Babette Johnny And Me
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A Bet To Lose, Chapter 5 free porn video
Richard had a couple of private messages from Susie waiting for him
when he woke up the next morning. Her aunt had lightly scolded her that
she had to be careful when wearing her new shoes, as the heels had left
some soft indentations in a couple of rugs. That was definitely the
sort of behavior that warranted a spanking for Richard, although he'd
have to take a rain check on it because it was going to be storming all
day and Caroline would be at work.
Of course, something like that certainly wasn't going to stop him - he
was a teenage boy, after all, a mere mile's walk through a thunderstorm
was nothing compared to the demands of his dick - but Susie mentioned
that the thunderstorm wasn't the only thing that was having a 'heavy
flow' that day, and he caught her drift.
He considered whacking off, but decided against it. Susie had taken
charge of that, after all, so his orgasms weren't up to him anymore.
Instead, he squatted down, messed his diaper like a good boy because
that was what it was for (it was still gross, but his mom was coming
home so it'd obviously be the last time he'd get to even try it for a
while), and walked downstairs, still in his nightie, to where he
smelled eggs and burritos.
"You're up early," he said.
"Can't sleep," she replied. She obviously had been worried sick over
Leslie. "Hope you like it."
"Yeah, thanks." He sat down and ate with his sister. In a way, it was a
normal morning, except for the fact that he was in a poopy diaper and
wearing a pink nightgown, in which he felt more normal than he did
before. They ate in silence because they didn't know what to say to
each other, but it was a comforting sort of silence. At least Mom
wasn't home yet. Given how his poop was smearing itself against his
butt, he wasted no time in hurrying to the shower, throwing the diaper
away (he really didn't want to show THAT to his sister), and washing
himself off, his pee running down with the water. After trying them a
few times, he decided that used diapers were very much not his thing.
His sister did change him into a fresh one, though, the last one in the
house for presumably the last time, and at his request, she started
braiding his hair into the pigtails he'd had yesterday. They were so
little girlish, so innocent-looking, and just so him. She wondered if
Susie would be able to find even more frilly, little-girl dresses in
his size. This was the sort of person he really was, the person he'd
(wisely) protected behind a shield of social avoidance, and she was
glad she could help him be that person.
Of course, he'd tried to help her, too. "Ricky, we're both worried
about whatever that thing on Friday is going to be, but I just want you
to know that whatever you did for her yesterday, the important part is
that you tried."
"No it's not!" he hotly replied. "What matters is if it worked or not!
If I only tried, it means I just wasted my time! Just trying isn't
gonna lead to her getting better!" Zoe really wanted to ask what he'd
done, but she knew she'd find out tomorrow, and he'd obviously said too
much as it was. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."
She smiled at him, shaking her head at the absurdity. "Look at you.
I've just put you in a diaper, I'm braiding your hair into pigtails,
and the only reason you're getting mad is because you think you might
not have helped someone enough. I wish I'd known this about you
before." Doing this for him, giving him the compassionate and caring
treatment he wanted, felt like making up for lost time.
His reply was simple and honest: "I didn't trust you to know it
before." He'd read a definition of trust a while back, written by some
professional intelligence something-or-other in the context of computer
security, that had made a lasting impression on him, right around the
time when he consciously realized he really liked playing game
characters who wore dresses. Trust, simply put, was the ability of
someone else to hurt you. The more trust you had in someone, the more
that person could do to ruin your network, your files, your
friendships, your life. A great deal of the various stories he'd read
on sites he was too young to visit had featured various females
discovering the secrets of males just like him and then completely
fucking them over to the point of lifelong dependence and physical
mutilation. He knew such stories weren't real, but he was certain that
some people had to want to do that; why would they have wrote them
otherwise? Trusting anyone with his sissy secret was obviously a very
bad idea, and making the bet with Zoe was an impulsive act, a chance
taken. If he had thought beforehand, he would never have done it, and
he was very, very glad he did.
Zoe was somewhat annoyed with herself that she didn't, couldn't have,
trusted him, either. She had been reading stories of her own, but they
were all presumably real, of girls being disowned and worse by their
parents as soon as they came out of the closet. She had far less
interest in expressing herself as she did in being able to live
anything like a normal life, and if that meant staying hidden, then so
be it. She intended to stay firmly in a very fortified closet until she
was financially independent. At least she didn't have to keep her
bisexuality hidden from her brother anymore, and if he somehow made
this thing with Leslie's evil birth parents go away, she'd never be
able to repay him in a thousand years.
