Mary pushed open the creaky door to Gabriel's room. Her bare feet padded softly on the worn wooden floorboards. She couldn't meet his eyes and kept staring at the scuffed planks instead, her slim body twisting back and forth.
At seventeen, she had long legs and a slender build under her plain cotton nightgown, the one that hung loose on her small tits and flared just enough over her hips. Her blonde hair, usually braided tight for church, fell messy around her shoulders, and her cheeks burned pink.
Gabriel watched from his bed, heart thumping hard in his chest. She never came in here after lights out, not without Mama's permission.
He lowered the book slowly, his calloused fingers marking the page with a scrap of paper torn from his school notebook. It was one of the few things in this godforsaken house that wasn't the Bible, smuggled in last month during the long drive back from town, hidden under the seat of their beat-up pickup truck.
'Dragons of the Forgotten Realm', the cover faded and dog-eared from secret readings. Pa would tan his hide if he knew; the man burned anything with "witchcraft" or "heathen tales" stamped on it.
Gabriel shoved it under his pillow. Their house was strict. 'Very' strict. Out here on the remote farm, miles from the nearest speck of civilization, Mama and Pa ruled with iron fists wrapped in scripture. No TV. No "worldly filth." Prayers before every meal, chores till your back screamed, and confessionals every Sunday where you'd spill your soul or face the switch.
Every dawn they piled into the rusty truck, bounced twenty miles to the schoolhouse, and came straight back at three. Pa's rule, enforced with his belt.
"The devil waits in idle hands," he'd growl. Gabriel's mind raced to all the other bullshit their religious folks put them through. The ice-cold baptisms in the creek every spring, dunked till your lungs burned. The "purity fasts" were where you'd go hungry for days to "cleanse the flesh." No dating, no dances, hell, they'd once locked Mary in her room for a week after some boy smiled at her during recess.
All this madness... It made them stronger. Pa's belt, Mama's endless prayers, the isolation that clawed at your soul. They were still here.
He'd never rat her out. Not for sneaking into his room like this, heart pounding. Not for the times she'd curl up on the edge of his bed, whispering about the dreams that made her cheeks flush hotter than a fever. And she wouldn't breathe a word about his stash, the books hidden under the mattress, pages filled with dragons breathing fire and witches casting spells that Pa would call straight from Satan's hand.
Mary finally stepped inside, easing the door shut with a soft click. Her eyes flicked to the window, then back to him, wide and blue in the moonlight spilling across the floor. "You awake?" she whispered, voice barely more than a breath, but his skin still prickled.
"Yeah," Gabriel murmured back as he sat up slowly. He patted the bed beside him. "C'mere. Parents out cold?"
She nodded, padding over on those silent feet, the floorboards not even creaking under her slight weight.
She scooted closer, knees drawn up, arms hugging them like she was holding herself together. "Heard 'em snoring soon as I slipped out. Pa's like a damn freight train tonight. Mama too. World's biggest weak spot, sleep. Nothin' wakes 'em."
Gabriel chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest. He could hear it now if he listened hard, the distant rumble from down the hall, steady and deep. Pa's bellow of a snore mixed with Mama's softer wheeze. Once they were down, they were gone. Hours of tossing and turning wouldn't rouse them. It was their golden window, the only time the house felt like theirs.
Mary fidgeted on the edge of the bed. Her thin nightgown rode up a little on her thighs, and the smooth pale skin there glowed softly in the moonlight. Gabriel's eyes dipped for a split second and caught the way her legs pressed together, her knees knocking lightly like she couldn't sit still.
"So, uh, school today," she started, her voice a nervous whisper, fingers twisting the hem of her gown into knots. "Same old. Missus Harlan droned on and on forever. I swear, my head hurt by lunch. And then recess... kids running around like chickens with their heads cut off. " She trailed off, eyes darting to the window, then back to her lap, cheeks still that deep pink flush.
Gabriel leaned back against the headboard, the old mattress creaking under his weight. He knew the signs, her foot tapping softly, the way she chewed her lower lip till it went shiny and red. 'What's got you twisted up like this, Mary?' he thought.
