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Deep In The Heart of Texas - The Other Side

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Bubba Sawyer had never had a worse day in his entire life. Four days ago he’d just been minding his own business, making some sausage and waiting for his brothers to come home when suddenly strange people began invading the house like the field mice that sometimes found their way into the pantry and ended up as part of Nubbins’s art projects. Why were they coming into his home? Where were they coming from? What did they want? While startling, he’d managed to dispatch the first two with relative ease... but when the third one came he began to panic. Were they ever going to stop coming? And to make matters worse, the girl he was going to butcher later popped back out of the freezer, still alive, but just barely. Usually such a wound from the hook would kill a person fairly quickly, but Bubba was too flustered to finish the job fast and instead shoved her back into the freezer and slammed the lid, hoping the cold would eventually take care of it. It was too much to deal with on his own, but if he didn’t deal with it Drayton would punish him. He sat down by the window and tried to calm down, tried hard to figure out what he should do. He sat there for hours, confused and overwhelmed and just wishing his brothers would come home, but then he heard the blare of a horn that definitely didn’t belong to the truck. It sounded close, though, too close to ignore. Though he was desperately afraid, the threat of Drayton’s disapproval was scarier so he picked up his saw and went to investigate.

The trespassers were so noisy with all their shouting and waving their flashlight that finding them and killing the one in the weird, wheeled chair had been easy, but then everything went straight to hell, as Drayton would say. The pretty girl with the long, blonde hair ran away, and he had to chase after her. She was small and quick, and Bubba felt like the big, fat lug Drayton said he was. It had been a long time since he’d had to run so fast and so far, but panic kept his heart pounding and his feet moving. Everything went wrong. The girl got into the house and locked the door behind her, and in his desperation he did the only thing he could think of: he sawed his way through the door. But it had all been for nothing, because then she jumped out the window. And right through the glass, too! Bubba had never seen such a crazy thing, and he was even more horrified when he realized she’d landed all the way on the ground and not just the roof. He was too scared to jump out the window behind her, and he wouldn’t have been able to fit very well even if he wanted to. So back down the stairs he ran, screaming and chasing her all the way to the gas station. Now he was really in trouble. He paced and flailed in frustration and fear for several moments before finally accepting the situation was out of his control now and his best hope of avoiding punishment was to go home and finish taking care of the last three people he killed. He would finish the job right, and it would hopefully show Drayton what a good boy he was... and hopefully Drayton would be pleased and not hit him or say mean things.

It almost worked. But Drayton was angry about the door, so even though Bubba tried his best he still had to endure a solid thirty seconds of walloping before Drayton let him get back to slicing some sausages for dinner. After that things went well for awhile: it was always fun having a guest for dinner, and Bubba put on his very best clothes and mask for the occasion. The girl was so pretty, and he wanted to look pretty for her, too. He liked her hair the most, and as he fondled the long, silky strands he thought it might be nice to have this face to wear after dinner was done... but alas, it was not to be. 

Drayton’s anger had been terrible after Bubba came home with his proverbial tail between his legs, limping and bleeding and crying from grief and shame.  Nubbins was dead, smashed into sludge and chunks in the middle of the road. That girl had gotten away, which was something Bubba had been told never, ever to let happen. It was all his fault. He really was a bad boy, a useless retard like Drayton said, and he sobbed even harder when Drayton demanded to know “what in the goddamn hell happened out there.”  He couldn’t explain so he had to show, and the one tiny mercy that day had given him was that Drayton was too stunned to hit him when he saw Nubbins’s remains all over the pavement. But it was a short-lived reprieve, and after Nubbins was scraped up off the road and taken back home the beating Drayton gave him was harder and lasted longer than any Bubba could remember. Drayton also called him names that he never had before, names Bubba didn’t understand but that he could tell were bad. Now he hurt all over instead of just his leg where his chainsaw landed and his forehead where that man in the truck had hit him with a wrench. He’d just wanted to stay in bed and cry about Nubbins, but Drayton stayed home from work and Bubba was forced to join him in look-out duty, waiting for intruders to come. Drayton said “that blonde bitch might send out the cops”, and while Bubba wasn’t sure what “the cops” meant, it didn’t sound good.

 

It’s the fourth day now, and Drayton decided it was safe to go back to work so Bubba was finally free to mope in bed for the afternoon after chores were done. Evening begins to roll around and he goes outside to spend time with the chickens. He likes to do that when he’s feeling lonely, and oh, he’s feeling more lonely now than he ever has before. His leg still hurts, but not as much as his heart. One of his brothers is dead and the other still hasn’t quite forgiven him for his mistake, and everything is terrible. Then it gets worse: he hears a car in the driveway that most definitely isn’t the truck, and soon someone is shouting and knocking on the door. Why won’t these strangers just leave him alone? What do you want? Bubba presses himself as flat against the side of the house as he can, trying to hide and hoping you’ll just go away. He can’t help but squeal quietly as you come closer, panic threatening to swallow him whole. But he has to take care of it. Drayton says that anyone who comes to the house must be killed, and that is Bubba’s job. Well, his and Nubbins’s... but Nubbins is no longer here, so it’s all up to him.

He hears your footsteps just around the corner, and the second you enter his sight he frantically squeals and lashes out like a wounded animal, just hitting whatever he can reach as hard as he can. His strike is effective and you instantly crumple to the ground in a heap. He bends down to inspect you, preparing to hit you again if you move but you stay stock still, clearly out cold but not dead. He carefully rolls you over so he can see your face. He could easily choke you to death right here since he doesn’t have his hammer or saw, could wring your neck like a chicken, but something stays his hand... Nubbins’s words echo in his mind: “You did good, she’s a nice girl.”  You look like a nice girl, too, even prettier than the pretty blonde girl who had escaped. Maybe Drayton will also think you’re a nice girl... and more importantly, maybe he will think Bubba is a good boy if he brings you to dinner instead of killing you now. His mind made up, he picks you up off the ground and slings you over his shoulder, then carries you into the house.

He stands in the hallway for several moments trying to figure out what to do next - he hadn’t thought this far ahead when he decided to bring you inside. Eventually he decides to put you in Nubbins’s old bed upstairs, because beds are where people go to sleep and you look like you’re sleeping right now. He ties you down like the way dinner guests are tied to the chair, but makes sure to rest your head on a pillow and cover you up with a blanket. It’s only right to treat a nice girl nicely, after all. He looks down at your face, but without his brothers there to encourage him he’s too shy to touch. But your skin looks so smooth, and your hair looks so soft, and he thinks that once dinner is done you’ll make the prettiest mask he’s ever had. Speaking of dinner, it’s nearly time for Drayton to come home so he pulls himself away from your side, turns out the light and closes the door as quietly as he can.

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About half an hour later Bubba is greeted with the same disgruntled tone from his eldest - and now only - brother that he’s been getting for the last four days. Hunching subserviently, he tries to usher Drayton upstairs to see you, hoping that maybe capturing you will make up for the girl that he lost. “What’re you doing?” Drayton snaps as Bubba gingerly steers him towards the stairs, babbling and pointing up towards the second story. “Is somethin’ wrong with grandpa?” he asks sharply and Bubba shakes his head.

“Uh-uh!” he insists. “There’s a girl upstairs. She’s a nice girl, I caught her because I’m a good boy. Please go look!” he babbles as best he can, though the words don’t sound anything like how his brothers can talk. Fortunately Drayton eventually follows, muttering all the while as Bubba tries to reassure him that he’s done something right this time. “She’s a nice girl, you’ll see! She’s real pretty, too. Can she have dinner with us?”

“What in the hell’re you blabbering about, Bubba? I swear, if you've ruined something else like you ruined the door…” Drayton grumbles, but Bubba shakes his head even more insistently as he opens up the door and flips on the light. You’re awake now and he’s glad - he’s curious to know what color your eyes are and what your voice sounds like when you’re not yelling at him to open up the front door. But before he can get a good look at you Drayton shouts, “Ya’ damn fool, why didn’t ya’ just kill her!?”

That was not the reaction Bubba had been hoping for, and he hurries towards you to pull back your blanket so Drayton can see how pretty you are. “She’s a nice girl, do you like her? Did I do a good job?” he pleads, and Drayton comes up beside him and glares down at you, brow furrowed and lips pursed tightly over his teeth. Bubba waits, hoping that Drayton will be pleased once he sees you up close, but instead he shouts even louder: “You whacked a cop, ya' damn fool!”

Before Bubba can even fully process those words, Drayton’s hitting him hard with the stick and he cowers and yelps as the wood sinks into his flesh over and over. How was he supposed to know you’re a cop? He’s never seen one before, and you just look like an ordinary girl to him, albeit an especially pretty one. Are all cops pretty girls? How is he supposed to tell the difference between a cop and any other girl who might come to the house someday? He just can’t catch a break this week, apparently.  Now what’re we gonna do?” Drayton yells, “We can’t kill her or more cops’ll come, and we can’t turn her loose! You shoulda just left her alone, ya’ damn bitch hog fool!"  He raises the stick once again and Bubba braces himself for impact, but before that stick comes back down you speak up.

“What are you going to do with me?” you say, and Bubba looks down at you in surprise - and fortunately Drayton pauses his assault to do so as well. Your voice is pretty, but it also sounds very stern right now. Bubba was expecting you to scream or cry like everyone else does, but you don’t seem to be afraid and it makes him nervous. You sound like a person who can be in charge of things just as much as Drayton, and he’s never met another person like that except for how he vaguely remembers Grandpa used to be long, long ago.

“Now, now there young lady, nothin’ for you to worry about, heh… you’re gonna be just fine.” Drayton says and Bubba quickly glances at him out of the corner of his eye, encouraged by the gentleness in his tone. “Nothin’ for you to worry about,” Drayton repeats, tapping the stick in his hand in midair against nothing - which is infinitely better than him “tapping” that stick against Bubba. “Bring her downstairs for dinner, then go get your grandpa.” he orders, and Bubba nods and reaches out for you while Drayton backs up out of the way. “Now there, young lady, just relax, we’ll get ya’ some food… we’ll have a nice dinner and you’ll be just fine. Nothin’ to worry about…” Drayton says soothingly, and with that he walks out the door, leaving you and Bubba alone together.

Bubba feels you go tense like a body that’s been left in the cooler for a few days when he takes hold of your arms, but unlike those bodies you are soft and warm. Your eyes are bright and round with fear like they would be if he was coming at you with a hammer or saw, but even though you look frightened you’re still quiet and calm and he doesn’t understand why… and it makes him even more nervous. He’s used to holding people who fight and scream, but you remain stiff and still even as he hugs you close to his chest, trying not to squeeze you too tightly while still not giving you the chance to wriggle free. You’re so small and you feel so delicate, and one time Drayton had hit him for squeezing a person too hard because it broke their ribs and “bruised the meat, ya’ damn fool!”  He tries not to breathe too loudly as he carries you out the door, but he’s so nervous that it’s impossible. You smell nice, and holding someone who isn’t fighting feels nice too, which he doesn’t understand and never would have guessed. It’s very confusing, and he hurries downstairs as quickly as he can.

He sets you down on the guest chair next to his own then backs slowly away, waiting to see what you’ll do next. You still aren’t screaming, you’re just looking around the room and once again he wonders why. It almost feels like you’re going to tell him what you think of the wallpaper or decor, and he can’t help but anxiously twist the fabric of his apron with both hands while waiting for your verdict. He hopes that you like the room, and he hopes that you’ll like dinner, too. Your face twitches when you see Nubbins across the table, but before Bubba has time to wonder what it means Drayton yells from the kitchen doorway: “Tie her to the chair, ya’ big idiot! You want her to go waltzing right out the door?”

Bubba hurries back towards you - he’d been so distracted by your strange behavior that he had completely forgotten to tie you down. After all, what’s the point of tying up someone who isn’t trying to get away? But before he can do as he’s told, you leap up from the chair and sprint out of the dining room and towards the front door. Horrified, he lets out a loud, panicked noise somewhere between a squeal and a scream and tears after you, and fortunately you don’t manage to get far - he’s just glad you didn’t break through another window like that other girl did. He wraps his arms around your chest and hugs you to his own, making sure your feet are off the floor but that you can’t kick him in the crotch. That’s happened before, and it didn’t feel good.

“Let go of me, you sick fucks!” you scream, squirming and flailing and this is something Bubba’s much more used to hearing and feeling. Your anger is still upsetting, though, and he bellows his distress as well. He plops you back down in your seat and evades your kicking legs while he quickly wraps the ropes around your chest and the chair. He ties you nice and tight the way Nubbins taught him to do, and once he has your upper body secured he bends down to tie up your legs. By now you’ve stopped shouting, but then you do something so surprising that his heart skips a beat and he almost drops the rope.

“Bubba,” you say quietly, and he glances up at you and goes silent out of sheer shock. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Bubba?”

No dinner guest has ever, ever spoken to him like this before, and they’ve certainly never addressed him by name. He has no idea what to make of it or how to respond, but eventually decides to let you know that yes, that is indeed his name. He nods and makes a quiet little squeal, and you speak in an even softer, gentler tone: “You don’t need to do that, Bubba, I promise I won’t run. You don’t need to tie up my legs. I’m sorry I ran from you.”

Bubba has never felt more confused in his entire life. You aren’t acting anything at all like other people, and without Nubbins or Drayton telling him what to do he isn’t sure if he should obey you or not. You certainly sound sincere, and you also sound like the sort of person who should be obeyed. His hands fidget with the rope near your ankles, trapped in a repeating loop of bewildered anxiety until you add, “I just got scared. You know how it feels when you’re scared, right? Sometimes you just want to run away.”

Now that he understands. Bubba has often felt scared, and he’s also often felt like running away. Sometimes he feels like hiding as well, but there’s never much time for him to hide for long when there are chores to be done and with his brothers always breathing down his neck. His soft whimpers and squeals speed up a bit, trying to tell you that he agrees before you say, “But I’m not scared anymore, so I won’t run. I’d like to have dinner with you and your brother.”

That confuses him once again, possibly even more than all the other confusing things put together. Nobody has ever said that before, but having a guest who is excited for dinner makes him excited as well and within seconds he can’t stop a big grin from spreading across his face. He squeals happily and pats you on your knee, then lets go of the rope. He feels confident now that you won’t try to run, because you said so and the way that you said it sounded very convincing. Plus even if you’re lying - and he doubts that you are - he’s pretty sure you can’t run while the top half of you is tied to the chair - after all, one time Nubbins tied him up in a chair the same way and when he tried to run he ended up just tipping over. He pats you once more on your shoulder as he stands all the way up, then rushes upstairs to get Grandpa.

 

Chattering excitedly, Bubba lifts Grandpa carefully out of his rocking chair and holds him close, resting the old man’s head against his chest before hurrying back downstairs. “There’s a guest for dinner! She’s a nice, pretty girl and she wants to eat dinner with us, and she doesn’t scream and she talked to me nicely.”  Despite being a little bit intimidating - and more than just a little bit confusing - you’re even more exciting than the usual dinner guests and Bubba can hardly wait to get started. He always loves eating, and everything has been so miserable for the last four days that having something to take his mind off of all that misery is extremely welcome, even if it is rather odd. He doesn’t usually like things being too different from normal, but in this case he’s willing to make an exception. He wishes he could change into his fancier mask and suit, but there’s no time. You’re still sitting in your seat like he hoped when he returns to the dining room, but he’s too busy showering Grandpa with kisses and pats to notice your appalled expression.

”Is... is that your grandpa?” you eventually ask, and he nods. Oh, he loves his Grandpa so much, and he hopes that Grandpa will like you. Bubba felt even more ashamed about Grandpa learning what happened to Nubbins and that the girl escaped than he felt about Drayton learning it, because Grandpa’s the best killer there ever was and surely he never would have let all those bad things happen. Bubba always tries his hardest to be a good killer too, but sometimes things went wrong anyway. He supposes it must be because he’s so stupid. “You ain’t got nothin’ but pigshit between yer ears!” Drayton told him the day Nubbins died, and he supposes it must be true... but that doesn’t stop him from trying to do a good job anyway.

”Get in there and finish getting the table set.” Drayton says as he enters the room, and after giving Grandpa one last kiss and pat Bubba does as he’s told. He puts your dishes and silverware in front of you right after he sets Grandpa’s place, trying to make everything perfect and hoping you’ll be impressed. Grandma taught him how to set the table properly when he was little, telling him that a good Texas gentleman knows how to be a gracious host even after he’s got a wife to act as a hostess. It took Bubba a long time to understand what a wife is, and it was only by watching Grandma and Grandpa together that he figured it out: a wife is a girl that you kiss. But he can’t imagine he will ever have a wife. People outside of his family are just too scary, including - and perhaps especially - women, so it’s fortunate that Grandma taught him how to be a good host all on his own.

Once everything is arranged just right, he sits down next to you and begins feeding Grandpa some sausage that Drayton brought out. He’s deeply engrossed in his task until you say, “Please, may I have some water?”  He looks quickly across the table to see if his brother approves, and when Drayton gives the go-ahead Bubba leans close enough to pick up your glass and hold it to your mouth. He’s never helped anyone else eat or drink besides Grandpa, and it’s exciting. You’re drinking enthusiastically and it makes him feel proud, and seeing your pretty lips against the glass and watching your slender throat move as you gulp down the tea is fascinating to him. It’s so different than what mouths and throats look like when they’re screaming or dead. You’re doing such a good job of drinking - much better than Grandpa does - and he makes soft little squeals to tell you so.

”Now then, I think what we’ve gotta do is drive you up to the phone booth in the morning an’ have you give a call to the sheriff.” Drayton says. “Can’t have them sending a search party out, so you just tell ‘em you quit an’ are movin’ on from this town.”

Bubba doesn’t know what a search party is - it actually sounds kind of fun, like some sort of game like hide-and-seek, but clearly Drayton doesn’t want it so he hopes you’ll make the phone call so it doesn’t happen. But unfortunately you say, “And what if I refuse?”

He can’t help but whine nervously at that. Usually anyone who talks back to Drayton gets hit, and Bubba doesn’t want you to get hit, both because you’re a nice girl and also because if you get hit in the face it might make a bruise that will mess up his future mask. But instead of hitting you, Drayton just says: “Well then we’ll just have to kill ya’ and take our chances.”

”So you’ll let me live if I do?” you ask.

”Well I think that could be arranged.” Drayton replies, and Bubba is completely shocked. Drayton has never let a dinner guest live before, so you must be very special. Drayton clearly thinks you’re a very, very nice girl, and Bubba couldn’t agree more. When you agree to make the call he squeals in delight and offers you some sausage, but then his delight is squashed when you refuse. Surely you must be hungry, so he tries to offer it to you again just in case you misunderstood his intent... but you refuse a second time. It’s a polite refusal, but it still hurts his feelings. He made the sausage himself, after all - well, with some help from Drayton - and the fact that you don’t want it is rather depressing and makes him wonder if you think it’s not very good sausage. It tastes fine to him and he takes a bite of his own to show you that it’s good, but you remain uninterested so he gives up. He doesn’t want to force you to eat food you don’t like, even though it makes him feel sad. At least you’re still drinking the tea, so he makes sure to offer it to you between feeding Grandpa and himself. He’s never had to tend to two people at the same time while also eating his own food, and though it’s keeping him busy and making him have to pay extra attention to make sure no one gets left out for too long, it’s also fun. If you make the phone call tomorrow and are allowed to live, will that mean he gets to help you drink during every dinner? Will he get to feed you if he offers you food you like better than sausage? That idea is even more exciting than anything else that’s happened so far, and even though you are extremely pretty and would make the best mask he’s ever had, if he had a choice between taking care of you or wearing your face he’d choose taking care of you. Having a new face is fun, but having a nice, pretty girl to take care of suddenly sounds even better. Plus he’d still get to look at your face - just with you wearing it instead of himself.

When dinner is done he returns Grandpa to his room like always. “Did you like her? She’s a nice girl, isn’t she? I hope she makes the phone call so she can stay and I can feed her more.” he babbles, hoping that Grandpa understands even though the old man hasn’t spoken in years. Once Grandpa is all settled into his rocking chair, Bubba drapes a blanket across the old man’s knees and gives Grandma a kiss, then hurries back downstairs to help Drayton with the kitchen - he’s still trying to prove he’s a good boy, after all, and though he’s undoubtably won points with his eldest brother for catching such a special girl, the more he can make up for his colossal mistake four days ago the better.  Once the kitchen is all tidied up Drayton orders him to take you upstairs, and though he’s nervous to touch you again he does as he’s told. Once again you don’t struggle, and once again holding you still feels nice despite his nervousness.

”Be sure to tie her down to the bed nice an’ tight! Can’t let her jump out the window like that last crazy bitch,” Drayton says, and Bubba babbles his understanding. The last thing he wants to do at this point is lose you, both because losing two girls in a row would be awful and no doubt lead to punishment so harsh he can’t even imagine it, but also because the idea of keeping you has now firmly taken up residence in his mind. Having you here is the first time he’s been able to stop thinking about Nubbins for longer than only a few minutes, and he’s so grateful for even a small respite from his grief.

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“Bubba, I need to use the bathroom.” you say when he brings you back into Nubbins’s room, and Bubba feels all the blood drain from his face before it rushes back up to turn his cheeks bright red. He hadn’t considered the possibility that you would need to use the bathroom when he decided to keep you, he was just thinking about helping you eat and drink while looking at your pretty face and hearing your pretty, not-screaming voice saying nice things. He shakes his head and sets you gently down on the saggy old mattress, trying to pretend to himself that he didn’t hear what you just said.  “I mean it, I’m going to have an accident if you don’t let me go to the bathroom.” you insist, and he realizes that you’re not going to let him ignore your request. He wrings his hands and wracks his brain for a solution, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration but he can’t think of a single thing... then he remembers that there’s usually a bucket or two in the closet for when Nubbins needs to bring home roadkill or other such treasures. Grandpa goes to the bathroom in a similar bucket, so surely you can do the same. He hurries to retrieve it, but when he puts it in front of you and gestures that you should use it you look up at him and say, “Are you serious? You want me to pee in that?”

You do not sound impressed or pleased, and your apparent disapproval only adds to his already-flustered state. He didn’t even realize that girls had to pee. He knows from the many women he’s butchered that they don’t have the part between their legs where pee comes from - the part that Nubbins and Drayton call a “dick” - so he just figured they didn’t do it. So where does your pee come from, if not from a dick? It must come from somewhere between your legs, right? He can’t really clearly visualize what’s actually between women’s legs because it’s been a very long time since he’s looked all that closely between the legs of any of the people who get turned into meat. Other men’s dicks and balls aren’t interesting, and he doesn’t look between the legs of the women on purpose anymore because when they first started butchering people Drayton caught him trying to peek between the legs of a woman on the butchering block and gave him a walloping and scolded him for being a “pervert”, whatever that was. Bubba had only been curious, but he didn’t want Drayton to hit him anymore or tell Grandma and Grandpa that he was a pervert - because while he didn’t know what that meant, it was clearly a bad thing to be. So now when he severs their thighs from their hips he tries not to look any more than is necessary to do the job. As far as he can tell there’s some sort of vertical cleft with some weird flaps of skin that he doesn’t know the purpose of, and a hair-covered mound without the dick or balls… like the mound on Grandma’s old porcelain-headed doll that Nubbins ripped the clothes off of once when he was little, except the doll didn’t have hair there. Nubbins had gotten such a walloping for that misbehavior that it made Bubba wince in sympathy even though it was hilarious... but now he just feels sad remembering that his brother is no longer here.

He’s snapped out of his wistful memory by your annoyed sigh: “Can you at least untie my hands?”

”Uh-uh, uh-uh!” Bubba responds with several vigorous shakes of his head. Drayton told him to keep you tied up nice and tight, and if he unties your hands you might try to get away. He points to the floor to remind you of his orders.

”Okay fine, at the very least can you get me something to wipe with?” you say, and he’s ashamed by the irritation in your voice. It doesn’t feel like he’s being a very good host right now, but Grandma never taught him how to deal with this particular situation. He doesn’t want to risk going all the way downstairs for some toilet paper, but he understands the need to have something to wipe with so he ties your ankle to the bed frame and hurries to the linen closet across the hall, hoping there will be something in it you can use. He finds an old rag that looks like it will work, and he’s relieved to find you still tied where he left you when he hurries back into the room. “Great, now a little privacy, please?” you grumble, and Bubba feels like he might throw up from the stress of having to make all these tough decisions. He can’t leave you alone like this in case you jump out the window like that blonde girl did, but being in the same room while you pee feels awful. Ever since they were little until nearly the day he died, Nubbins used to open the bathroom door while Bubba was on the toilet and laugh and sometimes throw rocks or bones or parts out of the gut bucket - and sometimes even live chickens or other small animals - at him when he couldn’t fight back. It really wasn’t funny and Bubba would rather give you the privacy you’re requesting... but he has no choice, so eventually he just goes with the best compromise he can think of: he turns his back to you and waves behind himself for you to go ahead, trying to express with his whines that he won’t turn around and embarrass you like Nubbins did to him. 

 

Bubba often feels awkward, but he can’t remember ever feeling as awkward as he does when the sound of your urine hitting the metal bucket starts up. He whimpers and trembles and tries to make loud enough noises to help mask the sound of what’s going on behind him, and he also tries not to imagine where exactly that urine is coming from. Is he being a pervert just by being in the room when he knows that your pants must be down? Or is he only a pervert if he looks? Keeping and taking care of you might be more difficult than he initially anticipated, and he’s almost wondering if he should stick to his original plan and just make a mask and some sausage out of you after you make the phone call tomorrow. Then everything can go back to normal... but then he remembers that nothing is normal anymore. Not ever since Nubbins got smashed all over the road. Right now Bubba would give anything in the world to have his brother laugh and throw things at him while he’s on the toilet just one more time...

”Alright, I’m done.” you say a little while after the noise of your urinating goes quiet, but Bubba stays where he is until you add, “You can turn around now.”  So he does, and finds you standing beside the bucket with your pants on, thank God. You don’t seem embarrassed or upset, but you’re looking at him in a way that he can’t identify... it doesn’t seem bad, though, and he feels much better now that that biological requirement is finished. Maybe keeping you won’t be impossible to cope with after all. He encourages you to get into bed as politely as he can, trying to mimic the way Grandma tucked him in when he was a little boy, and when you’re securely tied and look nice and cozy he pats you on the shoulder, turns out the light and leaves the room. Grandma used to give him a kiss on the forehead when she tucked him in, but he’s not your grandma - and you’re not his wife - so kissing doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. And even if it is, he’d feel too shy to do it.

 

It’s tough for him to get any sleep that night because his brain is filled to overflowing with thoughts and feelings ranging from excitement and fear about you, to mourning one brother, to worrying about what the other brother might do to you if you don’t make that phone call tomorrow. Eventually he manages a few winks of shut-eye, and when morning comes he pops out of bed and hurries to start his chores so he can check on you - he’s too excited to be tired. Are you going to drink something at breakfast today? Will you eat something this time? He hopes you like breakfast food better than you liked the sausages last night. When he goes outside to refill the generator he sees something small and grayish laying in the grass where he hit you, and when he bends down to pick it up he realizes it’s a gun. He knows what they are because Grandpa has several, and he knows what they do because sometimes Nubbins would swipe one and he and Bubba would go shoot tin cans and skulls off the fenceposts - and squirrels or armadillos if they were lucky - until they got caught and scolded. He carefully carries the gun back inside and sets it on the kitchen counter for Drayton to take care of when he comes in to make breakfast. When he goes upstairs to tend to Grandpa he’s incredibly tempted to peek in your bedroom door first, but he sticks to his routine and as soon as the old man is fed and toileted Bubba at last goes to your door. Tense with anxiety and praying that you haven’t escaped overnight, he carefully pushes it open and just barely pokes his head inside, making soft little noises to greet you and check if you’re awake. You are indeed still here and awake, and when he dares meet your eyes he’s shocked and delighted when you give him a smile and say, “Hi, Bubba.”

That settles it. You really are a nice, special girl, and your simple greeting makes him feel happier than he’s felt since before Nubbins died. “Hi! Good morning! Did you sleep good? Do you like the bed? Do you like the room? It’s Nubbins’s room, he’s my brother and I love him, and it’s a very good room and I hope you like it,” he babbles in his own little language, and though you don’t say anything back you’re still smiling at him. He unties you from the bed and helps you sit up, and though it’s still an embarrassing topic he points to the bucket anyway just in case you have to pee again. He usually has to pee in the mornings, after all. But you tell him you don’t need to go, so he picks you up in his arms to carry you downstairs to breakfast, once again enjoying the way that you don’t struggle or fight. You smell just as nice as you did yesterday, and he’s somewhat reluctant to put you down in your chair at the table. Once he has you securely tied to the chair he gives you a few pats on your shoulder, then goes to the kitchen to help Drayton with breakfast.

“How’s yer grandpa?” Drayton asks, and Bubba babbles that Grandpa’s just fine. “How’s the girl? You damn well better not’ve let her get away…”

“Uh-uh!” Bubba reassures him.

“Well alright then. Good job, you found her gun,” Drayton says, and Bubba is overjoyed that he did something right and that Drayton approves. This day just keeps getting better and better.  “I tucked it away fer safekeeping. Don’t need her gettin’ her hands on it somehow.”

Bubba nods as he picks up the plate of biscuits and follows his brother into the dining room, then takes his seat beside you again. Drayton sets a plate of bacon on the table and says with a smile, “Well now, good morning, young lady! Sleep well?”

"As well as is probably possible considering you're holding me prisoner." you say flatly as Drayton sits down.

Drayton chuckles as Bubba starts loading up your plate with the bacon and biscuits.  "Might wanna watch your tone, Miss. I'm gettin' low on barbecue and there ain't no reason to have ta’ keep you around once we make that call today."

Bubba whimpers anxiously and moves to plop yet another biscuit on your plate, but then stops when his brother gives him a stern look. 

"Is this bacon?" you ask, eying the greasy strips of meat on your plate, and oh, Bubba hopes you like bacon. It’s one of his favorite foods.

