Wendy, My Brother's Wife (Revised)
Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Mind Control, Magic, Tear Jerker, Slut Wife, Slow,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The world is full of Mind Control stories and most of them even sound like fun... until you become one of the victims. A story of lost love, redemption and Lovett County. A very different sort of MC story with very little sex. Slightly revised and re-edited.

There are at least a thousand erotic tales in the world about quarreling brothers who steal (or temporarily borrow) the girlfriends or even the spouses of their brothers. I don't find this especially erotic myself, but then again I'm just a bit biased on this subject.

They usually have a similar theme; one brother goes off to college or to war or to some place very out of sight and out of mind, and their girl gets restless and bored. Rather than waiting for her sworn love to return, the girl instead of waiting for 'Mr Right', settles for 'Mr Right Now'.

Sometimes the brother 'steals' the girl, or other times she should be assigned much more of the blame. Either way the absent brother gets an unwelcome surprise on his eventual return home.

Stuff happens. Maybe the next few family holidays might be a bit awkward, but folks usually move on and get over it. Life goes on, doesn't it?

I could never recall ever reading a story about a brother so absolutely warped and twisted enough to make the suffering of his younger sibling his entire life's work. With the seduction and debauchery of the other's loved ones not just an idle whim of fancy, but instead a 'duty' that must be performed. Most would-be story writers apparently never met my brother Dragos.

"What a minute!" Some of you are now saying or thinking to yourself. "What about your parents? Surely they would have put a stop to this!"

Logical assumption, but unfortunately not even remotely accurate. On the contrary, his every victory over me was held in the highest praise, and he was encouraged from my earliest days in the cradle to treat me as if I were but the lowest servant in our father's house.

Apparently it was traditional in the remote mountain village in Romania, somewhere near Bulgaria, where my mother and her older sister came from, to have a designated 'scapegoat', that all of the evils of the village could be dumped upon so that the rest might enjoy better luck and fortune. The more the scapegoat suffered, the better the prosperity for all.

From the moment of my birth, I fulfilled this function in our household.

My father was an Ivy League college graduate at the time that America entered the Second World War, and like most sons of US Congressmen, he didn't particularly want to get packed off to the Army or the Navy to learn to march, shoot a gun, or learn how to jump out of perfectly good airplanes. It was considered very politically advantageous though, for him to 'do something vaguely patriotic' that would garner him a few votes for his own future political career, so Grandfather, being the Senior Congressman of our New England state, made a few phone calls and father was soon admitted into the OSS (the early precursor to today's CIA under the enthusiastic and controversial administration of "Wild Bill" Donovan).

Here at least was a 'proper war' being conducted by the sons and daughters of America's elite bankers, lawyers, politicians and other 'blue bloods'. He may have indeed learned how to march (a little bit), fire a wide variety of guns and use other things that would go boom, and he even jumped out of a great many perfectly undamaged airplanes by both day and night, but most evenings he was with his social equals, eating from antique china and drinking good claret from fine crystal goblets. It probably came as a great disappointment to him when he discovered that his little role for the war had at last been determined, and he found himself in early 1943 being parachuted into a remote mountainous region of southwest Romania.

Romania was nominally an ally of Nazi Germany, but that was largely due to the fact that most Romanians hated and feared the Russians even worse. There was a small Resistance movement deep in the heart of these nearly impenetrable mountains and it was my father's job until the end of the war to help coordinate their activities with allied planners in London. This region was remote, and if there were any critical or important war time objectives anywhere in the area, I never heard him mention any of them. From what I could tell, his wartime duties most often involved carousing with the local women and drinking the strong earthy local wine with his partisans late into each night.

By 1944, it was obvious which way the war was turning, and for most Romanians things had now become a battle for survival and self-preservation against the approaching Russian Army. Romanian Regional Army Unit commanders that six months ago had been casually trying to keep my father's partisans too busy (or too drunk) to fight, now welcomed his aid and assistance (and all of the supplies that London could airdrop). By the end of the war, the OSS had turned much of its own focus towards secretly stopping Russia, and another new war of Resistance against an occupying 'Allied' army had begun.

Somewhere about this time, my father met my mother, Camila ("Flower") and married her at the local church in a fit of excitement as Red Army scouts were less than an hour from the village, and they skedaddled together across the border into Bulgaria, where they eventually were taken back to safety on a British submarine. With them was my mother's elder maiden sister Britita ("exalted one"), whom even at a young age was apparently the leader of the local women's councils.

