Broen Pieces

Warning: This work of fiction is taboo for more than one reason. It is a traditional Literotica Taboo story, because it involves a pair of siblings who begin a romantic (and sexual) relationship. However, there is an added layer of taboo: the brother in this story has a mild intellectual disability. This was not done for shock value, it is important to the themes of the story. This character is absolutely capable of consent and the story is not designed to make fun of anyone with an intellectual disability, it does not intended to demean anyone, and it is certainly not an endorsement of any kind of abuse. If this is not your thing (and I am not even sure it is "my thing." The story idea just would not leave me alone until I wrote it) then please do not read. With that said, I think it is sweet (and hot) story that is about far more than what is contained in this warning. Please enjoy.

*****

"Oh yeah you fucking whore," Dale bellowed at me. I was on my knees between his legs. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn to work and his pants were around his ankles. His big gut was somewhat in my way, but I had his dick in my mouth. I was completely naked. He told me to get naked the instant I'd walked into his office. It was after hours now, so I wasn't concerned about anyone else from the floor walking in. Why would I be concerned anyway? Every person in the office knew I did this. And hated me for it.

"Suck it bitch," Dale thundered now, roughly grabbing my long blonde hair and pulling down. I looked up at him, he looked annoyed. I slipped his cock deeper into my mouth and winced as I did so. He hadn't showered after his morning trip to the sauna. I could smell sweat and cedar on him. It tasted sour. He'd promised he'd stop doing that. I ignored his flavor and sucked his cock into my mouth deeper.

"Don't fucking play with it, get that cum out. This isn't fun for you, I know it. Just make it quick," he said, yanking on my hair so hard I felt tears well up in my eyes and I yelped a bit. At that moment his cell phone rang. He leaned over to one side and picked it up. I don't know why, but I felt so embarrassed; this wasn't enough to keep his attention?

"Hello?" he said disinterestedly. I felt awkward and stopped my head from bobbing on his dick, "Hi honey, yeah late at the office again," he said. It was his wife. I felt a wave of shame and revulsion spread over me and I grabbed Dale's cock by the base and pulled it out of my throat. I looked up at him.

Dale furrowed his brow and looked down at me. He snapped his fingers three times and pointed to his short dick, "No honey, I don't think I will be much longer and I think that I will be able to get home quick without the traffic." I apparently meant nothing to him. I was an employee performing a task. I would suck his cock, then he'd pull up his pants and go home. I thought about his wife and kids sitting at home waiting for him and I guessed that I deserved it. Dale snapped one last time and I returned his cock to my mouth, bouncing the thing up and down on my tongue. He closed his eyes and sighed lightly.

"How did junior's game go?" he asked and I felt bile rising in my throat, but fought to keep it down. Dale listened to the response, "Haha, takes after his 'ol dad I guess. Everyone gets ejected from a game every now and then, but that boy has some real fire. And how are you doing tonight baby?" he asked. The tears were still in my eye and I could feel a lump in my throat (besides the cock. It hardly registered as a lump). Dale kept talking to his wife in a nonchalant fashion and I kept bobbing my head up and down on his cock.

After a few moments, I could feel Dale's body start to tense. It hadn't taken very long. I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed. For a moment, he held up his hand. After a few moments, he started to wave it slightly. Then I felt him thrust his hips once and I felt his sourish sperm dribble into my mouth. I wanted desperately to spit it out, but I knew it would make him mad. So I swallowed it. Dale was still waving his hand, but now he moved it forward, putting his palm on my forehead and shoving me away. His cock popped out of my mouth and I lost my balance tumbling over onto my side. Dale let out a long sigh as he felt the brunt of his orgasm. For a moment he was silent.

"What was that? What do you mean?" he asked his wife innocently. He looked at me, his eyes wide and his lips pursed and he shook his head slowly, "Oh the sound? Yeah, I was on the toilet taking a shit. Sorry about that. Yeah I know. Hey then, just let me get off the phone and I will be home soon," he said and hung up. So I guess I was shit. I certainly felt like it at that moment.

"What the fuck were you doing you fucking idiot?" Dale asked.