"Speaking of, Zoe, you didn't trust me before, but do you want me to
actually teach you Starcraft, the way I play it?" He had offered to
help when she'd first gotten started and had been harshly rebuffed.
"I'd like that, and there's one more chore you didn't do," she said.
"You actually didn't finish the laundry."
"I did all four loads, like you showed me."
"You did all four loads of clothes. You didn't do the sheets and
blankets. It's all right, I didn't realize it either."
He went to put on a blue dress with floral accents he hadn't tried on,
but the chest area was too baggy, so he put on his fake boobs so it
would fit and, after a bit of thought, his butt padding as well. He put
on his jingly socks and favorite pink heels and twirled around,
watching his dress flare back and forth, smiling at how pretty he
looked, not wanting this to end and knowing that it had to, at least
while their mother was home.
That was how they spent their morning, brother and sister: him as a
cute, pigtailed, high-heeled houseboy, her in shorts and a T-shirt, as
he used Archon Mode to show her how he managed building and units in
between mincing downstairs to do sheets (on hot) and blankets (on
warm). He was honest and genuine with her, both when she messed up and
when she did well, and she greatly appreciated that. This week had felt
for the first time in her life that she had an actual brother and not
just some kid who lived in the same house. Even if he was the sort of
brother that obediently and carefully made everyone's bed while trying
not to overbalance with his rubber boobs and high heels.
Then they prepared for their mother's arrival by putting a reluctant
Richard back in his boy clothes, throwing away his used diaper, and
unbraiding his hair, right before they took out all the trash, washed
all his girl stuff, and moved it to the back of his closet where their
mother never went. No heel-prints in the carpet, no dirty diapers in
the house, no evidence anywhere that any of this had ever happened at
all.
And then their mother called when she arrived at the airport, and they
found themselves waiting in the living room together, watching
something they didn't care about on TV. It wasn't really conscious on
either of their parts. He was anxious, and she was anxious, and they
just kind of hung out together because neither one wanted the other to
be alone with their mother at that point.
She finally showed up with a tired expression and suitcases in hand,
took one look at them, and mutual misunderstanding struck.
Despite Susie's command not to brood, Richard's mind had been wandering
into a dark place as he awaited their mother, and he'd been considering
plausible but unlikely scenarios cooked up from some of the worst real-
world shit he'd heard about online. His mother was anti-pharma in
general so he didn't worry about her trying to put them on some
psychotropic drug. But one of his least favorite scenarios, and
therefore the one that got the most fixation, was that his mother was
going to call up a Focus on the Family "counselor" once she found out
who her children really were, or, worse, some "educational consultant"
asshole who was going to force one or both of them into nightmarish
"residential treatment". If she gave a single hint that she had put any
thought into doing anything like that, his very first resort would have
been to go straight to the thing in the darkness and give it the full
names and home addresses of everyone he knew in his entire extended
family, beginning with himself. (Richard strongly suspected that it had
a great deal more life-ruining and perhaps physically destructive power
than all of 'cancel culture' put together.) Then he was going to find
Caroline's PTSD veteran workshop buddies and trick the asshole into an
in-person meeting somewhere else, telling him about a troubled teen
with the unusual name of Ty Ryron and asking him to please come and
receive Ty Ryron immediately.
Of course, Heather had no knowledge that such things even existed and
would have never interacted with them if she did. What she did have was
a fairly solid grasp of nonverbal communication and a modicum of social
awareness. Her children - usually avoidant of one another - were
standing unusually close together, both of them looking at her with
anxiety and distrust written all over their faces. She didn't
understand why. The house was sparkling like new, all surfaces tended
to and everything neat and clean; she'd half-expected to need to start
yelling at them about doing chores properly or break up some spat that
had occurred between them. This situation made no sense to her. They'd
done everything right, had grown close somehow, and yet they were
looking at her that way? The thought briefly crossed her mind that
maybe they'd killed somebody and had spent plenty of time cleaning it
up, and she found herself checking the walls and floor for bloodstains.
"What happened?" she asked immediately.
"Our disabled friend's biological parents are going to get her killed,"
Zoe answered. Richard hadn't wanted to tell her anything at all, but
Zoe pointed out that she was probably going to figure something was up,
so Richard offered the idea of bringing this up instead.
"What?"