In any event, the 'War' for my father was now over. He got a nice medal and photo of him shaking 'Wild Bill's' hand in Washington, and he went back home to start his own political career in grandfather's footsteps.

Grandfather was a strange, hard man in his own way. He had inherited a good bit of money and a lot of forest land in the wilds of northern Maine and drove himself to become the 'Pulp Paper King' of the Depression Era. He had married my grandmother not out of love (I don't think they even liked each other much), but because his new father-in-law was a big player in the magazine publishing business and Granddad saw more profits in becoming his own best customer and running the printing presses for his father-in-law's publications. In time, he even somehow found a way to squeeze out this inter-family competition, and in a subtle takeover, he assumed control over the empire that his father-in- law had built.

He had no friends, just 'temporary allies'. His political and business enemies respected him, but they feared him - and to grandfather this was much better. My father's character was carved much the same way.

As the war years passed and the returning war heroes entered politics, my father had a smooth path right into Grandfather's comfortable seat in Congress. Grandfather had suffered a series of small strokes during the war years (he smoked like a chimney all of his life, and my father did as well) and was ready to retire, but didn't live long enough to enjoy it much, and he died a few years before I was born. Most tellingly, my father claimed 'important pressing work in Washington' and didn't attend his own father's funeral.

Children didn't come easily for my mother Camila. I'm not certain, but I believe she had miscarried at least three previous children before my older brother "Dragos" was born in the mid-1950's. William, was his real first given name, but I don't think I ever once heard it used in our house because it was always his middle Romanian name, (meaning 'Precious') that was invariably used.

My own arrival about four years later came as a complete and utter surprise to the family. Supposedly I was given my name of Claudiu ("disabled"), by Britita, (my Aunt or "Tanti") as she thought at first I was disfigured or deformed. I wasn't, but the name still stayed. I thought of myself always as Claude, but it was always the more traditional version that I always heard at home.

With 'Tanti' in the house, I could safely say it was like having two mothers, except that my own mother played little, if any, role in my actual upbringing. Tanti ruled the nursery, and it was through her direction that Dragos was encouraged to take ever increasing advantage over me, his younger and helpless little brother. My tears were rewarded by sweets and special treats for him, and my role as the family scapegoat had begun.

From early childhood, it was indoctrinated into me that my older brother Dragos was 'special' and most "admirabil," "excelen" and "tren special". He could do absolutely no wrong in anyone's eyes. I, on the other hand, was 'useless' and I heard Tanti invariably call me "infructuos, pustiu or abatut." If I was especially bad and stood up for myself against my older brother, I was a "dizgratie," a disgrace!

The crowning ceremony and topmost frosting of my large cake of misery, was the celebration held for Dragos for his 15th birthday, shortly before he started High School. Naturally, I had never had a 'birthday party', but I had learned that if I kept to the background and kept my mouth shut and stayed properly humble, I could sometimes have a small piece of Dragos's birthday cake. But this function seemed even bigger, and of more importance than any that had occurred before this. Our large house was filled with special guests, mostly from the 'old country', and at length the real reason for this immense party became clear. Tante presented my brother with a large ruby ring. A very 'special' ring, we were all told. Not only now was Dragos to be considered 'a man', but he was now also to be considered as the 'clan head' or ruler of our family, and even of our tribe back in Romania.

This was inconceivable to me, that even mother and father were to be considered as beneath Dragos now, and they should now also obey him as I did. Father, as always, spent most of his time alone in Washington and if he ever 'submitted' to this new household authority, I never saw any signs of it in those days. He was uncommonly proud of his boy, however. Mother, who always seemed quite weak willed and invariably followed the guidance of her sister, quite suitably submitted to his rule of the household. Any pretext of 'parental discipline', however minor, was soon long gone.

I had thought my Junior High School years would be a slight improvement, as I hoped my brother would find interests to occupy him in High School, but if anything things got worse. If I somehow made a friend at school, it would take just a few minutes of my brother's time to turn him instead into my most implacable foe. I never could understand how he did it, either by persuasion or by gifts of money, but soon I was also most definitely the pariah of my school.

My teachers soon began to hate me, considering me a 'troublemaker', and the other boys and girls learned that I could be bullied with complete immunity. Even new students learned that I could be either safely beaten upon, or utterly ignored, giving me a wide berth. With little reason to play, my recess hours became increasing occupied with finding a quiet hidden corner where I could avoid trouble and read a book alone for a few moments of blessed peace and quiet.

