Restless Legs Syndrome Ch 02

→June 8th, 2020 @ 4:59 A.M.

A couple agonizingly monotonous months pass since Vera broached the subject of a possible furtive affair with Graham. During that time, the beleaguered fish-out-of-water did his best to keep his nose clean as he was deathly afraid Lewis, the imposing patriarch, would get wind of it & murder him on sight. This proved more & more difficult as Vera would tease him in broad daylight, often where either/both of them could be caught; the riskier the act coupled with how brazen the setting seemed to determine how excited the unfulfilled housewife would become. Still, those incidents that happened two weeks prior seemed to fade into the background of the affected parties' minds as if March's ceaseless rains washed it away for April's overgrowth to shroud it in preparation of the sweltering May; by the sixth month business had returned to usual. Had it not been for the lumbering father's constant back-and-forth between teaching his mining safety classes and scavenging for fresh scrap for his "home junkyard" business, Graham might've been more discouraged to entertain the idea of doing Lewis's husbandly duties for him in secret. Alas, the man torn between being devoted to his (possible cheater) girlfriend and the many carnal opportunities laid out in his future-mother-in-law whose offer he didn't rule entirely; not even the suspicious clinginess and subsequent sex he received from a suddenly needy Nova seemed to dispel that cloud of thought entirely.

[

Not that I mind the extra attention, but it does make one a little wary as to why it's happening all of a sudden. I mean, Vera seemed pretty damn convinced that Nova was low-key creeping behind my back. Does she know that I know what she's up to? It would make a lot of sense. Come to think of it, she hasn't left the room in the middle of the night since I called her out on it; well...as far as I know, anyway.

]

Of course, he couldn't always be home to be sure. Trapped in that house, surrounded by temptation around every corner, Graham quickly resolved to find a job. It didn't take long before he was hired working the graveyard shift at the Amazon Warehouse in Morgantown, sorting & handling packages designated for delivery. Following a particularly challenging double shift he was scheduled to work, the drained warehouse worker made his way home just before the sun first peeked over the mountaintops.

[

Everybody's still gotta be asleep, I reckon.

]

Quiet as he could manage, he crept up the stairs to his bedroom and found it pitch black inside. The bed, he found, was messy as if someone was sleeping in it at one time; however it was unoccupied, he soon realized. Too tired to care, the loud growling coming from his stomach brought his attention to more pressing matters.

[

Guess I spoke too soon there. Food first, then I'll find out where the hell she went this time--he ordered his priorities mentally, already feeling nausea rise from his empty stomach. That's what I get for skipping lunch.

]

He made his way back down to the kitchen, shuffling his feet so his work boots didn't clunk against the rustic hardwood floors. Past the island counter, he made his way to the fridge when his eyes caught a note stuck to the fridge by a "WVU"-shaped magnet. Graham's eyes recognized the handwriting as Nova's just by the flowy calligraphy-like lettering; it read:

Went out clubbing with the girls.

Don't wait up, babe!

P.S. Mama set a plate aside for you, it should be in the fridge!

♡ XOXO ♡

He scoffed, ripping the note off the fridge to wad up into a ball and free-throw successfully into the lidless kitchen trash can. Between the revelation by her own mother of her "proclivities" as well as his own swelling suspicions, Graham's faith in her dwindled with each minutely suspicious deed she committed; in short, he did not trust her one bit.

"Out there doing who knows what, with who knows who while I'm bustin' my ass at work all night. And all I get is some fuckin' X's & O's. I can't fuck that, that ain't making sure I'm fed. Tch." He grumbled under his breath as he yanked open the fridge door for his food, finding a plate neatly wrapped in tin foil. "At least someone's lookin' out for me in here. If I left it up to Nova, I'd be starved half to death dragging a pair of big, blue bowling ball-sized nuts."

Peeling the crinkling wrapper back, the plate was piled high with a healthy portion of fried chicken, garlic & chive mashed potatoes, buttered asparagus, and even included two dinner rolls the grateful man suspected were made from scratch.

[

Hot damn, she really looked out for me. If I keep eating like this, I'll be fat for sure-- he thought as he peeled the foil off and disposed of it in the trash can with a quick flick of the wrist.