"Sure is," Drayton grins before taking a bite of his own breakfast. "Best bacon in Texas!"

"From a pig?" you ask again, and even though it’s not pig-bacon Bubba does his very best hoglike squeal just for fun.

Drayton keeps smiling and repeats, "Best bacon in Texas!"

"I just want the biscuit, please," you say shakily when Bubba offers you some, so he sets it down and holds a biscuit to your mouth instead. He’s a bit disappointed that you apparently don’t like bacon or sausage, but at least you like biscuits! He can’t help but make a happy little noise as he watches you chew, and when you give him a small smile he giggles with delight. You look even prettier when you smile, and the fact that he’s the one making you do it makes him feel proud. Feeding you is going to be so much fun, and he’s excited to find out every sort of food that you like or don’t like. But then Drayton spoils the mood by grumbling:

"Quiet, ya' nitwit, and hurry it up. We've gotta get a move on."

The rest of the meal goes quickly and quietly, but Bubba is pleased that you ate three whole biscuits and drank half a glass of tea. Drayton orders him to tie you up and put you in the truck so you can go make that call, and Bubba watches from the porch as you disappear down the dusty driveway. He wishes he could come along to make sure everything goes okay, but he’s too afraid. Plus he might mess something up, and he doesn’t want to risk making things go wrong somehow. His mind is swirling with thoughts of those ominous “search parties” Drayton spoke of, and a bunch of other pretty-girl cops with guns coming and “tossin’ his fat ass in jail and throwin’ away the key”, as Drayton said. But you seem like a smart person who can be in charge of things, so hopefully everything will be okay. Once the truck is completely out of sight and the dust in the driveway has settled once more, he goes back inside to clean up the kitchen and change out of his morning mask and apron, then immediately goes back to the porch to wait for your return.

 

It feels like forever before the truck comes rattling back down the driveway, and Bubba hurries down the steps when it comes to a stop. “Get her in the house," Drayton commands and Bubba pulls you out of the truck as carefully as if you were a grocery sack full of eggs. Once again he’s struck with how little you are and how delicate you feel. He’s handled and butchered women both smaller and larger than you over the years, but somehow you feel just right in his arms... it’s a weird thing to think and he doesn’t know why he thought it, and he scoots a bit farther away from you when he sits down beside you on the sofa… but he still can’t stop looking at you and he hopes you don’t notice.

“That should keep the authorities from snoopin’ around after her,” Drayton says as he sits down in his armchair nearby. "Now ta’ take care of business. You know what to do."  He waves one hand dismissively and Bubba is horrified. Why does Drayton want him to kill you? Drayton seems calm, so you must have made the phone call and taken care of things, so why can’t you stay here with him? Before he can even think, he grabs your arm with one hand and makes a high-pitched whine of distress. Drayton blinks at him. "You can't be serious. You actually wanna keep her?" he says disdainfully, and Bubba desperately nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you turn your head to look at him and his cheeks suddenly feel rather warm. "She's a pretty girl, don't you like her face?" Drayton asks, and Bubba nods. He likes your face more than probably any other face he’s ever seen, but he likes how it feels being with you while you’re alive even better - especially since he’s been so sad and lonely without Nubbins. There will be more pretty girls to make masks out of, but in his experience it seems extremely unlikely that there will ever be another girl who will smile at him and let him feed her.

"Well then you've gotta kill her!" Drayton snaps, but Bubba shakes his head even more.

"Uh-uh, uh-uh!" he insists.

"Who's gonna look after her?" Drayton demands and Bubba points to himself.

“I can do it! I’ll take good care of her. I’ll feed her biscuits and help her go to the bathroom and put her to bed and make sure she stays. I’ll take really good care of her and do a good job, I promise I will! Please let me keep her!” he begs, but Drayton raises his voice and Bubba shrinks back a little.

“You? I can't even trust you to look after yourself, now that yer brother's gone! He woulda taken her out without talkin' back! If you hadn't let that blonde bitch get away in the first place we wouldn't even be in this pickle! How do I know you won't let this one escape, too, ya' damn fool!"  He's full on shouting now and Bubba is terrified. Normally by now he would have backed down - actually, he normally wouldn’t have put up this much of a fight to begin with - but this is a special situation. He’s never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants to keep you, and though he's cowering a bit he keeps pleading his case and squeezing your arm as he shakes his head. Drayton's lips purse tightly over his teeth as he balls his fists, then shouts: "You don't need another pet, you already got that damn chicken!"  He points to Chicken in her cage nearby, and although Bubba loves Chicken and loves taking care of her, she’s not the same as a human girl who can sit at the table and smile and say nice things. Drayton is quiet for a few more minutes, then Bubba’s heart leaps hopefully when he mutters, "I guess it is a mite lonely around here with just yer grandpa for company now that Nubbins is gone. Maybe keepin’ an eye on her will keep you outta trouble while I'm away at the station?"

“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” Bubba nods vigorously over and over. He can hardly believe his luck, but then his heart just about stops when Drayton murmurs:

"Might be good fer breedin'... gotta keep the line goin’... was gonna have Nubbins do it since he weren't quite as stupid, but well, that ship's done sailed away..."

Bubba’s entire face feels like it’s been lit on fire. He knows what breeding is from what his family has said about the chickens and the few stray dogs that have wandered by the property, as well as the cattle when he worked at the slaughterhouse: it’s when a boy and a girl wrestle, and somehow it makes babies. He’s seen the chickens and cows and those dogs doing it, and though he and Nubbins used to wrestle a lot too, it felt very different than the way it feels seeing the animals wrestle. It’s weird in a way he doesn’t understand, and makes him feel strange in a way that he can’t explain. Plus he and Nubbins are both boys, so clearly it wasn’t the right kind of wrestling to make babies. He can’t bring himself to look at you as his face continues to burn. The idea of wrestling with you is terrifying - you’re so small and seemingly so fragile, and he worries he’d break you if Drayton makes him do it. Plus the idea of making babies sounds scary to him. Will it hurt? What is he supposed to do with a bunch of babies? It’s so overwhelming that he feels like screaming, but somehow he just can’t quite get his lungs to work at the moment.

All three of you sit there silently for what feels like eternity before Drayton finally says, “Alright, you can keep her. But don't you let her outta yer sight for one single second, you understand me? Not one single second! Or else it'll be you in the freezer, you hear me?!  And if she gets away I'll be wearin' your hide after I beat it raw, understand?!"

Bubba frantically nods. Despite the alarming threat of breeding, he still wants to keep you… he just hopes Drayton won’t make him wrestle you anytime soon - or ever, preferably.

Drayton sets his sights on you next. “And you, little Missy. You try to escape you'll wish you weren't ever born." he says very sternly, then smiles and look at Bubba again. “Why don't I go get some more rope, we can make her a leash. Can't keep yer new pet tied to a bed all day, and you sure can't carry her around when you got chores to do!"

He walks out of the room and Bubba finally relaxes a bit. It doesn’t sound like Drayton’s going to make him wrestle you right away, and his terror of breeding and babies rapidly fades as excitement about having a new pet returns to the forefront of his mind. He starts patting your shoulder and arm as he happily squeals, hoping that you’re glad to be staying, too. After all, you’ve been smiling a lot and you clearly like biscuits, and Bubba is going to try his very hardest to make sure you’re happy and having a nice time. He’s thinking of all the fun things you can do together: taking care of the chickens and Grandpa, walking in the garden and looking for bugs, swinging on the swing and making things out of bones… the list goes on and on. But when Drayton puts on your leash Bubba notices that you don’t look very happy. It makes him feel sad and he worries about what he’s doing wrong… then it dawns on him that you’re probably scared about breeding, too. He certainly can’t blame you for that - he’s quite frightened of it himself - so he stops patting your arm so you won’t be afraid that he’ll hurt you. He’ll be as gentle as he can if Drayton makes him wrestle with you, but he hopes he can just stick to patting your arm and carrying you from your bed to downstairs and back.

After another embarrassing bathroom break, he tucks you into Nubbins’s bed - now your bed - and turns off the lights before crawling onto his own sofa downstairs. He sleeps much better tonight than he did the night before, and he drifts off into dreamland thinking of all the fun things that tomorrow may bring.

Chapter Text

The next morning Bubba wakes up bright and early like always, but this time after he puts on his grandmother face and gingham apron he goes straight to your room. Now that you’re here to stay, he wants to spend as much time with you as possible - partially because it minimizes the likelihood of you escaping, but mostly because he just wants to. He pokes his head slowly into your room and greets you with a series of soft, motherly squawks and squeals, hoping that you’re feeling happier than you were last night. “Good morning again! Did you sleep good?” 

"Hi Bubba," you greet him in return as he shuffles towards you. Delighted once again by your nice words, he unties you from the bed and picks you up like always to hold you in his arms with your back tight against his front - though not too tight. He’s still trying to make sure you’re not scared of him hurting you. He’s getting quite used to this ritual - it’s like carrying Grandpa except even better - so he’s a bit disappointed when you request to walk downstairs on your own instead of being carried. But he lets go of you anyway, setting your feet gently on the ground and taking the end of the leash instead. 

“It’s time to do chores now!” he says pleasantly, and though you don’t say anything back you give him a smile and nod. He’s pleased that you’re apparently feeling happy again, and you follow him downstairs and out the back door to refill the generator. When you both reach it he pauses to think for a moment... Drayton was quite clear about keeping a tight hold on you at all times, but he needs both hands freed up to accomplish this chore. Eventually he decides to try tying his end of your leash around his own wrist, and it works out perfectly. Once the generator is refilled with plenty of gas to keep the lights on, the water running, and the fridge and freezers nice and cold, Bubba leads you back inside to the kitchen.

“Now it’s time to bring Grandpa his breakfast,” he explains as he fetches the dishes and food. “I feed him breakfast and lunch every day, because I’m a good boy and Drayton says I’m the very best at helping him.”  This is a great point of pride for him, as he doesn’t realize that Drayton really only said that to convince him to do it without complaint - though he loves Grandpa so much he would do it regardless. He gets some leftover biscuits from yesterday's breakfast, then pulls a mason jar of blood out of the fridge and the syringe to make getting it down Grandpa’s throat a little bit easier. He leads you to the bathroom for the tube and the jar of slippery stuff that helps Grandpa pee, and while it’s unfortunate that you’ll be present for that chore, Bubba can’t think of any way to avoid it without tying you back in your bed and he really doesn’t want to do that. Hopefully you’ll just turn around like he does for you when you’re using the bucket. You both go back upstairs and into his grandparents room, and he’s ecstatic when you say to Grandpa:

“Hello, sir.”  Your tone of voice is very respectful, and Bubba adds this to the growing list in his head of all the evidence that you’re a nice, special girl. “Is this your grandma?" you ask next, turning to look at her, and Bubba nods proudly as he sets his tray down on the floor next to one of Nubbins’s foxes. He thinks for another moment, but the solution to keeping you captive comes quicker this time than it did at the generator: he ties you to the doorknob and makes quick little waving gestures at you with his arms as he grunts, trying to encourage you to turn around to give Grandpa some privacy. You don’t respond besides looking very confused, so eventually he resorts to just grasping your shoulders and turning you around so that you’re facing the wall rather than the room. He then fetches the metal bucket for Grandpa to use, gives him several soft kisses and pats on his head, and then kneels down on the floor in front of him.

“Good morning, Grandpa, I love you. Are you feeling good today? Did you sleep well?”  Grandpa doesn’t respond - he hasn’t for several years at this point - but Bubba is hopeful that he can understand anyway. “It’s time to go pee,” he says kindly as he unzips the old mans trousers. Sometimes Bubba wonders if his own dick will look the same way when he’s one-hundred-and-eight years old... and even though he loves his Grandpa, he can’t help but hope that it won’t - especially if it doesn’t pee right anymore. He picks up the thin, flexible tube and smears it with the slippery stuff, then carefully inserts it into the tip of that shriveled old dick. He’s exquisitely gentle in this task because he tried it on himself once just out of curiosity, and it didn’t feel good and he didn’t get far. Urine immediately flows into the bucket, and once it stops Bubba slowly removes the tube and tucks Grandpa gently back into his trousers again. He scoots the bucket aside, then glances back at you to make sure you’re not looking... and fortunately you’re still facing the wall. He then begins breaking off little pieces of biscuit and soaking them in blood, then waits with the utmost patience while Grandpa chews and swallows. It always takes a long time, but Bubba doesn’t mind. He loves his Grandpa, and he loves the time they spend together no matter what they’re doing. When the biscuits are gone Bubba loads the syringe with the remaining blood, then slowly pushes the plunger while Grandpa eagerly sucks.

 

Once the feeding is done he gives Grandpa several more gentle kisses and pats, then does the same for Grandma before picking up the tray and bucket and walking back over to you. He ties your leash around his wrist again, then leads you back out of the room and down the stairs once more. He dumps the bucket down the toilet and wipes the tube and his hands on a towel, then leads you to the kitchen - it’s time for your own breakfast next, and he hopes you’ll eat some biscuits like you did yesterday. Drayton’s just finishing up frying some eggs, and he looks up from his pan as you enter the kitchen.

"How's your grandpa this morning?" he asks.

“He’s good, he ate and drank and peed lots and I gave him lots of kisses.”

“Good. How's your new pet? Glad to see you haven't let her escape already… if I had a dollar for every time you lost track of that chicken I could close up shop and retire yesterday." Drayton says.

"I'm right here, you know. I have a name." you say, and while Bubba feels nervous about your annoyed tone of voice he’s eager to learn what your name is. He’s certain that it’ll be pretty, just like the rest of you. 

“Well pardon me, Miss. What was it again, young lady?" Drayton chuckles.

You tell him, and Bubba’s suspicion that it’s a lovely name is confirmed. Talking in the same way as everyone else is hard - practically impossible - for him, but he attempts it anyway, trying to get his brain and mouth to copy what you just said… and he’s almost, sort-of successful. But even though it’s not quite right, you’re still looking at him nicely and it makes him feel proud and shy all at once.

Once again you decline the bacon, but this time you eat some eggs and Bubba is absolutely ecstatic. He could sit here and feed you biscuits and eggs for hours, but eventually you say you’re full so he’ll have to wait till lunch to feed you some more. Once breakfast is done and Drayton’s gone to open the gas station, you follow Bubba around while he cleans up the kitchen, then into the living room. It’s time to change out of his morning face and into his daytime one, because he’s got some meat to butcher. But when you both enter the room he’s confronted with yet another tricky and anxiety-inducing situation: how on earth is he going to change faces without you seeing? He can’t help but whimper nervously as he tries to figure out what to do, involuntarily figidting and just one step away from tapping the sides of his head like when he gets especially agitated. Taking you all the way upstairs to tie you back to the bed will take so long, but he’s too afraid to just tie you to the doorknob or any other piece of furniture in here because how does he know for sure that you won’t just turn around and look anyway? That thought is mortifying and he fidgets even more frantically, wide eyes scanning the room for any possible solution... and at last his gaze lands on a strip of fabric on the worktable and a lightbulb clicks on in his mind: he and Nubbins blindfolded one another when they played pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey at their birthday parties when they were little, and sometimes even Grandma and Drayton would join in. It just might work now, so he picks up that strip of fabric and reaches for your face to wrap it tightly - but not too tightly - around your head and over your eyes.

”Bubba, what are you doing? Why’d you blindfold me?” you call out as he steps away. You sound really frightened and he feels bad about it, but not bad enough to remove your blindfold before he’s got his face all in order.

”It’s okay, don’t be scared,” he tries to reassure you, then turns away and quickly pulls off his grandmother face and slips on his short-haired man face instead, then takes off his apron as well. He unties your blindfold as soon as he can, then decides to tuck it into his pocket for every time he needs to change his face in front of you. You seem to relax once you can see again, and as he leads you towards the hall he suddenly notices that you’re staring at him - particularly at his mouth - and it makes him incredibly self-conscious. His tongue runs along his lower lip quite against his will and a nervous sort of noise slips from his throat before he can stop it, and he quickly looks away. He’s never had a girl - or anyone outside the family, for that matter - stare at him with anything other than fear or disgust, and it feels weird. He likes it when you smile at him and look happy, but right now you’re outright studying him... like how he himself studied the insides of people before butchering became routine. Why are you looking at him like that? Do you like his face? He suddenly wishes he had on a nicer one that you might like better. This one is somewhat older and well-worn and rough around the edges, but that’s because he wears it for working. It’s a hard, strong face to do a hard job, and he’s not used to having someone else look at it so closely. Especially not a very pretty girl like yourself. He decides right then and there that tonight at dinner he will wear his very best, most beautiful face, and hopefully you’ll like it. 

He takes you to the bathroom, then fidgets again for a moment - now he has to pee, but once again, tying you to your bed upstairs will take too long and having you in the bathroom with him is absolutely unacceptable. His brain hurts from having to think up solutions for all these tough situations. “I don’t have to go,” you say, but he shakes his head. Your bladder isn’t the problem right now, his is. Finally he looks down at the crack beneath the door and notices with no small amount of relief that it’s big enough for the rope to fit through. He lowers your leash enough to slide through the crack, then hurries inside and closes the door while keeping ahold of the rope with one hand, leaving you safely in the hall. It takes some effort to pee this way because Bubba has to keep his arm holding your leash outstretched towards the door as he awkwardly undoes his pants and aims for the toilet with one hand. Fortunately his aim is good.

“Hey, would it be alright if you let me use the bathroom, too, instead of the bucket? Please?” you request when he steps back into the hall, and he thinks for another moment before finally giving you a slightly-unsure nod. He can’t think of any good reason not to let you use the toilet instead of the bucket, just as long as he keeps ahold of you like Drayton says. “Thanks!” you beam at him, and he gives you a shy little smile in return. He almost never hears that word directed at him, and it makes him feel warm and fuzzy all over. He’ll do anything you ask if it will make you smile and say “thanks” - just as long as it won’t get him in trouble with his brother. Speaking of whom, Bubba needs to get that latest man in the meat locker all the way butchered before Drayton comes home so he leads you through the metal door - ducking slightly so he won’t hit his head - and onto the raised, slatted floor that leads to the butchering room, completely unaware that he’s leading you right to the fright of your life. 

Chapter Text

Bubba brings you into the butchering room where he spends so much of his time. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t get blood on you or - heaven forbid - allow you to get too close to the saw, he leads you over to the gallows where the meat hooks are hanging. He won’t be using the hooks right now, so it seems like a good place to keep you while he works. He ties your leash around the thick wooden post, then shuffles over to put on his yellow butchering apron before opening up the meat locker. He pulls out the body of that young man with the glasses and the fun-patterned shirt - Bubba wishes the shirt was bigger so that he could wear it himself - and heaves it onto the butchers block. The body is stiff, but it’s certainly not heavy to him, and he looks back at you to make sure you’re still safely out of the way... and he’s surprised and dismayed to see you on the floor, trembling in fear. He rushes over to you and puts his hands under your arms to lift you to your feet, making concerned noises and hoping you’ll tell him what’s wrong. Why are you suddenly afraid when you haven’t been so thus far? Are you afraid he’s going to use his chainsaw on you? How could you possibly think that when he’s done everything he can think of to make you feel happy and safe and well taken care of? Did he do something wrong? He waits anxiously for you to explain, but you stay quiet, just trembling and not meeting his eyes for more than a second or two. He tries to reassuringly pat your shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to be helping so eventually he gives up. Maybe you’ll feel better when you see that he has no intention of using the saw on you... he hopes that you will, because while it doesn’t really bother him when pieces of meat are afraid, he feels sad to see you looking so terrified. He goes back to the butchers block and reaches for the nearby scissors to start cutting those too-small clothes off of the man, then reaches for the saw to begin the task of dismembering the body and neatly packaging the meat into the right shapes for Drayton to make barbecue from, as well as plenty of sausage and cold cuts for the family. It takes hours, and he occasionally glances at you to see what you’re doing and make sure you haven’t somehow managed to untie yourself from the post... but you stay right there, looking away from him and apparently just staring at the wall. Bubba figures that you must be bored, so he tries to work as quickly as possible while still doing a good job so he doesn’t get in trouble. Once all the good cuts of meat and offal are stored in the freezer, he scrapes the little inedible odds and ends into a bucket and puts the head in a bucket of its own, then goes to the sink to wash his hands and take off his apron.

“I’m all done now, so now we can do something more fun.” he says before coming over to untie you from the post. You're still not really looking at him, but fortunately you at least seem a bit less afraid now. You both go back to the kitchen so he can drop off the head bucket and get Chicken some water and her lunch. Clucking affectionately, he gives her some fingers and some small bits of kidney as well as the water, and he gives her several pats along her soft, feathered back as she drinks. “This is Chicken. She’s my pet and I love her,” he explains, and when you greet Chicken by name he’s completely delighted. Drayton always says mean things about Chicken: calling her “stinky” and “wretched” - whatever that means - as well as a “waste of space who don’t do nothin’ but eat and shit”. But of course, Drayton has said those things about Bubba too, so at least he and Chicken have that in common.

 

After that it’s time to take care of the rest of the chickens outside, so he takes you through the front door and out to their little coop behind the house, trying not to think about why the door has to be all boarded up. Drayton told him at breakfast to kill one of the smaller roosters today, so after tossing the the gut bucket contents into the chicken pen he steps inside and bends down to snatch the closest one around its scaly legs. They always squawk and flap at first, but then go calm and still when hung upside down for a moment - if only people would do the same then his job would be a lot easier. Killing the rooster is effortless and he puts the head and carcass in the now-empty bucket, then collects the eggs. Bubba always likes this job, it’s fun to see how many eggs are waiting each afternoon. He’s not good at counting, but he tries anyway and he’s happy to see that every nest box has an egg in it today. He takes you back to the house as soon as the eggs are collected - it’s so hot outside and he’s sweating profusely, the air beneath his mask humid and extremely unpleasant. Plus he’s getting hungry - it’s time for lunch.

Bubba sets the bucket on the counter and places the eggs carefully in the fridge, then pulls out another jar of blood for Grandpa and a big stack of cold cuts. He begins making sandwiches for you, him and Grandpa, but before he gets far you speak up quietly in that pretty voice of yours: “Um, no meat or blood on mine, please, Bubba.”  He gives you a puzzled look - so far all you seem to like are biscuits, eggs and tea, and he’s really starting to wonder how anyone can survive off of only that. “Uh, I’m just not used to eating blood or people meat. I can only eat other animals.”  Well, that helps clarify things, and Bubba’s glad you told him because it makes his life a lot easier. At least you seem to be okay with the bread, so he removes the cold cuts from yours and thinks hard about what else could possibly go on a sandwich. “Sorry,” you mumble, but you really don’t need to apologize - Bubba just wants to make you feel at home. At last he goes over to the cupboard where all the canned food is kept and pulls out a can of beans, holding it up for you to see and hoping that you’ll like it because he honestly can’t think of anything else right now.  “Yes, please, beans are wonderful, thank you!” you say with much more enthusiasm than he’s heard from you so far, so he happily peels open the can and plops several big spoonfuls onto your sandwich. He fills up two glasses of water and hands one to you along with your sandwich plate, because the way your wrists are bound allows you to just barely hold them and the tray Bubba uses to carry food up to Grandpa isn’t big enough for three lunches plus Grandpa’s toileting equipment.

“Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa, I love you. It’s time for lunch!” he says cheerfully when you both enter the room, and he ties your leash to the doorknob once more. He feels he’s really starting to get the hang of keeping you secure like Drayton ordered no matter what room you’re in, and it’s helping him relax a little. You sit down crosslegged on the floor and he sits down beside you, and just sitting there with you while you feed yourself is almost as fun as him doing it for you. It almost feels like having Nubbins back again, but different. Maybe this is what having a friend feels like?

“That was good, thank you.” you say once your sandwich and water are gone, and Bubba squeals happily and grins at you. Oh, he loves hearing that phrase. He feeds Grandpa next while you quietly wait, and he’s so proud of you when you turn around to face away at his request - you’re doing such a good job of learning the routine. He’s even more proud of you when you patiently stay facing away while he helps Grandpa shit, because this job takes longer than just helping him pee. It’s an unpleasant task, but Bubba doesn’t mind. He would do anything for the people he loves, and besides that, Drayton never lets him forget how everyone else in the family except Nubbins had to clean Bubba’s own diapers when he was little, so it’s the least he can do. Once everything is cleaned up and put back into place, Bubba gives both grandparents plenty of soft, loving kisses and pats, then ties you to his wrist again for the trip back down to the kitchen. As he places the lunch dishes in the sink you suddenly ask, “Um, may I use the bathroom, please?”  Bubba knew this was inevitable and he’s been bracing himself for it, so he nods and leads you there. He’s been thinking it over ever since you made this request earlier, and it just seems too risky to leave you in here by yourself when you could cut the rope with his razor if you find it the cabinet drawer, and maybe jump out the window like that other girl. So he follows you inside and turns his back to the toilet so you can do your business with as much privacy as this arrangement allows. He makes those low, uncomfortable bovine noises to try and cover up the sound of your pee hitting the water, trying to convince himself that he’s only a pervert if he looks. Right?

Chapter Text

After you finish peeing you thoroughly wash your hands for some reason - Bubba doesn’t really understand why because your hands don’t look dirty - then you follow him back out to the kitchen to wash the lunch dishes. Once everything is tidy, Bubba begins plucking the feathers from the recently-deceased rooster and putting them in the bucket while you watch. You seem to be more interested in this than you were in the butchering, and he’s glad you’re not bored this time. Once the chicken is completely bald he puts it in the sink and leads you back to the living room to dump the bucketful of feathers on the floor where they belong, but after that he’s not quite sure what to do next. Some days he has many, many chores to do, but other days there’s not much to do at all and he spends that time playing with Nubbins. Or if Nubbins is out on the road or at the graveyard, Bubba just wanders around the yard and house, sits with Grandpa and Grandma, plays with Chicken, swings on his swing or naps. But now Nubbins is gone forever, and today is a not-very-many-chores day, and he’s unsure of how to play with you - or if girls even play at all. He certainly doesn’t want to wrestle with you like he did with Nubbins, both because of how tiny you are and because of his fear that it might accidentally create babies. He gets more and more anxious as he tries to figure out what to do next, and he’s deeply relieved when you say: “Did you make all this stuff? All the bone lamps and everything?”

“Yes! I like to make things, and we have lots of bones and sticks and feathers and teeth and string and wire and tools to put them all together and it makes the whole house look so fancy, and I hope you like it. Maybe you can make some things too, if you want to. I made this one.” he chatters, then points to his latest piece: the human skull with the cow horn shoved through the mouth.

“You made that?” you ask, and Bubba can’t help but puff up with pride just a little.

“Uh-huh!”

“How about this one?” you ask again, pointing to one of Nubbins’s lamps. It’s not quite finished yet, and Bubba realizes sadly that it never will be.

“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head.

“Did Drayton make it?”

Bubba shakes his head again, and can’t keep a mournful, choking sort of noise from crawling up out of his throat at the tragedy of it all. There are so many bits and bobs and half-finished projects that Nubbins always meant to get around to, but now they will be forever left in this unfinished state. Bubba feels that he himself is okay at making things, but not as good as Nubbins was, and he’s going to miss seeing all the interesting, amazing things his brother created.

“Did Nubbins make it?” you ask quietly, and Bubba nods as his whimpers grow louder. He doesn’t even think about how you may have learned Nubbins’s name, he’s suddenly awash with grief and can think of nothing but how badly he wishes his brother was here right now. “I heard about what happened. I’m really sorry,” you say kindly, and Bubba feels the tears start to well up from somewhere deep in his heart and threaten to spill from his eyes. He’s so grateful for your saying such a nice thing instead of blaming him for what happened, and your kindness makes him want to cry even more. His lip begins to quiver as he stares at that forever half-finished lamp, but before he can start sobbing you point to the shriveled human hand dangling from a nearby string and say, “How about this one? Did you make it?”  He sniffles and nods, and starts feeling a tiny bit better as you continue to question him about each piece of art in the room. He’s happy that you’re interested, and by the time you’ve covered everything in sight he’s feeling much better indeed. After that you sit in silence as the afternoon whiles away into evening, but Bubba is used to being with people who don’t talk much thanks to spending so much time with his grandparents. You’re so pretty and nice and he can’t stop looking at you as you gaze around the room, no doubt appreciating all of the beautiful art. Every once in awhile you meet his eyes and give him a small smile, and he’s so glad that you like the decor. Before it gets too dark he takes you back outside to feed the chickens, being sure to grab a handful of feed to bring in for Chicken’s dinner, and after a little while he hears the sound of the truck pulling into the driveway. Drayton walks through the front door looking rather disgruntled, and Bubba immediately hurries towards him with you following behind. If there’s anything that his brother wants him to do, he’s ready to do it.

"Had to get a ride home from Jed Allen since I dropped your car off at the sheriff's this mornin' before they come lookin' for it. Good thing Tex is the laziest bastard in the county, didn't even notice it weren't you droppin' it off. Took for damn ever to get there'n back." Drayton grumbles as he heads towards the kitchen. “You behave yerself today?"

“Yes, we took care of Grandpa and the chickens and stayed out of trouble. I’m a good boy, and she’s a good girl.”

“Did’ja kill that rooster like I told ya’?” Drayton asks crankily.

“Uh-huh!” Bubba replies, pulling the plucked carcass out of the sink and holding it up.

Drayton's tired, grumpy expression suddenly turns mean. "You didn't even put it in the fridge? What time did you kill it? You tryin' to make everybody sick? It’s damn near 80 degrees in here!”

Bubba's face falls as his anxiety shoots skyward. He had completely forgotten to finish taking care of the rooster after sitting with you in the living room and talking about art. He tries to explain himself, but then Drayton notices the bucket with the head in it and he looks even angrier.

"You forgot to put this in the fridge, too, you goddamn nitwit!"