Books became my constant companion. I could read them openly while at school, but I learned to keep them well-hidden at home, as anything that appeared to give me pleasure or happiness was relentlessly suppressed. I learned to live a life of duplicity, where I would pretend that my favorite foods were indeed my least favorite, and vice versa, and my 'pleasure reading' instead became another odious 'homework assignment' that I had to read for a heartless teacher and give an oral report upon the next day.

When Dragos went off to our father's elite Ivy League college just as I started High School, my life did indeed begin to slightly improve. Out of sight = very much out of mind, at least for awhile.

My new classmates and teachers seemed to offer me at least guarded neutrality, rather than the outright hostility I was used to, and my studies thrived. I became a straight A student for the first time in my life, but this won me no favors at home, and I resumed my act of 'indifference' to school and I complained of over- work and attempted to look harried and miserable. I was allowed even to join the school newspaper, as this was deemed useful to our family's large publishing business. I found that I wrote well, and soon started to receive local awards and some minor regional recognition from peer organizations such as "Quill and Scroll." Naturally, I withheld any mention of these minor successes that would displease my stern family at home.

I also began to discover girls, and found that being far from 'icky', they could be pleasantly soft and made my stomach go all a flutter if one happened to kiss me. I lost my virginity at sixteen to a girl a year older, in her bed at home. I thought I was in love, but it was probably really just teen hormones (and lots of them). It's also quite impossible to disguise a teenager in love in any household, let alone mine where it was the family industry to keep me ground underfoot. With a week or two of determined investigations, my girlfriend's name was discovered, and Dragos was requested to come home for a weekend and 'attend to the matter'.

That he certainly did; the girl was invited to our house and within five minutes she was upstairs and naked in Dragos's bed 'being given a proper education'. Needless to say, that when I saw my former love at school the next Monday, she wanted nothing at all to do with me and made it her mission for the remainder of the school year to 'warn off' other girls about me. God only knows what she told them, but not a single young lady for the rest of the year would even look at me!

My 'spare time' was also now being managed more carefully, to keep me out of trouble and more suitably oppressed. I spent my afternoons after school and weekends now working in one of my father's press rooms 'learning the trade from the bottom', so I could be of assistance to my brother later. If there was a nasty or unpleasant job to do, I was just the young man for it.

Worse still, I spent my next two summers working at a logging camp in the northern wilds of Maine, learning the other end of our business. Very far away from any possible feminine distractions.

Twice, I persevered and started relationships with young ladies at school, both times with the same end result. My brother would effortlessly seduce them before my very eyes and make them his own lovers, ingraining upon them in the process that I was lower than the dirt beneath their feet, and much to be avoided.

I was at an utter rock bottom emotional low point by the end of my senior year when I got sudden miraculous news that seemed to offer me an opportunity for escape. A small College far away on the west coast with an excellent Journalism program, offered to provide me with a full scholarship, including a dorm room with meals. This was a gift from heaven and I was going to accept it! My family had absolutely zero plans for any sort of a college education for me. On the contrary, it would be "absurditate and stupiditate" for me to go, Tante said, as it was 'unnecessary' for my future career on the lower rungs of the family business, especially as my old brother was intended for its highest rungs.

Seeing the writing very clearly on the wall, I told no one at home of my luck gaining the scholarship, and I rented a private PO Box to handle all of the correspondence for accepting it.

I saved every penny that I earned from the sweat of my brow in the lumber camp that summer, and on the day of my eighteenth birthday I cashed my final paycheck, closed my bank account and PO Box, and took a bus and then a train to the college. Nearly my first action was to go to the campus student Legal Aid office and have a young pre-law student type out for me a "Letter of Emancipation" stating that as I was over the age of eighteen, and a legal adult, I would now be making my own life decisions and would resent in the strongest possible way any further interference in my life whatsoever, thank you very much ... and may you all go to Hell, via the express lane. That summed it up, more or less.

Free to be myself, I threw myself into college life and enjoyed every moment of it! I did not go home for Thanksgiving, or for Christmas, or indeed for any holiday, vacation or any other reason, for the next three straight years. Until the summer of my junior year, when my lover and fiancé Wendy, asked for at least the eight hundredth time to be allowed meet my parents.

We had met while taking a class together in the spring of our freshman year, and within weeks we were dating. By the end of the semester, we were more or less living together, alternating nights between our two dorm rooms. She was in the journalism program too, as newspapers had been their family business for over three generations. We soon started to make plans for life together after graduation to work on her family's paper after graduation.

