Page 20 of CurVy 13

You have, Vallie.

Dubious consent, girl.

Shut the fuck up.

Too soon, the bathroom door swings open. I jump and grab my heart. I’ll have a bruise there soon.

Donnie walks in, the mask in place, the dramatic downward curve now a creepy part of his identity.

Is he sad on the inside, too?

“Take off my brother’s shirt.”

I look at him in the reflection; seeing his masked form in the same vision makes it hard to separate the real emotions and the outer layers of protection I’m holding fast.

When I don’t comply, his body encroaches on mine from behind. He glides his fingertips up the sides of my body and hitches the fabric as he trails them towards my ribs.

My heart moves into my ears. I raise my arms and allow him to remove the shirt. The view of too much flesh forces my eyes to squeeze the vision away.

Don’t make me stare at myself naked while you stand behind me, gawking or silently mocking.

“Open your eyes,” he presses his entire body to my back, the warmth confusing my senses.

I comply, blinking a few times before I return to my reflection again. I hate him for doing this.

“Look. Really look at yourself.”

For the first time in a long time, I truly look at myself. Namely, my heavy, full breasts. They are a fucking problem. When I sleep on my side, they wedge between my biceps. When I stand, like this, they hang heavily and just… get in the way. They are the first thing to touch, well, everything.

My breasts are the main participants in every embrace, whether it’s between a colleague or a family member I haven’t seen in years. There they are, being pressed between me and their unwitting victims, when all I wanted was to offer a wholesome fucking greeting. Ugh.

“Beautiful,” he says, and it catches me off guard because I was thinking the opposite.

I suppose they are symmetrical at least, heavier at the bottom, with peaks of brown I inherited from my Italian side.

I wonder when I became so self-conscious. Did it happen slowly or just appear one day?

“Touch them.” His voice is deep and strained, but the mask adds detachment. At my lower back, his pelvis hardens, that’s something he can’t hide. “Massage them for me. I want to see you enjoy your big, beautiful tits.”

I don’t hate this.

But I should.

I lift my hands and start in a circular motion, lifting the weight and then lowering them again with each rotation. They are firm along the lower crease, heavy, and soft across the top and sides. I part my lips, feeling breathless all of a sudden.

Sexy, Vallie.

You feel sexy.

“Very good, Pup. Now press them together for me.”

I press both sides together, creating a large, tight crease down the centre. My palms continue to knead each hard nipple, the pressure resonating between my thighs as though connected by a direct line of nerves.

Oliver rarely paid my breasts much attention. He said they only get in the way.

“You can decide how you want the next four days to go. You can sob and hold yourself at night. Or you can do as you’re told. Trust that I won’t harm you. Explore a new side of yourself. ‘Cause all I want is my brother back. And you were begging for this on social media. Here I am… Are you going to behave? Embrace this? Then, I’ll go. And you’ll never see us again…”

I nod. “Yes.”

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