Bubba's anxiety goes right off the charts as Drayton grabs the walloping stick leaning against the wall in the corner, and before Bubba can get out of the way the stick is hitting him hard on his shoulder and arm. He keeps backing up while trying to shield himself, desperately babbling out his apology. “I’m sorry I forgot to put them in the fridge! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to be bad, I’m sorry!”

"If you had half a brain you could pay attention to more'n one thing, but that girl distracted you, didn't she? I knew I shouldn'tve let you keep her! You shoulda killed her right after she made that phone call!“ Drayton snarls, and Bubba gets even more anxious, which he didn’t realize was possible. He can’t kill you now, he’s become too fond of spending time with you and the loneliness would be unbearable if you went away. He brings one arm out to shield you just in case his brother starts hitting you as well, and whines both an apology and an entreaty to let you keep living.

"But you ain't gonna do it, are ya'?" Drayton shouts and Bubba shakes his head. It’s scary to disobey his big brother, but he’s absolutely desperate. “Goddamn pigshit fool..." Drayton mutters, but at least he finally lowers the stick. "Go upstairs and get yer Grandpa while I clean up all this mess and get supper on the table. You just better hope this stuff ain’t rotten beyond salvation!“ he snaps and Bubba nods as he backs up out of the room, taking you with him. He ties you to your chair like always, then hurries out of the room and upstairs to do as he’s told. A tiny part of his mind is terrified that Drayton might kill you while Bubba’s upstairs, and he brings Grandpa down as fast as he can… and fortunately you’re still sitting right where he put you. After placing Grandpa at the head of the table he hurries to the living room and his bucket of faces, then selects the most beautiful, special one in his whole collection to wear for dinner. It’s not nearly as pretty as you are, but he hopes that you’ll like it anyway. He quickly changes into his suit as well, and he can hear you and Drayton having a conversation in the dining room. It doesn’t sound like a particularly friendly conversation, but it also doesn’t sound like he’s killing you so Bubba relaxes just a little.

"Wow, fancy. Your suit looks nice, Bubba." you say as he enters the dining room, and he can’t ever remember feeling so pleased and bashful all at once. Drayton, however, does not seem pleased at all.

"I see what you're up to," he growls, waggling his fork at you from across the table, "Tryin' to flatter your way into his good graces."  He points his fork at Bubba next. "Don't you listen to her, she's tryin to trick you with her feminine wiles." 

Bubba doesn't reply beyond shrugging and slumping down in his chair. He doesn’t know what “feminine wiles” are, but he does know what it means to be tricked and he just can’t imagine that you would do such a thing. You’ve been nothing but a nice girl this whole time, after all. Why does Drayton always have to say mean things? Bubba can’t help but sulk and push his beans around on his plate with his fork for a moment, but then he glances at you when you sneer: “What "feminine wiles"? In case you haven't noticed, I'm wearing a police uniform and I stink like a pigpen."  Bubba is shocked and more than a little impressed by the way you talk back to his brother, though at the same time it makes him scared for you - he doesn’t want you to get hit. But Drayton only laughs, and you frown and continue, "Look, if you're gonna keep me here forever then I may as well get used to it, right? So, if his suit looks nice I'm going to say so. And that chicken looks good, too, so I'm going to say so. And I hope you don't think I'm trying to win you over with any “feminine wiles”, because I promise you that is not the case.”  Drayton laughs again, but Bubba immediately picks up a piece of chicken and offers it to you, excited to learn of a new food you might like. You take a bite and he watches you chew and swallow, then suddenly you let out a laugh. One laugh turns into many, and Bubba lets out a happy squeal as well - you must really love fried chicken a lot. Soon you're laughing so hard that tears are streaming down your cheeks, and Bubba howls right along with you and pounds his fists against the table. He hasn’t laughed this much since that ill-fated dinner not long ago, and it feels wonderful. Then Drayton yells at you both to shut up, which - while not surprising - is a bit disappointing. But Bubba’s in too good a mood now for it to bother him too badly.

After dinner is through and you’ve eaten plenty of chicken, collards and beans, Bubba gives you a pat on your shoulder and congratulates you for eating so well before standing up and collecting his Grandpa to take back upstairs for the night. Once the kitchen is clean he then unties you from your chair and takes you to the living room to listen to the radio before bedtime. His favorite music program is coming on after the news and weather, and he hopes you’ll like it, too. He sits down beside you on the sofa while Drayton goes to his armchair, and before too long Bubba notices your head start to droop. It droops right onto his shoulder, and it feels like when he has Chicken out of her cage and she falls asleep on his lap, except better. The urge to pet your hair the way he pets her back is strong, but somehow he feels too shy to do it so he just gazes down at the top of your head and thinks about how soft your hair looks.

You’re still not awake by the time Bubba needs to go to sleep, but he does’t have the heart to wake you when you look so comfy. So he decides to try carrying you upstairs to your bed, but in a different way than he usually carries you: he saw a picture in a magazine where a man was carrying a woman in front of him, sort of sideways with one hand under her upper back and the other beneath the back of her knees, and since you don’t struggle when he carries you it seems like it might work. He carefully maneuvers you into place and easily hoists you off the sofa, then decides that this might be his favorite way of holding you so far. It’s similar to how he carries Grandpa, but somehow feels even better… maybe because you smell like a pretty young woman rather than an old man? Or maybe because you are soft and fleshy with nice-feeling curves instead of pointy and bony like Grandpa? Bubba’s not really sure why he likes holding you so much, he just knows that he does. Suddenly you lift your head and say, “I’m awake, it’s okay, you don’t have to carry me, I can walk!” You’re leaning away from him and pushing slightly at his chest with your bound-together wrists, and though he’s deeply disappointed, Bubba does as you ask. That’s twice so far that you’ve asked to just walk by yourself, and although it makes him sad, he wants to keep you happy and let you do what you want to do - just as long as what you want to do isn’t running away.

You request to use the bathroom before sleeping, after which Bubba ties and tucks you into bed as gently as he can, like always. Then you interrupt his motherly squawks and squeals by saying: “Whoa, what happened to your leg?”  You nod towards the wound on his thigh where his own chainsaw had cut him, so he tries to explain the unfortunate incident.

“I was chasing the girl who ran away, and a bad man threw a wrench at me and it hit my head. It hurt really bad and I fell down, and then my saw hit my leg.” He tries to make a gesture like a falling saw landing on his thigh, hoping it will help you understand. “That hurt even worse.”

“Ouch,” you murmur, and he nods. Then he gives you three pats on your shoulder and two on the top of your head.

“Goodnight, sleep good, I’ll see you tomorrow.” he babbles.

“Goodnight, Bubba,” you yawn, and Bubba turns off the light and closes the bedroom door behind him.

Chapter Text

Bubba wakes up extra early the next morning because he has an idea that he wants to try. Last night he thought a lot about the day you had shared together, and when he thought about dinner he remembered something that you said and the way that you said it: “In case you haven't noticed, I'm wearing a police uniform and I stink like a pigpen."  The tone of your voice seemed like it meant you weren’t happy about either of those things, and although Bubba sees nothing wrong with what you’re wearing and thinks you smell quite lovely, it’s your feelings about it that matter, not his. For the very first time since it happened, he’s actually grateful for the recent intruders because one of them is shaped somewhat similarly to you and her clothing just might fit you. He doesn’t know if you would like those clothes, but they seem like nice clothes to him so the least he can do is offer them to you, just in case they make you happy.

After donning his morning apron and face he heads for the butchering room and pulls the dead girl out of the meat locker, then lays her on the butcher block. He’s already cut off her head for Drayton to make headcheese with and to start work on a new mask - she was rather pretty, after all - but he hasn’t touched the rest of her yet save for cutting off her hands - he’s been saving those as a treat for Chicken and possibly a future art project. He’s glad that blood hasn’t gotten onto her shirt and he carefully removes the somewhat flimsy garment, trying not to rip it. He pulls off her belt and small red shorts next, and everything is going fine until he gets to her underwear. Normally he has very little trouble disrobing his victims, male or female, because once they’re splayed out on the block they’re just meat. Women’s underwear always goes in the trash because although he quite likes how pretty and delicate some of them are, none of them are ever large enough to fit him so keeping them is pointless. But these ones look like they might fit you, and as he reaches for the little lace-trimmed panties he’s suddenly sweating and he doesn’t know why. He pulls them slowly down her legs, trying not to tear them and also trying not to look at what these panties were covering. He always tries to avoid looking there out of fear of being a pervert, but he’s extra-nervous about it right now and he doesn’t know why. There isn’t anything particularly special about this dead girl… but there is something special about you. But what does that have to do with underwear? He’s deeply flustered and incredibly confused, and he places the lacy little scrap of fabric on top of the shirt and shorts before quickly hanging their donor back onto the hook and shutting the meat locker door.

“Morning, Bubba,” you greet him when he pokes his head into your room, and he squeals happily in reply. He’s temporarily forgotten his weird reaction to the underwear and is now just excited to give you a present. He sets the small pile of clothing down on the foot of the bed before untying you, and just as he helps you sit up you tilt your head towards the clothes and ask, “Is that for me?”

“Yes! I brought you some clothes. They’re nice clothes, I hope you like them.”  He shuffles over to pick up the shirt and holds it up for you to see. “This is the shirt. I like blue and that’s why my tie is blue, but I also like orange. I like all the colors.”  He holds up the shorts and belt next. “Here’s the shorts, I like red, too, and this is a nice belt.”  There’s only one item left, and as Bubba picks them up to show you that strange, hot feeling seems to heat up his skin again and he doesn’t know what to say. Why is he feeling this way? What is going on? These are pretty underwear and you’re a pretty girl, but why is the combination making him feel so weird? It sort of feels like it does right before his dick gets hard, and he desperately hopes it doesn’t happen because Drayton said that it’s bad and Bubba doesn’t want you to see him doing anything bad.

“Have those been washed?” you ask, and Bubba shakes his head. It hadn’t occurred to him that he should have done that and it only adds to his embarrassment. “I’d like to wash them first before I put them on, please, but the shirt and shorts will be great right now. Thank you.” you say with a smile and it helps him feel better - he’s so happy you like the clothes! He tucks the underwear away in his pocket to wash later and drops the other garments on your lap, but then you hold up your wrists and say, “Uh, I don’t think I can get dressed with my wrists tied like this.”

Bubba’s eyes go wide and he brings his hands up and starts slapping his palms against the sides of his head. He hadn’t thought about that and he doesn’t know what to do. Either he has to untie you or dress you himself, and neither of those sound like a good idea. This latest snag is too much to cope with on top of all the other embarrassing things that have already happened this morning - but at least his mortification has helped that warm, funny feeling in his gut go away. 

“You can just hold the leash if you untie my wrists, I won’t run or try to untie it.” you offer and he whines nervously and continues to fidget, but your suggestion at least helps him stop tapping the sides of his head. He considers your idea for what must be five minutes, going over every possible risk such an act might entail and trying to figure out a less-dangerous alternative… but he’s got nothing. He really wants you to have the new clothes, though, since you seem to like them, so he finally ties your leash around his forearm and then unties your wrists. He’s fumbling a little and can’t make himself look at you for some reason, but then he stops and bellows in distress when he pulls the rope away and sees your raw, friction-burned skin.

“Oh yeah, that.” you shrug, “It’s hard to sleep with my hands tied like this, I guess I rub them against the rope when I’m sleeping.”

Bubba whimpers and gently pats your forearm in apology - he had no idea the rope was hurting your wrists. He then pats the clothing on your lap to indicate you should change now, then turns around so he’s no longer facing you. He hears the rustling of fabric and hunches his shoulders and curls in on himself as much as he can, staring at the peeling wallpaper and trying not to think about what’s going on behind him. It’s bad enough knowing your pants are down when you use the toilet behind him, but this time you’re totally naked and that’s even worse. It feels like forever before the rustling finally goes quiet and you say, “Thank you again, this will be much cooler when it gets hot out today.”

Bubba finally relaxes now that you’re clothed again and everything is back to normal, and he makes a pleased little squeal to acknowledge your thanks. The new clothes look nice on you, and your gratitude makes all of his previous stress and embarrassed confusion completely worth it. As he leads you downstairs he decides that from here on out he’s going to save anything from any piece of meat that looks like it might fit you.

 

After the generator is filled and Grandpa has been taken care of, you both head back to the kitchen where Drayton’s frying some eggs. “How's your grandpa this morning?" he asks.

“He’s good, he ate and drank lots and peed good, and I gave him lots of kisses.” Bubba says as he reaches for some plates to start setting the table. Then Drayton looks up and takes in your new outfit.

"Well now, don't you look pretty?" he says with a big grin, and Bubba couldn’t agree more. “Much prettier than that sorry ol' hen Bubba's got crappin' all over the living room,” Drayton continues, and even though Bubba thinks Chicken is very pretty, he has to admit that his brother is right. Just then Drayton nearly drops the spatula of fried eggs on its way to the plate and shouts: "What in the goddamn hell are you doin', untying her hands!? I might as well just go drop her off at the sheriffs right now and be done with it since you're so damned determined to let her escape!"

Bubba grabs your arm and waves it at Drayton to show why he untied you - the soft skin of your wrists have been rubbed raw from the rope, and the ugly red welts make him feel terrible. He makes unhappy noises to re-emphasize his distress, but Drayton does not appear sympathetic. "What're you moanin' about?" he snaps, and Bubba makes a more insistent, increasingly unhappy sound and points to the wounds caused by the rope. How can Drayton not see how bad it is? That’s not how a good boy should treat a nice girl. “You’re worried about her wrists gettin' tore up? When did you get so sentimental?" Drayton sneers, and Bubba whines pitifully as Drayton rolls his eyes. "Tie her back up! Otherwise she's gonna take off the leash and make a break for it, ya' damn fool!” he orders, brandishing the spatula threateningly, and that’s enough to spur Bubba into obedience. He reluctantly re-binds your wrists while mumbling his apologies, trying not to tie the rope too tightly. Your wrists and forearms are so small, so slender and fragile-looking compared to his own, and his hands feel big and meaty and clumsy in comparison and it makes him suddenly self-conscious. Once you’re tied down to your chair he returns to the kitchen to finish setting the table, then sits down beside you and starts piling plenty of eggs and toast on your plate. He remembers that you don’t like bacon, and even though he doesn’t understand how anyone could dislike bacon he respects your preferences. It's silent for several minutes save for the clink of silverware and the buzzing of the flies where Nubbins is sitting, then finally Drayton speaks up: "I think I got an idea how to take care of this." He doesn't elaborate beyond that and Bubba hopes it’s a good idea that won’t hurt your wrists anymore. Drayton leaves right after eating to go open the gas station, and you and Bubba continue your day together.

 

After cleaning up the kitchen it's off to the living room where he blindfolds you while he changes into his short-haired male face, then into the butchering room. After tying you safely to the gallows again he puts on his yellow apron and reaches into the meat locker to pull out the girl who had donated your clothes. Bubba shuffles his grip on her till she’s upside down, then lifts her up to pierce her ankles with the meat hooks for easier skinning. He works as quickly as he can, remembering how bored you were the last time he had to butcher someone… and just like that time you’re now looking away from him, presumably staring at the wall out of boredom. Once the meat is all gutted and skinned and packaged into neat little bundles of butcher paper, Bubba takes you to the bathroom so you can both go - him first, you second - and after you flush the toilet and tell him he can turn around again he pulls those skimpy, lacy panties out of his pocket.

“You can wash these now,” he suggests with a slight blush as he hands them to you and points to the soap on the sink, and you do so. You hang them from the antler of one of the mounted skulls on the wall to dry, and then the rest of the day begins: all of the chickens are fed and watered, lunch is prepared and eaten (this time Bubba is happy to offer you leftover fried chicken on your sandwich, since you love it so much), and Grandpa is tended to. Then you both go outside into the still-hot early evening and through the gate to the field where all the sunflowers are. Bubba has taken care of them for years, and he’s very proud of them and all the other flowers he keeps. Grandma showed him a lot about gardening ever since he was a little boy right up until she got sick and died, and he loves to meander through the beautiful, sprawling wildness of them and think about her.

"Did you plant these?" you ask and Bubba nods. “They're so beautiful," you murmur as he leads you along the path towards the water faucet, and he squeals happily. He’s so glad that you like them, and he wishes Grandma was still alive because surely she would have thought you are a nice, special girl and maybe all three of you could have taken care of the flowers together. He turns on the sprinkler before leading you back to the front yard to sit on the swing. Grandpa made it for Bubba when he was a little boy, and it’s big and sturdy and perfect for playing on. When he and Nubbins were children they used to like to climb on it as well as swing, and though Bubba was afraid to climb too high off the ground, Nubbins would climb all the way up and straddle the top beam like a pony, whooping and hollering and throwing small rocks or spitting at Bubba down on the ground below. It’s so sad to think about how many people in his family are dead - or close to it, in the case of Grandpa. Nubbins and Grandma are gone, and Bubba never knew his own Mom or Dad. Nobody ever talks about them, but he remembers hearing Grandpa say once long ago that they were “dead to him”, and though that’s a weird way to phrase it, Bubba can only assume it means that they’re no longer alive. Surely Drayton must have known them, but he never talks about them, either, and Bubba doesn’t know how to ask. Nubbins asked several times, but the only answer he ever got was stony silence and a change of subject - and sometimes the walloping stick if he kept asking for too long. Bubba glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and sees you watching a pretty little butterfly flit through the peach tree branches. He’s so happy that you’re here.

You sit there quietly together for the rest of evening, and right before it gets too dark to see the chickens are fed again and the sprinkler is turned off. Drayton's old truck comes rattling down the driveway and Bubba waves as he hurries towards him, ready to do anything that his brother might want him to do. He’s just about to babble a greeting as Drayton steps out of the truck, but Drayton beats him to it. "I brought home a little something ta' help keep your girl outta trouble." he says with a smile, holding up a thick leather collar with a chain attached to it. It looks very sturdy and also very nice, and Bubba thinks it will work very well and not hurt your soft, delicate skin like the rope does. Drayton walks towards you while holding the collar open and laughing a little, and you back right up into Bubba. He puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place as you press back further into his stomach and chest, and Drayton has the collar around your neck lickety-split. Drayton then pulls a padlock out of his pocket and locks the buckle of your collar before handing Bubba a leather belt of his own.

“Hopefully you ain’t too fat for this. Put it on and loop her chain around it, and make sure you keep it locked all the time! Got it?”

“Uh-huh!” Bubba nods as he does as he’s told.

“Good. Now then, you still better keep your eyes on her every damn minute, you hear me? With her hands freed up she might try somethin’ tricky.” he says sternly and Bubba nods and makes a squawk of understanding. He won’t forget, because right now there is absolutely nothing more important to him than keeping you close.

Chapter Text

It’s been over two weeks since Bubba tanned the face of that girl whose clothes you’re now wearing, so it should be ready to finish up now. Grandpa taught Drayton how to tan hides, and then Drayton taught Bubba when he was old enough to handle the big, heavy cow and deerskins that either came from the slaughterhouse, from Grandpa’s hunting trips or that Nubbins collected off of roadkill. He takes you to the barn where he makes them, and sure enough her skin is nicely preserved and ready to be sewn together. He pulls the skins off the rack and takes it over to his worktable, and you follow along like always, hooked to his belt by your collar. You watch as he stitches the face and hair back together, using a few scraps of extra leather to make it work since her head is smaller than his own. Happily you seem to be interested, and he’s glad because rushing this job is a bad idea - it’s delicate work and he doesn’t want to ruin his new face. Once it’s complete he holds it up for you to see properly and says, “Pretty.”

“Y-yes, it is pretty.” you agree, and Bubba is delighted and proud. Maybe you would like it if he made a face for you someday, though your own is already so pretty that you really don’t need a new one.

He’s always eager to try on a new face as soon as possible, so he takes you back inside and blindfolds you so he can put it on. Happily you’ve gotten used to the blindfold by now and no longer look afraid while wearing it, but he still removes it for you as quickly as he can - and he appreciates that you don’t take it off yourself even though you easily could since your hands are now free. “Very pretty,” you say again when you see him, and Bubba squeals happily and picks up his little hand mirror and holds it up to look at himself. He turns his head from side-to-side, and he agrees with you - it’s a very pretty face. But it needs some new makeup. Bubba washes the skins clean before tanning, and even if he didn’t, the tanning chemicals would strip the makeup off anyway. Plus he likes starting with a clean slate so he can do it in his own style. He reaches for the tube of red lipstick in his little cosmetics box, and is surprised and ecstatic when you say: “Can I do that for you? We can make each other pretty.”

That sounds like the most fun thing ever - nobody has ever played dress-up with him before - and he squeals happily once again and hands you the lipstick. He holds perfectly still as you apply the creamy red paste, and when you announce that you’re done he inspects your handiwork in the mirror - it looks wonderful. He nods and makes happy noises so you’ll know he approves, then he takes the lipstick from you to return the favor. He’s shaking a little from excitement and it makes the lipstick stray outside the line of your lips, but he still thinks it looks pretty good. He hands you some black eyeliner next, and when he looks in the mirror he’s absolutely floored - the style you chose is so beautiful and glamorous, and he’s never seen such fancy eyeliner before. He tries his hardest to copy it on you, but unfortunately doesn’t come all that close. It’s apparently tricky doing someone else’s makeup, but he’s sure to get better at it because he plans to do this with you often from now on.

“It looks so pretty, you’re so good at makeup!” he babbles excitedly, nodding his head and eagerly reaching for the rouge next. You apply it much more sparingly than he usually does, but he has to admit it looks good this way so he tries to do the same for you. You both finish up with some mascara, then you lean in close to him so you can both see yourselves in the little hand mirror together.

“Taa-dah!” you announce with a smile, and Bubba can’t help but clap his hands and giggle in absolute glee. This is the best day you’ve had together so far, and he doesn’t think he can feel any happier.

He’s in a particularly good mood after that, and he goes about the rest of his chores with an extra spring in his step. He even tucks the mirror into his pocket so he can take it out and admire his new face from time to time, and when Drayton comes home Bubba grabs Nubbins’s camera off of the work table in the living room and asks, “Will you take a picture of us? We both look so pretty and we did each others makeup and it’s so pretty and nice! Please take a picture!”

Drayton rolls his eyes and mutters about what a silly fool Bubba is, but he takes the camera anyway. Bubba wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close against his side so you’ll both fit in the picture, and he likes how it feels to have you pressed close against him. It’s the most he’s gotten to touch you for quite awhile, since now you always walk around by yourself instead of letting him carry you.

 

He keeps the same face on for dinner, but before you sit down he digs through a bucket on the floor by his sofa-bed until he finds a big, sparkly necklace to go better with his pretty-girl face. He puts it on and takes off his necktie, and to his bashful delight you compliment him again on how nice he looks. You both join Drayton and Grandpa in the dining room and you fill your own plate with collards and cornbread, once again passing on the barbecue. Bubba misses feeding you, but it’s okay. He’s still just happy to have you around at all.

“Do you ever take your masks off? Like, when you leave the house or anything?” you suddenly say, and Bubba shakes his head. Why would he ever take off his faces if he doesn’t have to? And ever since he lost his job, he doesn’t have to… so he’s not going to. It feels much too uncomfortable to be so exposed, and he’s already often anxious no matter what the situation. The different faces help him cope with it - wearing someone else’s identity helps him imagine he’s more like other people… other people who aren’t fat, ugly retards who can't talk right, like himself. 

“He don’t take it off no more, the big idiot. Hasn’t ever since he got shitcanned from the slaughterhouse. Ain’t never left the house since then, neither.” Drayton says, and Bubba slouches down in his seat a little.

“You used to work at the slaughterhouse?” you ask him even though Drayton is the one telling you all this, and Bubba nods and makes an unhappy little squawk. It’s such a humiliating topic.

“Yeah, but then they started usin’ those damn airguns to do the killing some years back. “Captive bolts”, they call ‘em, and they put half the town outta work. Them guns make the job so efficient they don’t need as many folks workin’ there, so anyone they thought was too slow got kicked to the curb. And this damn fool right here is as slow as they come.”

Bubba slouches down in his seat even more, feeling so miserable and embarrassed that he just wants to disappear. Getting fired was one of the worst days of his entire life, second only to the days Grandma died and Nubbins was killed. “Oh, that’s too bad,” you say, then turn to him and add kindly, “Well I think they made a big mistake because you seem to be really good at it.”  Drayton snorts, but Bubba feels grateful and slightly shy. You’re such a nice, nice girl, and he’s so glad to have you for his pet.

 

Drayton is late coming home one night, and at last you both hear the blast of his truck horn from the driveway. Bubba hurries outside with you right behind him to find Drayton standing by the passenger side door, his hair rather disheveled and holding his walloping stick. “Get this guy outta the truck and get him inside! He’s startin’ to wake up.” he orders, and Bubba rushes to obey. He flings open the door and inside is a man with a bag over his head, his ankles tied together and his wrists bound tightly behind his back. He’s moaning groggily, but manages to start squirming when Bubba picks him up. By the time you get into the house he’s back to full consciousness, his screams muffled by whatever Drayton used as a gag this time. Bubba yanks the bag off of the man’s head after reaching the butchering room - he’s very handsome, with wavy black hair and green eyes, and Bubba decides right then and there that this is a new face for him to have. He’s been wanting a more handsome man mask ever since he got to keep you. He drops the man unceremoniously onto the floor and grabs his sledgehammer off of the counter, then after making sure that you’re safely out of the way he takes hold of the man’s collar and raises the hammer high above his head and brings it down with a thunk, right on top of the man’s skull. The man’s muffled scream abruptly stops and blood immediately begins to pour from his nose as he starts violently jerking, and Bubba gives him another hard whack for good measure. Before the jerking has even fully stopped Bubba drags the man over to the meat locker to hoist him up onto a hook, then takes a step back and considers the still-twitching corpse, looking for anything that might be worth keeping. The man is too small for his clothing to fit, but he has a nice-looking watch on so Bubba removes it and puts it on himself next to his silver charm bracelet. It just barely fits around his wrist at the largest setting, but it still looks nice and he brings it close to his face to inspect it. Then he shows it to you, seeking your opinion.

“Pretty fancy,” you say, and Bubba agrees. Clearly you have excellent taste.

Chapter Text

It’s hard to believe it’s been over two months since you came to stay with Bubba and his family. The time seems to be going so quickly, but Bubba supposes it makes sense. “Time flies when yer havin’ fun,” Drayton says, and it’s apparently true because Bubba’s been having fun with you every day. You spend lots of time in the garden, watching the chickens, doing one another’s makeup and even making a few new pieces of art out of the bits and bobs in the living room. You made a nice little trinket out of teeth and wire, and Bubba is quite impressed considering you said you’ve never made anything like that before. Then one day after his morning and afternoon chores are done you suddenly ask: “Hey, Bubba, may I please take a bath? I can’t deal with how bad I smell and how grody I feel anymore.”

Bubba hasn’t felt this kind of panic since he gave you those pretty, lacy panties over a month and a half ago. If you take a bath you’ll be completely naked, and of course he has to stay in the room with you so you don’t run away. A low whimper starts up from the mouth of his newest mask - the face of that handsome, black-haired man - and his hands go to the sides of his head to start tapping his palms against his temples in a repetitive, agitated tic. Your request has totally blindsided him and he was completely unprepared for it. What is he supposed to do? He wants to make you happy, wants to do anything you ask of him, but being next to you while you’re naked in the bath is terrifying… but it’s weirdly exciting as well and he doesn’t understand why. He’s disturbed by his excitement and his pulse is racing a mile a minute as his panic escalates, then it gets even worse when you start begging. “Please? I won’t try to get away ‘cus I’ll be naked. I don’t want to run around outside with no clothes on.”

Bubba’s anxious whimper turns into a distressed bellow. No one has ever begged him for anything other than to spare their lives, and it feels weird. Plus hearing you talk about being naked is making him sweat and he doesn’t know why. He fidgets around for probably half an hour trying to decide what to do, but when you beg him for what must be the twentieth time he finally relents. He told himself long ago that he would do anything you wanted as long as it wasn’t leaving, and you obviously really want the bath and he wants you to be happy. So despite his own discomfort, he leads you to the bathroom. The leash isn’t all that long so he has to stand right beside the tub, and he turns his back to you when you shove the stopper into the drain and turn on the faucet. “Is there no hot water?” you ask.

“Uh-uh,” Bubba says while shaking his head, trying so hard not to think about your clothes in a pile on the floor. He hears you sigh in obvious disappointment, but then he almost accidentally turns around when you hiss sharply and say a word that Grandma once washed Nubbins’s mouth out with soap for saying. Did you hurt yourself somehow?

“It’s just cold!” you shiver, and Bubba relaxes as much as he can in this situation, glad that you’re okay. He wishes he could say the same for himself, but his skin still feels too warm and he’s sweating a lot and it’s awful. A cold bath actually sounds good to him right at the moment.

After a few minutes he hears the tub start to drain and the squeak of skin against porcelain, and he’s so relieved that this uncomfortable ordeal is almost over… but then, without warning, you suddenly grab his arm. He jumps and yelps, then reflexively looks behind him without even thinking… and his eyes involuntarily drop right down to your naked, dripping body. He’s seen plenty of women without any clothes on, but this is much, much different. He knows you. He likes you. And apparently that’s different enough from all those nameless pieces of meat to send heat rushing straight to his crotch so fast he’s afraid he might pass out.

He snaps his head back around and starts moaning in embarrassment, and his pants suddenly feel way too tight and his face feels even hotter than it did already. Surely you’re going to be furious that he looked. He didn’t see directly between your legs, but surely you’re going to think he’s a pervert anyway just for looking down there. He’s even more terrified of your inevitable bad reaction than he is of what’s happening to his own body right now, but unbelievably, mercifully, you tell him it’s okay and even apologize for grabbing his arm. Why on earth are you apologizing? He’s the one who turned around. He can’t bring himself to face you even when you say you’re dressed again, both because he’s still ashamed for looking and also because his dick is completely hard and tenting the front of his pants, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

 

You both leave the bathroom and go about your day, but his dick is still hard and it just won’t go away. He has to keep turned away from you, and as dinnertime edges closer the threat of Drayton’s arrival finally convinces him to do something about it. He knows that it’s bad, that Drayton would punish him if he found out, but he’s so hard that it hurts and he doesn’t have the willpower or patience to just wait for it to go away anymore. Plus he can’t go to dinner in this state, and he can’t turn around and face you with that sizable bulge still tenting the front of his pants - even more so because you’re the one who's causing it. So he gives in and heads back to the bathroom, then ties and locks your leash to the bannister like he does when he has to pee or shit, being careful not to let you see below his waist.  

