From cobaltjade@aol.com Thu Apr 24 22:48:20 1997
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From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL us! (1/4)
Date: 25 Apr 1997 02:48:20 GMT
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X-Admin: news@aol.com

[F/mm, teen, bondg, cons/noncons, voyr, pierce, humor]

A slightly deranged Seattle artist and two innocent young men. Yum!

The following is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of adult 
sexual fantasies and is intended for entertainment purposes. You heard 
me right. ENTERTAINMENT. At least three felonies and several 
misdemeanors are committed in the course of it, so kids, don't try this at

home...unless you want to wind up in court. This story is intended for 
those over the age of 21. If you are a minor, you have no business 
reading this, and if you are, be aware you breaking the law in some 
states.

This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade. Archiving and reposting 
of this work is permitted provided that no fee is charged for the use of 
the archival or posting site.  Charging a fee for this story, or
publishing 
without this preface or tagline violates my copyright.



Dad's Going to KILL Us!


The decrepit MG made a series of rude noises as she eased it to the curb, 
blaph-blapha-kaBLATTA mph blat. She killed the motor and reached 
behind her for the paintings she had brought up from Seattle for Dr. 
Turner, a onetime Rhodes scholar and recipient of a Fulbright 
scholarship in the mid-seventies. He taught music theory at the college 
in Bellingham now, passing up positions at more prestigious schools for 
the peace and quiet of northern Washington state. When she'd met him 
at the group show at Galleria Potatohead he'd laughed and said it was the 
best environment he'd seen for raising kids.

"Oh," she replied, with a belated glance at his wedding ring. He was 
handsome in a tv newscaster kind of way, with sparkly blue eyes and 
thick blonde hair. Not the professor type at all. "How many do you 
have?"

"Three. The oldest one's at college. Well, was at college. He's home for 
this semester, but he'll be going back in the fall." He pointed to the 
paintings. "Now these really intrigue me...I collect art, you know. No 
one else has a style quite like yours." The critics compared her to HR 
Giger crossed with Joan Miroe. "I'll take these three. When can you have 
them properly framed?"

"Next Saturday," she'd said, and here she was, the paintings tucked 
under her arm as she walked up to Dr. Turner's restored Victorian house 
in her black riding boots (with spurs) and tight black tube skirt: a slim,

petite woman, hair in a Louise Brooks bob. She wore a man's Harris 
Tweed jacket with the sleeves rolled up. Tied at her neck was a tacky 
nylon scarf covered with pictures of slot machines and showgirls, a 
tourist's souvenir from a Las Vegas vacation. Eyes dusky, cheeks pale, 
lips red as a first-degree burn from a hot iron. Vintage, ethnic and 
weird, her favorite way to dress. 

The door opened as she raised her knuckles to knock. 

She stared at the boy as he stood before her in cocky aplomb. No, young 
man. Baggy cotton trousers, a loose striped shirt, and pale yellow hair 
that rippled down over his shoulders like the wavy manes of the pre-
Raphaelite painters she loved. And he looked as pensive and distant as 
one of those pale, lovely ladies too.

"I'm here to see your father," she said. "I'm Tyler Smith. I brought his 
paintings up from Seattle."

His light green eyes flicked down to the paper-wrapped bundles, then 
up again, with a quick glance at her boobs. "All right." The side of his 
mouth quirked up a little. "Dad! The artist's here." He opened the door 
wider to admit her. "He's in his study."

Dazed, she followed him into the house. Breathe, Tyler, breath, she 
reminded herself. The boy moved with the unselfconsciousness of the 
young, that loping, lanky stride that came from flexible joints and taut 
young muscles. He looked eighteen or nineteen, but no pocks or 
blemishes marred that dewy skin. Healthy living, she decided. Dr. 
Turner had told her he didn't believe in television, smoking, alcohol, or 
indulging teenage slackers. That, and the relative isolation of their
city, 
must have coaxed the best from their offspring, like flowers grown in a 
hothouse.

"Glad you could make it," Dr. Turner said, rising from his desk. "This is 
my son, Reed."

"Nice to meet you," Reed said, quickly shaking her hand. He was shy 
now, casting those icy green eyes down. His hands were lean and 
strong. The skin felt a little chapped, probably from whatever sports he 
was involved in. Tyler grinned, mentally peeling away the loose shirt 
and pants he wore. What was the rest of that lithe, smooth-muscled body 
like? 

"Ms. Smith is an artist," Dr. Turner said jovially.

"Really?" A spark of interest from the lad. Dad faded beside this cutie!

"Yes, you could say I'm one of those wicked bohemian types." Actually 
she'd left her nose-ring at home that day. No point in freaking Herr 
Professor out. 

"Cool." Reed grinned. 

How much did that kid understand? She tried to remember back to when 
she was 18. It was almost 15 years ago. 

"Actually, I'd like to talk to you about a commission," Dr. Turner said. 
"I've always wanted a painting of the nine muses to decorate my office 
on campus. Call it the whim of an old-fashioned classicist. Why don't we 
talk it over in the kitchen..."

