Endless Impossibilities Bridget
- 1 year ago
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Endless Impossibilities: Abby free porn video
It's shaping up to be one of your lamest spring breaks ever, in that your parents are letting you do exactly jack and shit for fun, even though you're eighteen now and it's your senior year and you have a good track record for being responsible enough to keep out of trouble. But your mom is convinced that to let her teenage daughter go on a spring break trip with friends is the virtual equivalent of buying her a one way ticket to a porn studio. She knows all about "the kind of awful things that happen on those trips," and she isn't about to let you either get kidnapped and sex-trafficked, or risk you losing your mind in the full on girls-gone-wild way she's envisioning.
Though, you have to admit things could have shaken out worse. Your parents, who have never to your knowledge gone wild a day in their lives and who seem unlikely to do so anytime soon, have decided to take a post-COVID spring break trip of their own. So they left this afternoon, before you were even home from school, flew to fucking Belize, and left you and your brother to fend for yourselves. So even though literally none of your friends are around because they don't have Catholic parents and are therefore all on their own spring break trips, having no Mom and Dad around for a week plus is going to be pretty great. They and your brother, who's been on their shit list ever since he quit after only his first semester at State, where he never even got to set foot on campus, have been driving you sort of fucking batshit crazy the last few months with the constant fighting and sniping and worrying and general handwringing. There is absolutely no sign that your family has any intention of becoming less annoying any time soon.
For your own selfish sake, you sort of wish Pat had exercised some good sense and stayed in school so that Mom and Dad wouldn't be on his ass constantly to do something with his life other than work from home data entry corporate bullshit, as well as on your ass constantly, lest you get any bright ideas from his shining example and decide to follow in his footsteps.
Sure Mom. Because it looks so fucking appealing right now, to blow off college and stay at home to eat shit every day just like Pat.
It would be nice if you didn't have to share the house at all, but Pat probably won't even get in your way. You and he barely even talk nowadays. At first you tried to defend him whenever Mom and Dad started lecturing him about some new bullshit, because unlike a lot of siblings, back in the day you always had each other's backs. But Patrick's been in such a shitty mood since leaving school that you don't see the point anymore. He doesn't appreciate it. He wants exactly fuckall to do with you, or Mom and Dad.
Sometimes it makes you sad. Mostly it just makes it seem like moving out for college is going to be way fucking easier than you ever thought.
You're finally home from school, trudging up to your room with a bag of animal cookies in one hand and a bag of kettle chips in the other, because why the fuck not, when at the top of the stairs you leave off trying to decide how to use your first night of blessed freedom because your brother is talking to somebody behind his bedroom door. It's not that this itself is weird, but he sounds a little funny. You stand there for a second, listening. He's talking to maybe two other people? The voices coming through the door are too indistinct to make out any actual words.
Oh, well. None of your fucking business if he's talking to strangers in his room.
You're trying to decide whether to work on your AP history paper due week after next and have the whole thing out of the way so you can enjoy the rest of the week in slovenly style, or procrastinate it for another day, when you turn the corner into your room and realize you can't work on the paper anyway because your computer is gone.
Fucker, you think irritably. He really could have at least texted you to ask first, or something.
You leave your room and stalk silently to his door. Listening there, breathing quietly so he won't hear you, you still can't make out any actual words in his conversation. But you're starting to care less whether you're interrupting some work meeting of his, because it's almost six so probably not, and you can tell he's definitely using your computer for his call. Ass. He knew you'd want it tonight, and he borrowed it anyway for some personal shit, without saying a word to you.
"Pat! You took my computer—" You fling open the door to confront him. Immediately both you and Patrick yelp in startled surprise—you stopping dead in your tracks and wheeling around to look away as he frantically reaches to cover himself up with the bedsheet. Not that this happens quick enough for you to avoid an eyeful of him stroking his erection. Jesus fucking Christ. Like you can ever shake off that visual!
"Goddamnit, Abby! Don't you know how to fucking knock?" he snaps, red-faced.
"I was looking for my computer!" you tell him in confused horror, timidly turning back around with your face flaming once you figure out it's safe to do so.
"You're supposed to be at debate practice for another hour!" he says irritably, as if you've done something terribly wrong.
"It's spring break! Mrs. Wang-Lyman canceled it!" Before he can reply to this, you look over at your computer and immediately notice that the two people your brother was talking to are also naked! The woman is covering herself up, but the man is making no attempt to do so. You don't recognize either of them. And they look old, like, older-than-Mom-and-Dad old.