He locks the door and quickly looks around the room even though Drayton’s not home, Nubbins and Grandma are dead, Grandpa’s upstairs and - perhaps most importantly - you’re tied to the bannister. Already shaking with nerves and anticipation, he sits down on the toilet and reaches for the nearby hand towel. He’s so hard that he could probably bust right through the fabric, and he doesn’t even take the time to touch himself through his pants first to get warmed up - he just unfastens them with trembling hands to pull his dick out with a grunt of relief. He licks his palm till it’s nice and wet, then shoves the towel in his mouth to drown out the squealing he knows he can’t help but make when the pleasure reaches its peak - the last thing he needs is for you to hear him. 

He starts stroking himself slowly, thinking about the way you looked naked and dripping... the way the water ran over those soft-looking swells on your chest and down to the hair-covered mound between your legs that should be hiding the same parts the butchered women have. What do those parts of you look and feel like? And what would it feel like if it were your small, delicate hands touching him right now? He doesn’t understand why he’s thinking what he’s thinking or feeling what he’s feeling, he just knows that he wants to touch you beyond just patting your shoulder or arm… and he wants you to touch him as well. He can’t help but moan into the towel and stroke himself faster, though he keeps his grip light - he’s so sensitive that it doesn’t take much, especially not when thinking about you makes it so much more intense for some reason. You’re so pretty... so pretty all over, and thinking about touching you is so exciting and feels so, so good. He squeals into the towel and jerks his hips up as that ecstatic pressure rushes from his balls to the tip of his dick, and he just barely manages to grab a wad of toilet paper in time to catch the white, sticky fluid that comes out whenever he touches himself this way.

After a moment, quivering and still panting hard against the towel, Bubba gingerly wipes his softening length clean with the toilet paper and as soon as the physical bliss starts to fade he is flooded with guilt. Drayton would be so angry if he found out, and what would you think if you knew? Would you think he’s a bad boy like his brother would? That thought is mortifying, but there was no other way to get rid of his hard-on, as Nubbins called it. He tucks himself back into his pants and washes the spit and his own fluids off his hands, then hurries back outside to where you’re waiting. You don’t seem to act like anything is unusual, and Bubba has never felt so relieved. Even though his hard-on is gone it’s still difficult to look at you, and though it makes him sad he keeps his interaction with you to a minimum just in case it comes back.

 

That night after he locks your collar to the bed frame and tucks you in, he goes downstairs to his own sofa-bed and stares up at the ceiling, trying not to think about you naked again. He touches himself like that from time to time when he’s certain Drayton won’t catch him, because sometimes his dick gets hard and touching it just feels so good… and it felt even more amazing this time while he was thinking about you, naked and dripping and holding his arm as you looked up at him with your big, pretty eyes. He closes his own eyes with a groan when he feels that tightening in his pants once again, but this time he stays strong and ignores it, eventually falling into a restless sleep. That night he dreams of you stepping out of the bath, fully naked again and looking like some beautiful, magical creature. His breath catches as you run your smooth palms over his chest and down lower, then you take him in your hands and start stroking. You smile at him and murmur nice things, but in his pleasurable fog he can’t hear what exactly you’re saying. It doesn’t take long for him to finish, bucking into your grip even as reality begins to encroach. He desperately clings to the dream as it slips away, tries to reach out and hold you and touch you as well… but you dissolve in his arms and he moans in disappointment as he wakes up completely… and then he moans in frustration when he feels the wetness in his pants. Washing clothes isn’t fun, and now he’ll have to get out of bed extra-early to wash his pants before waking you.

 

Summer turns into fall, and fall into winter. You take a bath every two weeks or so, and Bubba decided that he should probably start doing it, too. Clearly you think baths are good, and he wants you to think he’s a good boy. He didn’t used to especially like taking them, but now they give him a chance to touch himself if he needs to - and he often needs to these days. Standing beside the tub while you bathe is still just as exciting and scary as it was the first time, and sometimes he gets hard just thinking about it even when you’re not in the bath. He knows that it’s bad, but he just can’t help it… and the more he just takes care of it there in the bathroom, the less likely it is he’ll have to wash his pants later.

Eventually it gets so chilly that Drayton orders Bubba to bring Grandma and Grandpa downstairs by the fireplace, and keeping the downstairs rooms cozy and warm is added to his daily tasks. Bubba doesn’t mind it, though… he likes wintertime because it’s not so uncomfortably hot - there is a difference between the unrelentingly humid heat of the Texas sun and the inviting, cozy warmth of a crackling fireplace. He gives you several more blankets and a big cowhide to add to your bedding, confident that will keep you nice and warm… but he’s sadly mistaken.

“Bubba, can I please sleep downstairs by the fireplace? I’m freezing my ass off upstairs.” you ask one night after dinner.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, I thought you were warm. Yes, you should sleep by the fire, that way you’ll be warm.”  He pats your arm and leads you over to his sofa-bed, but then he’s not sure what to do next. Should he let you sleep on it while he sleeps on the floor? Should he stay in his bed and make you sleep on the floor? That doesn’t seem right… but either way, someone is sleeping on the floor so he shuffles around the sofa-bed, fidgeting a little and moving piles of bones and other such things, trying to make a space. 

“Bubba Sawyer, you be a gentleman now and let your girl have the bed. Your grandpa’d beat your hide raw if he saw you makin’ a lady sleep on the floor.” Drayton says as he enters the room, and Bubba is glad for the guidance. He’s also glad Drayton called you his girl, because it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Yes, yes, she should have the bed. Yes.” Bubba agrees, then unfolds the sofa-bed to it’s full size and throws a bunch of blankets, hides and pillows onto it. He usually just sleeps on it folded-up, but he wants you to have as much space as you could ever want. He looks at you and gestures for you to go ahead, and you thank him and climb onto the sagging old mattress. Bubba undoes his belt to slip off your leash and ties and locks you to one of the sofa-bed legs, and once you’re secure he rummages around and finds another pillow and cow hide, then drops them on the floor right in front of your bed and lays down on top of them. He doesn't really need a blanket, he usually stays comfortable just from the fireplace alone.

“’Night, don’t let them bedbugs bite,” Drayton says as he turns off the last skeleton lamp and goes to his own room, and then it is dark save for the light of the moon shining through the rough burlap curtains.

Bubba hears you rustling around above him, no doubt trying to get comfy, and he stares up at the ceiling hoping that you like the bed okay and that you’re nice and warm. Then his whole body goes tense when you say, “You can come up here, if you want to. It’s big enough for us to share and I feel really bad about you sleeping on the ground.” 

A nervous little whimper escapes him before he can stop it. Every part of his body wants to be close to yours… but some parts of his body really want to be close to yours, and if he gets hard while laying next to you and you notice, he’s pretty sure he’ll die of embarrassment. It just sounds too risky, but then you say: “C’mon, Bubba, get up here. I don’t like having you sleep on the floor.” You’re using that tone of voice you have that really sounds like you’re a smart person who can be in charge of things - the kind of person who should be obeyed - and who is he to argue with that? If you don’t like him being on the floor, then he’s not going to stay there. He wants to be a good boy for you and do as you say, so even though his heart is pounding and his face is burning, he gets up off of the floor and crawls onto the sofa-bed beside you. You roll towards him as the mattress dips, and as he lays down fully beside you he can’t keep himself from trembling. He’s terrified, but at least his terror is keeping his dick from getting hard despite being so close to you.

“There, that’s better. Goodnight.” you say, and he gives you a quiet little squawk in return. That night Bubba doesn’t get much sleep at all.

Chapter Text

Usually Bubba has no trouble getting out of bed in the mornings, but this time when the sun comes up he has to drag himself from the sofa-bed, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Last night was one of the most stressful nights of his life, and he spent it slipping in and out of a light, unsatisfying sleep in between panicking about being so close to you. He managed not to get hard - to the best of his knowledge, at least, because who knows what happened when he did get a few moments of sleep - but it was still exciting being in bed with you despite his anxiety. You smelled so good and your breathing was so quiet, and you’re so little and soft and it felt so nice to share a bed with someone other than Chicken or Nubbins. He wants to just stay next to you forever despite his nerves, but there are chores that need doing so he rolls out of bed and shuffles towards his bucket of masks. He glances at you briefly, but you appear to still be sleeping so he takes a chance and grabs his morning face. Keeping his back to you just in case, he quickly exchanges the male mask he was sleeping in for the grandmother one, then ties on his apron and heads towards the fireplace to get the room warmed up again.

“Good morning,” comes your pretty voice from behind him, and he can’t help but jump.

“Good morning,” he replies, trying not to sound as exhausted as he feels.

“Sleep good?”  You yawn and stretch your arms over your head, and he tries not to notice the way it makes your chest move. He nods even though he feels bad about lying to you, but he doesn’t want you to feel guilty for any reason about his lack of sleep. Once the fire is crackling in the fireplace once more, he unties you from the sofa leg and the rest of the morning routine begins.

 

It takes a few nights before Bubba finally starts to relax enough to get a decent amount of sleep. But even though he’s not panicking anymore, something feels different now. He didn’t think he could like you any more than he did already, and he’s always tried to treat you nicely and make sure that you’re happy… but now he feels desperate to make you understand just how much he likes you. What a nice, special, pretty girl you are. But he doesn’t know how to tell you with words, and he’d feel too shy to do it even if he could. All day and each night before sleeping he thinks hard about how he can show you his feelings, and the best thing he can think of is to give you a present. He loves pretty, delicate things like jewelry and flowers, and you are pretty and delicate as well so it only makes sense to give you something like that. It takes all the courage he has to get out of bed early one morning to rummage quietly through his box full of treasures and pick out the perfect piece: a beautiful, sparkly beaded bracelet that’s too small for him to wear, but that looks like it will fit you just right. It’s one of his favorites. He creeps quietly back to where you’re still fast asleep and sets the bracelet on the pillow right by your face. His hands are shaking and it’s all he can do not to panic and change his mind, but he really wants you to have it so he forces himself to be strong. Then he hurries away outside to get the generator filled.

When he returns he finds you awake and sitting up on the mattress, holding his gift in your hand. His own hands immediately begin fidgeting with his apron as a low, nervous squawk escapes his lips. His face is so hot that he’s sweating beneath his mask and he wants to run right back out of the room, but then you ask: “Is this for me?”

He nods, squawking slightly louder and waiting for your verdict.

“It’s really pretty, thank you.” you smile, and Bubba has never felt more relieved. He squeals happily and unties you from the sofa-bed as you put the bracelet on, and for the rest of the day he feels like he’s walking on air.

 

You wear the bracelet all the time and Bubba couldn’t be happier… but then one morning something happens that throws him off-kilter: the breakfast table isn’t even cleared yet when there’s a knock at the boarded-up front door. You, Bubba and Drayton all stare at one another for a second, then Drayton says, “I’ll handle this. See who they are and if I can get ‘em inside. You get ready ta take care of ‘em,” he says to Bubba, then he looks at you. “And you… you stay quiet and outta the way, or I’ll have him take care of you next.”  Bubba nods even though he hasn’t the slightest intention of killing you no matter what you do, then hurries into the butchering room with you behind him. He unhooks your leash from his belt and locks you to the gallows, then grabs his sledgehammer off the counter before bringing one finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. He waves his hands at you in a placating sort of way, begging you with his eyes to stay quiet. You look like you’re scared so he pats your shoulder a few times, then he heads back towards the doorway so he can hear what’s going on and peek around the corner and into the hall.

It’s three people, two men and a woman, all wearing nice clothing. Drayton has managed to coax them inside, and they’ve handed him a little paper pamphlet and are talking about Jesus. Drayton’s pretending to be very interested - or at least Bubba’s pretty sure he’s just pretending. Either way, Drayton’s smiling and chattering as the strangers move further into the house, and as soon as he’s closed and locked the front door Bubba knows that’s his cue. He’s so amped up that he can’t help but let out a howl as he bursts into the hall, sledgehammer raised and looking for which person he should hit first. Drayton scurries out of the way but the three strangers are too startled to do anything but stare in shock as Bubba brings the hammer down with a crack on the closest man’s skull. He falls to the floor with a thud, and that’s enough to get the other two strangers screaming. Bubba steps over the piece of meat on the ground and goes for the other man next - he’s trying to run into the living room but gets caught in the curtains and Bubba catches up to him within seconds. Bubba howls again and the man lets out a high-pitched scream of terror before falling down, taking the curtains with him in a crash of fabric and feathery dust.

“Damn it, Bubba, git ‘im!!” Drayton yells from somewhere behind him, and Bubba starts frantically hitting every lump in the fabric that might be hiding a person. The man cries out in pain with every hit, and Drayton screams again: “Goddamn it, you idiot, yer bruisin’ the meat! Hit ‘im in the fucking head!”

Bubba bellows in distress. He knows he’s supposed to hit the head, but it’s so tangled up in the curtains that he can’t find it. He reaches down and gropes around beneath the fabric folds until at last he feels hair. He grabs a handful and pulls, and the man’s head is finally revealed and given an especially forceful hit. He goes still immediately, and Bubba drops him and looks around for the woman. He’s one step away from full-blown panic at this point - it’s been a long time since he’s had to take out this many people all at once. The woman is still screaming, and he finds her and Drayton by the staircase. Drayton’s managing to restrain her with her arms behind her back, and she’s struggling but it isn’t doing much good. She’s quite petite, even smaller than you, and when Drayton shoves her forward towards Bubba he has to look down to aim for the top of her skull. She collapses instantly just like the others, and after a few violent twitches at last everything is quiet and still again.

“Took ya’ long enough,” Drayton grumbles as he tries to smooth his disheveled hair back into place, and Bubba squawks apologetically. He tried his best, but three people at the same time was pretty overwhelming. “I think I got enough room for half the freezer at the station. Get the truck loaded up and then get these three butchered, or however many’ll fit in the freezer. Then clean this mess up. Got it? I’ll take care of their car.” Drayton orders and Bubba nods and squawks in understanding, then picks up the woman and carries her into the butchering room. He sets her on the block and checks on you - as soon as he entered the room you looked at the wall, and he’s surprised that you’re bored already. He hasn’t even started butchering yet. After he gets the men hung on the hooks he loads up the truck with the frozen meat, then starts work on getting this woman turned into meat as well. It’s going to be a busy day.

He looks down at her as he begins unbuttoning her blouse. She’s sort of pretty, but not nearly as pretty as you are, nor even as pretty as the blonde girl who got away. It’s not worth making a mask out of this face, but her earrings are sparkly and he blushes thinking that maybe you might like to have them. He pulls them carefully from her ears and sets them safely aside, then removes the fabric and wire contraption that some women wear over their chests. It’s plain and white and not very pretty, so he tosses it and the blouse towards the trash bin in the corner. Once she’s completely naked he reaches for the meat cleaver to cut off her hands, but when he moves down towards her hips where they’re resting at her sides he pauses. Ever since seeing you naked he’s been wondering what’s between your legs that he wasn’t able to see. It’s practically all he’s been able to think about. He can’t help himself... he’s just so curious. He glances back at you, but you’re not paying any attention. In fact, you seem to be trying to look anywhere but at him, so even though his face is on fire because Drayton would call him a pervert or worse if he ever found out, Bubba slips one slightly-shaky hand between the woman’s thighs. He’s trying to pretend that he’s just cutting her legs off so you won’t suspect anything, but instead he tentatively grazes his fingertips over that hair covered mound before trailing down lower to that mysterious cleft. He hesitates and glances at you again, but you’re still looking away so he presses his fingers a little bit harder, his curiosity temporarily drowning out his shame and fear. Like all dead bodies her skin is cold, but it’s soft to the touch - especially those strange flaps of skin. He slides one fingertip along the slit between those folds, wondering what on earth it’s for... the best he can think of is that must be where pee comes from in place of a dick. Just then his fear and shame catches up and surpasses his curiosity, and he jerks his hand away and quickly looks at you again… but thankfully you remain apparently oblivious.

He butchers her faster than usual, feeling ashamed at what he just did and trying to get her out of his sight as quickly as possible. He moves on to the man who was tangled up in the curtains next, ugly purple bruises mottling his skin all over where Bubba had hit him. The only thing this meat will be good for is sausage. 

The rest of the day didn’t get any better, but at least he was so busy he didn’t have time to fantasize about you too much and it kept him from getting hard. Around lunchtime Drayton returned with the truck bed full of fresh gasoline cans and Bubba had to unload them. He spilled one accidentally, and as the fuel soaked into the dirt Drayton hit him and said mean things. But then you said nice things once Drayton was gone again, and Bubba didn’t know that people could be as kind as you are. After that he had to chop firewood, and he worked at it for hours until he was sweating despite the cool weather. But he didn’t mind - it gave him an outlet for all his frustrated confusion.

 

He’s utterly exhausted when he crawls into bed beside you that night, and he falls asleep fast and hard and right into a very pleasant dream: he gives you the sparkly earrings and you say nice things before giving him a hug, and you feel so good in his arms. Then you give him a kiss the way Grandma used to, your lips soft against his cheek, and he pulls you even closer so your belly is pressed right up against the front of his pants. He feels himself getting hard and he rubs against you, trying to soothe the growing ache in his groin as he runs his hands all over your soft, curvy body.

“Bubba, I like you so much,” you say sweetly.

“I like you so much, too,” he replies. In his dream he can talk like everyone else, but even though the words came out correctly they weren’t the right words. “I love you,” he says instead, for that’s much closer to how he actually feels. You smile and give him another kiss, and his heart leaps when you tell him that he’s a good boy. He rubs against you faster and squeezes the soft flesh of your bottom with both hands, his excitement rapidly reaching a fevered pitch. It feels so good… but then to his horror, he suddenly realizes that he’s not dreaming anymore - he really is rubbing against you. His breath catches as he goes still, then he rolls away from you as fast as he can, hoping against hope that you haven’t noticed. What if it makes you mad? What if you think he’s a bad boy? Drayton says Bubba’s not supposed to touch himself like that, but is it different when it’s someone else touching him? But even if that’s okay, who’s to say that you like it? He can’t keep his anxious little whimpers at bay so before he gets too loud he gets up and hurries out of the room, leaving you there tied to the bed and praying that you’re still asleep.

He goes into the bathroom, where he always goes when his dick gets hard and just won’t go away. He sits down on the toilet and tries to collect himself - he’s trembling with lingering excitement from his dream and fear that you may have noticed him having it. His erection has started to wane just a little, but he still can’t ignore it. He doesn’t want to ignore it. He knows that it’s bad, but he just can’t help it. He needs to touch himself, and he needs to think about you while he does it. He unzips his pants as his mind goes back to the image he always thinks of when he does this: you getting out of the bath, naked and dripping and looking like what he imagines an angel must look like.

He’s always noticed how women are shaped differently than men, has always found many of them pretty from head to toe... but once they’re spread out on the block or hanging from the hook, their prettiness vanishes and all that is left is meat. But you are not meat. You are a person like himself. Like Drayton, like Grandpa, and like Grandma and Nubbins used to be. And though he keeps you on a leash, you don’t feel like a pet anymore, either. Chicken makes him happy, but not in the same way that you do. He loves Chicken a lot, but not in the same way that he loves you. He loves you more like how he loves his family, but it’s still different somehow because he doesn’t want his family to touch him like he’s doing to himself right now. He never has. But you... oh, you are a different story. Instincts he didn’t know he had are telling him that he wants to hold you close so he can rub his hard, throbbing flesh against your naked body anywhere he can reach - but especially against your backside or thighs. That’s how the boy and girl animals touch one another, after all: the bulls mounting the cows and the dogs mounting the bitches... even the chickens do it that way, the roosters wrestling the hens to the ground in a squawking frenzy of feathers and dust. He never understood why it made him feel weird to watch, but lately it’s beginning to make more sense. When he first got to keep you the idea of wrestling with you was terrifying, but now his entire body is aching to do it. He’d be gentle... so gentle, to make sure not to hurt you. He knows that he’s strong - more than once he’d hurt Nubbins so badly while wrestling that they had to wait for awhile before they could do it again, and one time long ago Grandpa even had to put Nubbins’s shoulder back into place when Bubba accidentally dislocated it. And you are much, much smaller than Nubbins, so if Bubba ever got the chance to wrestle with you like the animals do, he would be oh so careful.

“Gently,” he thinks to himself as images of you naked beneath him flash through his mind. Thick, translucent precum spills from his slit and trickles down to be spread along his shaft beneath his palm, and he gently slides his foreskin all the way back to fully expose the sensitive tip, thinking about your delicate fingers doing it instead. The veins running along his dick bulge and throb as he thinks about rubbing that same sensitive tip against the no-doubt soft skin of your backside and he pants into the towel in his mouth, nearly suffocating before he remembers to try and breathe through his nose. He imagines touching that secret place between your legs with his fingers, finding out how soft your flaps of skin are and feeling the slit in-between them that should be warm with life rather than cold like a corpse. Even though you don’t have a dick, would it make you feel good to be touched there like how it feels good when he touches himself between his legs? He has no idea, but the idea of making you feel good like this sends a fierce rush of electricity through his whole body that finishes him off. That sticky white liquid shoots out in powerful jets, and he squeals even louder into the towel picturing what it would look like splattered across your bottom or thighs rather than the toilet paper. Would you like it? Would you like him to touch you like this, to have this part of him painting your skin? Would you like to touch him, too? Would you be horrified and repulsed, or would you actually want to breed with him? Bubba still feels afraid of making babies, but you're a smart person who can be in charge of things so with you by his side he's certain everything would be okay. Would you even want to make babies with him? He doesn’t know, and he’s much too frightened to ask. He wouldn’t know how to ask you anyway. But it still feels good to think about touching one another this way, and that will have to suffice.

He stays in the bathroom until morning chores can’t be put off any longer. He feels anxious and guilty and afraid that you’re mad, and he can barely focus on his tasks. He accidentally drops the platter of biscuits on the floor at breakfast, but he’s so distracted that he hardly feels the smacks Drayton gives him for it. To his surprise you bend down to help him pick them back up, and when you pat his hand with your own it helps him relax. You don’t seem mad at all, so maybe everything is okay. But just to make sure you aren’t mad, he takes you to his collection of pretty things and picks out another one of his favorites: a beautiful gold wristwatch with diamonds. He holds it out to you with an insistent little grunt, and to his delight you offer him your arm. He fumbles a bit as he fastens it around your wrist, then smiles shyly when you tell him you think it’s beautiful. He holds up his own wrist next to yours to show that you match, and he’s delighted once more when you say exactly what he was thinking.

Chapter Text

Bubba is feeling much better about things the following morning. You don’t seem mad at all, so he figures that you either didn’t notice when he rubbed up against you or that you did notice but don’t think he’s a bad boy for it. But he can’t be sure about that last possibility, so he decides to try his best not to let it happen again. He doesn’t, however, plan to stop giving you presents. While he doesn’t know if you liked it when he rubbed against you, he does feel confident that you like the bracelet and watch. And anything you like, anything you want him to do, he’s going to do it - as long as it’s not letting you leave. After lunchtime you both head outside to take a walk around the property. It’s a nice day today, the weather cool but not uncomfortably so - at least for him. But you said you were chilly so he gave you a jacket to wear that used to belong to Grandma. It has fur around the collar and sleeves and he thinks you look so cute in it, like a little bunny. As you walk along the path together he suddenly sees a small, pretty rock on the ground. He enjoys digging around in the yard and collecting interesting rocks sometimes, so maybe you might like to have this one. He stops and you stop along with him, then he bends over to pick up the rock and hands it to you with a bashful little smile, hoping you’ll like it. “Thank you, it’s really pretty,” you say with a smile of your own, and Bubba can’t help but blush. Every time you say “thank you” it makes his heart flutter pleasantly, and he’s always trying to think of ways to get you to say it some more.

He’s pleased that you keep the rock in your hand until you both reach the chicken coop, then you tuck it safely away in the pocket of Grandma’s jacket when he opens the dented metal can and fills up a bucket with chicken feed. You’ve been helping him take care of the chickens for quite awhile now, and it’s one of his favorite things to do with you. He even lets you collect the eggs, which is the best part, in his opinion. You enter the pen - him bending and turning sideways to fit through the door while you walk right in with no trouble. You’re just so little and cute. He lets you hold the bucket, and you each reach in to grab handfuls of feed to toss on the ground. Sometimes he tries to let his hand touch yours when you both reach into the bucket - it makes him feel shy, but he’s desperate for any opportunity to touch you that doesn’t seem bad and that you won’t object to. You don’t pull away when he does it, so it must not make you mad. The chickens are eagerly pecking and scratching at the ground, searching for every kernel of feed and it’s fun to watch, but then it suddenly gets awkward when one of the roosters tackles a hen right in front of you both. He bites her neck as he jumps on her back and they do that thing that makes Bubba feel rather strange below his belt - especially because now he wants to do that thing with you. He’s fortunately snapped out of his thoughts before they can go too far when you say:

“Geez, that rooster’s kinda rough, isn’t he? His girls would probably appreciate it if he was a little more gentle.”

Bubba glances at you, then back at the wrestling chickens. Now that you mention it, it does seem like the rooster is being rather rough. He’s much bigger than the hen, after all, so it isn’t a fair fight. And Grandma always said that it wasn’t nice to bite other people - not that it stopped him and Nubbins from biting each other from time to time - so Bubba can only assume that same rule goes for chickens. You obviously don’t like how rough that rooster is being, so Bubba decides to show you that he also doesn’t approve of such behavior. He reaches down and pulls the inconsiderate rooster right off of the hen and brings it up to his face to scold it. “Bad rooster, you should be gentle. You shouldn’t be rough with nice girls, you need to treat them nicely. Be gentle. And no biting. If you don’t be good, we’ll eat you. Bad rooster!”  Then he tosses the naughty bird across the pen, hoping it’s learned its lesson.

“Thank you, hopefully he’ll behave more like a gentleman now,” you say, and Bubba reaches over to give your hand a comforting pat, his silver bracelet clinking against your beaded one. He hopes that you think he’s a gentleman, too, both because you apparently like gentlemen and also because Grandma said that was a good thing to be. But then you add, “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a little rough sometimes, it can be fun. But he was really going overboard.”

Bubba is suddenly deeply confused. Wait… so… you like being rough sometimes? Does that mean you’ve wrestled before? Do you have a brother that you wrestled with like Bubba and Nubbins did, or do you mean that you’ve wrestled with a not-family boy like the animals do? How rough is too rough? He supposes it doesn’t matter since you’re probably never going to wrestle with him anyway, but the idea that maybe you’ve wrestled with some other not-family boy upsets him in a way that he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that if that boy exists, Bubba would like to smash his head in with a sledgehammer.

“C’mon, let’s go see if the crocuses or daffodils have started blooming yet,” you say cheerfully, interrupting his suddenly gloomy thoughts, and even though Bubba knows that it’s way too early in the spring for that he nods and follows you back through the chicken pen door anyway. He doesn’t stay gloomy for long though, because as you lead the way along the path he can’t help but admire your cute little ass in your police uniform pants. That part of people always makes delicious cuts of meat, but your rump roast has his mouth watering for an entirely different reason. It’s almost a shame that mounting you like the animals do would take that part of you out of his sight, but he’s pretty sure it would be worth it to be able to feel instead of just looking… suddenly he realizes he’s getting hard and he tears his gaze away from your backside and quickly shuffles forward to walk ahead of you. If he’s going to start tenting his pants, it’s best that he stays in front so you can’t see it.

 

He has to keep turning away from you from time to time because his thoughts keep straying back to what you said about the chickens, and imagining the two of you in place of that rooster and hen makes him hard on and off all day. He tries to calculate in his mind how much of the rooster’s roughness you didn’t like versus how much roughness you might think is fun. Bubba thought it was fun when Nubbins jumped on his back and wrapped all four gangly limbs around him, clinging to him like a monkey and making noises to match. It was also fun when Nubbins clambered onto Bubba’s stomach without warning - usually when Bubba was still asleep - and tried to stick his fingers up his nose. The masks always gave Bubba extra time to wake up and figure out what was happening before Nubbins could get his fingers in deep enough to be too uncomfortable, and Bubba would immediately try to stick his fingers up Nubbins’s nose in return. And if that didn’t work, he’d just grab his brother’s entire head and shove it into the pillows with a giggle. Sometimes Bubba would even wrap Nubbins up in a blanket or cowhide like a burrito, then hoist his wriggling brother over his shoulder and drop him off of the porch and into the bushes, or perhaps roll him down the stairs. All of that was very fun indeed, but he just can’t picture doing those things with you. Well, it might be nice if you jumped on his back because Bubba would love to carry you around all day and you’d probably make very cute monkey noises. It would also probably feel really good to have you sitting on his stomach and his dick gets a little bit stiffer at the thought. He’d rather not have you stick your fingers up his nose, but your fingers are so small that it probably wouldn’t really hurt, and if you wanted to do it he would let you. He certainly doesn’t want to shove your head in the pillows, drop you off the porch or roll you down the stairs, and if you’re going to be wrapped up in a blanket or cowhide, Bubba wants to be wrapped up in it with you. That thought makes him harder still and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glad that you can’t see his lap from where you’re sitting next to him at the worktable and braiding some leather straps into a belt. Then he starts thinking about the wrestling moves that aren’t very fun: Bubba didn’t like it when Nubbins got an arm around his neck to choke him, and the very idea of doing that to you is beyond horrifying. He’s afraid he would pop your head right off your shoulders, and that thought almost makes him want to start crying. He also didn’t like it when Nubbins hit or kicked him in the crotch - it’s always amazed Bubba how those parts could cause either intense pleasure or intense pain depending on the way they were touched… and unlike most of those other wrestling moves, Bubba knows exactly how he’d like you to touch him there. He watches your slender fingers twist the leather straps together with the utmost dexterity, and his half-hard dick twitches in his pants as he imagines what it would feel like if you put down the belt and started touching him instead…

“Is it going okay?” you suddenly ask, and Bubba is jolted out of his daydream. He then realizes that he’s stopped working on his own art project - threading some small bones that have had holes drilled into them onto a wire - and has just been staring at your hands. He nods and squawks a little nervously and licks his teeth, then quickly starts threading the bones again, trying to focus on that task rather than imagining you touching him. It’s difficult, though, and before long he finds himself staring at your chest while imagining what it might feel like to have you pressed up against his back with your arms and legs wrapped around him. When you stand up from the worktable to stretch your legs he finds himself staring at your hips, imagining you straddling his stomach and playing with his hair rather than sticking your fingers up his nose. When he realizes you’ve noticed him staring he quickly looks away, a fierce blush heating his face. He hurries to start work on his project again, but accidentally knocks his hand into his pile of bones, sending half of them over the edge of the table and onto the floor and he blushes even harder. He knows he’s a big, clumsy oaf - Drayton has told him so at least once a week for as long as Bubba can remember - but he feels especially big and clumsy around you these days.