]

He popped the plate into the microwave and dialed it up to cook for three minutes, hopping onto the island to plop his butt on the edge while he waited. To be sure the bell didn't wake everyone in the house, he kept a hawk-like watch over the countdown, popping off the counter to stop the countdown at the last second.

0:01

The number blinked in continual suspension until Graham pressed the "door eject" button to retrieve the steaming plate, careful not to touch anywhere beyond the very edges. Delicious aromas emanated off the plate, aromas that made his mouth water in anticipation. As he left the kitchen to head to the den, he snagged a fork from the stainless steel dish-drying rack, stuffing it securely in the thick dollop of mash. The lonely man weaved between the furniture, choosing the three-seater sofa's middle seat to touch down. He scanned the room for the remote, only to find it on the chaise-lounge perpendicular to his place of rest. Sighing, he set the plate down on the coffee table in front of him, then rose to snag the sleek controller, turning on the nondescript sixty-five inch widescreen TV. Some half-finished weepy romantic period piece movie showed up on screen, Graham groaned low before immediately changing the channel to find anything else that might be playing.

[

Infomercial....reality TV trash...infomercial....syndicated rerun...nature documentary on gym socks...old action movie that's just started?

]

An appraising press of the remote's "guide" button revealed his entertainment prospects were firmly between slim and none; he clicked on the blockbuster 90's "beat-em-up" that seemed loaded with lavish pyrotechnics but was a bit light on a cohesive plot and settled in with his food. Graham took the first bite and moaned softly at the taste, shoveling the food into his mouth in a feeding frenzy until little was left on his plate but crumbs. He set the dish back on the table in front of him and shoved it aside; Graham kicked off his boots into a messy pile by the sofa before propping his heels up on the table. Settling into the seat, he slid down into a slouch with his hands knitted over his full belly. Flickering lights and muffled gunfire filled the den as the simplistic action/adventure movie winded through its first twenty minutes before the sound of creaking stairs drew Graham's attention away from the screen. From out the darkness padded the youngest sister who was cloaked from the neck down in a cornflower blue quilt with faded princess prints covering its outside. Seeing her filled Graham with conflicting emotions: one part was regret that he woke her up watching TV and the other part was bubbling lust when he remembered how delicious her body looked naked in that hallway. He chose to only show her the regretful side by sitting up some to grope around him for the remote, turning it down hastily.

"Shit, my bad. I didn't wake you did I, Maggs?" He inquired, sitting straight up, brushing off his pants legs with uncontrollable compulsion.

She said nothing to this, seemingly lost in the phone held in both her hands while her head bent in rapt attention of whatever she was doing. Maggie surprised him further by making her way into the den to join him on the sofa, taking the seat to his left, her thumbs tapping the screen rapidly. The washing light of a commercial interrupting the featured film filled the room with an eye-piercing white light that made Graham blink to adjust to its brightness; he turned to look at her again, only to realize in the light that not only was the phone's black but also Mag's eyes were closed as she "texted".

[

So...she's sleepwalking again. I suppose I oughta guide her back to her room like Vera mentioned before, but I dunno...maybe I'll wait it out to see if she wakes up on her own.

]

They sat there for a few more minutes as the movie continued to play out for the odd pair. Graham glued his eyes on the violence happening on-screen to avoid ogling his girlfriend's somnambulant little sister. And for a while, he did well to keep his eyes to himself. That is, until, she began to fidget in her seat, grunting as if trying to escape a constriction that didn't exist. Graham shot a look over her way only to find her peeling the covers off her to reveal sleepwear he was certain she hadn't intended for anyone else to see. A skimpy, cropped tank top clung to her and stopped just below her ribs to expose her midriff; its spaghetti straps were frayed to the point of tenuously holding it together while little moth-eaten holes peppered it front to back. Barely covering her lower half, she wore plain-white cheeky panties that covered just enough of her goods; she fanned at herself while shifting to sit cross-legged, revealing black & purple striped socks that reached knee-level. A fine dew formed on his brow now, finding himself uncomfortably hot now as well after seeing Maggie's bedroom attire. Still he turned his attention from the movie to the sleeping siren seated beside him, hungrily devouring her scantily clad body with his eyes. He found that the longer he kept looking at her, the greater the itch formed in his hands to reach out and touch all her lovely places on near-display.