Over time I had told her about my family and their 'stupid Romanian mountain customs' that had ruined much of my life. She seemed sympathetic, but I don't quite think she really understood everything that I had dealt with.

About Easter time, I had received my first message from my family in well over two years, and it was quite terse. Both of my parents were apparently not in good health, and it would be appreciated if I could come home, even briefly, for part of the summer vacation. I showed this letter to Wendy, and told her that frankly I had little desire to see any of them again.

Dying? Great! Hurry and do it! That suited me just fine because they were both already quite dead in my heart.

I was admonished for the next few weeks for my 'callousness', and I at last relented - but only when it seemed that we would breakup over my 'selfishness'. I never could quite get her to quite understand just how badly I had been hurt and that my grudges were not childish ones. As we were going to be married in less than a year now, she was utterly insistent on coming with me and meeting everyone. In the end I caved in, to everything, but my heart was already worried about what I knew would happen afterwards.

I tried one last time to explain things on the plane flight together to New England.

"Wendy, you just don't understand. My older brother has literally slept with every girl and woman that I have ever so much as even looked twice at, let alone kissed. He's incredible at it; it's almost like magic watching him work. In five minutes he can take a girl who hates his guts and she'll soon be on her knees with his cock in her mouth. Every single time! I tell you now, that if he is home, and he's bound to be, he will try and seduce you - and he will probably succeed ... and you will end up hating me afterwards."

Wendy was outraged at this suggestion, and she had a minor snit for the remaining thousand miles or so of the flight, berating me for having such a low opinion of the morals and willpower of my fiancé. She swore that she would never leave my side during the visit and we could indeed leave 'if things start to get ugly' and she would try to avoid my older brother, and certainly not ever fall onto her knees to worship his far superior cock.

The visit indeed didn't start out too badly. Only mother, father and Tanti were home that first day. The conversation at dinner was kept extremely neutral and mostly concerned the weather (it had been quite hot), and their health (not good - father had a recent stroke and mother was coughing fairly non-stop at all times and it was suspected to be lung cancer). My Aunt seemed the only one not particularly happy to see me, and to the best of my memory she never uttered a word to me, and only a few even to Wendy.

We shared my old bedroom together that night but did not make love together. I was lost in old memories, few if any of them good of happy ones. Wendy could tell that the atmosphere was extremely strained, but thought things hadn't gone too badly, and she expressed her hopes for an even smoother day tomorrow. My hopes for this were dashed when we saw Dragos at the breakfast table the next morning.

He complimented Wendy repeatedly, often gently touching her hand or her mostly bare shoulder with his ringed right hand. Wendy seemed much taken by him, right from the very start, and she seemingly had forgotten all of my warnings to her as she began returning his polite banter. I nearly had to tow her out of the house forcefully for a late morning walk around the grounds of the estate to get her away from him.

She maintained she was just having harmless fun with him and didn't know why I'd be so upset. Another minor snit ensued and we soon ended up walking back to the house, angry and not speaking to each other.

I said I was going to check out the closets of my bedroom to see I had anything remaining of my 'old things' and she said she'd soon come up to join me, but thought she'd have a word with my mother in the kitchen, and maybe try and help her with preparing lunch. Wendy didn't come upright away, and after about half an hour I went downstairs to find her. She was not in the kitchen either, but she had mentioned something to my mother and Dragos about wanting to take a swim before lunch, and my mother had told her that there were likely some swim suits in the pool house from some of Dragos's old girlfriends that would probably fit her. Alarmed, I ran, not walked, to the back of the house and outside to the pool in the back yard and I saw Dragos just entering the pool house. Running now around the side of the pool to an open window on a side corner of the pool house, I could hear what was being said and even see a little bit, although most of the view was partially obscured by a thin curtain.

"I see you have picked out my favorite!" I heard my brother say with a laugh. "It was the smallest one that she could find, but she still never ended up wearing it much, as she usually preferred to wear even less. Turn around for me and let me see you in it!" He commanded, and she obeyed.

From what little I could see, it was indeed the tiniest bikini I had ever seen. Wendy's nice firm tits were nearly completely exposed and the tiny thong bottom displayed all of her ass and just barely covered her mound. I think I could even see some of her pubic hair outside of the thong as she didn't normally shave much of her top bush, as she normally wore a much more conservative one-piece swimsuit.

"What was her name?" Wendy huskily asked him, and what did she like to do for you?"

"Her name is Annabelle, and she's a total slut and always kept her hair all nicely shaved away for me. She likes best to suck my big cock, and she'll do it for hours anytime and anywhere I ask her to do it for me. You fill out her tiny bikini better than she did; but can you also suck cock better than she did?"