 

“Goodnight,” you say like always when you’ve both settled into the sofa-bed for the night, and like always Bubba says the same back to you. He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes with a sigh, and the crackling sound of the fireplace grows fainter and fainter as he drifts off into dreamland:

You’re sitting on the swing together like you so often do, and Bubba pushes his feet against the ground to make it swing higher and faster while you laugh along with him. “Let’s play, Bubba!” you giggle.

“We are playing,” he replies, feeling somewhat confused.

“No, let’s play rougher, like this!” you grin, then before he knows it you’ve latched yourself onto his back the way Nubbins used to do. Bubba grins and starts running, and you holler and whoop the way his brother did. Nubbins used to yell “giddiyup!” and dig his heels into Bubba’s flesh as if he were a horse sometimes, but you don’t do that. You just squeeze him tighter with your arms and legs and laugh against the back of his neck, occasionally hollering out, “yee-haw!” like the cowgirls do on that one radio program sometimes. It seems like you weigh nothing at all as he runs through the sunflowers with your warm breath on his skin, and Bubba can’t remember ever having so much fun. After awhile he sets your feet down on the ground again, and you take hold of his arm and look up at him with your big, pretty eyes and say, “Now let’s play like the chickens do.”  Somehow you’re suddenly wearing Grandma’s jacket and nothing else, and he’s instantly rock hard when you let the jacket slip down your arms and onto the ground to stand nude before him.

“You’re so pretty!” he moans as he reaches out for you, and you let him take you in his arms and pull you close against him. You squirm around in his embrace till you’re facing away from him, then wiggle your butt and he almost finishes right there and then. Instinct takes over and you both get to your knees, but instead of dirt or grass the entire ground is made of sunflowers. Everything is so beautiful and soft and smells so good, but you are the softest, most beautiful, most sweet-smelling thing of all and he leans over your bare back to nuzzle his face into your silky hair. He can’t bring himself to bite you like the roosters do to the hens - he wants to be gentle. “I love you,” he murmurs, rubbing his aching hardness against the smooth curve of your backside. “I love you so much,” he repeats as he ruts faster, and when you sigh out his name and call him a good boy he comes, his hips stuttering against you as pleasure rushes from his balls to the tip of his dick, painting your skin white with his love and making his heart soar as he squeals your name.

 

He wakes up the next morning feeling more rested than he has for a while. He sighs and stretches and turns his head to see you beside him, still sleeping and hugging a wadded up pillow. Oh, how Bubba wishes he was that pillow, but just having you beside him is wonderful as it is. He yawns and stretches again, then rolls off of the mattress as quietly as he can so as not to disturb you. He switches his faces and reaches for his morning apron, but before putting it on he notices that the crotch of his pants feels uncomfortably crunchy. He looks down at himself and grimaces - it seems that his body thought his dream was real and acted accordingly. After fidgeting for a moment he grabs his other pair of trousers from where they were draped over the back of a chair, then hurries out of the room. He changes pants in the bathroom, and as he washes the crotch of the ones he got dirty he worries that maybe you noticed what happened. It always feels so, so good in the moment to have those dreams or touch himself in the bathroom while thinking of you, but then the stress afterwards is excruciating. Surely one of these days you’re going to notice, and you won’t like it and you’ll call him a bad boy and tell him to stay away from you. What if you tell Drayton that he’s a bad boy? It’s already embarrassing when his brother hits him and calls him mean names in front of you, but for Drayton to do it at your command would be devastating. But you’re such a nice girl, and you always, always say nice things and pat his arm gently whenever Drayton is mean, so it’s hard to imagine you would ever do such a thing… but he supposes that if he’s a bad enough boy you would. With that thought in mind he looks around the bathroom for inspiration, then plucks a small bird skull from where it was sitting on the windowsill to offer you as a gift. He needs you to understand that he’s trying to be good, and that he wants you to be happy and pleased with him.

“That’s a lovely little skull. I wonder what kind of bird it belonged to?” you say when he hands it to you, and he shrugs. He has no idea what different birds are called besides chickens and buzzards, and this skull is too small to be either. Nubbins found it in the grass by the house one day, still half-covered with feathers and flesh with lots of wriggling maggots all over. Drayton said that “the damn thing musta hit the window”, and Nubbins put it on the worktable and he and Bubba watched for days and days while the maggots stripped the bones clean. Bubba’s glad that you think it’s lovely, and he pats your knee before unlocking you from the sofa-bed. You set the skull on the little end table by your side of the bed next to the rock he gave you the day before, and his heart skips a beat when you smile and pat his arm and thank him for the gift.

From that moment on he brings you a gift every morning. He plans it out the night before, and depending on when you wake up he either hands it to you when you sit up on the sofa-bed or leaves it on your pillow. Choosing something for you and anticipating your reaction gives him a thrill every time, and when you react positively it puts him in a good mood for the rest of the day - and you always react positively, so consequently he’s in a good mood every day. One day when it’s a not-very-many-chores day, he waits until after lunch to give you your gift: the sparkly earrings that came from the woman with the Jesus pamphlets (that ended up as fire starting material). After doing your makeup he reaches into his bucket of treasures where he has the earrings tucked safely in a small scrap of burlap, then presents them to you with a shy little squawk.

“Oh, Bubba, these are gorgeous,” you say, and although Bubba’s never heard that word before he can tell that it’s good from the way that you said it. He licks his teeth and watches as you carefully insert each earring into your own delicate lobes, and between that and your makeup and your beautiful face, you look even fancier and more glamorous than the pretty blonde lady with big hair on that record cover Nubbins brought home not long ago. That lady was a good singer, and Bubba wonders if you can sing good, too. But even if you can’t, just your voice talking normally is his favorite thing to listen to now. Especially when you say “thank you”, and even more especially when you sigh his name in his dreams.

Chapter Text

A pair of young lovers make the mistake of hiking too close to the Sawyer property one spring day while you and Bubba are feeding the chickens. No one has blatantly trespassed on the property since that horrible day many months ago, and Bubba wished that no one would trespass ever again - at least not when Drayton isn’t home. Nubbins used to help him when people came around, and Nubbins’s complete lack of fear helped Bubba cope with the stress. But now it is all up to him.

He can hear their voices from just on the other side of the barn where his mask-making station is set up, and he can’t help but start squealing anxiously. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, so he quickly takes off his belt and loops it around a corner post of the chicken enclosure before hurrying away from you and towards the sound of the intruders. He wishes he had his hammer or saw, but there’s no time. If the strangers see something they shouldn’t and then get away, more people might come - including cops. And from the way Drayton’s described them Bubba is pretty sure that the only cop he’d like is you. He creeps around the side of the barn and sees them: a young man and woman, holding hands and laughing together. While you and Bubba laugh together often, he’s never gotten to hold your hand and watching this couple makes him feel upset and irritated for some reason he can’t define. He tiptoes towards them as quickly and as silently as he can, trying not to breathe too loudly, but right when he’s about to hit the man he accidentally steps on a twig. It makes a snapping noise and the couple turns around, so Bubba reaches out with both hands and snaps the man’s neck, just like that twig. The man drops like a rock as the woman screams, but her scream is cut off when Bubba punches her in the side of her head. She drops to the ground as well, and Bubba bends down and prepares to hit her again if necessary, but fortunately she’s either dead or out cold. He hoists her over his shoulder, then grabs the man’s hand and drags him along on the ground as he heads back towards you. His heart is beating fast - he doesn’t really enjoy killing much, but Drayton says it has to be done. Plus having fresh, delicious meat to eat and sell is better than going hungry. 

He rounds the corner of the barn once again and it takes him a moment to realize that you’re walking away from the chicken coop. You’re no longer locked in place. He forgot. He forgot the most important rule of all. Panic rushes through him in a hot, sick wave, and a terrified bellow rises from deep in his gut as he lets go of the man and dumps the woman off of his shoulder to run towards you as fast as he possibly can. His heart rate was already raised from the burst of killing-fueled adrenaline, but now it’s racing so fast that he feels like he’s dying. You’re leaving. Drayton always says how important it is to keep you locked up, but Bubba forgot and now you’re going to run away and leave him. Why would you stay if you didn’t have to? He’s stupid and bad, and you’ve finally figured it out and are leaving. What was he thinking, that a bad, ugly retard like him could keep a nice, good, smart, pretty girl like you happy just with jewelry and bones? He would give you anything on earth if he had the means, but he doesn’t. He can’t even talk right to tell you how he feels - not that it would matter anyway, because surely you wouldn’t like - let alone love - him no matter what he says. Images of his future life of lonely misery are already consuming him, and he’s so blinded by fear and grief that he doesn’t even comprehend that you’re walking towards him instead of away, and that your arms are raised in an invitation for a hug instead of fending him off. Still screaming in ever-escalating panic, he finally reaches you and scoops you right up off the ground to hold you tightly against him. He’s too upset to even try to form words, but if screams could speak his would be saying, “Please don’t leave me, I love you, please don’t go away.”

“Bubba! You’re squishing me!” you gasp, and he immediately lets go, memories of Nubbins’s dislocated shoulder and the broken ribs of past victims rushing through his panicked mind. You drop to the ground with a thud and a grunt, and he screams even louder. He just can’t do anything right, apparently, and he drops to the ground as well to check that you’re okay. He pats his hands frantically all over you: the top of your head, your shoulders, your arms, your hands, your knees - all while babbling his desperate apologies and entreaties for you to stay:

“I’m sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt? I’m sorry I squeezed you and dropped you! I didn’t mean to be bad, I’m sorry, please don’t go away, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you, are you okay, are you going to leave? Please don’t leave, I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt,” you reassure him and pat his knee several times in return before finally grabbing hold of his hands to stop his frenzied motions. “Sshhhh, it’s okay, Bubba, I promise I’m not hurt,” you soothe him, then let go of his hands to gently take his face in yours and look him in the eyes. “And I’m not leaving. I don’t want to leave. I like being here with you. Even if you don’t lock me up, I’m not going to run away. I promise. I want to stay with you. But I don’t want you to get in trouble so I understand you need to lock me up still.”

Bubba doesn’t know what to think or what to do. Surely what he’s hearing can’t be real… Drayton always says that you’ll run away if you got the chance, that you’d go to the cops and then everything would go straight to hell. But then again, sometimes Drayton doesn’t tell the truth. He’ll say one thing one minute, and then a completely different thing not two minutes later. It’s very confusing, but you have never done that. And besides, Drayton doesn’t know you the way Bubba knows you. He doesn’t know that you’re a good girl who always says nice things and who would never tell lies. But Bubba knows, and as your words sink in he’s positive that you’re telling the truth. Looking into your eyes, seeing the sincere expression on your face, he’s suddenly never been more sure of anything in his life and overpowering joy fills up every cell of his body to the point where he feels like he might explode out of happiness. You don’t think he’s a bad boy after all. You’re going to stay. You like being with here with him. He squeals joyfully and pulls you in for a hug, though he’s mindful to be more gentle this time. You pat his chest with one hand and Bubba wants to stay here forever, just holding you in the grass, but then a soft groan drifts up from behind him.

“We’d better get them into the house before they wake up,” you mumble against his shoulder, and he reluctantly lets go of you. He’d forgotten all about the two intruders. You offer to lead the way, and he nods and retrieves the pieces of meat, then follows you back to the house and into the butchering room. He lets go of the man and opens up the meat locker door, but before he can hoist the woman onto a hook you grasp his forearm and request, “Could you please kill them with the hammer first? Please?”  Bubba’s not sure why you want him to kill them with the hammer, but he’d never deny you anything so he nods and does as you ask, leaving both pieces of meat quite unmistakably dead with huge, bleeding craters in their skulls.

 

After he shuts the locker again you both head back outside into the sunshine.  “Well, I guess we’d better get me locked back up again just in case Drayton comes home early.” you suggest, and Bubba nods somewhat sadly. Now that he knows you don’t want to leave he would be happier letting you stay unrestrained, but he knows you’re right that his brother would be angry if he doesn’t keep you locked up. You unwind his belt from around your arm, but when he reaches out to take it you dodge his hand and go straight for the waistband of his pants. 

Bubba’s pretty sure that his heart stopped momentarily before it starts skipping wildly. His stomach involuntarily twitches and his outstretched hand clenches reflexively around nothing as you start threading the leather strap through his belt loops. You’ve never, ever touched him there before - you’ve only patted his shoulder, arm or sometimes his knee, and your small hands are warm against his waist as you guide the belt through each loop, all the way around him. He feels himself blushing as your hands gently trail along the roll of flesh above his backside, and when you make your way around to his front to buckle the belt he feels himself starting to get hard. He can’t help it. You’re so close to where he’s dreamed about you touching him. You glance up at his face, and he’s absolutely terrified - surely you’re going to notice what’s happening to his body and then you’ll think he’s bad. But instead you smile as you finish fastening the buckle and then take his hand in your own, just like those two people he just killed. Bubba can barely believe what’s happening as you lead him over to the swing in the front yard and sit down, then urge him to sit down beside you. His hand feels too big in yours and he’s sweating a lot, but despite that holding your hand feels so good and he hopes that maybe you’ll do it every time you sit together on the swing from now on.

“Do you like me, Bubba? Do you want me to be your girl?” you say sweetly, completely blindsiding him yet again. He can’t remember ever feeling more frightened than he does right now. He wants you to be his girl more than he wants anything in the whole wide world, but what will you think if he says yes? But he can’t lie to you, no matter how scary it is to tell the truth, so a very faint, whimpering squawk escapes him as he looks down at your clasped hands and nods shyly, then he looks back up at your face. It’s hard to look at you for long, though, and his eyes dart all over the place, only occasionally coming back to meet yours as he waits for your no-doubt disapproving response. But to his utter shock, you give him a gentle smile and say: “Do you want to kiss me?”

Bubba didn’t think he could get any more terrified, but somehow his heart starts thumping even heavier and faster in his chest. He hasn’t given anyone a kiss since Grandma was alive - Chicken and the top of Grandpa’s head don’t count. What if he does it wrong? He’s definitely going to do it wrong. He does everything else wrong, so he’ll most certainly mess this up, too. But he wants it too badly not to at least try, so he nods very slightly, almost half hoping that you won’t notice it.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” you ask kindly, and he shakes his head. Hopefully you will understand if he does it wrong and be nice like you always are when he makes mistakes. “Can I show you how?” you smile, and relief floods through him. Yes, please, please show me how, he thinks to himself as he nods. Maybe with your help he won’t do it wrong, and he’s so grateful that you’ve offered to guide him. You can be in charge of things, and he’ll do anything you say. You smile even wider, then lean in to press your lips right against his, taking him completely off guard once again. His entire body jerks before he freezes for a moment - this is not the same way that Grandma used to kiss him. She always kissed his cheek or his forehead, but this… this is completely different. Your lips feel so good against his, and when he feels the soft tip of your tongue tracing along the seam of his mouth it triggers something inside of him that he didn’t know was there. He tries his best to reciprocate the kiss, sliding his tongue against your lips in return before attempting to shove it into your mouth. He’s desperate to taste you, to feel the hot, soft slickness of your sweet mouth… and he’s deeply disappointed when you pry your lips away and lean back a bit. “Let’s try it a little more gently, and with a little less spit, what do you think?” you suggest, and Bubba nods. Anything you say, he’s going to try his best to do. You lean in again and he meets you halfway this time, and after an initial clashing of teeth and knocking of noses you start to find a rhythm. It really does feel nicer this way, and you must think so too because you make a pleased-sounding little hum against his mouth and his heart leaps. 

“That was nice. Did you like it, too?” you ask when you break the kiss, and he vigorously nods. He’s breathless and rather stunned, still not quite able to fully comprehend what’s happening. He did a good job. You think his kissing was nice. You liked it. He licks up the little bit of drool he feels trickling from one corner of his mouth, and when you ask if he wants to kiss some more he nods even more fervently. 

“Uh-huh!” he replies, and his excitement grows as his fear begins to fade away. After several wonderful minutes of kissing you pull away once again and ask with a smile:

“Would you like to do a little more?”

“Uh-huh!” he says eagerly, for by now his fear has melted away completely like an ice cube in August. You’re in charge of things, and it helps him relax and he waits with bated breath for your orders. He has no idea what you mean by “a little more”, but if it’s as good as kissing then he can’t wait to try it. 

“Tell me if you don’t like anything and we can stop, okay Bubba? I promise it’s alright. I’ll stop if you want me to and everything will be fine. Okay?”  He nods again and you place one of his hands on his own thigh and bring his other up to rest lightly over one of those soft mounds of flesh on your chest, his palm easily enveloping the entirety of if. “Gently,” you murmur, and he carefully squeezes you through your shirt. It feels incredible. He’s touched this part of his victims before, but not like this. They are cold and dead, and the meat there is no good so he just cuts them off and throws them in the trash without a second thought. But touching yours sends heat rushing between his legs, and he gets even harder and feels even hotter when you sigh, “That feels so nice.”  He’s doing a good job. You like what he’s doing, and those words are the best thing he’s ever heard. You just let him touch you for a few minutes, guiding his hand with yours as you give him several more kisses and lazily squeeze his knee with your other hand. Then you end the kiss and guide his hand away from you and rest it on the bench, and he’s about to whine in disappointment until you slide your palm along his thigh from his knee to his groin and he almost chokes on his own tongue. 

“Is it okay if I touch you here?” you ask, and Bubba gives you a shaky nod even though he suspects that he’s dying. He can hardly breathe, but he musters up enough air to start whimpering as your hand moves even closer to that part of him that’s aching for you, that part of him that you’ve only ever touched in his dreams. Then when you actually cup your palm gently over the tenting at his crotch Bubba is certain that he absolutely must be dying, if he’s not dead already. He’s never been this hard in his life and when you give him a little squeeze through his pants he suddenly feels dizzy. He squirms around on the bench to ground himself to reality and his whimper turns into a high-pitched whine without his permission, but he keeps nodding. Even if he’s not currently dying, he definitely will be if you stop touching him. “How about here? Is this okay? Does it feel good?” you ask.

“Uh-huh! Uh-huh!” he eagerly replies, licking his lips and teeth and trying not to drool too much. At this point he’s accepted that he’s either dead or dreaming, so he might as well enjoy it. You gently unfasten his belt and unbutton his trousers, then pull down the zipper. He whimpers and jerks as you carefully pull him free, and it’s all he can do not to finish at the sight and feel of your small, soft hands cradling his dick and balls. But he doesn’t want this dream to end, so he tries to control himself.

“I'll take care of you, Bubba, just relax,” you coo, and he trembles and whines even louder when you begin stroking him. You’re using a different rhythm and pressure than he usually uses, but it doesn’t matter - it feels indescribably good. He keeps whining as he watches you slide his foreskin up and down his shaft to alternately cover and expose the pink, leaking tip, and when you caress his sac with your soft fingertips he can’t hold back any longer. The pleasure is unreal as he releases all over your hands, thick spurts of his semen shooting into midair before landing on his own stomach and thighs and dribbling down your wrists as he grunts and squeals, temporarily transported straight to the promised land from your touch.

 

You give him time to recover, and as he slowly returns to reality he finally realizes that this isn’t a dream, nor is he dead. That really just happened, and this is the best day of his life. Panting heavily, he looks down at his now-messy lap to watch you gently tuck his soft, sensitive member back into his trousers. You’re touching him so tenderly, and you’re smiling at him so beautifully, and you made him feel so incredible that you absolutely must be an angel who found her way to Texas somehow.

“Did you like that? Did it feel good?” you ask. 

Bubba wishes he knew and could say fancy words to describe just how much he liked it and how good it felt, but he tries to express it as best he can anyway, slapping his palms against his thighs several times as he vigorously nods and says, “Uh-huh!” over and over with a huge grin on his face. He doesn’t think today can possibly get any better, but then you laugh happily and say:

“Can I show you how to make me feel good like that, too?”

Apparently today can get better. He nods and squeals exicitedly before attacking you with another kiss, latching his hands onto your upper arms. “Gently,” you mumble against his mouth, and he eases up at your reminder. You take his hands in your own, then bring one down to your lap and the other to your waist. Three weeks ago he killed a woman about your size and swiped her knee-length skirt, which you’ve been wearing since the weather’s been warmer. He thinks you look so pretty in it, but then he appreciates it for an entirely different reason when you guide his hand beneath the hem. Bubba squeals even louder - he just can’t help it, he’s so excited to touch you and make you feel good too that he can hardly contain himself. You guide his palm along the impossibly soft skin of your inner thigh, and when you spread your legs wider to make room for his hand his dick begins stiffening again at a rapid pace. You turn his wrist and press his fingertips against the crotch of your underwear, then instruct him to rub his fingers along it from top to bottom to top again. Your secret place feels warm and damp and he wonders if it’s sweat or if you’ve peed yourself. Or maybe it’s something else entirely that’s making you damp? He doesn’t know or care either way, he just keeps touching you the way you’ve shown him when you let go of his hand. You sigh in what sounds like might be pleasure and bring his free hand from your waist to your chest again. “Gently, please,” you say when he squeezes, and he instantly loosens his grip. He begins to worry that he might not be doing things right, but then you hum, “That’s perfect, you’re doing such a good job,” and he squeals happily. He starts getting worried again when you gently push his hand away, but then you lift your hips to pull your underwear down past your knees and let them drop around your ankles.

Bubba suddenly smells something he’s never smelled before. It’s heady and rich and ignites something primal deep inside of him that he’s never felt in his life. It smells better than anything Drayton has ever cooked, better than any perfume he’s stolen from victims, better than every flower in the garden. He sniffs the air, trying to determine the source of this alluring aroma, and his erection surges against his pants when he realizes its coming from you. He already finds your usual scent quite appealing, but this new smell has him completely hard in an instant - and then he’s painfully hard only a second later when you take his hand again and drag his fingers against that slit between your legs. Unlike the corpse on the block that he experimentally touched, your flaps of skin are slick and warm and he squeals again, unable to keep himself from wiggling around on the bench to try and get some friction between his pants and his dick. 

“Do you like touching me like this, Bubba?” you smile at him and he vigorously nods. Touching you this way is his new favorite thing to do, and he hopes you’ll let him do it a lot. He leans in to give you a kiss, trying to communicate just how much he likes it. “Good,” you murmur with another little sigh when you break the kiss and pull back for air, “I like having you touch me, too. It feels amazing.” You slip your free hand beneath your skirt and Bubba’s already-overloaded brain short-circuits when you guide his finger between those soft flaps of skin and actually into your body somehow. He panics momentarily - how does this feel good to you when putting Grandpa’s peeing tube inside of Bubba’s own body is so uncomfortable? But you close your eyes and moan softly, then after holding his hand still for a moment you start pumping his finger in and out so he decides to trust that you know what you’re doing and stops worrying. The inside of you feels like the hot, slippery guts of a freshly disemboweled victim - which he supposes makes sense - but you’re also squeezing his finger like Nubbins’s arm used to squeeze around Bubba’s neck… only much, much better. Then you ease another of his fingers inside and your flesh hugs him even more tightly. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt, but it makes him even harder somehow and he pants and wiggles as you keep pumping his fingers into your sopping depths. Whatever is making you wet doesn’t feel like pee or blood or sweat, and it certainly doesn’t smell like those things either. It’s too thick and too slippery. It’s more like the stuff he puts on Grandpa’s peeing tube, or the oil that Drayton puts in the truck or uses to fry up food in the pan, but it smells so much better than all of those things. He suddenly wants to find out if it tastes as good as it smells, but he’s not removing his hand unless you tell him to. Then it occurs to him that it must be the same white, sticky stuff that comes out of him when he feels good this way, and picturing that part of you on his skin makes him pant even harder.

“Ooooh…” you moan, and the sound goes straight to his crotch. You’ve never made those noises even in his dreams, but oh Lord, he’s positive that you definitely will now when he’s lucky enough to have them. He watches riveted as your breathing gets faster, your whimpers get breathier, and your hips start rolling up to meet his touch. He feels your fingers rubbing quick little circles against yourself right above his hand and he doesn’t know why, but it’s clearly making you feel very, very good because suddenly you go stiff like he does when he finishes, crying out your pleasure and bucking harder against his hand. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed, and he squeals in excitement even as your body relaxes once more and your breathing starts going back to normal. You slump back down against the bench and hold his hand still, then to Bubba’s relief and delight you reach over and start rubbing him hard through his pants. It feels so good… so good, and after only a few quick, firm strokes he feels his own warmth spread between his skin and his pants when his second release hits, and it’s just as powerful and mind-blowing as the first.

Once he’s mostly recovered you stop touching him and remove his hand from between your legs. Bubba immediately brings it to his mouth and starts sucking and licking your slickness from his fingers, eager to taste you - and he’s not disappointed. It's more delicious than prize-winning barbecue sauce and he wants to eat it at every meal every day for the rest of his life. You rub your hand along his thigh as he licks his fingers completely clean, then he licks his lips as well and lets go of your chest to pull you in for a deep, hungry kiss.

“Did you like all of that? Did it all feel good? Do you want to do it again sometime?” you ask when you break the kiss.

He grins and nods and squeezes your hands gently with his own. “Yes! It felt so good, I liked it so much, I like you so much, I love you, I love touching you, I love you touching me, you taste so good, you feel so good, too, thank you, thank you for letting me touch you, I hope I did a good job, I hope you liked it, too, I love you so much, thank you for touching me, I want to do it again all the time, everyday, please…”  He goes on for quite awhile, but it’s so important that you understand just how much he loved what just happened. 

You grin right back and say, “I liked it, too. I loved it. You did a fantastic job."

Bubba has never, ever felt so proud. He was a good boy for you. He followed your directions right, and he did a good job. He made you feel good just like you made him feel good, and if you like feeling good like that as much as he does, then that’s the best present he could ever hope to give you.

You smile at him before glancing down at his lap again. “Guess we’d better get your pants and my underwear washed before your brother gets home,” you giggle, and Bubba giggles as well. There’s a tiny flicker of worry in the back of his mind about what Drayton might think, but he’s still too ecstatic and giddy from everything that just happened to dwell on that at the moment. You’re his girl now. You want to kiss him on the mouth and touch him between his legs, and you want the same from him. Besides, you’re a smart, good girl who always tells the truth, so if you think it’s okay to giggle and touch one another this way, then it obviously is. You stand up from the swing and bend to pull your underwear back up into place, and when Bubba stands as well you take his hand in yours once again and lead him back towards the house. He can’t remember ever being so happy. The dampness in his pants feels a little bit gross, but the rest of his body is thrumming with excitement and his heart and his mind feel lighter and more joyful than they have for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Bubba has never had a better day in his whole entire life. After what you shared together on the swing, he can’t keep his hands - or lips - off of you and he’s so grateful that you don’t seem to mind. All he wants to do is kiss and touch one another, but there are lots of chores to be done and if he doesn’t do them then Drayton will be mad and most likely hit him and say mean things. So he keeps the little touches and kisses to a minimum, then stops completely once his brother comes home because he feels scared of Drayton finding out that you’re his girl now. What if he says no? That Bubba’s not allowed to have a girl? After all, Drayton said looking at or touching between the legs is bad, that it makes you a pervert. So what if he makes you both stop doing it? But on the other hand, you seem to think that it’s okay… and even if it isn’t, now that he’s experienced it Bubba doesn’t think he can go back to just patting one another’s shoulders. So just to be safe, he decides to keep it a secret. It’s difficult, because he wishes he could tell the whole world that you’re his nice, special girl… but the fear of losing you keeps his lips and hands to himself while his brother’s around.

The time between Drayton’s arrival home and bedtime is sheer torture, but when you’re finally alone Bubba gets up off the floor and joins you on the sofa-bed at your request. He’s already half-hard and vibrating with excitement - are you going to let him touch you again? Will you touch him as well? Or is that something you’ll only do together on the swing? Fortunately his questions are answered quickly when you urge him closer and reach around to grope at his backside. He can’t help but squeal, but you quickly silence him with a kiss. “Shhh, we don’t want to wake Drayton up, he might get grumpy,” you remind him, and Bubba frantically nods. It just felt so good, having your hands on him there. So, so much better than being hit or kicked, and when you squeeze his cheeks again he kisses you himself to help contain the noises he desperately wants to make.

“Would you like to do what we did on the swing again?” you coo against his lips, and Bubba nods so eagerly that he just about dislocates his own neck. “Oh, good, I’d like to do that, too.” you say as your hand roams around from his butt to the front of his trousers. He starts panting with excitement as you begin to unfasten them, but then you stop and he can’t help but whine. “Is there something we can use so we don’t make a mess?” you ask, and once again Bubba is impressed by how smart you are. Doing laundry isn’t fun, after all, and he’s already had to wash his pants from earlier. It was totally worth it, of course, but minimizing future laundry is definitely a good plan.

