Her screams woke him. At first, her kicking legs jarred him from slumber. But he was almost back to sleep when her shriek burrowed into his ear like a chisel. Her hands were batting through the covers, trying to deflect someone or something. She was having a nightmare. Greg grabs her shoulder and shakes her.
    "Rebecca?"
    "Greg, no. Hesn't, no, donit, NO!!" Rebecca bolts up in the bed. She is covered in sweat, the lace nightgown plastered to her body.
    "It's okay, Rebecca, it was only a bad dream" Greg says, brushing some hair from her slick neck. Her brown locks are damp, a shower of sweat.
    "Oh no, Julie!!" Rebecca utters through sleep-thickened mind. She leaps from the bed, Greg's hand falling from her shoulders, nightgown rustling like a sail. She is a neurotic dolly, as she slips through the bedroom door and down the hall to Julie's room. It had to be a dream about the robbery. What else would make his woman so on edge?
    Greg rubs his eyes, to clear the blurriness there. He snaps on the lamp on his bedside. It is 4:20. Pot-smoking time, if Greg recalls correctly, from Donny's street culture.
    Greg hears Julie's startled cries as Rebecca wakes her. Greg squints in the dull light from the lamp. Rebecca enters, Julie in her arms. Julie looks pissed. Rebecca looks scared. Terrified is more like it. Her brain is firing faster than her senses can match. Illogical actions follow a stirred mind.
    Rebecca places Julie between her and Greg. Julie looks more than a little confused, but Greg tousles her hair, and the child closes her eyes. Before they settle down, Greg turns on the bedside fan. It will get quite warm with three bodies in the room. He sets it to the number 2 power setting. Number 1 just won't quite comfort his family like he needs.
    Once he gets back in bed, they all fall asleep in seconds; dipping down into dreams like stones sinking to a creek bottom. 

    Greg is woken rudely by Julie jumping on his crotch. It was excruciating for Greg. Like every male in existence, the deep sleep had given him morning wood. Julie's errant knee smashed against his wang and Greg felt tears in his eyes.
    "Julie Marie!!" Rebecca shouts, scolding her daughter by first and middle name, "You get off Greg this instant!! Naughty!!!"
    This drama descends Julie to near tears. Julie waddles over to her mother's bedside, sniffling. Rebecca whispers a softer guidance directly to her little one. Even through Greg's discomfort, he marvels at his girlfriends reasonable side. The throbbing pain has receded, much to Greg's relief. Nothing was broken, or bruised.
    Rebecca made a whopping breakfast of french toast, sausage and eggs. She hummed to herself along with the pop station on the counter radio. She was in her nightgown, but they all were still in their night-time gear. Greg sipped his lightly sugared coffee and watched her busy herself. Greg was the man of this house now. He had left his indelible mark. Last night alone, he had comforted his distraught mate, as well as her youngling.
    Rebecca put a twist on her recipe, and it turned into cinnamon french toast. When Greg poured the syrup for the first heaping bite, it surprised him to see the blue hue to the sticky liquid.
    "Is this blueberry syrup?" he asks in amazement.
    "Yeah, I microwaved it," Rebecca says, through a mouthful of the toasted goodness, "It tastes better warm."
    "That's what she said," Greg says, smiling and grabbing his fork. It was the best breakfast he ever had. He ate 3 platefuls, and even finished off some of Rebecca's uneaten portions. WIth other people, Greg refused to finish a sandwich if they have a bite taken out of it. With Rebecca, the bite mark on her bread is the first place he chews. Anything with her saliva is delicious to him. He would drink her bath water. Having digested the most foul tasting of substances (his white yogurt) Rebecca was lifting the bar for the nastiness Greg would perform to match her fevered tempo.
    They say that a couple in the neophyte stages of a relationship are insatiable. The uniqueness of it all is quite arousing. They really did feel like ripping each others clothes off at any moment. Rebecca was at the mirror fixing her hair, when Greg snuck up behind her and pulled up her nightgown.     Spontaneity is what she wanted; well, she was gonna get it. She wore a small white pair of cotton panties. A pattern of cartoon teddy bears was tiled across the front, down the middle, across the material over her pussy lips, and up her ass. Rebecca was young still, at times looking only 18 or so. She could be a teen from a slumber party. Maybe Greg got up to urinate she was at the mirror. And now here they were.
    He doesn't voice this aloud. But the fantasy takes over and he really feels as though he's masturbating into an innocent girls underwear. A small spaghetti strap connected the island front of her undies, to the back. Like at the dance club, he navigated his penis between her cheeks and began thrusting forward. She was into it. She reached behind and grasped his beefy neck with one of her slim hands. They both watched in the mirror as Greg dry-fucked her ass with his exposed dick. She gave him a panty-job, folding the rear of her underwear across the tip of him, and rubbing with delicate softness. His hands searched the ruffled material of her front, locating her hardened nipples. He squeezed her breasts hard, pinching those nipples through the gown. With a motion similar to a basketball player making a layup, Greg lifts her right tit out of its confines and it tumbles into view. Her aureola and nipple look ready to pop off her breast.
    Greg inched forward against her, and slightly upward. Her tight buns pulled his balls downward, increasing the pull on the skin of his cock. Her ass crack is exposed. She bends over, and shudders as the corner of the countertop brushes her clitoris. The entire time, her hand has been stroking and rubbing his hot spike.
    "Are you gonna ruin my panties?" She asked his sweaty face in the mirror, "you dirty little fucker,"  It set him off. He felt the warm liquid fire like rocket bursts, then drip down his shaft as gravity caught hold. A good share soaked into her panties.
    "OH FUCK, REBECCA!!" he shouts. She shushes him, even as she continues to pump his dick of all cum. Greg glances down and sees his prick, semi-transparent through her soaked underwear. It was a bleary hotdog.
She pulled her soiled panties down her tanned legs and tossed them in the wastebasket. A few faint smears of semen dappled her thighs. Rebecca pulled the gown over her head. Now fully naked, she steps into the shower.
    "Can you give me some privacy please?" Rebecca asks through the blurred shower door. Her tits looks like mosaic tiles behind the honeycombed glass. Greg is more than happy to do so. He couldn't believe the things she was allowing him to do with her. Behind closed doors, their experiences were isolated to them both. No one has to know. And the secret nature of it all made it so alluring. Greg hoped a team of CSI investigators would never sweep his home. A backlight might reveal spatters of white fluid in the strangest of places all over the house.
    He wondered if he could call her names. He would have to play that card seldomly. If he did it at the wrong moment, she could be insulted. And that would fuck up their whole rhythm.

LINK TO PART 79: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/82587797/