Wendy never answered but dropped to her knees in front of him as he dropped his shorts, and she took his cock without hesitation into her mouth and sucked loudly on him. After a few moments her bikini top was taken off and he started to play with her tits with one hand and caressed her head and hair with his jeweled ring hand. Soon he let out a loud grunt and filled her mouth with his cum.

"Not bad," He told her, "but you need a bit more practice and I'll make sure you get it this week. Now drop your bottoms for me like a good girl and go sit on that counter top over there and I'll reward you with some nice hard cock right where you want it most."

Her tiny thong hit the floor nearly instantly as she obeyed him, spreading her legs widely for him to enter her, making no resistance at all as he did.

"Oh yes..." She hissed, as he started to fuck her, first slowly and then quite fiercely.

"It's bigger and nicer than that tiny boy-cock you've been getting lately, isn't it?" He asked her, and she croaked in agreement.

They fucked for a good while and then I heard him hiss, "Beg me to cum in your cunt, so that I can mark it being mine, and so that your ass and cunt will belong to me - and only to me! Beg to become my fuck bitch!"

She loudly begged for all of those things, and more. I couldn't stand to listen or watch for even another second, and I quietly turned to walk away, but not before hearing his loud roar as he filled my fiancés cunt full of his sperm load.

I spent the afternoon upstairs in my old room. It was exactly like old times all over again. First my girlfriends and lovers, and now my fiancée were just meat puppets for the amusement of my sadistic older brother.

I heard them playing in the pool naked together for most of the afternoon, and even took an occasional look out of my bedroom window to see them cavorting, hugging, kissing and sometime screwing. I felt like I had died inside, and I just wanted to curl up in a corner and will myself to die, but I resolved to force one last final family confrontation instead.

Heading downstairs close to dinner time, I saw my mother and father sitting in the large living room. Mother's coughing, if anything, seemed to be worse. Neither would meet my eyes, and my father for the first time in his life, seemed embarrassed and stared continually at a rug on the floor as if he were inspecting a stain. My Aunt on the other hand, seemed enormously pleased with herself and her smugness could barely be contained. Her eyes were bright and happy and her chin was raised in a self-satisfied manner and her smile only got bigger as she saw me witness the scene in the dining room, that quite obviously she approved, and perhaps even encouraged.

Wendy was still nude and being ass-fucked by my brother while being bent over the dining room table, the table being already set mostly for dinner. I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Wendy! We are leaving right now immediately! Come with me now, or I will leave without you."

"I can't go now" she whined in sort of voice that implied my request was childish. "I need Dragos to finish cumming in my ass first so I can then completely belong to him."

Her face made it blatantly clear that she didn't want to go or now really want to have anything further to do with me. She turned her head to face away from me and allowed my brother continue his full hard driving use of her ass. All of my worst nightmares had once again come true.

My fury could no be contained and I spun to face my Aunt and in the best of Romanian tradition, cursed her sincerely from the very depth of my soul. In her native tongue naturally, in over 30 years of living in the US she had never bothered to learn more than a dozen words of English. She could tell my curse was serious, and her smirk was replaced by shock and horror at the fate I invoked God to bestow upon her.

Like the best and most dire of complicated Romanian curses, they never translate well into any other language, so I shan't describe it detail, but it did involve a creative use of a vast quantity of flaming pig manure that I hoped would be her new residence when she got to Hell (and hopefully soon).

For my parents, I bestowed no curse, but still they would not meet my eye.

"I do not know what evil part of Tanti's plans are so important that they are worth even five minutes of the misery you have allowed Dragos to make of my life. I no longer even care, and I think nothing but unhappiness and misery will be your lot in fate for the rest of your days. This will not be my curse upon you; it seems to be already entirely of your own doing. Go to your graves and ask yourself then if it was all worth it, but do not bother to ask for my forgiveness, because to me you are both already dead to me."

With that I left, and drove back to the airport to return to school. By the time I got there I had missed the last flight of the day to get back to the city nearest our my college, and so I spent a long sleepless night in the airport terminal, hoping and expecting to see Wendy returning to join me, but of course she didn't ever appear. I flew back home the next day, alone.

I can be stubborn and can't easily change mental gears sometimes, but by the time the plane landed I had figured out at least one thing. Dragos was not that good of a seducer, especially for the extraordinary power that he could wield over a woman and utterly overpower every ounce of her self-will. It had to be magic, real old-world Magic.