“Yes, you’re so smart,” he babbles. He’s just about to get up to grab some toilet paper from the bathroom like he usually uses, but then remembers the blindfold he keeps handy for when he needs to change faces in front of you.

“Good thinking,” you say when he pulls it out of his pocket, and a little burst of pride pings from his brain to his heart. Nobody ever tells him he’s good at thinking - quite the opposite, in fact. You resume unfastening his pants, and he grunts when your soft fingertips touch his hard flesh. He bucks his hips into your hands with another piglike grunt as you stroke along his shaft several times, then twist lightly at the base with one hand while teasing the fingertips of your other along his slit, spreading the translucent liquid he’s rapidly spilling. “Does this feel good?” you ask, and his head jerks several times in the affirmative. He says “Uh-huh” just a little too loudly, and you latch your mouth onto his again to swallow his moans. Your soft hands on his dick feels just as amazing as it did the first time, and it doesn’t take him long to finish. He just barely manages to get the scrap of fabric in place to prevent making a mess as he shoves his face into the pillow to muffle his ecstatic squeals.

“Was that good? Do you like how I’m touching you?” you ask once he’s recovered his breath, and he nods enthusiastically and tries to express with a kiss just how much he likes it. “Gently, please,” you mumble against his mouth, and he eases up with an apologetic whimper. It’s just so hard to remember to be gentle when he feels so excited. His hand creeps from your backside to your upper thigh, squeezing carefully and inching ever closer towards your crotch, waiting for your permission. “Would you like to touch me now, too?”  Bubba nods and licks his teeth in anticipation, and you give him a smile that he can just barely see in the darkened room before taking hold of his hand and bringing it to the drawstring of your pajama pants: a pair of Nubbins’s old sweatpants that Bubba has modified to fit you better. He unties the drawstring and loosens the waistband with shaking hands, then you guide one of them inside. You’re not wearing any underwear and he groans when his fingers meet your softness, already slippery and smelling so good. Wanting to make you feel amazing as soon as possible, he tries to get straight to what he assumes is the best part by attempting to put two fingers inside of you, but you squeeze his wrist and murmur, “Wait Bubba, please. I need you to start out a little slower, okay?”  He nods and squawks apologetically, and though he’s eager to feel your hot inner walls squeezing his fingers again he goes still, waiting for your instructions. He doesn’t usually take too much time with the buildup when he touches himself - partly because he wants to enjoy his orgasm as quickly as possible, but also out of fear of getting caught - but he can sort of understand why you think making it last longer might be nice. Grandma used to tell him to slow down when he ate dessert to make the pleasure last longer, but he always had a hard time believing that would be better to go slow and he ate it as quickly as he could get away with anyway.

“Now just slide your fingers along my lips down there, nice and slow and soft,” you instruct, and Bubba is grateful for the guidance. In the back of his mind he supposes those flaps of skin do sort of feel like lips, and he wonders why girls have two mouths while boys have only one. He also wonders how touching your second pair of lips can make you climax… kissing certainly feels wonderful, but he doubts it could make him come all by itself. So obviously this pair of lips between your legs is special. The slickness seeping from where he now knows your opening is increases, and after a few moments you say, “Now spread my wetness up here to the top where my lips come together, please.” You guide his hand upwards, then stop and press his index finger a bit more firmly against you. “Feel that little part that’s harder than everything else?”  Bubba nods as you rub his fingertip in circles around it. “Good. Remember that spot. When you touch it for me, it feels good like when I touch you here.” You rub your own fingers against the tip of his already half-hard penis, and understanding clicks in his mind: that little hard nub must be like a very, very small dick. So girls get to have two mouths and a dick (albeit a very small one)? It doesn’t seem fair and he almost wishes that he was a girl, but then you give his growing hard-on a little squeeze and he suddenly feels perfectly happy with what he’s got.

You teach him the ways you like to be touched and he focuses all of his attention on trying to remember everything you say and show him. He wants to be a good boy for you and do a good job, but it feels complicated at first and is somewhat overwhelming - plus touching you is so exciting and he’s so hard again already that it’s a little distracting… but before too terribly long he starts to get the hang of it: he just thinks of that spot you showed him as your own little dick and he tries to touch it as close to how he likes to be touched himself as he can. You’re sighing breathily and it sounds as though you like what he’s doing, but just when he’s starting to feel a little bit more confident you take hold of his other hand from where it was squeezing the flesh of your butt and stick it down the front of your pants as well. He only touched between your legs with one hand the first time and he’s suddenly anxious, not sure if he can do this… but he remembers that you touched him with two hands so he tries to relax - you’ll show him what to do.

You rub the tip of his index finger along your soaking wet slit, then say, “Now please put your finger in, very slowly.”  Bubba does his best to obey, moving as slowly as he can - and squealing as quietly as he can as well - when he feels your hot, slippery insides squeezing his finger. He still doesn’t understand how this feels good for you, but clearly it does because you sigh and moan quietly, your head rolling restlessly from side to side against the pillow. “That’s good,” you murmur and his heart leaps happily. You guide his hand in and out, occasionally instructing him to curl his finger to rub along the top of your walls, and just when he feels like he’s figuring it out you say, “Now start rubbing my clit again, please.”  Bubba has no idea what a “clit” is, but when you get his fingers moving against your hard little nub again he understands. Now he’s pumping the fingers of one hand into your wet second mouth while you help him circle your clit with his other, and it feels so complicated and difficult and he has to focus so hard that he’s forgotten all about his own arousal. He’s concentrating so hard that a bomb could go off in the next room and he probably wouldn’t notice. He’s concentrating so hard he nearly has a headache, but it’s all worth it when you moan: “Bubba… that’s perfect. Just like that… perfect.”  No one ever says that he’s “perfect”, and it makes his heart flutter pleasantly and his cheeks get a little bit warmer.  

It takes a little longer for you to finish than it did for him, but with your help he finally he gets you there and he couldn’t be prouder - or more turned on - as you buck against his hands and clench around his finger, gripping his arms with your hands and crying out your pleasure into the pillow, just like he did. He peppers little kisses all over your face and hair while you catch your breath, scooting closer so he can rub his erection against you - now that you’ve been taken care of his own need has come back to the front of his mind. When you remove his hands from your pants he immediately puts both of them in his mouth to slurp up your nectar, and you quietly moan and reach down to give his hard length a little squeeze. “Wanna go again?” you ask mischievously, and Bubba grins and squeals and leans in for a kiss.

“Again” turns out to be two more times each, and Bubba could easily go for a fourth if you’d let him… but alas, you point out that it’s quite late by now and suggest going to sleep, and he sadly has to agree with you. “I hope you’re not expecting me to put this over my eyes now,” you tease, holding up the cum-covered blindfold that was used to clean up the messes between both your legs and his, and Bubba shakes his head with a comforting little squawk. He’s not willing to show you his face, but he’ll think up a solution to this dilemma in the morning. For now he just snuggles up as close to you as he can get and softly babbles, “Goodnight, I love you, thank you.”

“Goodnight, Bubba,” you yawn in reply, and he presses one last little kiss into your hair before drifting off to sleep.

 

He wakes up around dawn like usual and finds himself spooned up behind you like usual as well, but this time he doesn’t have to move away and it’s wonderful. He’s already hard and nestled tightly against the soft curve of your backside, and he’s instantly wide awake and desperately horny, imagining rubbing against you this way like the chickens and cattle do. You seem to still be asleep, but he can’t help but push his hips just a little closer and even that little bit of friction feels so good… then at last you stretch against him, sigh and murmur, “‘Morning.”

That’s all he needs to start kissing you everywhere he can reach, thrusting harder against your ass and reaching his hand around to grope between your legs while mumbling little endearments into your hair. There isn’t much time before morning chores need to start, and it’s vital that you both get out of bed before Drayton comes downstairs. If you just let him rub against your butt for only a moment he knows he can come right away… and then he just about does when you spread your legs a bit wider and reach behind yourself to stroke him through his pants, suggesting you both get the morning started off properly.

Today is just as good as yesterday was, as is that night. Bubba’s lost track of how many times you’ve made one another come, and in addition to teaching him how to touch you between your legs you’ve also been showing him the best ways to touch those squishy mounds of flesh on your chest. Sometimes you have him touch you over your shirt and sometimes beneath it, and your bare skin there is so impossibly soft save for the firm little buds at their centers that get stiff and bumpy when he caresses and pinches them between his fingertips. He has those parts too, and they also get stiff when you rub your palms over his chest, but like all women he’s seen you don’t have hair on your chest the way he does. In fact, the only places you have hair are your crotch, your armpits, your legs and a little bit on your arms, but it’s still not nearly as much hair as he has. He only gets to see your bare legs when you’re wearing shorts or a skirt, and he suddenly really, really wants to touch them… he hopes that someday maybe you’ll let him.

 

The next morning you manage to squeeze in some fooling around after Grandpa’s been taken care of but before breakfast, and Bubba is proud that he helped you come twice upstairs in Nubbins’s old room. As you tremble in his arms with post-orgasm bliss he wonders what Nubbins would think about him having a girl to kiss and touch and love… it hasn’t even been a year yet since Nubbins was killed and that pain flares up quickly whenever he thinks about it, but having you around helps him get through it - it helped even before you let him touch you this way. Oh how he wishes he brother could have met you… but he has another brother that he needs to worry about currently: one who is expecting you both at the breakfast table right now. There’s no time for you to get him off with your hands before eating, but his dick is still hard and he has to maneuver carefully to prevent Drayton from seeing - fortunately his morning apron helps conceal it a bit. 

It feels like it takes forever for Drayton to finally leave for work, and as soon as he shuts the front door with his usual stern warning to keep you locked up you drag Bubba back to the sofa-bed and yank off his apron before pushing at his chest to encourage him to sit down. He loves how aggressive you are - it makes him feel like you’re just as excited to be with him as he is to be with you, and he squeals eagerly when you climb onto his lap and straddle him between your thighs. He hurriedly removes your leash before grabbing your hips with both hands, digging his fingers into your flesh to pull you even closer as you rub your palms all over his chest and shoulders. "Would you put on your other mask, please, Bubba? You look so handsome in the one with the short black hair." you say sweetly, and he nods and wraps one arm around your back to keep you on his lap as he leans over sideways to reach his collection of faces. You work at removing his tie while he rummages around in the barrel of masks, and you close your eyes when he finds the face you requested. Ever since dirtying your blindfold his solution to the issue of keeping his real face hidden is having you close your eyes while he changes his masks - he trusts you now and feels certain that you won’t peek… but he still can’t help turning his head away from you while he switches faces. It still feels so vulnerable.

Once he’s all situated you open your eyes again and lean back to lift your shirt up and off over your head, letting him see your naked chest for the first time since the bathtub incident a few months back. He cannot believe how pretty you are. Pretty doesn’t even begin to describe you… you’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re other special words that he doesn’t know but wishes he did. You look even better than the way he remembers from that brief glimpse he got of you in the bath, and he squeals in excitement and immediately reaches for those those soft swells of flesh on your chest to squeeze them with his palms and pinch the stiff little buds at their center with his fingertips the way you’ve taught him to. They feel so nice in his hands, but then it gets even better when you say: “You can use your mouth, if you want to.”

That’s the best news Bubba’s ever heard and he immediately dips his head and lifts you up to meet his eager mouth. He latches onto one pebbled center like Grandpa does to the syringe, then starts sucking and licking, just about out of his mind with lust. Your soft skin tastes salty and sweet, and oh-so delicious, and he can feel your hands tangling in the hair of his mask and his hard-on surges against his pants when you gasp out his name. You sound like you really like what he’s doing so he works even harder, switching between both sides and trying to give equal attention to each soft mound of flesh. Once Grandma slapped Nubbins across the face for calling them “tits”, but Drayton and the men at the slaughterhouse used that word too, so Bubba supposes it must be correct even though Grandma apparently didn’t approve of it. Whatever they’re called, Bubba likes touching yours. And apparently you like touching his, too, because you’re running your hands all over them right now. Drayton said once that Bubba had tits because of being so fat, and Bubba got the distinct impression that men aren’t supposed to have them. Consequently, when he realizes you’re unbuttoning his shirt he lets go of you and shrinks back, whimpering in distress. What will you think if you see his tits? And his stomach for that matter. He’s well aware that he’s ugly and fat, having been told so his entire life, and he worries that you might not want to kiss or touch him anymore if you see.

Thankfully you stop unbuttoning his shirt and ask, “What’s wrong?”, and Bubba shrugs self-consciously and tries to cover his chest and belly with his arms. He’s not sure he could ever be happy again if you decided to stop kissing or touching him - or letting him touch and kiss you - and he hugs himself tighter as he starts to feel more and more upset. “Are you nervous about me seeing you without your shirt on?” you ask, and he nods and quietly squawks. You give him a reassuring smile and gently stroke the exposed side of his neck beneath his mask. “You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to, but I would really love to see and feel you without it. You’re so big and strong… and fuzzy,” you add with a playful grin, teasing the hair just below his collar bones with your fingertips. It feels good and makes him smile bashfully. He knows that he’s big and strong - sometimes it’s a good thing and other times it’s bad - but he’s never thought of himself as “fuzzy” before. Bubba likes fuzzy things: dandelions when they go to seed, brand new baby chickens, the skin of a fresh peach… and from the way you’re looking at him it seems that you like fuzzy things, too - including himself. 

“You’re my big, strong, furry, cuddly teddy bear and I want to make your whole body feel good.” you add and now he really feels bashful, but you calling him such nice things is also helping him feel better. He likes furry things, too, and he once had a teddy bear that he loved when he was little - until Nubbins set it on fire, that is. Drayton calls him a fat, hairy hog sometimes, but Bubba likes being called a cuddly teddy bear much, much more. You lean in to give him a kiss and say, “I think you’re so handsome, Bubba… so manly and sexy and it feels so good when you hold me, and it’ll feel even better without clothes on. But only if you want to try it. So whenever you decide you want to, you just let me know. Okay, honey?”

Bubba feels so bashful now that he can barely stand it, but he’s absolutely melting at the same time. Nobody has ever called him a nice name like that except for Grandma. She used to call him “sugar” and “darlin’”, and he decides that he likes being called “honey” by you just as much. Your other compliments haven’t escaped his notice either, nor did your assertion that you want to make his whole body feel good. Who could turn that down? Especially coming from a special girl like you who calls him sweet names and kisses him and treats him so nicely. So even though he still feels nervous, he plucks up his courage and takes your face in his hands to give you a kiss, then moves your hands back to the front of his shirt, giving you permission to continue. He trusts you.

You work open each button, then gently tug his tucked-in shirt free from his pants and push the fabric back. Bubba holds his breath as your eyes roam over his body and he waits nervously for your reaction… he’s not sure exactly what he was expecting, but you leaning forward to drape your arms over his shoulders and press your chest and stomach flush against his wasn’t it. He’s grateful for it, though, and he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you more tightly against him in a big, not-too-hard hug. You were right - it does feel even better without clothes on. You’re so warm and soft and smooth… so small and delicate and you smell so nice, and he can’t keep from trembling as you wiggle against him.

"Mmmm, you're so handsome, Bubba, you feel so good... thank you for letting me see and touch you like this." you praise him as you toy with his hair on the back of his neck that’s poking beneath the edge of the mask. Though your words make him happy, it’s still hard for him to believe that you think he’s handsome and that you don’t mind his stomach or tits. But he knows you’re a good girl who doesn’t tell lies and he lets out a slightly-shaky sigh and holds you just a little bit more tightly. You nuzzle your face into the space where his neck meets his shoulder, trailing little patterns on his shoulders with your fingertips as he gently rubs his hands along your back, just soaking up the sensation of touching one another skin-to-skin. He’s still trembling a little, but now it’s more from excitement than anxiety and Bubba’s pretty sure he’ll get used to this feeling very quickly. “How about we take a nice warm bath together, hon? We can heat up some water on the stove and share the tub so it doesn’t go cold too soon.” You give him a little wink, and he smiles back a bit shyly.

“Yes, that sounds nice, you’re so smart,” he agrees with a nod, for the idea of heating up water is truly a good one. He wraps his arms around you again and stands up, taking you with him, and he’s so happy to get to hold you and carry you around again - it’s been so long since you let him do this, and he’s missed it. Plus the little squeaking noise you make when he stands up is so cute.

 

Once the tub is full you test the temperature with your fingertips and tell him it’s ready. By this point his anxiety has flared up again - agreeing to the bath was easy earlier, but now the moment of truth has arrived and he’s wondering if maybe he can just get in the tub with his clothes on… but suddenly you drop your skirt and underwear to stand naked before him. Bubba can’t breathe for a moment as he stares - if he thought your tits - and the whole top half of your body, for that matter - was beautiful, seeing the whole package is absolutely stunning. His throat feels like it’s closing up even as his dick gets even harder, but you’re looking at him expectantly so he finally manages to mumble: “Pretty.”

You smile and walk towards him, bare feet padding against the warped floorboards. You stop directly in front of him and run your soft palms along the front of his chest and say, “Handsome.”  He ducks his head and squeals shyly, still not used to someone calling him that. You push his shirt farther off of his chest and drag it down over his arms until it falls to the floor, and when you begin unfastening his pants he can’t help but start clenching his hands into fists as he trembles harder. But you keep complimenting him as you work at undressing him: “So handsome, so sexy… Is this okay, honey?" you ask with your fingers on the lowered tab of his zipper, and he nods and squawks quietly so you gently pull his pants down over his quivering thighs and all the way to the floor.  His hard-on springs free and he grunts quietly in relief, then steps out of his pants and boots as you get to your feet again. It still seems as though you like how he looks, but though he can’t comprehend why, he does start feeling a tiny bit less anxious. You take his hand and lead him to the tub, then let go and he watches you climb in and sit down. When you beckon him he climbs in as well, nearly sending the water overflowing onto the floor.  But he hardly notices, because you scoot in between his spread legs and say, “Doing okay still?”

“Yes, I’m okay, you’re so pretty and the water feels nice and warm and it’s good,” he nods, then sucks in a shaky breath when you comb your fingers through the hair on his chest. He feels like he’s about to burst, and then he can’t contain himself when you rub your thumbs over his nipples. Water sloshes over the side of the tub as he reaches out to pull you closer, desperate to touch and kiss you all over. You hum into his mouth as you reach for the soap on the side of the tub, and he breaks away from your sweet lips to gasp for air when your sudsy hands touch him beneath the water. He’s been aching for you all day and you’re stroking him perfectly, and the warm water feels so soothing and your skin is the softest thing he’s ever felt, and you’re murmuring nice things to him and it’s so good, so good… all of his physical senses are completely overloaded, plus just the fact that this is happening at all is still almost too much for him to comprehend. He’s rapidly overwhelmed by what’s going on in his mind, heart and body, and his orgasm builds quickly. Bubba squeals and gasps and jerks into your hands, feeling like he just got kicked in the gut… or perhaps hit by a train is a more appropriate description, because he’s never come so hard in his life.

“You’re so sexy when you come,” you say as you continue to wash him as his climax subsides, and he whines at your compliment and the discomfort of still having his softening penis touched. Mercifully you move on to his thighs and then the rest of his body, and as he recovers he starts toying with your pretty hair and softly patting your shoulders, arms and thighs. He twitches a bit when you get to his stomach, still feeling nervous about what you must think of it… but then you say that he’s cute, which is something he has never been called before. Then you say that you love his body as you wash his belly with your soft, soapy hands, and he doesn’t even get the chance to feel bashful about that before you tickle around his bellybutton and he can’t help but giggle. What did he ever do to deserve such a nice, special girl like you being so kind to him?

Once you’ve got him all scrubbed you hand him the soap, and he immediately reaches between your legs to make you feel as good as you made him feel just now. “Later, honeybear, let’s get the rest of me washed before the bath gets too cold, okay?” you suggest after only a moment, and though he’s very much enjoying touching you, he has to admit that sitting in cold water isn’t much fun so he does as you suggest. He just hopes “later” isn’t too far away.

Chapter Text

Once you’re squeaky clean and dried off, you each throw some towels and rags onto the wet bathroom floor and scoot them around with your feet to try and mop up all the spilled bathwater. Bubba tries his best to focus on the task at hand, but you’re both still naked and the way scooting the towel around makes your tits and ass jiggle a bit is so hypnotizing that he winds up drying the same spot on the floor over and over while staring at you.

“Bubba, the faster we get the floor dry, the faster we can get back to the fun stuff,” you say with a teasing little smile, and he immediately looks back at the floor and starts working even more vigorously, the promise of more “fun stuff” spurring him on. Once the floor is as dry as it’s going to get you turn to him and say, “Okay, all done! Wanna go back to bed till chore time?” The words barely leave your lips before he grabs you and lifts you right up off of the floor, then carries you towards the bathroom door like the way he carried you once so long ago when you fell asleep beside him on the sofa - before you pushed him away and asked to walk on your own. But this time you squeak and giggle a bit as you cling closer to him, and he squeals joyfully in reply. Holding you close feels so good, and he’s delighted that now you seem happy to let him do it. He shifts you a bit so he can turn the doorknob, then hurries to the living room while making more excited little squeals as you kiss his neck below his mask. He’s completely recovered and more than ready for more fun.

He carefully places you on top of the huge cowhide covering the sofa-bed, and the no-doubt rusty old springs squeak as the mattress dips. They squeak even louder when he clambers on as well, positioning himself halfway beside and halfway on top of you and leaning over and down for kisses. God, he loves kissing you so much. He can’t help but rub his growing erection against your thigh as he moves closer, and he’s about to bring his hand between your legs to make you feel good like he was planning to do in the tub when you stop kissing him and push against his chest with one hand. He can only imagine that you’re telling him to stop so he reluctantly does, but before he can whine in disappointment you say: “I’d like to try something new, if that’s okay with you.”

Bubba’s curiosity is instantly piqued and he babbles and nods, then moves off of you when you push more firmly against his chest. “Will you please sit down on the edge of the bed, honey?” you request, and he immediately obeys. He has no idea what to expect and is more than a little confused, and he starts nervously patting his thighs with both hands as you drop a pillow onto the floor and kneel in front of him. You’re looking at his dick and balls more closely than anyone ever has before, and even though he’s excited it’s making him a little anxious. You said that you think he’s handsome and sexy and he’s trying to believe you… but does that include these parts of him? You’ve touched him there with your hands lots of times already, but now your face is so close and it feels just as weird as it does exciting. But before he can get too self-conscious you say, “If you don’t like this just let me know and we can stop, okay? I promise it’s alright if you don’t want to do this.”

“I want to do it, I want to do whatever you want to do, I love you,” he replies. He doesn’t know what he just agreed to, but it doesn’t really matter. He trusts you.

His decision to trust you is immediately confirmed as the right choice when you push his legs a little farther apart and lean in to place a soft kiss right on the tip of his cock. He’s halfway hard already just from anticipation and humping your leg, and when you drag your tongue along the underside of his rapidly-growing length he lets out a squeal of pleasure and shock. It never would have occurred to him in a thousand years to do something like this, but he’s suddenly desperate for you to do it again. You remove your tongue and look up to meet his eyes and ask, “Do you like it so far?”  He nods vigorously and moves his hands from his thighs to your shoulders so he can pat and squeeze them, encouraging you to continue. You give him a smile and lean in even closer, and he gasps when he feels your soft tongue swirl around the tip of his dick as your hands begin stroking the rest of him. Then you shock him once again when you suck on his balls, gently rolling them against your tongue one after the other and he squeals even more desperately and squeezes your shoulders even harder. He’s so sensitive there and it feels so good… so unbelievably warm and wet and soft. Even though his hands are big and rough it still feels good when he touches himself there, and it feels even better when you touch him with your smaller, smoother hands… but this… this is unlike anything he’s ever felt or even imagined. Then his mind melts down completely when you actually swallow his cock. Bubba doesn’t even hear you gagging as he grunts and squeals and thrusts into your mouth, the hot, tight squeeze of your throat around his member driving him crazy. How is it even possible for something to feel this amazing? He doesn’t know, but he’s certainly not going to question it. He was already planning to follow your every command, but now it is absolutely, irrefutably cemented in his mind: you are in charge of things, and anything you say is to be obeyed without question, both inside the sofa-bed and out.

You pull back for air and a thin string of spit and precum stretches from the tip of his bobbing dick to your gasping lips before breaking and sticking to your chin and jaw. Saliva oozes down your chin as you look up at him, and he gently pets his hands all over your hair and frantically nods when you ask, “Feel good, baby?”

“Good” doesn’t even begin to describe it, and Bubba fights the urge to close his eyes in overwhelming pleasure when you lick your pretty lips and wrap them around the head of his dick once more and start sucking. He groans and clutches your hair harder, gazing down and watching his swollen flesh disappearing into your mouth before sliding back out, glistening and wet. You meet his eyes again, and God, you look so beautiful with your head bobbing along his length and your lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth, and though he’s trying his best to be gentle he can’t help but thrust into your hot, sweet mouth from time to time. Plus you called him “baby”, and though he doesn’t quite understand why because he’s not a baby anymore, it still felt like a nice thing to say somehow and he wishes he knew something nice to call you in return. But his thoughts are interrupted when you swallow him down once again, then twice, and then the third time you get his entire length down your throat, burying your nose in the hair at the base of his cock.  He whimpers and moans and takes harsh, breathy gasps, getting louder and louder as your throat squeezes around him. How are you able to do this without choking? More than once Bubba has choked while eating too fast, and he’s amazed by your control. Is there anything you’re not good at doing? If there is, he certainly hasn’t seen any evidence of it yet.

You slide him back out of your throat, then focus your mouth on the sensitive head while pumping his shaft with one hand and lightly caressing his balls with your other. It’s too much, it’s too good, and when you suck harder he feels his climax rear up fast and hard, overwhelming him within seconds. With one last jerk of his hips and a guttural groan he shoots his load into your mouth, and he can feel your tongue move against his throbbing dick as you swallow. He’s so overcome by physical pleasure, and you consuming the substance he makes when he feels so amazing feels so intimate that it almost makes him tear up. You wanting it inside of your body makes him feel more accepted than he ever remembers feeling. It makes him feel wanted. Desired. He’s never felt that before.

Once he manages to open his eyes again you flash your white-coated tongue at him for half a second before he reaches down to grab you and pull you up off of the floor and onto his lap. He’s never minded the taste of his own cum and he wastes no time in kissing you as passionately as he can to try and express his love and gratitude - in fact, the mix of himself and your own unique taste is intoxicating and oh Lord, he hopes that you’ll use your mouth on him often. Wanting to snuggle with you more comfortably, he tries to start scooting back all the way onto the sofa-bed while still kissing you but all that leads to is the painful knocking of noses and teeth and him almost biting your tongue, so he reluctantly breaks the kiss. You hang on to him as he moves back fully onto the mattress, and you giggle at the noisy springs and violent bounce. He giggles as well, because even though part of his mind is worried about what Drayton might do if the sofa-bed breaks, the noises are funny and he’s too tired and giddy to think too far beyond this very moment. 

 

This orgasm and the one in the bath were so intense that he needs a few minutes to recover. He lays down on his back with you draped on top of him and he pulls the cowhide over to cover you both, making happy little noises and squeezing his arms around you as you snuggle into his stomach and chest. You hum contentedly and comb your fingers through his chest hair while pressing little kisses against his skin, and Bubba has never felt more blissful in his entire life. No one has ever snuggled with him like this, and while it’s different, it still feels just as good and makes him just as happy as kissing and touching one another between the legs does. Sometimes he tries to snuggle with Chicken, but she’s usually not interested and before long is trying to wiggle away to go peck and scratch at the floor, looking for things to eat. Plus she’s very small, and while you are small, too, you are big enough for him to wrap his whole arms around instead of just his hands and it feels wonderful. Your weight on top of him is so comforting, like you’re grounding him to the earth and protecting him. He’s never experienced holding someone like this before, and you wanting to do this with him makes him love you even more.

After a moment you prop yourself up to look at his face. “That was so fun, I loved doing that for you, honeybear. Did you like it too?”

“Uh-huh!” he says enthusiastically, feeling himself blush harder. He loves this pet name - it sounds like you think that he’s sweet, and reminds him that you think he’s a big, cuddly teddy bear rather than a fat, hairy hog. And you said that you loved doing that for him… that you loved making him feel good like that, having part of him that isn’t his fingers inside of you, and his feelings of acceptance and gratitude grow even stronger. Making your face into a mask and your body into sausage would have been the worst mistake of his life - well, besides letting that blonde girl escape, but he tries not to think about that. You are here with him now, and he’s deeply grateful that things with you have worked out this way.

You smile and rest your head back on his chest, and he closes his eyes and hugs you a little bit tighter. He just needs a minute, just a little time to rest before trying his best to make you feel good, too. He has every intention of staying awake, but despite his best efforts instead falls fast asleep before he realizes it’s happened.

Chapter Text

Bubba wakes up after he doesn’t know how long, his nap filled with sweet, airy dreams that he can’t quite remember… he can only remember feeling safe and relaxed. He yawns and hugs you a bit more tightly, and your warm, naked body on top of his has him wide awake within seconds. He makes soft little squeals and trails his hands down your back to your butt, and when he gives your cheeks a gentle squeeze he feels you smile against his chest. He tilts his head down to see you gazing up at him with a gentle smile on your face, and those soft, fuzzy feelings warming his heart increase exponentially.

“Hello again. Did you have a nice nap?” you ask, and he grins and nods. Then your smile turns a bit more mischievous. “Would you like to try doing to me what I just did to you, baby? Using your mouth?”

Just when Bubba thinks you’ve shown him everything there is to know about feeling good, you come up with another idea - and this is the best one you’ve had so far, in his opinion. He’s already become addicted to your taste when he licks it from his fingers, and now he gets to lap it up straight from the source and he can hardly wait. Unable to contain his excitement, he rolls over till you’re flat on your back before grabbing your legs and pulling you down till they’re hanging off the edge of the bed. It seemed to work well when you had him in this position, so he figures it’s a good place to start. You weigh nothing at all and he suddenly worries that perhaps he was too rough, but you laugh as you prop yourself up on your elbows so he assumes it’s okay. Bubba drops to his knees in front of you and spreads your legs further apart just like you did to him, but then he stops and just stares at this part of you that he’s gotten to touch but never see.