No! They couldn't leave that luscious boy behind. But she had a 
commission to think about, and god forbid the good professor notice her 
drooling on the floor. Reed squatted beside the paintings she'd 
unwrapped and flipped through each one. "See you," he said without 
looking up.

Life was so unfair. Why couldn't she be eighteen again? 

She went over her rates over a cup of espresso, the stimulant of choice 
to counteract the Northwest's seasonal overcast.  As they talked she 
heard piano music coming from the living room. "Who's that?"

"That's Reed. My son is a pianist."

"You don't say."

"Yes, he's very talented. My wife and I are proud of him. He even won a 
scholarship to the San Francisco Conservatory of Music after high 
school. But he had an accident at the end of his first semester. That 
Christmas was...hell for us." Dr. Turner was silent for a moment, taking a

meditative sip of coffee. "He spent the winter term in physical therapy, 
but he's taking a few credits at Western this quarter. He's almost 
recovered, thank God. My wife and I were worried."

A mysterious accident; tragedy; drama. Tyler's interest deepened 
rapidly. "Would he mind if I listened?"

"No, of course not. We're used to giving recitals. I play the trumpet and 
oboe, and my wife sometimes joins in on the viola." He led her into the 
living room. Reed's gaze was turned inward as played, listening to the 
music that existing simultaneously on paper, in reality, and in his mind. 
He gave them a brief glance. He was sharp-featured, with a lean jaw and 
high cheekbones; almost Nordic. Too cold, she decided. It would be very 
interesting to see what that face looked like once it was warmed up.

She was so entranced she didn't notice the other boy until the cello 
broke in. He was sixteen or seventeen and slightly shorter than his 
brother, with his father's movie-star looks. He had straight sandy-
blonde hair he wore back in a loose ponytail and fawn-colored freckles 
on his face. He ran the bow through a series of quick arpeggios, then, 
with the ease of long practice, he and Reed began to play a duet.

She glanced from one to the other. A feast of astringent lemon and ice, 
and one of granola and honey. Mmm, and she was so hungry!

"That's Brent, my other son," Dr. Turner explained. 

She leaned against the doorjamb, her eyes half-slitted in pleasure. 
Somehow, she knew this family was never going to be the same again.

#

Dr. Turner prepared lunch for them when the concert was over: apple, 
cheese and walnut salad, griddle scones, and soup. Tyler did most of the 
talking, relating anecdotes about other artists and gallery owners she'd 
known. Reed and Brent only listened. Maybe they were just shy, or 
didn't know enough about the art scene to ask questions. Brent smiled 
more easily than his brother, but both had that introspective quality, 
albeit expressed in different ways. Reed might rappel up mountains, his 
eyes fixed on the summit, while Brent careened down them on a 
snowboard whooping with the joy of the descent.

She mentioned she had a website where her artwork was available.

"Really?" Reed said.

His father laughed indulgently; he might have tousled his son's hair 
had Reed been eight years younger. "Reed's been taking a multimedia 
course this semester. I've been paying him to develop a web page for 
me."

"Oh, I know all about HTML," she said. "I have a side business designing 
web sites. I'd be happy to show you some tricks."

She found her hook. Reed was staring at her breasts again with the 
single-minded intensity he might reserve for that mythical mountain 
peak. Two peaks, actually, their stiff pink tips nuzzled in shiny cups of 
satin, though of course he couldn't know that.

"If you have time today, I can show you my studio in Seattle."

Reed glanced up at her with eyelashes as long and pale as a heifer's. 
"Uh...I don't drive."

"I can drive you down. It's no big deal." 

"Why don't you go, Reed," his father prompted. "It's about time you 
started getting out of the house again. Brent or your mother can pick 
you up." Brent started to complain but his father shot him a look.

"All right. Thanks, Tyler." Reed drained his soup and went to fetch his 
jacket. 

"I'd like to thank you for doing this," Dr. Turner said. "Reed...well, he 
hasn't been too outgoing since last winter."

"He's been insufferable, Dad," Brent interjected. "I want my room back."

"It's no problem," Tyler said. Reed came back into the kitchen with his 
denim jacket askew. He hoisted an old canvas backpack onto his 
shoulder, the student's basic carry-all, and wriggled one arm through 
the strap. The look he gave her was inscrutable. 

"No problem at all."

#

"Cool car."

The beat-up MG was doing eighty down I-5. Reed's hair was a curly snarl 
of yellow, a daffodil blasted in a wind-tunnel. "Hey, can I turn on the 
radio?"

"I thought you only listened to classical music."

"I like Pearl Jam." 

He twisted the dial to an alternative station and thumbed up the volume, 
then leaned back into the passenger seat. He stretched his arm out along 
the open window, tapping his fingers in time to the music. The remote 
yet attentive look was back on his face.

What was he thinking? Although she was thirty-two, she had always 
prided herself on her ability to pass as a twenty-something in looks and 
attitude. But while a twenty-five year old might be fathomable to her, an 
eighteen-year old was not. He was like a strange species of animal that 
was only half sentient. Half alive, she reflected...lacking the formative 
experiences and the acceptance of the consequence of one's decisions 
that characterized those of her age. That, more than the difference in 
generations (which were in the main superficial) made him opaque.

