Abby pinched her mouth tight. "Take your beer can off my dresser, brother dear." She wiped the dampness with a tissue and dropped it in the wastebasket. She didn't think Howell's statement worthy of reply but it had started her thinking. Wouldn't it be fun to really spur a man while he made love to her? She shivered at the ultimate wickedness of it. Perry already let her do shameful things to him and now she was considering spurs! Her nipples went hot with blood and she had an urge to rub three fingers across the crotch of her panties. She resisted successfully. Howell loomed close, smelling of beer and pretzels. His jeans were torn out at one knee and half his shirt was untucked. The black sheep of the McNarey family. At twenty-five he was a leech on their father's fortune. And Dad went on indulging him like the lazy hound Howell was. Her brother leaned closer.

"Come on Abby, tell me what you and Perry do, huh? I won't tell nobody else!"

"Why do you insist on using bad English?" she snapped, getting up. She brushed by him in her bra and panties, opened the closet wide to pick a dress.

"Cause you talk so God-damned nice," he was leering at her legs as she turned with the dress she'd chosen. For an instant Abby had a most uncomfortable feeling. Brothers weren't supposed to look at their sisters like that. She put a hand self-consciously to her chest, covered one cup of her bra. The weight of her tit against her palm excited her for no special reason. Except that she was always aware of the size of her breasts. For her thin, almost frail shoulders they seemed huge. They rode high and firm on her body and the nipples were embarrassingly thick and dark. But men seemed to love them. She wasn't quite sure why. When Perry had seen her undress that first time, he'd almost slipped to his knees in utter worship. She smiled with the memory. Howell made a dirty sound with his mouth and snapped her back to the present.