Life as a good little girl/Putting yourself in order you head home
From Create Your Own Story
When the boys disappear from view you let out a shaky breath and get up on just as wobbly legs. Slipping on your shirt you try to tie it, only to find that while the two sides of the shirt may have parted the knot hadn't come undone. If anything it had tightened to the point that it's a solid ball of fabric that your fingers can't get a purchase on. Worse, without that extra little bit of fabric you can't make another knot!
The sound of a car coming startles you out of your attempts to pull the shirt closed and you dash between the cars into the next lane and nearly into a fat older man.
"Whoa! Watch yourself you little..." the man trails off, sounding distracted. You dash your way across the parking lot heading for the thicket of trees on the far end of the lot. Something about the man bothers you, like maybe you know him from somewhere. But you only caught the slightest glimpse of a blurry face from the corner of your eye, so you're sure you imagined it.
Giving up on your shirt you try to fix the skirt instead. The boys had tucked the hem in good, making a mini-skirt into more of a belt, and by the time you've passed a few hooting people you finally make some inroads on getting the fabric free on one hip. By the time you're in the woods you have almost half of it done, and shortly after your pussy is modestly covered once again. Your chest, on the other hand...
"I guess I'll just have to hold it shut," you mutter to yourself.
Miraculously, considering the day you've had, you get home without running into, or flashing, anyone else. For once, you even find the spare key hidden in the fake rock where it's supposed to be, and get inside without being greeted by your family.
That is, until you see the back of your step-brother Mark in your room, apparently talking to someone else.
"Take the drawers out?" Your other brother Rob says.
"Too heavy," Danny, the third and oldest brother, says.
"Let's just disassemble the bed first," you hear your step-father say.
Indignantly, you start forward and get right up behind Mark before you remember your state of dress - or lack thereof. You glance around as Mark starts to turn toward you. The bathroom on the other side of the door catches your eye and you dart toward it, making it inside before anyone can see what you're wearing. You hope.
"Hey, that you Stephi?" he calls, but you just slam the door and turn on the shower. Maybe they'll all leave, or go to the kitchen, or anywhere away from your room so you can get into some real clothes.
"Take off the mattress," are the last recognizable words you hear, before their conversation is muffled by the thuds and ruffling of things being moved around. Looking down at yourself you spot dirt on your knees and decide to take advantage of the shower while waiting for them to leave.
Fifteen minutes later, after dismissing thoughts of fingering yourself - you've never figured out that part of the pornos. Touching yourself was only ever an exercise in frustration - you exit the shower. There's only one clean towel left in the bathroom. It's your least favorite towel and definitely on the small side as far as coverage goes, but it will do. You only need it until you can get changed. You towel off quietly, listening for signs of life from your family. You even press your ear against the wall and the door and listen for a long moment. Nothing.
Wrapping the little towel around yourself you pick up your clothes and scurry out of the bathroom, essentially making a U-turn since your bedroom is right next door.
"No one. Thank God!" you gasp, but freeze in the doorway at the sight of your room's state. Drawers have been removed from your desk and the bed is entirely gone. A couple of boxes sit on the floor by the dresser.
"There you are Stephi," your step-dad Joe says from behind you. Where did he come from? You quickly throw Tiffany's outfit into one of the boxes on the left.
"Oh, hi daddy," you say with a nervous smile. Joe always insisted you call him that. Obediently you give him a "welcome home" hug like he expects. He bends down to meet you and gives you a peck on the lips.
"Mmm. You're wet," he notes, and pats his hands down your towel, incidentally patting your butt a couple of times.
Your face goes scarlet and you wonder how he could possibly know that you are... oh, wait. He means the shower.
Not noticing your embarrassment, Joe straightens and starts to talk. "Your Mom and I decided you should move to the room at the back of the house. Mark's room. He's going to switch with you."
"What? Why?"
"Well, you know how you girls have more things. Your mom thought you could use the room. Plus, we figured it'd be better to have the boys closest to us. You know how much trouble boys can cause," he smiles and you nod fervently. Boy do you ever!
"But while we're doing this we're gonna get rid of some of your old clothes. Stuff that doesn't fit anymore." One of Joe's heavily calloused hands takes your bare arm and turns you toward the boxes scatted about before his rough hands move upward, massaging your shoulders. The callouses scrape your sensitive skin. The massaging motion shifts your towel. He's already lost your attention by the time he starts pointing around your room. "Charity. Bedroom. Got it?"
"Huh? Uh, right," you nod, too distracted by his hands to notice which boxes he was pointing at. Oh well, you can ask him later.
"Good. Now hurry up," he orders, patting your butt football-style. "I have other things to do today."
Great, thanks Joe... I guess I'll get changed later
Somewhat overwhelmed by the task that's been thrown at you, you try to sort out a plan of attack. Not really wanting to pack away your intimates in front of them you start packing the easier stuff first while they continue to work around you. Dressed in only a towel they poke and tease you mercilessly, distracting you from your chore. In spite of that you manage to find and toss all of those sickeningly girly outfits your mother used to dress you in into the charity box. The entire thing is filled with old skirts, tiny play-dresses, and flowery little tops, along with a few pairs of shorts that would be ridiculously small on you now that you're older. The other box gets your jeans, sweaters, long sleeve shirts and, during the one brief moment everyone else is out of the room, all of your under-things. You quickly pile the remaining long dresses and knee-length skirts on top to protect your unmentionables.
"Alright, Stephi, that's the last of the furniture. Now which box goes?" Joe asks.
"Ooh, I can almost see Stephi's ass!" Mark laughs. He's your youngest step-brother and such a pain, but somehow he's still older than you.
Flustered you point...
Life as a good little girl/To the box with your old stuff in it
Life as a good little girl/Still remember to ask him which box is which
