From the first touch of his hands on my back, the cool lotion contrasting with the warm skin, I know I'm in trouble. I want my brother. Badly. And oh,...God, is he good with his hands. He's not just rubbing the lotion in, he's giving me a good relaxing massage too, kneading the muscles into loose melty slackness, and he's pulling little sighs out of me that I hope he keys into. If he catches those little signs, he gives no indication. When his hands begin to knead and stroke my butt, however, I. I squinted from being blinded by the light. "Umm, Maria. I'm sorry, sir. I was just trying to get home." I told him. He was a muscular-looking man, probably in his early thirties, with short dark hair and blue eyes. A husband and a father, perhaps. He had that gentle look to him. But he was certainly not ugly."Are you under the influence, Maria?" Fuck! I thought again. He knew. He knew I was drunk and I was going to jail for sure. Mom and Dad would never forgive me. I tried to think of many. More

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