They both explained, taking turns, what Leslie's condition was, the
hope she had, and how it had been cruelly taken away; what Richard had
been doing yesterday went totally unmentioned. Heather understood the
situation in broad terms, but the thing that she had found most
fascinating was that Richard was actively caring about someone else.
The boy had always been aloof and unconcerned, spending a lot of time
on his computer, and Heather had found it nearly impossible to get him
to show any concern for anyone, even his own family. Since when had he
started caring about other people? A suspicion grew in her mind.
"Richard, is Leslie your girlfriend?" she asked when he was done
explaining, and Zoe took great care in keeping her face unchanged.
"No," he said immediately, as casually as he could, "Susie is." He
wanted to pull his mother away from other suspicions.
"Susie, from up the hill?" she asked, her eyes widening. Zoe had told
her about her friends, because Heather wasn't going to let her daughter
run around with people she didn't know. All she had really known,
though, was that Caroline's dad was a mechanic, Leslie had some
debilitating condition, and Susie was extraordinarily rich. "She's a
couple years older than you. You're not messing with me, are you?"
"Not messing with you, Mom."
"He's really not," Zoe added.
"I certainly hope this works out for you," she said, and her children
saw through her greed. The only way any of Susie's money was going to
reach Heather's pockets was via winged swine. "By the way, Zoe, your
cousins were asking where you were."
Both of her children tensed up and she realized immediately that she
had said the wrong thing. She couldn't fathom why. Her daughter had
been upset, but that was months ago, so what was the problem?
"Yeah, Mom, did they ask how I was doing, or did they just want to see
my body again?"
"Zoe, that's not right. They're your family."
"So they didn't ask how I was doing. They just wanted to see my legs in
striped tights so they could pretend to lick me again."
"Zoe!" That had been six months ago! Heather could not understand, at
all, why she would bring something like that up again. "I told you then
and I'll tell you again, I don't know what you thought you saw, but I'm
certain that wasn't it!"
"Weren't you yelling at the television about how we should believe a
woman when she says things about this stuff?" Richard asked quietly. He
couldn't even remember which woman it was. Was it Tara Whatsherface or
Christine Blaggowhocares? Conventional, mainstream politics were a
mystery to him. He was thirteen and had other things on his mind.
"That's different," Heather said, keeping a patient tone. This was not
the conversation she'd expected to have when she got home.
"No it's not," Zoe said. "You forced me to wear disgusting dresses in
front of disgusting literal incest cousins. Twice." Zoe inwardly
grinned a bit, imagining what her mother would say if she knew who had
been wearing them instead.
"Zoe, I didn't intend for you to be disgusted by them. I thought that
if you wore things like that enough, that you'd come to accept it and
like it."
She knew, immediately, that this was an even bigger mistake. She had
entirely rubbed both of them the very wrong way - no, that was an
understatement.
Her daughter was staring at her with betrayal and no small amount of
hatred in her eyes, the same way she had looked after that terrible
Christmas (she wished she still had the pictures, as she figured that,
later in life, her daughter might appreciate what she was trying to do
for her) and even after her son's rather dismal birthday. She had
actually been quietly grateful when he'd given her a reason to stop
trying to make her daughter more feminine. Those looks, along with her
lingering avoidant and distrustful attitude, even after it was all over
and she figured Zoe had no reason to be angry with her anymore, had
stayed with her. Was she really going to turn Zoe into a lesbian doing
this, as her son had explained? Why couldn't her daughter just accept
that she was a girl?
But that was a picnic compared to the look of sheer contempt that her
son was giving her. His body language told her that he was willing to
do absolutely awful, unforgettable things to her, perhaps violent and
perhaps not, at the drop of a hat. Richard never acted like this,
especially not towards her. She had seen this look directed at her only
once before in her entire life.
Heather wasn't quite the queen bee of high school, but she was up
there, and she considered the nerdy Jessica to be lucky to have her as
a friend. She couldn't remember all that her and her friends did -
occasionally stole her homework, called her names, got her to
participate in harassment of other students, generally things that
Heather considered to be harmless kid stuff. And then they had been
arguing by her locker, something about how Jessica didn't want to do
something or other, asking if she really wanted to be their friend, and
then Heather had taken a small pair of scissors, reached under the
collar of Jessica's shirt, and snipped her bra strap just to remind her
who was in charge. A fun little prank, really.