[

There's still a couple hours 'til dawn...maybe this is my one & only chance to make a move-- The thought made the lecherous onlooker's heartbeat hasten in his chest, though the decision to engage tore him asunder. Should I? Ugh, decisions, decisions.

]

Graham looked left, then right before lowering the movie's volume from 10 to 4, just in case someone were to wake earlier than expected. He inched closer to her, careful not to stir the couch cushions too much so not to wake her; little by little he moved closer until their hips were touching. He let out a muted exhale, drying his sweaty palms on his work pants before nervously raising his hand to reach over to her. It shook while it remained suspended just out of reach of her, still some caution remained even when he was so close to satisfying a curiosity.

[

It's now or never...

]

With one last look toward the stairs to see if anyone were coming/watching, Graham took the plunge and pressed his hand to her right breast, reveling in the feel of its tiny warmth radiating through her shirt onto his palm. The after-hours pervert bit his lip to stem the stream of things he wanted to say, choosing to let his hands do all the talking for him; he squeezed a bit, kneading it gently between nervous fingertips. She stirred in her sleep, the soft murmur that escaped her made Graham pause his sleeping assault; he watched her face until he was sure she didn't wake. His hand replaced itself on her breast, with a thumb strumming across where her nipple hid. It perked right up at his touch, jabbing through the thin material to form little mountains in her shirt.

[

Looks like I ain't the only one who likes doing that--Graham mused with inner amusement as his hand moved over to paw at her other breast the same way.

]

All the while he kept his eye on the digital clock displayed on the cable box knowing his time was limited and that this opportunity might not come along again; with his other hand, he ventured lower to squeeze her exposed thigh, finding hollow satisfaction in the minute squish. Once more she shifted, spreading her thighs a bit wider to unintentionally give him easier access to them; her head lolled on her neck from side to side until Maggie's head drooped onto his shoulder. The motion of her leaning over caused one of her shirt's straps to slip down her bicep, causing her shirt to fall just enough for her nipple to poke over her shirt's neckline.

[

Oh, fuck me running!--he thought wondering if this was an elaborate trap set in place for him to be tripped up on. This might've gone far enough. Maybe I should knock it off and call it a night while I still can. We both need to head to bed after this.

]

Careful as he could manage, Graham replaced the strap on her shoulder to restore her minimal modesty then stood up to lift her off the couch and onto her feet.

"Okay, maybe it's time to put you to bed." He whispered to her with a voice that still wavered with pent-up excitement, thankful she could not hear him.

At first he intended on leading her up the stairs by the arm, but in her somnambulant state Maggie dragged her feet with unforeseen resistance to their change of nightly venue. The (not-so) Good Samaritan furrowed his brow, blowing a frustrated exhale through flaring nostrils; he didn't want to be too rough for that could potentially rouse her from this walking trance, but he was well aware that time was not on his side. Should he be found by the thunder-footed father Lewis (who most assuredly was the earliest of birds in this house, Graham learned quickly) might not take kindly to finding his half-naked daughter being man-handled by his future son-in-law.

[

I'd end up on Cold Case Files or some shit like that. They'd never find my body if they walked in on this. Gotta get her in bed, hightail it back to mine and pray that this'll blow over--Graham panicked, it became harder to keep his breath muffled.

]

In a move triggered by a cocktail of panic & desperation shaken with the expertise of a veteran mixologist, Graham pulled the bottom-heavy sister towards him, scooping her up into his arms in a bridal carry. He knew it might not help with the optics of the situation, him carrying an unconscious & nearly naked teenager in his arms, but it was the fastest approach to getting her safely tucked in and Graham out of impending danger. The endangered son-in-law adjusted his grip on her, then proceeded to climb the stairs two at a time thankful that his long, muscled legs would allow this. As he took the first stealthy stride up the staircase, her weight shifted where he might drop her; Graham adjusted with the reflexes of a cat, bouncing her up to readjust her. Only his hand found itself cupping her plentiful hindquarters, the warmth of her exposed flesh radiated into his palm as if she were a human space heater.