"What the fuck, Patrick!" you cry. "Those are... naked people! Are you into some weird sex shit?!"
Your brother laughs nervously and motions for you to keep your voice down, even though nobody else but you will be home for the next week. As you approach he glances anxiously at the computer screen, then looks away again and gives you a rueful smile that looks exactly as forced as it is. "So hey, just take a beat, Ab," he says. "It's really not as crazy as it might look."
"Who even are these people?" you demand, gesturing at the screen.
He sighs. "It doesn't matter. They're... just some friends of mine."
Sure, yeah, because that sounds plausible as all hell. You stare at your brother in consternation. "Is this some kind of... sex cult thing? Or are they paying you to... to..." You fumble awkwardly, blushing furiously, because you don't exactly know what a strange middle-aged couple might pay your nineteen-year-old brother to. "Or... are you paying... them?" With what money, you wonder. Patrick's generally dismal financial situation is a constant point of contention between him and your parents.
"No, of course not," he replies, and somehow has the nerve to muster an exasperated sigh. "We met... online. And sometimes we chat and fool around a little, is all. They're exploring an open marriage. We're all consenting adults. It's not like I'm doing anything illegal. Or dangerous."
"Or even wrong," puts in the woman, and you turn and glare at her. You sort of want to scold her, except that despite defending the situation, she seems a bit embarrassed by this whole conversation. The man doesn't speak. He's staring at the floor with a hard look on his face that makes him seem as if he were angry about something.
Emboldened by the woman's support, Patrick says, "Exactly! This is on you! You shouldn't have barged in on me!"
"Maybe not, but—but you shouldn't have taken my computer without asking!" you protest. "And I find you—doing—stuff with it!" you cry in bewilderment.
"Mine isn't working," Pat says. The man clears his throat uncomfortably and finally moves to cover himself up. Thank god. His wife laughs nervously. Her husband turns away and pours himself a glass of wine.
You stare at them. "Pat! Those are like—real adults!" you say.
Your brother laughs again nervously. "It's not a big deal like you're making it out to be." He glances to the side and you realize he's trying to subtly slide his phone under his thigh. No fucking way. The only reason he'd bother is that he's hiding something else. You dart over and snatch it from him, then retreat a few feet away where he can't immediately get to you without exposing himself again. You see him clench his jaw, but you don't care at this point.
"Oh my god," you exclaim, "her user name is Mea Cunta?" You stare at him in total disbelief, then at the woman on your laptop screen, who squirms uncomfortably.
The man speaks for the first time. "Maybe you should be more open minded. You could join us," he suggests. "You never know what you might be into."
You round on him. "I beg your actual fucking pardon? What a teenager might be 'into' with her own brother?" you demand.
"Uh—" says the man, wearing a face that says he is frantically preparing for a metric fuckton of backpedaling. "Patrick said you were his girlfriend," he says quickly.
"I'm his sister!" you cry.
He and the woman exchange a horrified look, and then he reaches offscreen and the video call cuts off abruptly.
Patrick stares at you, looking a bit wide-eyed. Yeah, you've known him all your life so you know that look well. It's the making-up-an-excuse-mom-might-believe look.
"Don't you dare—" you begin, because what excuse could possibly suffice! Then you leave off, looking down at his phone as it begins to buzz with notifications. "We don't want any trouble," you read aloud. "We..." You stop speaking because the next part says, "promise we'll delete her pictures right away. Please." You look up and gape at your brother as something extremely upsetting occurs to you.
You stare at the words on the screen, hoping they'll say something different. Her pictures. Her pictures. Your fucking pictures.
Fuck.
Those were from months ago, almost a year! And you deleted them after you and Brady broke up. Brady promised up and down, cross his heart, on his mom's grave, pinky promise, to delete his too. It shouldn't be possible.
It can't be possible.
All the same, you freeze in sudden horror, and wind up simply staring at your brother in awkward dismay. Because you have a really scary feeling it might have been possible after all.
You stumble a few steps forward and sink to a seat on the edge of his bed, because you aren't sure if you can keep yourself upright.
Patrick snatches his phone back from your unresisting hands and visibly pales when he reads what she wrote. "Oh, god... Abby," he begins, then leaves off when he looks up and really takes in the full spectrum of your reaction.
"You shared those with strangers?" you choke, before beginning to sob outright. "Those were private! You had no right! How could you!"