She kept going, voice pitching higher. "Oh, and Steve, you know, that tall one with the truck his pa bought him, he was showing off at lunch. Playing hoops. Everyone was watching. Even the teachers were watching."
"Yeah?" Gabriel murmured, his voice low and steady, but inside his mind raced. Steve. Popular kid, family loaded with cash from the oil fields. Gabriel had seen him around school, cocky grin, nice clothes that didn't come from the church donation bin. He didn't know the guy well, but rumors flew: parties on weekends, sneaking smokes behind the barn.
Mary's words tumbled faster now, circling like she was dodging a punch.
Gabriel couldn't take it anymore. Her hand lay right there on the quilt between them, fingers trembling just a hair. He reached out, his rough palm covering hers completely. He squeezed, thumb stroking the back of her knuckles once.
"Mary," he said, locking eyes with her. Those blue eyes went wide, pupils dark in the low light. "What's eating you? Spill it."
She swallowed hard, throat working, her free hand clutching the quilt till her knuckles whitened. "I... I need a favor, Gabe. And I gotta tell you a secret. But promise you won't freak? Won't tell a soul?"
He nodded, not letting go of her hand, his grip firm now, anchoring her. "You know you can tell me everything. We're in this together. No judgments. No snitching."
Mary licked her lips, a nervous swipe of her tongue leaving them glossy. "Okay. So... Steve. He asked me to the dance. Pulled me aside after school, all blushy and stammering. Said he'd been watching me. Wants me to go with him."
Gabriel's eyebrows shot up, but he kept his cool, thumb still circling slowly on her skin. Steve. The rich kid with the shiny truck and easy smile.
"Damn," he said, voice rougher than he meant. "That's... big. Pa's gonna be a bear about it."
Mary nodded quickly, but her eyes dropped again, blush creeping down her neck. She pulled her hand free slowly, like it burned, and hugged her knees. "That's the first thing I need. You gotta be my escort. Like, go with me. Pretend you're chaperoning or whatever. Pa won't let me go alone with a boy, not Steve, not any. But if you're there... family... maybe he'll say yes. Please, Gabe?"
"No problem," he said right off, no hesitation. "I'd do that for you. Easy."
Her face went scarlet, hotter than before, eyes flicking to his lap for a heartbeat before snapping away. She bit her lip hard, voice dropping to a shaky whisper. "And... the second thing. You got a razor blade? Like, one of Pa's old ones from the barn?"
Gabriel blinked, his brain catching up to her words. A razor blade? He nodded anyway. "Yeah, Mary. Got one. Few, actually.
He rubbed his jaw, the faint stubble scratching under his fingers, prickly and dark against his skin.
Mary's hands flew up to her face, palms slapping her cheeks as she buried her burning skin there. Her shoulders hunched, slim body curling in like she wanted to vanish into the quilt. "Oh God, Gabe," she whimpered, voice muffled through her fingers, high and shaky.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the mattress dipping under him. "Hey, easy. What's this about? Talk to me."
She peeked through her fingers, eyes glassy, then dropped her hands, twisting them in her lap again. "Would you... Help me? With the razor? Take off some hair? Just a few."
Gabriel's brow furrowed, confusion hitting him. Help her shave? What the hell? "Shave what, Mary? Your legs? I mean... your legs don't have a single hair. Why?"
Her face went nuclear red, spreading down her neck like spilled wine, skin flushing hot and prickly. She chewed her lip raw, glancing at the door like Mama might burst in any second. "Mama, don't allow it. Says it's vanity, a sin against God's design. 'The body He gave you is pure as is,' she preaches. But at school... I heard the girls talkin'. Jenny and them, whisperin' in the bathroom. Said boys, men, get disgusted by hair. Makes 'em gag, lose interest. Steve... if I go to that dance, I don't wanna..."
Gabriel's gut twisted. Disgusted? Bullshit. But he kept his mouth shut, jaw clenching. No need to spill that now. Not when she's lookin' at me like a kicked pup.