Somehow, Tanti ended up being the guardian of an honest-to-goodness genuine and powerful 'Magic Ring' that could bend other peoples wills to his at the very minimum, and perhaps even perform total mind control. Parts of that strange and incomprehensible fifteenth birthday party started to now make a lot more sense. Somehow, through some long chain of ancestry, my mother and aunt were descendents of some uber-barbarian leader or Khan who had rampaged back and forth across Eastern Europe, sometime in the last 2000 years.

This ring had probably once commanded a horde of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, all willing to kill and die for its wielder. Today it was in the hands of a nearly brainless idiot (he barely got 'gentleman's 'C's' at college and even those probably required writing some fat Alumni checks), who used it mostly to seduce other men's wives and enact petty schemes of revenge. His political ambitions to follow in his father's seat in Congress had recently been resoundingly rebuffed, and even the voters of our local hometown declined to admit him to even the minor position of Alderman.

It would have been laughable, if I hadn't been personally hurt by it so many times. Tanti had apparently seriously miscalculated to even suspect that my brother was even remotely 'superior' or 'special' in any way.

I still had time for late entry into summer school classes and I took both sessions, expecting Wendy to return back to college each day. Now that I had figured out the magic trick with the ring, I had reasonably decided that I could forgive her, and that we could probably move on past this episode together. Dragos had always tired of my girls quite quickly, and I figured that he would soon grow tired of her also, and move on to his next sordid conquest and abject love slave. His attention span was quite notoriously short. But as the start of the fall semester began and she still had not yet appeared I began to become more and more concerned.

Finally, two days before the final deadline for late fall registration, I phoned her father in his small town near St. Louis. He had not heard from her in over a month, but last time she called she said she was 'staying with a new boyfriend in New England and might drop out of school for awhile.' I think her father sort of liked me, and I had met him a few times the previously year for short holidays from school with Wendy.

I gave him a few carefully sanitized facts, that Wendy had become infatuated with my older brother earlier in the summer, and that the two of us were at the moment 'separated' and that I was now completely estranged from my family. I did offer him my old family home phone number in the hopes that Wendy could be found there, so that he could speak with her.

He phoned me back at the college the next day. Yes, Wendy was still staying at my parent's home 'with Dragos'. Far from being tired of her yet, they were now engaged to be married next spring. She would not be returning to college at all, and even had no plans to visit her family at home anytime soon.

"Dragos needs me with him, here, now." She had repeated this phrase to her father often. He pledged to keep me up to date on events and I said I'd give him a call after I took early graduation at the end of the fall and moved on to a permanent job elsewhere. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to speak to him again for some years.

I received my diploma, but it gave me little comfort. I had numerous job offers, despite a weak job market for print journalists. I would go and have a good interview and be offered the position, only to get a terse announcement a few days or weeks later saying that that the 'situation had changed' and that they had to terminate my position. After the third move to a new city in three months to be laid off immediately or fired for no reason, I began to smell my brother's handiwork. It was apparently still not enough that he was going to marry my fiancé, but that my life and happiness still had to be destroyed too.

Brooding late into the night in my poverty, I devised sort of a Plan 'B'. Well, it wasn't a very good plan really, but it sort of did work for awhile. I would take menial jobs that didn't have a whole lot of paperwork involving my real name or my social security number, and then quit and move to a new city about a month or two later and start over again. It was hard to get a good apartment that way, but my plan was to reduce the amount of paperwork I generated so that no matter what PI firms my brother used, they would have their work cut out for them to find me. I even toyed with the idea of getting a fake ID entirely and starting an entirely new life that way, but I hoped after about a year of this hassle he'd get bored and then leave me alone for awhile, so that I could actually use my degree that I had spent 3-1/2 years of my life acquiring.

Instead, I was the one that got bored first and became lazy. I stayed three months at the same job in Phoenix doing local trucking deliveries. The job didn't pay all that well, but the fringe benefits were spectacular - I was sleeping with one of the dispatchers. She was extremely cute and a lot of fun in bed. She didn't have a brain in her pretty little head but she was a marvelous diversion at a time when I needed a little bit of fun in my life. We weren't serious and neither considered the other to be marriage material, but every time I started to kick myself to get moving on the road once again, she would happen to show up on the doorstep of my tiny rent by the week efficiency apartment, and I would get 'distracted' for another week or two.

Definitely a week or two much too long. I woke up one morning to find that I was being arrested for 1st Degree Murder.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Mind Control / Magic / Tear Jerker / Slut Wife / Slow /