He sneered again. "Cock-sucking bitch!"

She wanted to kill him. She lunged again, driving the sharp point of the letter opener into her brother's abdomen. At the moment of contact, she realized what she was doing and held back just enough to avoid skewering him. Ronny gasped, jerked back and stared down in apparent disbelief at the small puncture wound in one of the rectangular segments of his muscled belly from which trickled a small flow of crimson blood. His chest heaved.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide. "You stabbed me." His voice trembled.

"I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry!" Bernice dropped the letter opener onto the red shag carpet.

"You tried to kill me!"

"I didn't mean it." Bernice felt weaker than ever now. She could hardly stand up.

"You… you…"

Ronny flung himself at her.

Bernice grunted, the wind knocked out of her. As she hit the floor, she banged her head hard enough to leave her stunned and dizzy. She lay there helplessly as Ronny tore off her clothes, first her shirt, then her jeans. She recovered enough to resist him as he ripped at her panties, but it was futile. The panting teenager jerked her panties off over her feet and sat on his heels before her, his chest heaving, his prick wagging.

"Please, Ronny," she whimpered. "Please?" She was sweating, but the cool dry air of the room chilled her. She had never felt so naked, so helpless. She couldn't move to defend herself. It was as if she'd been hypnotized or drugged.

The teen sniffed her panties, rubbed their moist crotch against his lips and all over his face. His blue eyes appeared to glaze over. "Fuck," he moaned. "Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck!"

"Please, Ronny? Please?"

He looked at her as if he'd suddenly discovered her lying there. "Sure," he said.

And Bernice felt a surge of relief. He was going to let her go. Sure, he'd said. Sure.