"Giving you head," I said sheepishly. I couldn't figure out why he'd shoved me or what I'd done wrong. Dale rolled his eyes and shook his head. That was a good sign; it meant he wasn't going to hit me again.

"Didn't you fucking see me put up my hand?" he asked and I nodded. I knew my eyes were open wide, staring at him with a glassy appearance. I pulled my legs together and crossed my arms across my breasts, trying to cover myself while I was getting dressed down. I felt like a small child being berated by my father and then felt disgusted that that was the image that came to mind. Dale pulled up his pants and buckled them.

"Did you think I was holding up my hand because I couldn't control myself from how great your perfunctory blowjob was?" he asked sarcastically. I didn't say anything. I looked around for my clothes. They were on the other side of the room. I wouldn't move. It would make him madder, I would just stay naked. "I was telling you to fucking stop so I wouldn't cum when my dumb-cunt wife was on the phone." He said.

"I didn't know," I said, then added quickly so he would know I knew it was my fault, "I am sorry, that was dumb. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, well..." he said. I was lucky. He didn't seem to be in a particularly bad mood. Dale never really hit me. He didn't need to. He knew all my weaknesses and just what to say to get to them. "Get dressed, I've seen you naked enough to get the gist." He said. I thought about my body. I was 5'4 and 115lbs. I had long, straight blonde hair and wide blue eyes. My eyelashes were long and I had a slightly upturned nose. My lips were thick and pink. I had a petite body with small, 32-A breasts, a flat stomach, slightly narrow hips, a toned butt, and somewhat short legs. My feet were very small. The only thing that Dale ever complimented me on was my body. I felt tears welling again when I thought he didn't want to see it anymore. Now I was reluctant to get dressed, I wanted him to notice me, to say I looked good. I wanted him to call me his "sexy little girl," like he usually did.

Not that I particularly wanted to be with Dale or that his approval really meant anything. He was my boss. Actually, he was my boss' boss. And he had a giant mouth, so that everyone in the office now thought I was a slut, trying to sleep my way to the top. But it hadn't been like that. I hadn't been looking for anything. A month after I started working there, Dale had just sort of grabbed me and kissed me. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't say anything. I just sort of...let it happen. And I was just still letting it happen. What's more, if I was trying to sleep my way to the top, I was doing a really shitty job of it. Six years and still an "administrative assistant."

"Wake up!" Dale yelled.

"Sorry," I replied, shaking my head.

"I gotta get out of here. My wife made plans or something," he said, tucking his shirt into his pants. I slowly moved over to my clothes and started to get dressed.

"Sorry about everything again," I said, desperate for something.

"Yeah, don't sweat it. It was a pretty decent blowjob," he said and I perked up a bit. Why did that make me feel good? The fact that it made me feel good made my stomach churn, but I looked past that.

"Thanks," I said, sounding a bit too cheerful. Dale snorted a bit.

"You are a weird fucking chick," Dale said, "You have a degree, but you are a Secretary. You can grasp complicated and technical concepts but you hate to speak in meetings. You are punctual, courteous, and professional but you only look happy when someone tells you that you give a good blowjob." He said and shook his head. He grabbed his coat and his brief case. I don't know if I was impressed that Dale was smart enough to grasp my strengths as an employee, or depressed that he was so accurate with my weaknesses.

"I don't know," I said, I was blushing. I knew what he was saying was right, but I didn't really have any explanation for it.

"Whatever, don't spend too much time thinking about it," he said and headed out the door. By that time, I had my bra and my skirt back on. I was afraid that someone form the cleaning crew would be there; see me like that. When Dale was at the door he stopped and turned back in.

"Oh hey, I almost forgot. There is this guy I know from my country club. Real nice guy. I told him a little bit about you. He said you sounded interesting. So I said you'd take him out and show him a good time," he said. My head swam a little.

"What?" I said.

"I said if he bought you dinner you'd probably blow him," Dale said crudely. I felt my face twist in disgust. What the hell did this guy think I was?

"I am not going to do that!" I said, slipping my blouse back on, "And you shouldn't want me to. We are...We are..."

"What? dating? I fuck you in the office. I am married. You should think about doing it soon too. You aren't getting any younger. What are you, 28?"

