At a family conference, Ramona and her children came to the unanimous decision that after the wedding, they would move into the Nettleton mansion. All three were surprised at how easily that decision was made. All three were further surprised when Ramona asked her children what other issues needed to be addressed and no one could come up with anything. All was moving smoothly in the Franklin household.
Debbie took it upon herself to act preemptively concerning the accommodations. The morning after that meeting, after her mother had gone to work, Debbie went to her brother's room. She was amazed now at how routine it seemed to crawl into bed with him, wake him with kisses, fondle him to full erection ... if he wasn't already that way ... and then slide her pussy down gratefully over his throbbing member. He was always groggy in the mornings, and she loved to climb up on top of him and ride him. It gave her better control over when and where her tingling clitty got rubbed, and she was able to get him deep enough that the tip of his beautiful prick prodded that special little place inside her that both hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. She could also take her time, because, if he wasn't on top of her, he couldn't go as fast as he liked to, which inevitably brought that rush of welcome wet heat spurting out of his penis sooner than she wanted it to. True, he was able, on many occasions, to either keep going, or to be able to go again quite soon, but she loved to deny herself that wonderful hot feeling, letting the pressure inside her build until she almost couldn't stand it. Then she'd squeeze his healthy young penis in just that special way that she'd learned would make it spurt almost on command, so that as she had her orgasm, he had his too.
This morning had been particularly sensational as she felt her brother's hot sperm bathing her pussy. She kissed him as he mumbled his love for her, already letting his eyes close to go back to sleep. She wanted her pussy to be full of his spunk when she went next door to look at the house where all this had started.
She dressed in jeans shorts and a halter top, not to tease anybody, but because she liked those clothes and they were comfortable. She had made the halter top in home economics, because she had to come up with a sewing project. She'd made it out of one of Robby's old dress shirts that didn't quite fit his muscular chest any more. She'd cut off the collar and sleeves and folded the shoulder material to make straps. Then, to impress her teacher, she'd tailored the cloth to fit her breasts. It almost looked like a fancy bra, except for the tails in front, which she used to tie in a knot in the front, between her breasts. It was a pale blue color that, when she first made it, concealed her pink areolas, though it allowed her nipples to define themselves, especially if they were erect under it. Her jeans shorts were cut-offs and thin and white where they cupped her buttocks.
It didn't occur to her on a conscious level that she looked like the very picture of a well-fucked, beaming, healthy young woman, with gorgeous cleavage and a firm ass. She didn't think about what the men working at the manor might think about as she walked through them ... how her flat stomach fairly screamed to those men that it needed life inside it, to make the flatness go away as a baby swelled beneath it. She never gave a thought to how, as she had to step over obstructions on the lawn, where materials were strewn about, that her breasts would bob invitingly as all eyes watched her walk across the yard to the front door of the mansion. Had she heard the groans of the men, or seen them shift their stiffening cocks in their pants as she walked by, she might have considered dressing less provocatively.
But Debbie's mind was awhirl with the anticipation of seeing how the inside of the house had changed ... of walking its halls again, this time as the mistress of the manor. "Well, one of the mistresses, anyway" she thought as she stepped on top of a pile of long lumber and jumped down on the other side, making her tender young breasts bounce once and come to a quivering equilibrium inside the thin cloth of her halter top.
Two men were working together nearby and Debbie heard one of them mumble to the other ... something like "Oh man, and it's only nine thirty. I gotta go home for lunch and see Christy." The other man laughed and replied "See Christy? I never heard it called seeing before." He laughed again.
Debbie glanced at them, wondering what they found so funny about lunch. Then she ran up the stairs to the front door, oblivious of the groans behind her.
She peered around, shocked and delighted to see that everything looked so bright and colorful and ... alive. She reached out to touch the paneling, which glowed with a soft light. It was bright and she could see the grain and tones in it now. Before it had been gray and dull. The wall paper and new drapes were so colorful she thought she was in a different place. She wandered into the kitchen and gasped at the harvest gold counter tops and the gleaming matching stove and refrigerator. A center island held all kinds of copper pots hanging from a stainless steel rack that made a roof over it.
She almost ran to see what her bedroom looked like. That the "little girl's" room would be hers, she had already decided. She hoped that it would still look like a girl's room. She passed by the master bedroom and the "boy's" bedroom to find the door to her room closed. She pushed it open and gasped.
The four poster bed had been completely recovered with new fabric. It didn't look strange to her, despite the fact that the fabrics were archaic in design. The room she had spent so much time in ... had experienced so many new and exciting moments in ... looked alive to her now. Her eyes were drawn to the rest of the room in darting glances as she tried unsuccessfully to take it all in.
Her eyes lit on the cedar chest where she had packed away her cherished special dresses each time after she had worn them during dress up play. The chest had obviously been refinished and gleamed with a coating of oil.
