married Earl. My step-dad. He’s not… We’re not…” She shrugged, a distant look in her eyes. It spoke volumes, and for DJ, justified far too much of what he would later do to her.

“How would you like to come with me to my place instead? I promise, it won’t be boring.”

“Wow, I dunno, I mean, my family’s expecting me, and like, I barely know you and all…”

“You’re coming home with me, Brittney. Say it.” He looked at her sternly.

Her resistance crumpled in the blink of an eye. “I’m coming home with you,” she repeated.

“Pack your stuff tonight—we’re leaving tomorrow morning.” He leaned in and kissed her. “That’s my good girl.”

Brittney just beamed, unknowing, unthinking, unquestioning.

Chapter Seven

It was a four-hour drive back to DJ’s hometown, just far enough to not be expected often but not too terrible to drive once in a while. Brittney had helpfully packed snacks and all the sexiest clothes she could fit in her suitcase. DJ indulgently allowed her to pick the radio station; she indulgently allowed him to treat her like a piece of meat. The new car handled like a dream.

She was a simple creature, he quickly learned, and given his simple interest in her, this was for the best. She was pliability itself. The girl warmed so easily to praise that all he had to do was dole out the occasional compliment and she was smiles and sunshine. Further, and more usefully, she was so utterly biddable—he could only imagine how easy it had been for past boyfriends to get what they wanted from her. And with her dynamite body, it was obvious what they wanted. Only a blind man could sit in a room with her and not be at least distracted, or more likely captivated, by her.

The dirty-blonde girl was driving; he knew it would be too hazardous to have his fun with her while he was trying to control the car, and as amazing as life had become, he had never been more adamant on the point of making sure it didn’t end. Once they hit the interstate he’d tugged her neckline down beneath her tits and started groping and sucking on them to pass the time; the tinted windows helped avoid excess notice. Once he’d finally grown bored of it for the time being (a feat he’d never dreamed possible), he took a nap and enjoyed a dream in which Brittney and Ashley stood in fawning, servile attendance on him, competing to see who could bring him more pleasure, simpering and giggling as he had his way with them…

Presently, DJ was awakened by a couple hard jolts, then the realization the car had stopped. Looking up, he saw they were sitting in his step-mom’s driveway. He could never think of her as his mom; even growing up, she had insisted on being called “Morgan,” never “Mom.” Her step-sister Lauren was no better; three years his junior, she had been trained from the cradle to correct DJ every time he referred to her as “sister” without the “step.” Although three years his junior and born mere months after DJ’s father’s passing, she was nonetheless the product of a different man. (Morgan had sat him down once to have a talk about it; his father had been too infirm to attend to his husbandly duties, she explained, and a woman has needs…)

DJ’s father had been reasonably well-off and left her everything, with the caveat that she was to raise his son in his absence. It kept her and Lauren more than comfortable, and to be fair, had made his own life easy (in terms of finances, at least, which was a pretty important way to have life made easy). Morgan didn’t work, and hadn’t in his lifetime; if she was careful, she wouldn’t have to. Still, she managed to resent that this unwanted relic of a short marriage had been thrust on her for life.

Lauren, however, could resent him not only for that but also on other levels. Not only was her lifestyle made possible by his father, a man she would never meet, but she was also cursed with a step-brother who was a total loser. Morgan and Lauren had gone back to her maiden name of Lazlo, but still teachers and peers inevitably learned that she was DJ Swanson’s little sister. (“Step-sister,” she would correct them.) Her D&D-playing, Latin-club-member step-brother who never even went stag to a dance, much less acquire a date. Lauren herself had inherited her mother’s good looks—though just over 20 years apart, they were often mistaken for sisters. Both had the same naturally curly black hair, high cheekbones and full lips, hourglass figures with D-cup breasts. (DJ knew only because he had to fold their laundry, until Lauren complained—falsely—that she’d caught him smelling her underwear. He’d nonetheless been grounded for a month.) She was sexy and popular and the unfortunate victim of a lame-ass step-relation, which she only barely tolerated and was not at all incentivized to do so by Morgan.

In short, they thought he was a hopeless, annoying loser. With Brittney on his arm, he strode in and prepared to shatter that image.

“Heya, I’m home,” he called. Nobody answered. They dropped off their things in his room—converted to a workout room for the girls only days after he left for college, but they got a cot for him when he was home for breaks. The two searched around the house looking for his step-mom and step-sister, finally noticing the latter out in the backyard by the pool.

Better yet, she had friends over.

Lauren and her friends Jody and Brianne were lying out in swimsuits; they didn’t notice him right away so he took a moment to stare appreciatively. Lauren was as usual showing off what the good Lord had blessed her with, copper skin showing above, below and in-between the pink two-piece. Brianne was on the school’s swim team and had a typical swimmer’s body, lean and flat-chested; still, she had a pretty face framed by a length of curly red hair that he couldn’t imagine how she put into her swim cap, and was at present in a black one-piece that showed off her legs all the way to the hip.

And there was Jody. She was short and just a little chubby, but only in the right places. A cherubic face with pale blonde hair and big blue eyes, big round ass, and enormous fucking tits. They seemed to have their own gravity; eyes were just drawn to them, and had difficulty escaping their pull once drawn in. She was an out-spoken advocate of girl power and showing off her big jugs was just her way of affirming it. DJ had always considered it a chicken-egg phenomenon, wondering if showing off her tits made her feel empowered, or feeling powerful made her show off her tits. Either way, even with the other two beauties beside her—oh yeah, and Brittney just behind him—he only had eyes for Jody, leering long at the way they were crammed into that yellow floral-patterned bikini.