"I'm so sorry that happened!" he pleads, sounding genuinely distressed for you, not that it helps exactly. "I didn't... I..." He trails off.
Your face is so hot you have to press your hands to your cheeks to cool them off. "Oh my god," you lament. "I can't believe you even saw that stuff. I was—you must think—" You burst into tears. "Fuck!"
"It's okay. I would never think—" He leaves off and quickly moves over and pulls you into a tight hug. You have the momentary impulse to shove him away and call Mom to come home from her trip—except what would your mom say when she finds out about the incredibly filthy pictures you let Brady take? Mom will be beyond appalled to know her daughter never needed a boozy spring break trip in another country to achieve heights of depravity that as a Catholic she probably doesn't even know exist. The thought makes you bawl even harder. "Oh, Ab, I'm so, so sorry," he murmurs, holding you close. "I really fucked up not telling you."
"How did you even find them?" you sob.
"Oh, uh..." Patrick says, looking uncomfortable.
"It's just, it was months ago. How did you even find them on my computer?" you ask him tearfully. "And why the fuck would you—"
"—Ab, give me a little credit at least. It wasn't like that at all." He flushes bright red. "Um... Sam received them in a text and warned me."
"Huh?" You drag the back of your hand across your snotty nose, looking at him with a feeling of unpleasant confusion. Your brother's best friend wasn't who you expected to come up in this story. And that means, fucking great, Sam of all people saw? "He... how?" you manage.
There's a short silence. "I don't know exactly how. But Brady got into my phone. I guess... he tried yours and couldn't get in because you have that idiotic like eight digit passcode and multifactor. But I guess... I'm not as paranoid as you." He shrugs uncomfortably. "After that big fight you two had, I guess he was pissed. He used my account to send them to a few people. Not a lot. And no family at least, thank god. But still pretty bad, I know."
A few people, you think. Do you even want to know who the hell that means?
Patrick's eyes are tense with guilt. "Abby?" he asks, and this is followed by a protracted silence during which you're too overtime with mortification to answer right away. "Say something, will you?"
You're too hideously embarrassed even to look up at your brother. Instead you stare at your knees and mumble, "I fucking hate Brady," between a couple of hiccupping sobs.
He snorts in an uneasy sort of way. "You and me both. Look," he says, breaking away from you so he can pull his boxers back on under the covers, "maybe you really should talk to Mom and Dad. It's not like I did the best job trying to protect you and handle it on my own."
You look up at him in such horror that your tears stop right away. "Are you fucking joking? I can't tell Mom and Dad! They would literally never let me out of the house again. And they think I'm still a virgin!" Your face flushes with new heat as soon as you're done blurting that out. You hadn't exactly meant to share that. Though, from the pictures... okay, he knows. You let out a long sigh, then swallow hard before saying, "I'm serious. Honestly I'd never be able to look either of them in the eye again. It would be about a zillion times worse than you quitting school. You have to promise me you won't tell them. Please, Paddy," you beg, appealing to his sympathies with the babyish nickname.
"This is totally different than me fucking up college. You didn't actually do anything wrong," your brother argues, though he sounds unconvinced himself that your parents would see it that way.
When this reply only elicits another storm of tears, he says quickly, "Okay, I promise. I won't if you don't want them to know. But if you change your mind I also promise I'll talk to them with you so you don't have to do it alone." He sighs heavily and pulls you back into a hug. "It's really unfair that you had to find this out in such a shitty way. You didn't deserve that. I'm really sorry, kid."
"Me too," you sniffle back, and can't help choking on a few more sobs, and then launching back into full-blown tears. Patrick holds you while you get it all out of your system, without commenting, stroking your hair soothingly. Never once does he sigh or act passively annoyed about it, which is kind of nice. It actually makes it a bit easier to stop, in fact. Finally you swipe your hands under your eyes and manage to smile weakly up at him. "Can we just try go back to normal for now and try to pretend this never happened? I really wanted to enjoy one blessed, beautiful week without Mom and Dad.”
"Done," he says immediately, pulling away enough to snap the laptop shut and set it on the bed stand. "Let's sideline this shit for now and have a fun night at home, full of Abby stuff. We can get that mushroom alfredo pizza you like and watch whatever Jim Henson creep fest is doing it for you lately. Yeah? Or just, really anything that lets us feel like old times."
You wipe again at your puffy eyes. "Like old times," you agree.
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