She had her first disappointing feeling as she saw the now beautiful piece of furniture. She knew somehow, sadly, that the dresses would be gone. Never again would she be able to pull on the sweet smelling old clothes and parade in front of her brother, pretending to be a princess, or the mistress of the manor. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek.
A sound behind her made her turn quickly, wiping the tear away. It was her uncle, standing in the open doorway, leaning negligently against the jamb.
"So what do you think?" he asked. "Is it suitable for a beautiful teenage girl?"
Debbie felt conflicting emotions. She knew it was silly, but she really missed those dresses.
"Yes, it's beautiful," she said.
"Why then do you cry?" he asked.
Debbie wiped at her cheek again, embarrassed. "It's nothing. There were dresses that I kept in that chest. I used to wear them sometimes," she said.
"My mother's dresses," he said nodding. "Yes they were beautiful. You liked them very much?"
"Oh yes!" said Debbie, unable to control her burst of emotion. "I felt so pretty when I wore them."
"A simple dress could not make you more beautiful than you are now," he said, bowing. "But I am glad that I had them cleaned and replaced. I suspected that someone had been wearing them."
"What?" said Debbie, startled.
"Look inside," he said gently, waving a hand at the chest.
Debbie went to the chest and lifted the lid. The odor of cedar spilled into her nostrils and she saw all her dresses ... her grandmother's dresses, she corrected herself. They had been neatly folded back into the chest after it was refinished.
Debbie turned, more tears in her eyes now, and stared at the man she'd hated, then wanted to hate, and now couldn't hate any more.
"Still you cry?" he teased. "I am such a failure." He tried to look dejected.
Debbie ran to him and hugged him tightly.
"Oh thank you Uncle Bob. You have no idea what this means to me," she cried.
"It was but a little thing," he said stroking her hair. "I have upset your life, and would do what I can to let you retain as much of it as you can."
Debbie turned, one arm still around her uncle and surveyed the room. "It really is beautiful," she said.
Robert looked down into the expanse of teenaged cleavage she had exposed by turning. He could see the insides of her breasts. They looked white and soft.
"It is indeed beautiful," he said, smiling.
Debbie's eyes settled on the dressing table. It had been dust covered and streaked when she last saw it. Now it, too, gleamed with a coat of oil over its refinished surfaces. The drawer pulls were shining brass now, instead of dark green lumps of metal. The mirror she had looked at herself in as she played dress up was clean and shining, surrounded by an ornate gilded frame which before had looked like a dull yellow mass of indistinct carving. A doll sat, leaning against the bottom corner of the mirror. She had held that doll, and examined it, though she had felt too old to play with dolls, especially when she and Robby began playing dress up. The doll had a porcelain face that was so realistic that it was hard to believe. Its clothing had been faded and dirty, and one leg had been torn at the knee. Now it looked brand new, having been repaired by a master restorer of antique dolls.
Robert saw where she was looking. "That was your mother's" he said. "When we left she cried many times, wanting that doll. If I could have come back to get it for her I would have. But we were not allowed to come to this place after ... afterward. Maybe you should take it to her?"
Debbie looked up at her uncle and saw the softness in his eyes as he looked at the doll. It made her stomach feel fluttery to see that look of love.
"Can I give it to her as a wedding present?" she asked. "I can't think of anything to get her."
"I think that would be most perfect," he agreed, smiling. "Now, to what do I owe the honor of your visit this fine day?"
Debbie was suddenly nervous. She had come here like she still owned this place. The changes in it had shocked her as she realized that it was different ... so different that it didn't seem like the same house to her. And yet, it was so familiar that she couldn't help but feel at home in it. It was like somebody she loved had been in the hospital, about to die, but had recovered and now looked completely healthy.
"We decided last night to live here after the wedding," she said. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you or not. Mom may want to tell you herself. But I just had to come and see ... to see if it was the same."
"Alas, it is not the same," admitted her uncle, his arm still around her.
"No, but I think that's all right," she said softly. "It looks so much better. It's so pretty and bright." She slumped a little. "I don't know if the ghosts will even come back now."
Her uncle smiled and she saw it out of the corner of her eye. She stuck out her jaw.
"We used to talk to them, you know," she said stubbornly. "They ... watched us. They liked having us here," she insisted.
"I do not doubt that my ancestors loved having you in this place," he said seriously. "So many unhappy things happened here. I'm sure they were very satisfied to have happy young people here again." His eyes dipped to her cleavage again. "I know I'll be happy to have happy young people here."
Debbie saw his eyes and blushed. "You're a horrible tease, you know that? What would my mother say if she saw where you're looking?"
"She would say that I have wonderful taste in ogling breasts," he said easily. "Yours are perhaps as beautiful as hers."
Debbie blushed harder. Then she kissed him on the cheek. "You make me feel good," she said finally.