He’s never looked this closely at what’s between women’s legs: your flaps of skin look like the petals of some kind of exotic flower and it’s a little bit strange-looking, but it’s beautiful too and a powerful rush of arousal punches him right in the gut - and lower. He doesn’t understand why Drayton wouldn’t want him to look at something so pretty. How can it be bad? Why would it make him a pervert to appreciate this nice body part just as much as a nice face? But then again, Bubba doesn’t understand why Drayton says or does so many things. Like why he doesn’t want Bubba to touch himself when his dick gets hard, when touching it feels so good. Why would feeling good be a bad thing? Bubba’s glad that you don’t think touching there is bad, but he’s not sure how to touch you right now so he finally tears his gaze away from the tantalizing and bewildering sight of your most private parts and looks up at your face, hoping for guidance.

“Just kiss me like you do to my mouth first, honey,” you instruct, and he nods and immediately dives in. He tries to be gentle even though his excitement is off the charts, the aroma of your sex setting his nerves on fire and hot blood throbbing between his own legs. He wants to devour every inch of you all at once, but he remembers what you’ve told him about needing to start slowly. The first touch of his lips draws a breathy gasp from your throat, and it makes his already-pounding heart skip a beat. “That’s good,” you praise him so he keeps going, hoping you’ll say more nice things.

“Gentle, be gentle,” he repeats over and over in his mind as he gives you soft little kisses, pressing in closer to reach better, but then you reach down and gently lift his chin up and away and he’s suddenly worried. Is he doing it wrong?

“Bubba, you don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable with it, but this might go a little bit easier if you take off your mask.” you say, and he’s instantly horrified to the point where he can actually feel his hard-on start to falter. He pulls away from you and squawks anxiously, fidgeting in distress and hoping that you don’t really mean it. It was already so hard to show you his body, but eventually he gave in because there’s nothing he can do about the way his body looks and he wanted to learn what it feels like to hold you with no clothes on. But he can do something about his face. He can make himself handsome for you with that other man’s skin - and more importantly, if you see his real face you might see just how stupid he really is, how empty and afraid and not handsome at all. It’s too much, it’s too vulnerable, and if you make him do it he doesn’t think he could cope.

“Ssshhh, it’s okay Bubba, you don’t have to!” you say quickly, “It will feel good for me either way, I promise. I just want you to know that if you ever feel okay about it, I would love to see your face. Your whole body is so handsome to me, and I know that I’ll love that part of you, too.”

He moans in agony and taps his fingertips against your thighs. He told himself he would obey you no matter what, but this request is intolerable and the suffocating fear of exposing his face to you is pressing in on him as though he were being buried alive.  “Sshhh, I’m sorry honey, I didn’t mean to upset you. You can keep it on for as long as you want to, I’m so sorry if I made you feel bad.” you say soothingly, and your apology makes his fingers go still and his moaning taper off into quiet little whimpers before stopping completely. You sound sincere like you always do, and when he sees your earnest and caring expression it helps him relax. He still doesn’t know what to do, though. Your understanding and kindness is such a relief… but you said it would be better if he took off his mask and how can he deny you his very best effort when you’ve been so nice to him? When you’ve made him feel more amazing than he ever knew was possible, both his body and heart? How can he be the best boy for you that he can without suffering the soul-crushing terror of letting you see what’s hidden so deep inside him? The dilemma is hurting his brain as he thinks, weighing his fear of exposure against his desire to please. Finally the solution comes: he will take off his mask to do a better job of pleasing you, but he desperately hopes that you’ll keep your eyes closed.

“Are you sure, baby?” you ask when meets your eyes again and nods, and that sweet name reassures him that you’ll keep treating him nicely. He nods again, then reaches up to place his hand over your eyes, hoping you’ll understand. Thankfully, you do. “You want me to keep my eyes closed?”

“Yes please, please don’t look, it’s too scary. I’ll be a good boy and I’ll make you feel good, I’ll do anything you want, I want to be a good boy, but please don’t look it’s so scary,” he pleads, and like the benevolent angel you are, you smile down at him and agree.

“Alright, honeybear, I promise I will. I’ll keep my eyes closed and you let me know when I can open them again. Just tap me on the shoulder twice when you’re ready, okay?”  Relief washes through him as you gently pat his hands where they’re resting on your thighs, then you close your eyes.

He quickly removes his mask and sets it aside - now that you’ve promised not to look, his excitement has returned full-force and he takes hold of your legs once again and leans in to kiss you like before, breathing in your scent and savoring the feel of your velvet-soft folds against his lips.

“Bubba, that feels so nice… is it okay if I touch your hair?” you say after a moment, and it only takes him a split-second to make this decision: he’ll do anything you want him to do that doesn’t require you seeing his face so he nods, rubbing his nose through the hair on your mound. “Yes, yes, that’s okay, you can touch my hair, please,” he agrees, and then grunts in pleasure when your fingers sink into his somewhat-flattened waves. Very rarely is his real hair uncovered, and he’s never been touched this way before and it feels better than he expected… much, much better. He grunts again and grips your thighs more tightly as you gently massage his scalp and lightly ruffle his hair, and he rubs his nose against your mound again and inhales deeply, soaking up that delicious scent. He keeps kissing you, hoping that it feels good and that you like it, then after a moment you suggest:

“You can go faster and less gentle, and you can use your tongue if you want. That will feel really good for me.”

He squeals excitedly, eager to get a better taste and increase your pleasure at the same time. He starts to push your legs further apart to get better access, but you quickly say, “Bubba, that’s as far as my legs will go, try putting them over your shoulders.”

“Yes, okay, yes, yes,” he mumbles against your skin, then does as you say. He likes how your calves feel resting against his back and the way your thighs on either side of his head quiver a bit as he licks a long stripe along your slit from bottom to top, remembering what you did to him and trying his best to replicate it despite how different your anatomy is. You taste so good and he wiggles his tongue in deeper, searching for the opening he knows is there and hoping for more delicious wetness. He catches a bit on the tip of his tongue, and he grabs you more firmly and pulls you even closer till your butt’s dangling off the edge of the sofa-bed. He just can’t help it, he needs more. You squeak in surprise but he doesn’t hear it over his noisy squeals and grunts, plus your thighs are squeezing slightly against his ears and he loves it. He wants to be completely engulfed by you, to be surrounded by and covered with your body till you’re all he can feel, taste, see and smell. He wants to get lost in you, but the best he can do is shove his face as close against your crotch as possible and stick his tongue as deep into your slippery lower mouth as he can.

“Jesus, Bubba, oh my God!” you cry out, and it sounds like you like what he’s doing so he goes even harder, trying to get deeper and wetter as his works himself up into a frenzy of lust. “God, that’s so good, baby, you’re doing amazing,” you gasp, and he grunts and squeals in reply, licking and drooling and stabbing his tongue everywhere he can reach. His face is already covered in your slickness and his own spit but he wants even more. If he could swallow you down the way you did to him he would, but he can’t so instead he slobbers his way back up to focus on that little nub that you’ve told him is the center of your pleasure. “Jesus, Bubba, fuck!” you cry out again when he finds it, and you clutch his hair harder and twist it a bit, making him groan in ecstasy. It feels so good, and the words that you’re saying and the way that you’re saying them make it even better. 

“Use your fingers… now, too, baby, please… j-just like u-… usual.” you beg and he instantly obeys, sliding one finger slowly into your sopping hole like you’ve taught him while circling and flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit the way you’ve shown him how to do with his fingers, hoping you’ll like it. It seems like you do from the noises you’re making, so then he tries sucking on your clit the way you sucked on his dick, hoping you’ll like that, too… but to his dismay you yelp sharply and he quickly backs off, whining apologetically and feeling terrible that maybe he was too rough, that maybe he hurt you.

“That was so good, Bubba, do it again, please,” you gasp before he can start begging for your forgiveness, and when you pull his head back towards your crotch by his hair it makes his dick even harder. You want him badly enough to be a little bit rough yourself, and the thought that maybe you want him as much as he wants you is so exciting and makes his whole body vibrate with joy. He squeals loudly to let you know that he’ll do anything, anything that you want him to do for you down here and he sucks on that sensitive little part again, relishing your high-pitched whimpers and moans. He slips a second finger inside your dripping slit and scrapes his teeth ever-so-gently against you, trying to use the same pressure you used with your own teeth on his most sensitive parts not long ago. Your breathy whimpers get louder, and he feels your body get more and more tense and he works harder still, pumping and curling his fingers inside you and gasping for air in fast, short little bursts to keep his mouth on you as consistently as possible. At last he feels your climax begin and he licks at your clit as fast as he can, swirling his tongue over and around it as you cry out his name and buck against his face, squeezing your thighs tightly around his head. It doesn’t hurt him - actually he wishes you would grind even closer and squeeze even harder, and his own hips thrust forward all on their own, searching fruitlessly for some sort of contact, for some sort of friction to help relieve the throbbing ache in his groin. Your hot inner walls are fluttering and clenching around his fingers, and it reminds him of the way your throat squeezed around his cock and he squeals at the memory, his erection twitching and bobbing in midair as precum oozes from its tip. He’s so ready to come himself, his balls drawn tight and feeling like they’re about to burst, and he squeals against your sex in excitement and frustration all at once.

“Stop, Bubba, please, I can’t take anymore,” you moan, so he reluctantly stops licking and moves his head away. He knows that he can’t stand being touched too much right after coming, and the same appears to be true for you as well. He gently removes his fingers and slides your legs off of his shoulders, then sits your butt properly back on the mattress again. You’re panting hard but your eyes are still closed, and with a swell of relief Bubba quickly wipes off at least some of the copious wetness on his face with the corner of the sheet and replaces his handsome man mask. You open your eyes when he sits beside you and taps you twice on your shoulder the way you instructed, and he can’t help but lick his teeth over and over, making sure he’s found every last bit of your juices still left on his face. He watches and waits with bated breath for your appraisal of his performance, hoping he did a good job, hoping with every fiber of his being that you liked it and that he was a good boy for you… and to his utter delight you give him a smile take his hand in yours. “Oh my Lord, Bubba, you’re amazing. That was absolutely incredible, you did such a great job, honey! You made me feel so good, baby, thank you.”  He squeals happily and you smile and lean in to give him a kiss, stroking his cheek and he’s so proud that he can barely stand it. You said he’s amazing. That he did an incredible job. No one has ever told him those things no matter what he does or how hard he tries… until you.

He squirms in place a little bit while he waits for you to recover, hoping that maybe you’ll touch him again once you’ve come fully back to your senses. Despite his two recent orgasms he’s so hard again that it almost hurts, and when you break the kiss and look down at his lap he squirms even more desperately, hoping you can tell how needy he is for your touch. “Let me help you with that, honeybear,” you coo, and Bubba thanks his lucky stars when you bring your hand between your own legs to collect some of your cum and his spit. With only a few wet strokes he’s bellowing and twitching in your grip, lights bursting behind his tightly-closed eyelids like the gunpowder Nubbins would mess around with sometimes. How did he make it this far in life without experiencing this bliss?

He reaches for you and pulls you close as he lays down to recover, both of your legs still hanging over the side of the sofa-bed. “Now I need a nap,” you giggle tiredly once his panting has slowed, and he giggles as well. You stay snuggled up together for quite awhile, but it’s not long enough for his liking. Even so, Bubba can tell by the rumbling in his stomach and the sunlight outside that it’s time for lunch.

“We need to eat lunch now, and Grandpa needs lunch and he needs to go pee and shit and I need to give him some kisses. And Grandma needs kisses, too. And you need to eat, and I need to eat, and I think we have beans and I’ll make you a sandwich because I love you.” he says as he sits up, and together you head back to the bathroom to retrieve your clothes, still laying in a heap on the floor.

He can’t stop staring as you take a damp washcloth and wipe it between your legs. You’re still so wet down there, so he supposes it makes sense that you would want to clean up a bit. He blushes in embarrassment when he sees that you’ve noticed him staring, but you just chuckle, “I don’t think there’s any reason to be shy anymore, hon, you’ve seen pretty much all of me there is to see at this point.”  You wink at him and he grins, deciding that he likes being called “hon” along with all those other nice names. Bubba would be happy to keep the scent of you on his fingers for the rest of the day - or forever - but when you wash your hands he supposes he should do so as well. Besides, if he has his way he’ll have his fingers - and hopefully his tongue - inside of you again later today. But for now, it’s time for lunch.

Chapter Text

One evening the following week, Bubba’s just about to touch the brightest, prettiest red lipstick he owns to your lips when his brother walks into the living room. “How was your day?” you murmur to Drayton out of the side of your mouth.

“Oh, not too bad, I reckon. Transport was late like usual, but there weren’t no customers till after it came anyhow so no harm done. Sold a fair bit’o barbecue, too.” he casually replies.

“That’s good,” you mumble, sending the point of the lipstick over the edge of your lips and Bubba makes a scolding sort of clucking noise and reaches for the nearby roll of toilet paper to wipe the red smear clean. “Sorry,” you mumble again, but he’s not really angry. He could happily sit here and do your makeup all day, and sometimes he does, having you wash your face in-between applications. Bubba has been practicing doing your makeup for months, and he thinks he’s getting pretty good at it - having such a lovely canvas to practice on certainly helps. He’s so happy that you let him.

Drayton frowns, then says crankily, “More’n I can say for you two, sittin’ around playing dress-up while I’m out workin’.”

His irritated tone makes Bubba nervous, and he tries to calculate in his mind if Drayton sounds mad enough to bring out the walloping stick… but then you frown and say: “Hey, Bubba does tons of work around here, it’s not his fault you’re too stupid to see it.”

Your speaking messed up your lipstick again, but this time Bubba doesn’t scold you. He always feels half nervous and half excited when you talk back to Drayton, and he’s so impressed that you’re brave enough to do it. Plus your sticking up for him makes him feel so grateful, and makes him love you even more.

“Well his work don’t pay the bills now, do it? And you don’t do a goddamn thing around here ’cept take up space and food!” Drayton snaps and Bubba feels even more anxious. Every once in awhile his old fear that Drayton will tell him to kill you rears up, and though Bubba would rather die himself than kill you, he still doesn’t want to be put in that situation. You, however, seem completely unruffled and say calmly:

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I don’t do enough to contribute around here. Bubba and I have been thinking about starting a vegetable garden. If you buy the seeds we’ll take care of it, and that’ll help put food on the table for all of us. What do you think?”

Drayton looks a little confused for a moment, but eventually murmurs, “Well… that might not be a bad idea…”

Bubba perks up at that - he’s been so excited about the idea of starting a garden with you ever since you suggested it, but then Drayton’s frown is back. “What makes you think I got money to spend on buying you any damn seeds? And what makes you think he’s smart enough to keep them veggies alive even if I did buy ‘em?” he says nastily, glaring at Bubba.

You glare right back and sneer, “He keeps the chickens and flowers alive, so veggies are no big deal! Hell, he even keeps grandpa alive, no thanks to you! I don’t see you feeding him or helping him piss and shit! And besides, I’m here to help him. We’ll do it together. Now quit being such a cheapskate, you gotta have some extra cash somewhere! You just said you sold a bunch of barbecue today!”

Bubba can’t help tittering nervously under his breath while fidgeting with the eyeshadow compact. You’re so brave, and he’s just as enthralled as he is nervous. Fighting has always made him uncomfortable. Nubbins and Drayton used to fight all the time, and there was always lots of shouting and mean names. But while you and Drayton fight a lot, too, you never yell and you don’t use nearly as many mean names as Nubbins did. And unlike Nubbins, you always, always stand up for him.

Drayton glares at you and purses his lips over his teeth before shouting, “I told ya’, I ain’t got no extra money for no damn seeds!”

“Fine, how about this? You drive me to the bank and I’ll get some cash out of my own account. Then will you buy us some fucking seeds?” you snap back.

Drayton barks out a derisive laugh. “You think I’m stupid? Ain’t no way you’re goin’ outside without that leash on. And what’s to stop you from tellin’ the lady at the bank where you’re at?”

To Bubba’s delight you roll your eyes and say, “Oh come on, I’ve been here over eight months! If I wanted to escape I would have figured it out and done it already. I’m happy here with your brother, I’m not going to try and escape or tattle on you.”

Bubba makes a tiny little happy noise, but Drayton squints menacingly at you and growls, “I don’t believe that for a hot Texas second. You ain’t leavin’ this house, little Missy.”  Then suddenly his face folds into a smile and he says in a lighter tone, “Here’s what I will do. I’ll let you call the bank instead, and you can tell ‘em to cash out some money to me.”

“And you’ll spend it to buy seeds, right?” you ask, raising one suspicious eyebrow.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay, deal. Can we go first thing tomorrow? We need to get those seeds planted and growing before it gets too hot.”

“Yes indeedy, that’s a fine plan. We’ll go right after breakfast.” Drayton agrees, then turns around and heads for the kitchen to get dinner started. Bubba squeals happily and puts down the eyeshadow so he can pat his hands all over you in a gesture of gratitude and awe at your taking on his brother and succeeding.

“C’mon babe, let’s see how this color looks on me,” you smile at him as you pick up the compact, and he grins and takes it from you and gets back to work.

 

The next morning after breakfast Drayton makes Bubba tie you up like the first time you went to use the telephone, but this time he tries to tie you less tightly than he did before - though not so loose that Drayton will notice and make him do it again. He watches and waves as you both drive away, and that fearful little part of his brain begins to worry that you might not come back again. It’s the first time you’ve left the property for more than eight months, and your sudden absence is making him extremely anxious. What if Drayton kills you? Or drives you a long ways away and leaves you out on the side of the road somewhere, too far to walk back home? What if you somehow escape and run away? You said that you don’t want to leave, but sometimes it’s still hard for Bubba to fully accept that it’s true. He knows you’re a good girl who doesn’t tell lies, but the fact that you want to be with him is still beyond his comprehension. He hurries back inside to start work on his chores, trying to keep himself busy enough to keep his worries from escalating into full-blown panic.

When he runs out of chores he returns to the front porch to wait, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you finally come rattling back up the dusty driveway, looking whole and unharmed and happy to see him. Before the truck even comes to a complete stop Bubba runs down the steps and starts pulling you out the passenger side door to untie you as quickly as he can. Oh, how he hates treating you like meat. Keeping you on a leash is bad enough, but tying up your whole body makes him so upset. Drayton stays in the truck with the engine running until your leash is fastened to Bubba’s belt, then he finally drives away. You’re immediately unfastened as soon as the truck is well out of sight, and the rest of the morning and afternoon is spent preparing the garden plots. You’d picked out some unused places with plenty of sunlight and within reach of the water, then readied the soil by weeding it and mixing in lots of old chicken shit. Grandma taught Bubba about using it to help plants grow better, and although he doesn’t understand why it would, Grandma was always right so he never questioned it.

“I wonder what kind of seeds your brother’s going to buy?” you say as you pluck a rock from one of the plots and toss it aside, and Bubba shrugs. He’s holding a gigantic, wriggling worm up close to his face - he’s never found one so huge before and it’s so interesting-looking. Then he puts the worm down and starts gently covering it back up with dirt because Grandma said that worms are good for the plants. Plus they don’t taste all that great and they generally don’t make good material for art projects. Nubbins tried, but they just shriveled up into practically nothing so it was pointless to kill and keep them. “What kind of vegetables are your favorite? Cucumbers? Tomatoes? Collards? Peppers?” you ask, and Bubba nods at each of them equally, declining to indicate a favorite. He likes all the vegetables and fruits he’s ever eaten just fine, though he likes meat better.

Once the garden looks nice and ready you wipe your hands in the grass and say sadly, “Hey babe, I’ve got some bad news.”  Bubba immediately starts to panic, all sorts of terrible scenarios rushing through his brain all at once… then you clarify: “Drayton says it’s time for me to move back upstairs for the night. He said now that it’s warm there’s no reason for me to keep sleeping on your bed while you’re “stuck sleeping on the floor”.”

Bubba’s panic stops, but his heart sinks down into his stomach. That was one of the worst-case scenarios he had imagined, and he’s utterly despondent. He’d been so desperately hoping that you could just stay in the sofa-bed with him forever, touching and kissing and snuggling before falling asleep and upon waking up. He knows you’ll still get to touch and kiss and snuggle during the day when his brother’s not home, but sleeping and waking up together is so, so nice.

“I know it’s a drag, but I think we’d better do it unless you want him to know what’s going on.” you say, and Bubba sighs heavily and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want Drayton to know what’s going on, because his reaction might lead to worse things than just not getting to share the sofa-bed. “Hey, we still have all day to mess around,” you say as you drape your arms over his shoulders and he pulls you onto his lap, then you rub your nose against his and say playfully, “Like right now, hmm?”

It’s difficult to feel too depressed for long when your soft, curvy ass is nestled between his thighs and your hands are stroking the back of his neck. He wraps his hands around your waist and gently squeezes, then tips his head back with a little moan when you nibble at his throat. Before meeting you, he’d never thought about teeth being used for anything other than chewing food or biting in a bad way like he and Nubbins sometimes did to one another - and like a victim did to him one time, sinking their teeth into his arm as they fought for their life. They didn’t win, of course, but Bubba still didn’t like being bitten. But the way you bite him on the other hand, just barely scraping and pressing against his skin, sends shivers up his spine and makes little goosebumps pop up along his arms and the back of his neck. It suddenly makes sense why the roosters bite the hens on their necks.

“Mmm, you taste so good, Bubba,” you murmur against his throat while trailing your hands down the expanse of his chest to his belly. He feels a little bit shy like he always does when you touch his stomach, but you give the rolls at his sides a gentle squeeze and say, “And you feel even better. I love how strong you feel, so warm and soft…”  Then you pull back from his neck to give him a mischievous little smirk as your hands trail even lower. “But I love it when this part of you isn’t so soft.”

Bubba squeals when you grope him through his pants, and he grips your hips tighter to pull you down more firmly against his crotch. “You feel so soft all over all the time and you feel so good, and you taste so good, too, you make me get so hard and I love it when you’re wet and let me put my fingers in you, and my tongue, too, and you taste good and smell good and feel good and I love you so much,” he babbles somewhat breathily. You’re grinding yourself on his lap all on your own, the warm, damp apex of your thighs rubbing against his erection and he suddenly wishes that both of your clothing would just magically disappear. You start to scoot off of his lap and he begins whimpering in disappointment and tries to hang onto your hips without being too rough. You said that there was still the rest of the day to “mess around” and he doesn’t understand why you’re stopping already.

“I’d like to lay down on my back, please,” you request so he lets you, then his whimper turns into a happy little squeal when you beckon him. Bubba crawls on his hands and knees till he’s hovering above you, and though he loves it when you sit on his lap or lay on top of his stomach, sometimes he really, really likes seeing you beneath him like this. You’re so small and he has to be careful not to squish you, but it’s worth it to see you gazing up at him with bright, affectionate eyes as you reach around to squeeze his butt. He leans down to kiss your lips, getting even more excited when he feels one of your legs creep up to wrap around his. You begin grinding against his thigh, and he groans into your mouth and tries to grind himself against you in return. He’s never seen animals rub against one another front-to-front like this, but he’s glad that people apparently do because it feels so, so good, and he also gets to see your pretty face at the same time.

You kiss and touch one another for several minutes, until at last he’s panting so hard he can’t continue to kiss you. Bubba throws his head back with a grunt, just seconds away coming in his pants right here… but then you drop your leg from around his and push slightly against his chest. “How about we finish this in the bath, hmm? Drayton’ll be home before too long and he’s bringing home some special food for dinner, so I’d like to get all cleaned up,” you say sweetly, and the prospect of being naked with you is the only thing that keeps him from moaning in frustration at the sudden stop. You giggle when he picks you up almost as easily as he picked up that worm, then hurries into the house and straight to the bathroom, leaving you there to start filling the tub while he goes to start heating up some water. He shucks off his clothes at record speed right there in the kitchen while watching the stock pot, and the second it’s boiling he pulls it off the stove and hurries to join you as fast as he can without spilling scalding water all over himself. You giggle again when he enters the bathroom wearing nothing but his handsome-man mask and oven mitts, and he’s pleased to find you sitting on the edge of the tub, gloriously naked and waiting for him.

“Did you remember to turn off the stove, honey?” you ask as he pours the hot water into the tub. Suddenly he’s not sure, so he gives you a quick kiss before rushing to the kitchen to check. You’re so smart and your memory is so good. You often remind him when he forgets things, and your help has no-doubt spared him numerous beatings. Sure enough, the stove is still on so he quickly shuts it off - he was just so excited to be in the tub with you as soon as humanly possible. In the span of eight months he’s gone from not liking baths much to tolerating them because he thought you would want him to take more and because it gave him the chance to jerk off more often, to now loving them. He returns to the bathroom once again to find you in the tub in your usual spot, and he nearly trips and falls right into the tub as well in his eagerness to get to you. As it is he manages to just slosh a little bit of water onto the floor when he clambers in, and he’s so desperate to come that he reaches for your hand and brings it between his legs, clumsily trying to wrap your fingers around his shaft. You laugh, but in a nice way, and he moans in relief when you begin stroking. “My big handsome man,” you purr, and that plus your other hand caressing his balls sends him over the edge within seconds, gasping your name as he releases into the warm, soothing water.

As soon as he’s back to his senses Bubba reaches between your thighs to return the favor. He wishes he could breathe underwater so he could eat you out right now, but instead he has to content himself with using his fingers. He squeals loudly when you sigh and spread your legs further apart for him and bring your hands to your own chest to touch your tits. Last week you called them “breasts” when you asked him to touch them, and Bubba wonders if Grandma would approve of that term. Personally Bubba doesn’t care what they’re called, and he bends his back and leans forward and down so he can latch his mouth onto one of your stiff little buds, pinching it ever-so-gently between his teeth and loving your soft gasp. He opens his mouth wider as you push your breast in deeper, and he circles the pads of his fingers against your clit beneath the water, eager to make you come. “Bubba,” you moan, and he mumbles your name in return against your soft flesh - or as close to your name as he can get, at least. Your breathy cries when you climax is the most beautiful sound in the world to him, and when you push his hand away he pulls you in for a hug instead.

“You’re so pretty and good, you’re my good, smart, pretty girl and I love you.” he sighs into your hair, trying to come up with some nice things to call you the way you do for him. You rub your palms over his chest as you tremble in his arms, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never, ever get over the wonder he feels at having you to love.

 

You gently wash the dirt and sweat from one another’s skin, and then Bubba gets to wash your hair. It’s one of his favorite things to do and he’d happily sit here and do it even after the water gets cold, but his brother is due home from work soon so he tries not to dawdle for too long. Plus you said earlier that Drayton should be bringing home some fancy food for dinner, and he’s so eager to find out what it will be. Once you’re both squeaky clean you go upstairs to your room to get it back in order since this is sadly where you’ll be sleeping at night from now on - until next winter at least. Once the bed is piled high with plenty of blankets and hides and a few extra pillows you head back downstairs, and Bubba just barely gets you locked to his belt when Drayton finally arrives home and pushes open the door carrying a large bag of groceries. Ready to do whatever he can to help, Bubba hurries to take the bag from his brother and once he has it in his hands you stand up on your tiptoes and pry it open to take a peek.

“What’d ya’ get?” you ask, and Bubba looks in curiously as well. There’s a bunch of little paper packets with pictures of vegetables on them, some meat wrapped up in butcher paper, a bundle of greens and several cans of some sort of drink.

Drayton starts heating up the huge cast iron pan on top of the stove and says, “Got just what ya’ told me: buncha seeds, some mighty fine porterhouse steaks and a six-pack of Lone Star. Got some collards as well, since you’re so crazy ‘bout veggies.”

Bubba doesn’t know what “lone star” is, but you seem happy about it because you pull out the cans with a big grin and put them in the fridge. “Hallelujah,” you say cheerfully, and Drayton grins as well as he fetches the oil and salt from the cupboard.

“Gimme them steaks, Bubba,” he says with a smile, and Bubba babbles happily as he hurries to obey.

“Yes, here they are, they’re good steaks!” Granted he hasn’t tasted them yet, but Drayton knows a lot about meat so he surely bought good ones. Plus Bubba’s so excited to eat some beef that that alone makes it exciting. He likes people meat just fine, but beef is delicious too and he rarely gets to enjoy it.

“Now get the table set and go get your grandpa, I’ll have these whipped up in a jiffy.” Drayton orders, though not unpleasantly, and Bubba wishes Drayton talked to him like this all the time.

“Yes, I’ll go get Grandpa, he likes steaks too and it’s a special dinner! I’ll go get him right now!”  Bubba squeals, and you both head to the dining room so he can lock your leash to your chair as always. He whimpers an apology like he has ever since you began taking off your leash when Drayton’s not home - that’s one part of keeping your special relationship secret that Bubba dislikes a lot. Once Grandpa is placed in his chair at the head of the table, Bubba leaves the room once more to change into his formal suit and his pretty girl face that you applied the makeup to. You did such a good job, and now he considers it his best, most beautiful face - plus it’s extra-special because you helped him make it. Next he puts on several spangly bracelets, then returns to the dining room to fetch you.

“It’s a fancy dinner tonight, huh?” you grin, and he squeals and nods with his own happy grin as he unties you from the chair and leads you to the living room to give you fancy makeup and lots of jewelry as well. He loves dressing you up, and he loves that you let him. Once you’re both as pretty as can be, you return to the dining room to find the food ready and waiting on the table. It looks and smells amazing, and Bubba’s drooling already as he locks you to your chair once again.