Mary shifted on the bed, the old springs groaning. Still blushing, she lifted her right arm, hesitant, like it weighed a hundred pounds. The nightgown's sleeve slipped up, bunching at her shoulder, and there it was, her armpit, smooth mostly but dotted with a few fine golden hairs. The motion pulled the fabric tight across her chest, the neckline gaping just enough.
Gabriel's eyes dropped without thinking and snagged on the flash of pale skin underneath, her small tit, the nipple tight and pink. The curve of it rose and fell with her shaky breath.
Heat slammed into him, cock twitching hard in his threadbare boxers, thickening against his thigh. He knew the feeling, stolen strokes in the barn loft, hand wrapped tight around his shaft to pictures in his head, but this? With Mary? Her skin so close, that peek making his balls ache. Throat dry as dust, he swallowed, pulse hammering in his ears. 'Fuck, Gabe, don't stare. She's your sister. But God, look at her...'
"Please, Gabe," she whispered, voice cracking, tears welling fat in her lashes. Arm still up, trembling now, she held the pose. "I can't reach good myself, and I don't trust a knife. Mama'd kill me if she found out. But I gotta... for the dance. Help me?"
Gabriel swallowed hard, his throat clicking like dry gravel, that forbidden heat still throbbing low in his gut from the glimpse of her tit. 'Fuck, she's askin' me to touch her there? Up close?' But her eyes pleaded, all wide and desperate, tears hanging on her lashes. He couldn't say no. Not to Mary.
"Yeah," he said, his voice thick. "I'll help. Sit tight."
He slid off the bed quickly. He dragged two old wooden chairs from the corner and scraped them into the center of the room. The chairs wobbled a bit as he positioned them face-to-face.
"Sit here," he said, patting the one facing him, his voice coming out steadier than he felt.
Gabriel crossed to his dresser, yanking open the bottom drawer. He picked the newest blade. 'Gotta be careful. Don't nick her.' His cock twitched again, half-hard now, pressing against his boxers like it had a mind of its own.
"Stay put," he muttered, slipping out the door on silent feet. He crept to the bathroom, grabbed a towel from the rack, a bar of soap, and filled a basin with lukewarm water from the tap, as quietly as he could.
Back in his room, door clicking shut, he found Mary hunched on the chair, eyes still glued to the floorboards.
He cleared his throat, a low cough to break the thick air, then set the basin down between the chairs. Towel over his shoulder, soap in one fist, razor in the other.
"Alright, Mary. Arm up. Right one first." His voice dropped low, commanding, like he was Pa giving orders in the field. It felt good, that edge of control, chasing away the nerves buzzing under his skin.
She hesitated, a shiver running through her slim frame, but lifted her right arm.
The nightgown sleeve bunched high, exposing her armpit, a soft hollow dotted with a few golden hairs, curling against the smooth curve. Gabriel stepped in close, dropping to one knee between her legs, his face inches from her side. Heat rolled off her body, that faint girl-sweat scent hitting him, salty and warm, mixed with the clean soap of her skin from evening wash.
Mary trembled, a full-body quiver that made her thighs clench together. Shame poured off her in waves, cheeks blazing, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted on a tiny whimper. Her eyes cracked open, pupils dark. She bit her lip and didn't pull away. 'She's into it. The embarrassment's twistin' her up. Look at her squirm.' A dark thrill shot through Gabriel, his own pulse thundering in his ears.
"Easy," he murmured, voice gravelly, dipping the towel in the basin.
He pressed the cold cloth to her armpit until the hairs lay flat. She gasped. He worked the fabric over the hollow and watched water streak down her ribs into the nightgown. Then he scraped the soap bar over the wet skin. His fingers spread it deliberately, his thumb grazing the edge of her underarm.
Intimacy hit him; this wasn't just helping. It was 'touching' her, skin on skin. 'Never felt nothin' like this.'
As he smoothed the towel, water trickled faster, escaping his grip, soaking into the cotton over her chest.
"Shit," he muttered, his eyes locked on the damp patch.
"Mary, take off the top. Pull it down. Can't get the gown soaked; Mama'll spot it come mornin', ask questions. We'll dry it quick by the window."