"Then my day has not been wasted," he said, kissing her forehead. He looked at her again, this time into her eyes. "I'm really very happy that you have decided to do this thing ... to let your mother and I be happy ... to live with us. And it is not only because of your beautiful breasts either," he said, winking at the end.
Debbie felt giddy at his obviously heartfelt expression of thanks. She stepped away from him though, feeling that fluttering in her stomach again. He was really very handsome in a strange and different way and she felt unaccountably nervous being so close to him.
"What can I do to help?" Debbie asked brightly.
Robert smiled. "Well, I happen to be talking to the interior decorator about the bedroom your mother and I will use. Perhaps you could lend your expertise on things she likes? I love her more than life itself, but I've been gone a long time, and don't know her every day likes yet."
Debbie squealed with excitement and followed him to the master bedroom. It too looked different, with the furniture refinished and the wainscot redone. The walls above that were bare, though, and the huge four poster bed in that room was bare as well, without even a mattress on it. A woman was standing in the middle of the room making notes on a clipboard.
There ensued a spirited discussion, primarily between Debbie and the woman, about how the room should be tricked out. Debbie, in her own way, described what the perfect room would look like, thinking of her mother and the colors she liked and things like that.
When they were done the woman turned to Robert. "Well, other than being a cradle robber, I have to say you have chosen well for a wife. She has exquisite taste Mr. Nettleton."
Debbie gaped, then blushed, and then started to correct the woman, but Robert stepped up to her and put his arm around her possessively.
"I know an exquisite woman when I meet one," he said smiling broadly. "Her beauty will complete this house, along with that of her daughter and son. I have, indeed, been lucky."
The woman left and Debbie turned to her uncle. "Why did you let her think I was going to be your wife?" she asked curiously.
"Think about it," said Robert. "She will now go out and tell everyone what a sexy young wife I have. People will gossip about it, and when I take your mother somewhere people will already be thinking how beautiful and young she is. It is a harmless little prank, yes?"
"I guess so," said Debbie uncertainly. She didn't think of her mother as young. Beautiful, yes, but not young. Children never do.
"How did it make you feel that the woman believed you and I would be married? That we would do the things married couples do?" he asked.
Debbie blushed again. "I ... I ... we don't do those things!" she finally got out.
"This is a true thing you have said," he nodded. "But you do do them with Robby. And when people do these things, babies are created. When that happens you will be a mother in this house, and almost a wife. Have you not thought of this?" he asked, knowing that youth rarely plan further than next weekend.
"Well, no" she admitted. He remained silent while she couldn't help but think about ... being pregnant ... in this house. "Mom and I talked about it a little bit," she said, as if proud of herself. "And if that happens then I'll try to be a good mother."
"Then my recommendation to you is to begin thinking of yourself as a mother now," Robert said firmly. "If this thing happens, then it cannot be undone."
"But ..." Debbie started and then stopped. She couldn't even think about having an abortion. The thought alone made her ill.
"In this house there are no 'buts'" said Robert. "If you become pregnant, the child will be of the Nettleton line. I would have to resist in the most vociferous manner should you try to become not pregnant. This is a thing you must understand about me. Your mother and I are the only Nettletons left, besides you and your brother. Many children are needed to carry on this line, and none can be wasted. This would be true whether it was Robby's child or that of another."
Debbie stared at him thoughtfully. "I could never have an abortion," she said firmly. "I don't know why I even thought of that. But it sounds as if you want to make me into a baby machine."
"This is not what I meant at all," he said. "If you never have a child at all your mother and I will love you as always. Having children is your concern. But if you decide to do that, I want you to understand that it is a serious concern, and that others will have a stake in the child's life too. You will not be alone if you become a mother."
Debbie suddenly thought about the sperm that was still pooled in her womb at this very moment. For the first time since she had begun pursuing an ... adult ... relationship, she thought seriously about the consequences of what was lying in her belly.
"I will bear, and love and cherish my children," she said in a surprisingly adult tone of voice. "I doubt that I'd make a very good mother right now, but I'll learn whatever it takes."
"You'll make a better mother now than you might have an hour ago, I'll wager," said her uncle. "Your body is ready to provide new life," he said, looking at her breasts again and making her squirm. "However ... you might want to give some thought to preventing babies until you feel you are ready."
"Yes," said Debbie, her spirits suddenly muted. "I'll think about that."
"Excellent!" said Robert boisterously. "Now, tell me, do you ever eat ice cream? I have a freezer full of this delightful treat, and I'll never be able to eat it all by myself."
Debbie spent another five hours with her uncle, talking and helping him make decisions, while the workmen always seemed to need to be around them, asking questions, or carrying things past the lovely young woman. Robert noted their interest and smiled. There would be many happy women this night when these men got home and needed to sate their lust.
TBC.... in next Chapter