[Author's note: not a lot of sex in this chapter, but it had to be written for the story to "hang" together. Hopefully it's a quick read, even if it doesn't get you off.]
"Hey little brother!" Yvette unfolded herself from the cab and reached out to him as if she was a war bride greeting her returning hero.
He smiled weakly, allowing her to embrace him. He felt her breasts push against him and he shivered a little. Her hands drifted down to the small of his back, pushing him against her, but he didn't resist.
"Is this how you greet your sister after all these years? Chester! Is there something the matter?" She held him away from her to stare at him, scanning him from head to toe. They were standing outside the Men's house – he had been fidgeting all morning waiting for her – and now he felt as if he were sliding down a waterfall, unable to stop the flow of events. The confidence June, Corrine and Roxie had tried to instill in him the prior week was flowing away as well; he was sinking under her spell. "Well?" Her voice snapped him back.
"No. No, Yvette. Everything's just fine. I'm just a little tired, is all. Please, come in and let me show you around. I'm sure you're very curious about what I've been up to."
As they walked up the stairs to the front door, she complimented him on his choice of outfit and suggested he should model something for her. He nodded grimly, opening the door and showing her through the foyer. She never stopped her stream of consciousness and it occurred to him that perhaps she was nervous as well – a thought that had never crossed his mind until just then. He entertained the possibility he was growing up and maybe the women were right. Maybe he could do this.
His confidence bolstered, he ushered her to his room and made a place for her bags.
"So," she said, looking around as if she were in a TB ward. "Is this the best they can do?" She sat on the edge of his chair, confirming there wasn't something squiggly that might jump out at her.
"How has the tour been?" He deflected her comments.
As she chirped about this and that, about Lyssa's success here or a great exhibition there, he began to sense desperation in her voice. He tried to stay as neutral as he could, listening patiently, looking engaged to keep her talking, but it kept coming up. Something was definitely wrong and she was trying to hide it.
"Okay, enough chit chat. I can see you're deep into your studies and haven't much to offer me in turn, so perhaps you could be kind enough to show me some of the items Lyssa and I have been sending you?" She sat back, expectantly.
"I would love to, Yvette." He tried to make it sound convincing, even though he neither felt anything of the sort, and per Roxie's plan, he could do nothing of the sort. "But I have a small confession to make."
She looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting.
"For the past week or so, I've not been living here – so most of my things aren't here to model. But before we go to my current room," he held up his hand slightly as she started to interrupt, "I'd like to show you around a little more, if that's alright?" This part he was able to get through without sounding forced.
A little miffed at him, she accepted the explanation. "My, aren't you getting assertive. Well, I suppose that's what college is for. Still I don't expect you to forget all of your manners or what I taught you." She proffered her cheek, as if she were some royalty.
He shuddered, silently giving thanks that her eyes were closed and couldn't see him, and leaned forward to kiss her lightly. Her hand moved down to his groin and gripped his penis inside his slacks forcing him to hold still.
"Now you listen to me, you little freak show. I don't know what you've got brewing, but I know this: you're hiding something and before the day is out, you will be honest with me. Do you understand you little fucker?" Her voice was quiet, dripping with menace, but oddly the words didn't frighten him. He waited, smiling thinly out of her line of sight, until she released him. He stroked his penis lightly trying to massage the pain away and stood up.
"Let's go," he said quietly, picking up her bags. "It's just a block away."
Walking through the campus wasn't nearly as embarrassing as he had expected her to make it. She played the visiting relative act to a "T," asking polite questions about various buildings, stopping to smell a rose in a planter, noting the sculpture in front of the Library. It all appeared so thoroughly normal, he began to wonder if he'd imagined her outburst in his room. The faint pain from his groin, however, wasn't imaginary – a constant reminder of how important it was to play this out perfectly.
When they arrived in front of the Women's house, she stopped him, one hand on his arm, the other to her mouth. "Holy Mary, mother of God," she gasped. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"
He blushed at her reaction, even though there was no one around and he could have predicted it, in fact
had
predicted it. Still his body betrayed him, especially to Yvette.
"You've been here how long?"
"About a week." He tried to breathe normally.
"It's too perfect. Too fucking perfect. Please, show me your room!" She clapped her hands lightly and shooed him up the stairs.
Once again in his room, she found a seat and suggested she would love a fashion show.
"I was thinking, Yvette," he said, stalling her again. "On the way over here, maybe you'd like to have me model some of Lyssa's work to the other women in the house. They've not seen much of what you've sent over – I try to wear only the day-to-day things, which," he added conspiratorially, "is already over their heads. What do you think?"
Her eyes brightened at the idea. "Why Chester, here I was thinking you were hiding something, and you were! What a great idea, and what a great surprise! May I help you pick out the wardrobe?"
"Would you like to see the rest of the house first, or....?"
"No. No. Let's figure out what you're going to show off. You know how much you like it." She stood and joined him at the closet, helping him pull boxes off the shelf.
"Now Chester, there's something we need to chat about before the day gets much older." She used a tone he hadn't remember hearing before and it frightened him a little. "Are you completely familiar with the terms of your trust fund?"
He froze. It was about money. His money. She needed money. The European tour hadn't gone well and she'd blown her inheritance. Now she was after his. Even though she didn't say anything of the sort, the entire scheme became obvious to him in that one question she asked. He continued pulling clothes out of the closet and looked at her a little quizzically.