[

That simpleton Boyd is a lucky sonuvabitch if he gets to clap these cheeks regularly. Like damn, I got big fuckin hands and I'm barely palming one cheek. Fuuucckkkk, life ain't fuckin' fair. Why'd I get stuck with the cheating chunky slut when the younger sister has a bonafide porn hardbody? God, I bet that pussy is tighter than a muthafucker too--Graham finally expelled how he felt about her, his fingers squeezed the jiggling flesh tighter

].

Up the stairs he went, his fingers idly kneading her bottom until the moment he had to knee her bedroom door open in clandestine fashion, stealing away into the dark. He laid her down onto the bed with care, throwing the topsheet across her body before creeping back out her room. Far down the hall, his room waited; Graham stripped himself of his work clothes, too tired from work and the "prior dealings" of late to even shower the work-funk off his skin. The moment his head hit the pillow, the warehouse worker was out like a light.

→June 8th, 2020 @ 6:07 A.M.

At least that was the plan. He was woken by the creaking of his bedroom door, followed by a flood of light coming from the hallway fixture. Squinting in the direction of his phone, the disoriented man waved his hand over the black mirror to awaken it; once his eyes adjusted, he noted the time and how he only slept for just a little over an hour. The silhouette in the hall sauntered over to the foot of the bed, climbing over it to burrow under the comforter Graham was using.

"Nooovaaaaa, it's too early for your antics, which is lucky for you because coming in from the club at 6AM ain't cool...at all." Graham croaked out lethargically, rubbing his eyes as he began raising himself to a sitting position. "Come to bed, and I'll yell at you in the morning."

No response came, only the rustle of the covers as she approached closer, the feel of her toasty hands guiding her up the length of his body, starting at his ankles. The covers rose a bit as she crawled onto him until he felt her hands stop at his knees where she parted them with hamfisted delicacy.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but it ain't working Nova. So quit while you're ahead." He warned with an annoyed growl in his tone.

A hand wrapped around his partially erect member, her palm held a licking heat that was near scalding; Graham surmised his club-rat girlfriend was still quite tipsy from earlier.

"Don't try to distract me with a handjob, it won't-" His protests were cut short by the feel of her taking the knob of his rod into her mouth, the suction felt different than what he was used to, the feel of her lips gripping him, too, didn't quite feel as it ordinarily did. It felt...

[

Better! Jesus, it's never felt this good before. Not even that time you blew me in the back of your cousin's car...while she was driving it--Graham recalled, his mind blanked when he felt her tongue run along the underside of him while she ventured further down his length.

]

"Well, if you're gonna suck it like that..." He made no more attempts to stop her as her head bobbed up and down with more fervor, engulfing him with little problem.

He reached down to palm the crown of her head to make her take him deep down her throat when his suspicions flared up again; where he was expecting Nova's trademark fishtail plait that reached the middle of her shoulder blades, he found the oral instrumentalist beneath the covers had markedly shorter hair. His exploring fingers explored the back and sides of her head, feeling one side of her head was shaved to a buzz.

[

Did she...let someone drunkenly cut her hair at some point? What the actual fuck was she thinkin...

]

The half-asleep transplant felt the swollen head pop out her lips, her copious spit drizzled down the raised flesh of his tool's ridge, she slurped it up while planting obscene kisses around its tapered haft. As she went on, he couldn't shake the feeling that those kisses felt foreign to his flesh. But before he investigated further, Graham pushed all of himself to the back of her throat, holding her head there for a few seconds. Meanwhile she hummed softly so that the vibrations traveled along her gifted throat, tingling across his slick, engorged flesh. His head slammed back into the pillow as pleasure hardlined itself into his bloodstream, pushing out all other stimuli; his hand fell away as she gagged around him, leaving a slug's trail of drool to cake his anointed weapon. Her gasp was lighter, sweeter in melody causing Graham to snap back to figuring out the identity of the mystery mouth. Smoothing his palm along the side of her face, Graham noticed the lines were sleeker, less plump.

[

Hold up, time out, that's not Nova. Nah, It couldn't be...

]