“You two look like a couple o’ painted whores,” Drayton sneers, but he doesn’t sound too mean so Bubba doesn’t worry about it. You don’t seem worried about it, plus the food looks so incredible that even if Drayton did say something mean, Bubba’s too consumed with excitement and anticipation for it to hurt his feelings too badly. Everyone is silent and giddy as they take their first bites, and even Grandpa seems to liven up a little as he chews the small bit of steak Bubba carefully places in his toothless mouth.

“Been a long time since we had some beef in this house,” Drayton eventually says as he cracks open his Lone Star.

“How long?” you ask, taking a drink of your own, and Bubba takes a drink of his as well. He’s never had beer before and the first swig tastes somewhat bitter and strange, but by the third or fourth it starts getting quite tasty.

“Well, things started gettin’ tight around the time ol’ Grandpa retired,” says Drayton, “Then things just about shriveled right up into nothin’ when the boys lost their jobs. Whole town started dyin’ when them air guns was brought in, which made things tougher at the station, too. Hard to sell barbecue and gas when ain’t nobody around who can afford it.”

“That’s really unfortunate,” you murmur and Bubba sighs sadly to himself, feeding Grandpa more steak as he listens to you and his brother’s conversation. 

“Had to get creative to make ends meet,” Drayton continues.

“So who started the new “family business”?”

“Just sorta happened one day. A fella came to the house askin’ to use the phone that we ain’t even got, said his car broke down out on the road. He was a hefty one, big and meaty, though not as big as Bubba here. ‘Course that guy was mostly muscle, which is more’n I can say for this tub o’ lard…” Bubba feels even more unhappy at that jab even though he knows that it’s true… but then you give his knee a squeeze beneath the table and he remembers that you say you like his body just the way it is and it helps him feel better.  “Anyway,” Drayton continues, “Seemed a shame to let all that meat walk away when I could barely afford to keep the barbecue in stock, so had Bubba take care of it. Sold like hotcakes, and ever since then we harvest when we can.”

Bubba remembers that day very clearly. He’d been hiding in the butchering room when that man came to the house asking to use the telephone, because people who aren’t his family are scary. He’d managed to deal with working at the slaughterhouse okay, but it was stressful and he kept to himself as much as possible. Most of the other workers weren’t very nice, so Bubba assumes that the same is true for everyone who isn’t his family. But he enjoyed the work itself - he knew he could cut the meat right because the boss said so, and he felt proud because he could kill a steer with fewer hits than all the other workers. And he felt even more proud to bring money home to help take care of his family. But then it was all taken away.

Drayton had invited the stranger inside and asked him to wait in the hallway, then went to Bubba and whispered: “Git out there and knock that guy in the head when I bring him back here. Just like a steer, understand?”  Bubba was surprised but he nodded - anything Drayton told him to do, he would do it. He plucked his sledgehammer from its place on the wall and waited, squealing anxiously, and when the man rounded the corner he struck. It turned out to be much easier to kill a person than a cow, because it only took one hit to shatter his skull. Bubba didn’t like it much, but Drayton was pleased and that was all that mattered. Then it became even more worth it when dinner was served, because there had been so little food for so long.

“Is that how you got so many bones and skins around the house?” you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

“Some of ‘em. But most of it were Nubbin’s collectin’ shit off the sides of the roads and diggin’ up graves. Goddamn fool just about got caught a dozen times over in Newt, all so he could do his “art”. Goddamn halfwit. Always was a weird one, just couldn’t keep hisself outta trouble after the slaughterhouse let him go. Hell, couldn’t stay outta trouble even before then. I told him and I told him to never leave his brother alone, but that little coonshit never listened and we got a chewed-up front door out of it.”

“What happened to the front door?” you ask, and Bubba winces. He’d been hoping you would never find out about that.

“That fool sittin’ next to ya’ put his goddamn chainsaw right through it. Apparently he forgot how to use a doorknob.” Drayton grumbles.

Bubba can't help but make an unhappy noise, but you squeeze his knee again and say kindly, “Surely he had to have had a reason. Were you locked out?”

Bubba nods, relieved that you understand and hoping that will be the end of it, but Drayton keeps adding embarrassing details:

“He was chasin’ that blond girl and she ran in the house, but he didn’t think for two seconds that he could go around back. Weren’t no need to saw the damn door open. He’s got even less brains than he’s got pride in his home.”

Bubba almost wants to cry. He knows he doesn’t have any brains, but he does have pride in his home - he just doesn’t know how to tell Drayton that with words. He tries to show it by taking as good of care of the house as he can, by keeping the flowers alive and hanging up lots of skins and bones and pieces of art to make everything look nice. But it’s never good enough, and Bubba doesn’t know what else he can do. He supposes if he were smart he would know what to do, but since he isn’t he wishes Drayton would tell him. Then once again you come to his rescue:

“Well, that had to be a pretty stressful moment, I would think. And it’s not like you can’t fix a door. You can’t see any of Nubbins’s “art” from there, so you could have someone out to replace it."

“You’re just as dense as he is, no wonder you two get along.” Drayton sneers. “You know we ain’t got money for that.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then say, “Well, I’ll make you another deal. I’ll give you the money to replace the door if you let me come to town with you to buy some other stuff.”

“Other stuff like what?”

“Stuff like decent shampoo and some new clothes.”

Bubba is instantly intrigued - he’s not sure what “shampoo” is, but if you want it then it must be good. He also hasn’t had new clothes in a long, long time, but he remembers how exciting it is to get something new so he definitely understands why you would like that.

Drayton stays quiet for a moment. “We’ll see.” he finally decides, and you raise your second beer at him before cracking it open and taking a deep swig. Bubba opens his second beer too, and by the end of it he’s feeling pretty good. A little bit warmer than usual, a little bit fuzzy… and more than a little bit horny. He understands now why you and Drayton like beer, and he hopes his brother will bring more home again someday. But even more than that, he hopes you’ll get to touch and kiss one another again soon despite the fact that he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

Chapter Text

Bubba lays down on his back on his sofa-bed all alone after leaving you in your bedroom upstairs. The beer, steaks and collards are filling his belly pleasantly, and he can remember the way that it tasted and felt as he chewed and swallowed. It was so delicious… but then he had to brush his teeth and the minty flavor of the toothpaste sadly wiped away some of it. He usually doesn’t mind the taste of toothpaste and he doesn’t mind brushing his teeth because you ask him to do it, but he would have liked to savor that flavor for much longer. But then after brushing his teeth and taking you upstairs he got to give you lots of kisses, and now the taste of your mouth is mixed in with the toothpaste and it’s almost as good as the steak… but tasting your other, lower mouth would be better. Normally by now he would have his face buried between your thighs, licking your pussy - as you’ve called it a few times. He likes the word “pussy”. It sounds pretty and soft just like that part of you is, so it seems like a fitting name to him. Oh how he wishes he had his fingers deep inside of it right now, feeling your warm slickness and enjoying the way you moan quietly and run your own fingers through his hair. But instead he is all by himself with his thoughts and his half-hard dick.

Being alone in bed is awful. How did he manage to sleep before having you by his side? Small and soft and smelling so nice, wrapped up in his arms or holding him in your own. His own hand can’t compare to yours when you touch him. It can’t even compare to the way it feels to rub against your backside or thighs or belly, and he rolls onto his stomach and tries to rub himself against the mattress. It fails miserably and he huffs in frustration, rolling over onto his back again and unzipping his pants instead. It feels weird to do this when he hasn’t had to for some time now, and he knows it’s still a bad thing to do by himself but he’s aching and desperate. His body’s gotten used to feeling this pleasure each night and he starts touching himself despite his guilt, trying to pretend that it’s you. It’s not as good as the real thing, but it gets the job done and before too long he’s groaning into the pillow and catching his semen with the corner of the sheet, not even caring that he’ll have to wash it that much sooner.

 

He wakes up so early the next morning that it’s still dark out, but he’s so eager to see you that he just can’t help but sneak upstairs, hoping you won’t mind how early it is… and apparently you don’t, because when he opens your bedroom door you roll out of bed to meet him. “Get over here, honeybear,” you giggle, and his eyes light up even more when he sees you’re only wearing the lacy panties he gave you so long ago beneath one of Nubbins’s old t-shirts. You look so cute in the overlarge shirt, and he can only imagine how much cuter you’d look in one of his own. That thought makes him blush for some reason, then he blushes even harder when you get to your knees in front of him after a brief kiss on the mouth through his mask. “Hold this out of the way please, will you honey?” you say, reaching under his apron to start unfastening his trousers, and Bubba grins and squeals - though not too loudly - and quickly bunches the gingham fabric up around his belly. He’s already quivering with excitement as you pull his semi-hard dick out of his pants, and he grunts and gasps and pets your hair with his free hand as you suck and stroke him. He’s so caught up in his ecstasy that he doesn’t notice you’re touching yourself - plus the bunched-up apron is blocking his view anyway. But if he could see you with one hand down your lacy panties he would come almost instantly. It feels so good to have you touch him that doesn’t take long for him to finish even without the tantalizing image of your lips wrapped around his cock, and he shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from squealing too loudly when he finishes. You swallow every drop - it’s best not to make a mess on his clothes before Drayton’s gone for the day. Once you’ve licked him clean and dry and tucked him back into his pants you get to your feet and he hugs you close for a moment, giving you kisses and grunting affectionately. Eager to make you feel good in return, once he’s fully recovered he bends you back a bit so he can lean forward to reach his hand between your thighs. You spread your legs wider as he rubs his fingertips along the crotch of your panties before slipping his whole hand inside, then you hike one up to wrap around one of his own. It gives him better access and he relishes your moans as he gently pushes his fingers deep into your hot, wet slit. You’ve taught him to start out slow and he’s trying his best, but he certainly has no complaints when you whimper against his chest to go faster.

“Harder, baby, please,” you beg as your free hand joins his, rubbing your clit above his plunging fingers. Your pussy makes wet, squelching sounds with each thrust of his hand and your head tilts to the side as he nibbles little love bites against your neck, the sound and scent of your sex and the fact that you beg him to make you feel good making his dick twitch in his pants again. You turn your head and moan against his shoulder as you come, clenching around his fingers and shaking and seizing in his embrace. God, he wishes you could both give one another a second orgasm each, but there’s simply no time. It’s just going to have to wait till Drayton’s gone for work.

Once you’re steady on your feet again you stand up on your tiptoes and he bends down to meet you. “Mmmm, good morning,” you murmur against his lips with a smile.

“Good morning,” he mumbles blissfully in return, for every morning with you is a good one.

 

You both head downstairs after Grandpa is taken care of and find Drayton frying up some eggs for breakfast. “Morning,” you say in a pleasant conversational tone.

“Mornin’,” Drayton replies, “How’s yer Grandpa?”

“He’s good, he peed a lot today and I gave him extra kisses, so then I gave Grandma lots of extra kisses, too.”

“Good. Now hurry up an’ get the table set, I gotta open up the station soon.” Drayton says as he starts shoveling the eggs onto a plate, and Bubba hurries to obey, you keeping close to his side like always. Once Drayton’s gone to the station and the kitchen mess is cleaned, you’re unhooked from your leash and you both head outside straightaway to get started on the garden.

“Oh boy, which ones should we plant first, and where should we plant them?” you grin, dumping the bag of seed packets on the ground between you and Bubba. You’re sitting cross-legged on the grass facing each other in front of one of the garden plots, and Bubba spreads the seed packets out with his hands so you can both get a better look. He can’t read, but he can tell what each packet is from the pictures. He inspects each one carefully, giving them a little shake and trying to decide which one is the best one to start with.

“You pick one out first, hon.” you say, so he finally he decides on one and hands it to you.

“I like corn, we should plant it first because it’s good and I like it, and I hope you like it, too.”  Bubba thinks that it’s highly likely you enjoy corn as well because you like to eat cornbread and creamed corn from a can, and corn is so delicious when Drayton grills it and serves it with lots of butter. How could anybody not like it? But then again, you don’t like people bacon and sausage and Bubba just can’t understand that at all, so he supposes anything is possible. 

“Sweet corn, huh?” you say and he nods. “Sounds good to me! I think we should plant them in that plot over there, corn needs lots of room to grow tall. What do you think?”  He nods again as you both get to your feet and head to the designated place. You use the rusty old garden hoe that he’d found in one of the barns to form a long, thin mound down one of the plots and he follows along behind you, making indents in the mound with his thumb and dropping seeds into them before covering them with dirt. You trade off hoeing and seeding duties for nine more rows, then give the entire plot a good, deep watering with the leaky old hose. “Next!” you announce once the water is turned off, and Bubba grabs your hand and leads you back over to the pile of seed packets, babbling excitedly. He pushes them towards you, indicating that it’s your turn to choose. “Let’s see…” you hum, inspecting each packet, and Bubba waits eagerly for your decision. “I choose this one.” You hold up the packet of cucumbers, and Bubba nods.

“Yes, cucumbers are good, I like to eat them with barbecue sauce.”

“Alrighty, let’s get started!” you grin at him, and he grins right back and reaches for your hand again.

 

You take a break for lunchtime and while Bubba makes sandwiches for you, him and Grandpa you mix up some sweet tea. You’re so helpful, and you make sweet tea almost as good as Grandma used to. You both enter his grandparents room and take your seats on the floorboards, and Bubba digs into his sandwich as you fill Grandpa in on your day thus far: “Bubba and I are planting a garden. So far we’ve got sweet corn, cucumbers, okra, lettuce and collards planted, and after lunch we’re gonna try to get some tomatoes, peppers and watermelons in the ground, too. Drayton even bought eggplant seeds. Pretty fancy, huh?”  As usual Grandpa stays silent, but he does crack open his eyes and licks his lips as you speak. Bubba squeals happily, agreeing with your assessment of eggplants as “fancy” food. “Oh, and black-eyed peas, too. Those are one of my favorites, I can’t wait for those to get ripe even though they’re gonna be a lot of work to pick.” you say between bites of your sandwich. “And we found all kinds of crazy bugs in the dirt. Bubba found a worm that was almost ten inches long, can you believe it?”

Bubba sets down his sandwich so he can hold up his hands to demonstrate. “It was a really big worm, it was this long and really thick and squishy but also kind of firm, and it had little rings around it and was kind of slimy and wiggled a lot. It was so interesting and I wanted to keep it for a pet or feed it to Chicken because she likes to eat worms, but Grandma says worms are good for the dirt and I want the garden to grow good and make lots of food so I put it back and put dirt on it so it will be happy and help the plants grow good. But it was such a big worm, I liked looking at it and maybe it will find a special girl worm and make baby worms, and more worms will make the garden grow really, really good.”  Bubba has never seen worms wrestle before, but surely they must because baby worms have to come from somewhere, right?

“It’s pretty fun, huh B-Bubba?” you grin at him, and he grins back and nods. It is lots of fun, and baby worms sound really cute to him. Then you giggle, and he giggles as well because breeding worms probably look really funny and he hopes that someday he’ll catch some of them doing it.

 

After all three of you have finished eating, Grandpa’s toileting needs are taken care of and he and Grandma both get their loving kisses and pats for the afternoon. Then it’s back downstairs to clean up the lunch mess, and then out to the garden to continue planting the remaining seeds. After another several hours of work you both take a quick break, sitting on the grass in the shade and finishing up one more shared glass of tea. A pretty little butterfly flitters right past Bubba’s face and he watches it entranced - it’s orange and black and oh-so-delicate, and it looks like a bug wearing makeup or a little piece of jewelry made by nature. He likes seeing butterflies fluttering around alive rather than smashed or mounted on a pin like Nubbins sometimes did to them.

“That sure is a pretty butterfly,” you observe, and Bubba nods as he watches it fly towards you - but his eyes stop following it once it flutters past your face. His gaze then stays on you instead, and when you look at him again he says somewhat bashfully:

“Pretty.”  It’s true. For no matter how beautiful this butterfly is, it still can’t compare with you.

“Thank you, honey,” you smile at him, then lean forward to give him a little kiss. “You’re so sweet to me, I’m so lucky I’m your girl.” You take his dirt-covered hand in your own and he squawks shyly, then plucks a tiny little daisy out of the grass with his other hand. He brings it to your face, and when you smile at him he clumsily tries to tuck it into your hair behind your ear, squawking softly the whole time. He’s not sure what possessed him to do this, but you are pretty and flowers are pretty, and the combination is just too lovely to resist and he hopes you won’t mind. Clearly you don’t, because you pluck your own daisy and reach up to place it in his hair in return. He squeals happily, then stops and watches in fascination when you let go of his hand and begin weaving several more daisies into a chain. He’s never seen this before, but it looks like so much fun so he starts picking some near himself and begins trying to copy you. You gently guide him through the process, and when you finish your chain and weave it into a circle you place it on top of his head like a hat and announce: “Ta-dah!” 

“Thank you, it’s so pretty, I love my flower hat! This one’s for you!” he babbles, placing his creation onto your head in return.

“Now we’re both extra-pretty!” you giggle, and Bubba squeals and slaps his knees in utter delight, sending little clouds of dirt into the air.

 

It’s nearly dark by the time the last patch of seeds is watered, and after throwing some feed to the chickens you and Bubba head back towards the house just as Drayton returns home. “What in the blue hell are you two wearin’ on yer heads.” he sighs when he sees you both. It’s not even a question, but more of a beleaguered sort of resignation at having to put up with such silliness.

“Excuse you, but we’re fairy princesses, thank you very much.” you say loftily, sticking your nose in the air and Bubba giggles and mimics your posture. He would never say such a thing to his brother himself even if he could, but you have proven yourself quite capable of dealing with Drayton and it helps him relax. He’s a little confused that you called you both fairies, because Drayton calls one of the men who works at the post office a fairy in a way that seems bad. But you seem happy to be called that so Bubba assumes it’s actually a good thing and that Drayton’s just being weird. But he definitely knows what a princess is, and he’s never been called that before and he loves the idea of it. He wishes he had extra-fancy, super-sparkly dresses for you both to wear along with your pretty flower crowns.

Drayton frowns and says crankily, “You even plant them damn seeds or did ya’ just play around with flowers all day?”

“Oh we got them all planted all right. We’re fairy princesses, remember? We can do anything.” you say even more loftily and Bubba sticks his nose up even higher, giggling uncontrollably.

“Sweet merciful Jesus, take me away…” Drayton mutters under his breath, but you ignore him and continue:

“We got the corn, cucumbers, okra, collards, tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, watermelons, eggplants and black-eyed peas all planted. Assuming even half of those make it that’ll be plenty of food, and I bet you’re going to cook some amazing things with all of it.”

“Quit tryin’ ta flatter me, it ain’t gonna work.” he grumbles, but he doesn’t seem too mad as he goes into the house with you and Bubba trailing along behind, still giggling a bit.

Chapter Text

It seems that you’ve gotten the garden planted just in time, because the very next week sees the temperatures steadily rising till they start reaching uncomfortable levels by midday. It takes heavy watering early each morning to keep the seedlings from wilting under the hot Texas sun, and even though Bubba is always ready and willing to touch and kiss you whenever you want, it’s generally most pleasant to do those things in the mornings right after breakfast, after Drayton leaves for work but before the sun heats up the house like a pressure cooker. 

After one such romp you and Bubba lay on your backs on top of the sofa-bed, naked and spread out and trying to cool down after a pretty vigorous round of oral for you both. Normally you snuggle up together in the orgasmic-afterglow, but it’s too hot for that to feel good for long so at the moment you make do with holding hands. Flies buzz lazily around the window in the stagnant air, bonking into the glass from time to time, and Chicken is spread out on the floor of her new cage as much as possible, clucking tiredly. You lay there just holding hands for quite some time and Bubba is very strongly considering taking a nap when you suddenly prop yourself up to look at him and ask, “Hey honey, have you ever touched yourself like how we touch each other?”

A massive wave of guilt and shame washes over him like the flash floods he’s heard about on the radio, and he can’t meet your eyes as he sheepishly nods. He’s so ashamed that he wishes he could lie to you about this dirty little secret, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Plus you’re so smart that you’d probably be able to tell if he lied anyway. Now you’re finally going to know just how bad he really is, and you’ll tell Drayton that he’s a pervert and you’ll want to leave. 

“It’s alright, Bubba, it’s perfectly natural and normal. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.” you say, but he shakes his head again and straightens one of his arms and brings it down forcefully on his other, hoping you’ll understand. Drayton only hits him when he deserves it, after all, so you just must not understand what he’s trying to tell you right now. Because surely you wouldn’t approve if you did.

“Did your brother hit you if you did it?” you ask and Bubba nods, desperately wishing he could disappear into the mattress. But then you say, “He shouldn’t have done that. Making yourself feel good that way is completely normal and okay. I did it all the time before being with you. Sometimes I did it every day.”

Bubba’s eyes widen in surprise as a jolt hits his brain like an electrical shock. “Really? You did it, too? It isn’t bad? Why isn’t it bad?”

“Would you like me to show you?” you ask with a mischievous little smile, and his eyes get even wider as he vigorously nods. He’s not sure yet if you really, truly understand what he means… but you’re just as smart as Drayton is, so if you do know what he’s talking about and you say it’s okay, then yet another thing Bubba has always thought to be true is about to be proven wrong.

“First I think about the person I want to be with. I think about how much I like him, how much I care about him and want to spend time with him. That’s the most important part, caring for the person and wanting to treat them nicely and make them feel good.”

“I care about you, I love you and want to spend time with you and make you feel good all the time.” Bubba says, pointing to himself.

“Yes, Bubba, I care about you. I like you so much and I want to make you feel good all the time, both your body and your heart.” you reply, and while hearing you say that warms his heart, you didn’t understand what he was trying to say and it’s so important that you do.

“I like you so much, I love you, I care about you and want to make you feel good, too!” he babbles more insistently and points at himself before pointing at you again.

“You care about me and want to make me feel good, too?” you ask and he nods, relieved that you understand what he’s trying to communicate. “You make me feel very good, honey, you treat me so nicely and I’m so happy I’m your girl.” you say sweetly, and Bubba feels like he’s practically melting at your words. He tries so hard to treat you as nicely as he can, tries to do everything he can think of to make sure you like being his girl and don’t want to leave.  “And that’s why it’s normal and natural to do this… it feels good, but it’s also like sending some love to the person you’re thinking about even though they aren’t there with you. Does that make sense?”  Bubba thinks for a moment, then nods. He’d never thought about it that way before - probably because until he met you he just did it simply because it feels good without much of any thought behind it. But ever since he fell for you, he’s thought of nothing else while he does it. Only about you.

“Then I think about how handsome he is,” you continue, and Bubba watches completely hypnotized as you bring one hand to your breasts and the other down between your legs. “How much I like his face and his body, how much I want to kiss and touch him, and how much I want him to kiss and touch me, too. I think about the nice things I want to say to him… what I want to say to you. I did this two times when we were sharing a bed this winter before we even kissed, and I was thinking about you while I did it,” you confess, teasing your fingers through your pubic hair and Bubba lets out a pained-but-excited whine. He can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Not only is something he’d been told is very bad apparently not bad at all, but you had done it yourself while thinking about him… and right when you were laying by his side in bed. Imagining you doing what you’re doing to yourself right now with him sleeping obliviously next to you makes him start getting hard at a rapid rate, and he suddenly feels slightly dizzy. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t give him time to fully process the enormity of this revelation before asking: “Did you ever do it while thinking about me?” 

He hesitates for a moment, his brain still working through all this new information, then he releases a shaky breath and nods. “Will you show me?” you ask, dipping your middle finger inside of your cunt and this time he doesn’t hesitate before nodding. You said it was okay. That it was normal and natural. You’re doing it right now in front of him, and you want to see him do it too. And he can deny you nothing.

He brings one slightly-trembling hand to his mouth and licks his palm, and he watches you watch him wrap his hand around his shaft and rub the pad of his thumb lightly over the tip of his cock. He feels somewhat self-conscious at how intently you’re watching him do this previously-forbidden thing, but it’s also incredibly arousing and he sucks in a deep breath when you sigh, “You’re so handsome, Bubba, so sexy.” He lets out that breath in a sigh as well, and can’t help but whimper as you keep talking: “When we first started sharing the bed I wanted so badly to cuddle up with you, but I was too afraid. You’re so big and strong and warm, and you smell so good. I just wanted to climb on top of you, to feel your arms around me and your hard cock against me.” 

Bubba groans and squeezes himself harder, then starts slowly stroking his fist along his length. He’s heard that word before and knows what it means, and hearing that you imagined climbing on top of him and rubbing against him there is incredible because he’d imagined the same thing many, many times this winter. He also understands what you mean about being afraid to do it - never in a hundred million years would Bubba have worked up the guts to approach you that way. But unlike him, you are brave. He’s so grateful you were courageous enough to move through your fear to kiss him on the swing, because it’s made such an enormous difference in his life for the better. It was something he never thought would happen to him, but now the idea of missing out on this is too terrible to contemplate.

“God, Bubba, you look so fucking good,” you murmur, pinching and twisting your nipples one after the other. Bubba whines at your compliment and feels himself blushing harder, pumping himself faster as he watches you slip a second finger inside of your glistening wet pussy. He wishes it was his fingers going inside you instead, but you didn’t tell him to touch you so he focuses on doing something else with his free hand. He likes having his nipples touched like that too, so he mirrors your motions right now as he stares. “I get so wet thinking about you touching me… and I’d imagine you getting wet for me too, just like you are now,” you moan and Bubba groans in response as he spreads his precum all over the head of his cock till it’s shiny and pink, his foreskin fully retracted and veins swollen and throbbing, ready for release. You say sexy things from time to time when fooling around, but this is above and beyond the usual and he loves it. He wishes he could say sexy things right back to you, but he’s too shy and wouldn’t know what words are the right words to say… plus he can’t talk right anyway so it’s pointless. But oh, how he’s enjoying hearing you say them instead.

You bring your hand from your breast to your mouth to lick your fingers, then reach down to rub your clit in quick little circles as you plunge a third finger into your pussy and Bubba strokes himself faster. “I… I’d think about you making me come… B-Bubba, you’re gonna make me come,” you gasp as your eyes squeeze shut, and then you’re arching off the bed, wailing and shaking as your climax hits. Bubba moans and squeals as he watches, forcing himself to slow down his stroking and lighten his grip - he wants to see you finish. Everything that’s happening is so intense, and he just barely manages to hold off his orgasm till your body begins to relax. But when you open your eyes to meet his he can’t take it any longer. You’re looking at him so kindly, without a trace of judgement and it makes him want to cry - but in a good way. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you do, and for you to be looking at him this way while he’s at his most vulnerable is the closest he’s ever come to a religious experience. An agonized bellow bursts forth from deep in his gut as his eyes clamp shut and his balls tighten, sending cum streaking across his stomach in rope after ecstatic rope.

 

Bubba can’t remember ever having such a powerful climax and it takes him quite awhile to drift slowly back down to earth. At last he notices you’re gently stroking his neck below the edge of his mask and he gives one last little shudder as his breathing begins to slow. “Oh, Bubba, I love seeing you feel good,” you say sweetly, and he closes his eyes for a moment before tilting his head down to look at you. You’re gazing right back up at him with that same tender expression, but despite how gentle you look all he can think about now is how brave you are. He thinks about how you didn’t scream in fear like everyone else when you first came to stay, and how you defend him when his brother is being mean. He thinks about how if you had never taken that chance and kissed him, he wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t have a nice, good girl to hold and love, and his life would be so much poorer for it. He would have missed out on so much if you hadn’t been brave… and what if there are more things he’s still missing out on, because he isn’t brave? He thinks back to the time you asked him to take off his mask. You said you wanted to see all of him, but when he refused out of fear you didn’t push him… you just accepted it, like you accept everything else about him. Somehow you like him even though he’s fat and dumb and doesn’t talk right. And even though you are perfect in his eyes, you’ve shown him all of yourself and it suddenly doesn’t seem fair that he’s held back from showing you all of him. Grandma used to tell him to be brave during a storm or when he thought there was a monster under his bed, and she was always right - everything always worked out in the end. You are always right, too, and you never tell lies. So if you say that you think he is handsome, then it must be the truth. So even though he’s afraid, he convinces himself that it’s time to be brave. He owes it to you.

“Honey? Are you okay?” you ask, and he replies with a low squawk as he reaches up to start slowly loosening the leather lacing that keeps his mask secure. It’s the most difficult thing he has ever done and his heart is threatening to pound its way right out of his chest, but he makes himself push on. He tries to keep eye contact with you when the mask is off and resting on the mattress by his side, but when you reach out to lightly touch his cheek with the soft tips of your fingers he sucks in a little breath and closes his eyes. You cup his jaw in your palm and stroke your thumb along the corner of his mouth, and it’s almost too much to be touched this way. “Bubba Sawyer, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.” you say softly, and he whimpers and opens his eyes again. “Thank you, honey,” you whisper, then scoot in closer and start pressing soft little kisses all over his face from his chin to his forehead to the tip of his nose. “Thank you for letting me see your face. I just knew you’d be so handsome everywhere, and I was right. Such a handsome, handsome man…”

Bubba wants to cry. He really, truly does, and he whimpers as he feels the tears welling up, threatening to spill down his cheeks where you’re planting tender kisses. He’s so overwhelmed with emotions… and then he’s overwhelmed with pleasure when you run your fingers through his hair and say, “And your hair… I can’t believe how pretty your hair is.” You massage his scalp and fluff up his hair, and he can hardly believe how wonderful it feels. He so rarely feels the air against his head anymore, and he’s never had anyone touch him this way. Grandma used to pat him on the head and call him a good boy, but the way you’re touching him now is in a league all its own. “Do you like being touched like this?” you ask and he babbles softly and nods, his whole body finally starting to relax.

“Yes, I like it, it feels so good. You always make me feel so good, I love you, please don’t stop…” he moans.

“So sweet,” you murmur, and he continues to whimper and moan as you keep massaging his scalp and ruffling his hair, pressing little kisses all over his face again. He wraps his arms around you to hug you even closer, sighing in happiness and pleasure… and a huge dose of relief as well. It feels like a weight has been lifted right off of his shoulders. It feels good - it feels right - to have no more secrets, and from this moment on he pledges to himself to always be as open and brave for you as he can.