Her eyes flew wide, snapping to his face, then down to the wet stain hugging her curves. Shame flooded her anew, but that flicker was back, excitement? Her hands shook as they gripped the neckline, hesitating, breaths coming ragged. "G-Gabe... you sure? It's... I ain't wearin' nothin' under." Voice a whispery plea, but her fingers tugged anyway, inching the cotton down slowly.
The gown peeled away with a wet smack, sliding off her shoulders, baring her upper body. Small tits spilled free, perfect handfuls, pale and perky. Her ribs showed under flushed skin, belly quivering softly.
She crossed her arms over her chest at first, shivering, but removed them when he grunted, "Arms up, both now."
Gabriel swallowed as Mary's arms lifted high, elbows bent loose, holding the pose like an offering.
Her eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks, a deep blush painting her from forehead to chest.
'Look at her,' he thought, pride swelling hot in his chest right alongside the throb in his pants.
She's lettin' me see her like this. All of her. God, it's wrong. His cock strained fuller now, thick and heavy against the thin cotton, a wet spot blooming where pre-cum leaked from the tip.
"Stay like that, Mary. Arms high. Good girl," he murmured, the words slipping out dirtier than he planned. Her eyelids twitched, but she didn't open them, just nodded, a tiny whimper escaping her parted lips.
He grabbed the wet towel again, wringing it slowly so droplets pattered into the basin. Starting with her left armpit now, the one he hadn't touched yet, he pressed the cloth firmly. Water soaked in quickly, cold against her skin, making her gasp sharply, her body jerking once.
"Cold," she hissed through clenched teeth. Goosebumps raced across her chest, nipples tightening even harder, poking out like they ached.
"Shh, breathe through it," Gabriel said, his free hand steadying her elbow. He circled the towel deliberately, soaking those fine golden hairs flat, and watched water trickle down her side.
Next came the soap. He scraped the bar slowly across the wet skin, building thick lather that clung foamy and white. His fingers dove in then, massaging it deep, thumb and fingers kneading the tender skin, spreading suds everywhere. Just like the right side, but slower now, bolder. He worked both armpits at once, one hand per side, palms gliding slick over the soapy curves.
Her skin was warm under the hairs, yielding, muscles twitching under his touch.
Mary's moans started low, contained, soft "mmphs" from her throat, bitten back but leaking out anyway. Her head tipped back against the chair, blonde hair spilling wild, mouth open on ragged breaths. He massaged deeper, fingers pressing into the edges where arm met torso, grazing the side of her tits.
"Oh Gabe... feels... weird," she whispered, eyes still shut, voice breathy and cracked. Shame twisted her face, brows furrowing, but her body arched into his hands.
He didn't rush. No way. Minutes dragged as he worked the lather, thumbs circling slowly, feeling her pulse flutter under the skin. Her moans pitched higher, needy little whines.
"Arms stay up. Don't move," he said at last. He rinsed the towel quickly in the basin, wiping the excess foam.
Razor time.
He picked it up slowly. "Stay still, Mary." His heart hammered, eyes locked on her left pit first, those fine hairs begging to go.
She nodded frantically, eyes cracking open just a slit, pupils huge and black. "Please... be careful." Her voice trembled.
"Trust me," he murmured as he leaned in close, his breath fanning her skin. He angled the blade and scraped the first pass, slowly, the razor whispering over wet skin as it sheared the hairs clean.
Mary hissed in, body rigid, tits heaving. "Tickles..."
One pass, two, methodical, pulling the skin taut with his fingers, the blade gliding flawlessly. Rinse, repeat.
He switched arms seamlessly, right pit now, same careful strokes.
Her skin emerged buttery smooth under the razor, pink and flawless, not a hair in sight.
Gabriel stared at Mary's freshly shaved armpits, a fierce pride swelling in his chest.
He set the razor down carefully on the basin edge and wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.
"Ready to see?" he said.
Mary's eyes cracked open slowly, lashes fluttering like she was scared of what she'd find. She didn't move, though, arms still locked high overhead, elbows loose, body arched just a bit in the chair. Her blue eyes darted first to her own chest,...