"29," I said. I could still taste Dale's unpleasant sperm on my mouth and it made me sick. Why was I letting this man, this thing, inside of me?

"See," he said.

"So is that why you set me up with..."

"Richard? No. I mean, I just thought you'd get along. He is married too," he said as though that were normal, "Hey come on. I don't have time; just say you'll do it." I knew I should say no. This wasn't right. But what else was I going to do? Say no? That wasn't an option. I needed this job, and I shouldn't want anything better than this. This is what I deserved.

"Fine," I said and I felt completely defeated.

"You're beautiful! Alright, he is out of town for a bit. But he is a busy guy, wife and all, so he has to schedule in advance. A week from Friday at 8. I will see you tomorrow," he said and he slipped out the door. I felt the tears finally falling now as I slowly buttoned my blouse.

* * * * *

Around an hour later I was on the bus, heading toward my apartment. It was winter at the time, so despite the fact that it was not quite 7:30 it was already very dark. I was very close to home and I lived in a not-so-great part of town. As my bus stop came into view about three stoplights up, I could see that the streetlight in front of my building was off again. I sighed and prepared to run briskly to my apartment building. A woman had been assaulted two blocks away just a few weeks earlier. No one had been arrested yet.

As I was picking up my purse on the seat next to me, I realized that it was vibrating slightly. I quickly started to dig through my bag, looking for my cell phone. I found it and saw a number of the screen that I did not recognize. It had a local area code. For some reason, an unknown number always made me nervous. But I clicked "answer."

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, is this Roxanne Fuller?" A clipped female voice stated, making me wonder if it was a bill collector of some sort.

"This is Roxie," I said wishing, as I always did, that I didn't have a slutty 1980's name.

"Ms. Fuller, my name is Dr. Sandra Garner at Mercy Hospital. I have some bad news, please brace yourself," she said. I felt my pulse quicken and my mouth was dry. Who did I know that was sick?

"What?" I said, nearly speaking over her, I could hear panic in my voice. I was not great under pressure.

"You parents were involved in an accident this evening at around 6:30 p.m. Their car was struck by a tractor trailer. They were rushed to the hospital but...I am sorry. They were pronounced dead on arrival. I cannot express my sorrow for your loss. You were the emergency contact for their insurance. Please come down to the hospital and fill out your paperwork," the woman said. At no time did her voice rise above a dull drone. I felt totally numb.

"My parents are...dead?" I asked, incredulously. My parents, only in their mid-fifties, both dead. At almost the same instant I was blowing Dale. I just refused to accept it.

"I am sorry Ms. Fuller. Support staff will be on hand for your arrival," she said and with that, the line went dead.

* * * * *

It took nearly an hour to get to Mercy. I'd run home quickly and called a cab (there were six bus transfers to get to the hospital). While I'd waited (and later in the taxi itself), I tried to understand what the doctor had told me over the phone. My parents were dead. It still didn't make any sense. I mean, I knew in my mind that everyone died eventually. I knew that it didn't exclude me or anyone else I knew. But my parents...I mean it didn't seem like it was possible. They had always been there.

Not that they had really been there in any real sense. My parents and I had never really gotten along, to put it mildly. I couldn't remember a time when I would describe my relationship with them as anything but terrible. In fact, I hadn't spoken to either of them in months and hadn't seen them in...Oh God, nearly a year. They only lived fifteen miles from my apartment. But, it was never good when we were together anyway. They seemed just as happy to be rid of me as I was to be rid of them.

What was so strange was that my parents were so different that it should have been impossible for me not get along with both of them. But somehow I'd managed to have catastrophically broken relationships with both of them in completely different ways.

With my mother, it was a white hot, passionate anger that simmered between us at all times. Ever since I was a little girl it seemed that I had been the wrong kind of woman for my mother. She'd wanted a little girl who was exactly like her in every way: outgoing, boisterous, athletic. I was not those things. She'd tried to mold me into her image while I was growing up, forcing me into clubs and sports. But none of that had ever appealed to me. I would try to quit, to do the things that I liked to do (though, to be honest, I never really had a chance to figure those things out) but she had always told me how ashamed she was that I was a quitter. I would be punished, usually corporal punishment followed by some sort of demeaning taunt. More than one time I remembered her yelling that I was not really her daughter and that she wished I hadn't been born. I think that stuff started when I was 5.