And then Jessica had given her that look, the look that said she had
gone too far, then made a beeline straight for the principal's office
and told the principal absolutely everything, including, in incredibly
self-incriminating detail, her own role when the group had targeted
someone else. They all knew that this much tattling would basically end
her social life at that school, but Jessica hadn't cared one whit. She
was more interested in hurting them than protecting herself, and it
had, of course, worked for its intended purpose. Heather had nearly
been expelled right there, but the principal was clear that she was
being merciful by giving her two weeks of suspension instead. Heather's
parents had been absolutely livid with her and she spent the rest of
her senior year grounded, subjected to humiliating therapy sessions in
which she was accused of sexual bullying, and forced to write an
apology letter of which she didn't actually mean a word and that she
was sure Jessica didn't even read. One of her other friends had been so
pissed off that she'd concocted a convoluted, probably unworkable plan
to get back at Jessica at prom, but it hadn't mattered because Jessica
simply didn't go to prom. They simply never saw her again outside of
classes, where they were strictly forbidden from talking to her, on
pain of expulsion, and Jessica didn't show up to graduation, either.
Heather's friends had gone off to college while she had gotten married
and pregnant by the jock she'd had a crush on, and then he had gotten
hurt playing college football in a low-division league, and once the
prescription for oxycodone had run out, he'd turned to heroin. The only
thing left of him was two children, one of which didn't even want to
look at her and the other of which was silently staring at her with the
exact same expression that Jessica had, back then.
She'd never told her children about what had happened in her senior
year. Originally, the reason had been because she didn't want them
doing things like that to anyone; now, it was that she expected a
reaction of 'We figured you were always like that.' She felt agonized
and frustrated that her daughter couldn't or wouldn't receive her good
intentions in the spirit they were given. Why couldn't Zoe just accept
that her mother she was just trying to teach a fun lesson in
femininity?
Although Zoe didn't say anything out loud, Heather could read her lips:
'Fuck you, Mom.' She turned around and walked upstairs to her room.
Normally, Heather might have said or done something just then, some
threat of punishment or admonishment, but her intuition was absolutely
screaming at her that if she said anything like that, her son was going
to do something so unimaginably hurtful that their family life, at the
very least, would never be the same. It did not miss her perception
that her son, who had apparently just learned to care about people, had
it in his mind that he needed to protect his sister from their own
mother.
"I was only trying to help," she protested.
"You failed," Zoe replied simply, not even turning around. Heather
breathed an audible sigh of relief when her son started going up to his
room as well. She decided to let it go for now. Despite the hurt being
flung back and forth, they hadn't actually done anything, and so she
wasn't going to do anything. Richard, too, was relieved that his mother
was not going to do anything and so he didn't have to do anything.
Something had changed, and Heather didn't know what it was. It had to
be about their disabled friend, of course. That was the only
explanation that made sense.
She was still their mother, of course. They hadn't had dinner, and now
that she was home, that was up to her. She put away her suitcases -
noting that every single surface had been expertly dusted, sheets and
blanket washed, bed made perfectly - changed clothes and took a bath
(the toilet was spotless), and went back downstairs to the kitchen.
Every surface washed, spic and span. "What on Earth happened?" she
asked aloud to no one, in total confusion. She fished a couple of cans
of Spam out of the cupboard - she cooked it with canned vegetables in a
way that her children found somewhat palatable - and called them down
for dinner, only after noticing something very weird. The looks on her
children's faces had only somewhat changed, but they sat at the table
to eat anyway.
"May I ask why there are baby wipes and powder on the counter?" she
asked, eyebrow raised, certain that she had caught them in something.
If the two of them were quietly making money babysitting other people's
children while she was out, that would explain at least some of their
behavior.
"Mom, were you not even listening when we told you about our friend?"
Zoe snapped, and Heather stared in confusion.
"Leslie, the one with the serious disability," Richard reminded her as
if she were very, very stupid.
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were doing that for her
here. Why aren't they in the bathroom?"
"Because she can't do stairs, Mom," Zoe said. "Even our doorstep is
hard for her." Heather realized that she was only giving her children
more reasons to think of her as a gigantic bitch, and they ate in
mostly silence. Maybe she'd bring this all up with them later, but it
obviously wasn't the time. Heather tried to lighten the mood by talking
about the wedding, not mentioning the cousins Zoe hated, but they
obviously didn't care and it just bounced off. They ate in a very
uncomfortable silence, after which both of them went right back to
their rooms. There wasn't really peace in the house, but at least it
was only a cold war.
Heather couldn't help but feel that she had lost something very
important and had no idea how to get it back.
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