Over the years, she'd grown to resent that I had stolen the opportunity for her to have the daughter she'd always wanted, while I resented her for refusing to accept that I was a real person and not a failed project in self-re-creation. After I left for college, we rarely spoke. When we did it would invariably devolve into a screaming match with my mother belittling my life choices as being unambitious and embarrassing and me telling her she was a dried-up bitch trying to live vicariously through me. Not that she wasn't right. I was unambitious and embarrassing, I was pathetic really. I brought all of the disappointment and bad things in my life down on myself. But I didn't like hearing it from her.

My father was a different matter altogether. If my mother tried too hard to mold me into a woman, my father didn't try hard enough. I remember when I was very young going days, sometimes weeks, without hearing anything from my father beyond "pass the salt." I remember that my mother would get on him to talk to me about report cards, he would look at my grades (usually Bs) and then tell me that I was "just a little stupid" but say it in such a way that indicated that it really didn't matter.

I remember that as I got older, my father would occasionally tell me that I was "pretty" or that my figure was "coming in nice." I don't know why, but that little bit of positive feedback from my father had seemed so important. My mother hated everything about me, my father thought I was stupid, but at least he could think I was good at something. Good at looking good. I started to dress somewhat provocatively, not just at school but at home, so that he would note that I looked good. As I got into high school, my father started to object to the way I was dressing. He noticed that it brought boys (generally the kinds of boys from families as broken as mine). He would still compliment my appearance on occasion, but he would temper that by saying that I "dressed like a whore" or acted "like a bimbo." The older I got, the more provocatively I dressed and the more extreme my father's reactions became. A few weeks before I went to college, my father nearly tackled me on my way out of the house to meet a date and tried to force a bulky sweatshirt over my head because he didn't like my tube top. This came just a few days after he told me his friends told him I was "hot" as though I should be impressed. The mixed signals got so painfully confusing, that I found it just easier to stop talking to him as well. I don't think he even really noticed. His compliments and his anger were far more important to me than they were to him.

Now they were dead. And I didn't know what to feel about it. I cared about them I guess, despite everything about them. They brought me into the world. There were memories, a few, or real happiness in their home. I was ashamed to say that ten years earlier I might have been happy they were dead. I know that sounds terrible, but a 19 year old with bad parents can be terrible. But now that they were not in my life, I didn't really wish anything bad for them. I just wanted them to leave me alone. I wanted the scars they left on me (some physical, most emotional) to leave with them. But now they were gone and I was still here, as broken as ever.

I arrived at the hospital in a daze. All of these thoughts had been running through my mind and I barely recognized the taxi arrived at my apartment and then dropped me off at the ER. The place did not look busy and there was a nurse at a duty station in the waiting room. She was looking at a clipboard and didn't seem to notice me come in.

"Uh hi," I said, my voice sounding small and scared like a child, "My name is Roxie Fuller. My parents..." I started then just opened and closed my mouth like a dry fish. The nurse looked up, annoyed, but then saw the glassy look in my eye and the way I was sort of swaying drunkenly.

"Fuller?" she asked and I nodded. She gave me a sympathetic smile, "I am very sorry. Please follow me," she said. The nurse wound me around through the hospital and I quickly got disoriented. I just kept my eyes on her back and tried to ignore the awful sights, smells, and sounds that come with being in one of those places. Finally, she led me into a small office. There was an overweight, middle-aged woman sitting behind a small desk in very dim golden light. She looked stern.

"This is Ms. Fuller," the nurse said. She looked at me, smiled, squeezed my hand, and then left the room.

"Hello Ms. Fuller, I am Dr. Garner, we spoke on the phone. Please have a seat," the middle aged woman said, gesturing toward a chair. I dropped down into it. The doctor began to speak, but I can honestly say I have no idea what she was talking about. Her eyes were very sympathetic but her voice was flat and unemotional. I found myself staring off into space, too shell-shocked to pay attention to anything. I wondered why I wasn't crying, but felt no compulsion to do so.