He picked up one of her tapes and turned it over in his fingers. "Huh. I 
never got into NIN. I always thought Trent Reznor was a whining 
poser." He grinned at her, telling her not to take offense. 

"Don't you watch MTV?" she asked.

"Only at friend's houses. It's boring, to tell you the truth. I mean, 
there're more interesting things to do than watch MTV, aren't there? I 
used to bitch about it when I was younger, you, know, 'My parents don't 
let us have a television in the house.' But now that I'm older, I can see 
they were right." The sun came out from behind the clouds, and like any 
long-time northwesterner he dug out his sunglasses. The frames were 
platinum and the lenses were metallic blue, the kind a skier into techno 
might wear. "You know, I've been listening to a lot of John Cage 
lately..."

They had an interesting talk the rest of the way into Seattle.

#

Reed did not go into Seattle that much except for family visits or special

events like the symphony. He gawked like a rube at the boatplanes of 
Lake Union, the skyscrapers, and mashed-potato lump of Mt. Rainier. 
"It's a volcano, it'll blow up any minute," Tyler teased.

"I know that." A little defensive, but he continued to gawk as they 
turned off the interstate and began the climb up Capitol Hill. She drove 
down Broadway, and Reed stared in amazement at the grunge holdouts, 
the neo-punks, and the wannabe goths that crawled out of the cracks to 
take in a sunny May afternoon. Green hair, bleached hair, buzz cuts and 
dreadlocks; leather jackets, thrift shop polyester, platform shoes, 
combat boots. Rings dangled from ears, noses, and upper and lower lips, 
saucy accents against Seattle-pale skin. Reed stopped staring when he 
saw the kids staring back. He must look obnoxiously wholesome to them 
even with his long hair, the epitome of a Carter-era liberal's kid. 

Her house was on the edge of the hill, closer to crime-ridden First Hill 
than the upscale condos that overlooked downtown. Due to the efforts of 
a previous owner the structure and wiring was sound, but the exterior 
of the late Victorian hadn't been kept up as well. One could call it 
crapulous in a certain light. But it was hers, and she'd worked hard for 
it. She lived upstairs, renting out the lower unit to students from
Seattle 
University. The downstairs apartment was empty now, however, 
pending the arrival of a new tenant the first week in June.

Reed followed her up the creaking, carpeted stairs that cored the center 
of the house. He did a double-take when they came into her kitchen. The 
cabinets served as canvases for sketches in charcoal, embellished with 
lines of free-form poetry and touches of gold leaf. Instead of tile, the 
wall over the sink was plastered with smashed porcelain, mirrors, and 
plastic toys. A curved, crushed velvet sofa, a lounge lizard's fantasy, 
dominated the living room, and on the floor, shelves, and tables were 
her collections: expensive art books, antique doll furniture, mannequin 
parts, and plaster Madonnas...along with a few plastic ones filched from 
suburban nativity displays. The latter glowed beguilingly at night, lit 
from within by colored bulbs. If there was any spare space on the walls, 
it was taken up by one of her paintings.

Reed left his jacket and backpack on the sofa and went over to look at 
the paintings. "This place is amazing!"

She resisted the urge to come up behind him and sandwich his hips 
between her arms and body...clench tightly, then shove her pelvis into 
that lean-but-rounded butt. The savage lewdness of the notion gave her 
other ideas, but he was too engrossed in the artwork to notice her 
interest. He didn't even glance at her computer, the ostensible reason 
for his trip. Sunlight striped him as he made the circuit from wall to 
wall, a quick but thorough look at each painting.

"There's more in the back room, if you're interested. I'll get us 
something to drink, okay?"

"All right." He began to drift down the hallway, following the series of 
nudes she'd tacked onto the walls. 

#

Tyler hadn't meant lemonade.

A chilled bottle of wine was waiting in the refrigerator, but for an 
occasion like this, the stronger stuff was best. A friend had her bought 
back a bottle of absinthe from Amsterdam...along with a few other 
things which might come in handy later. She grabbed two glasses and 
made a quick visit to the bathroom, then caught up to Reed as he looked 
at the paintings in her bedroom. She closed the door behind her with 
her foot. 

The sharp sound made him jump. He turned like a startled animal, and 
flushed an attractive shade between madder rose and burnt sienna. 

He must have seen dozens of movies about sex-starved older women 
seducing sex-starved young men, and fantasized, perhaps, about how 
suave he would act it if happened to him. But even adult men turned into 
moosh when faced with a female body in a purple pushup bra and high-
cut thong panties, though she also wore a thigh-length black silk robe 
for modesty's sake. 

"Hiya, stud." She stepped closer, jiggling. He gulped and pulled his loose

shirttail in front of his crotch, crossing his arms like he wanted to 
protect himself. He looked like he was desperately thinking of 
something to say. She waggled the bottle. "Don't you want something to 
drink?"

"Uh...sure." He was playing it cool, but he knew what was happening. He 
gulped the yellow-green liquor so fast she thought he was going to blow 
it out his nose.

She ran a hand up his arm from wrist to shoulder, delighting in the feel 
of him through the soft cotton fabric. "Haven't you ever been with an 
older woman?"

He gave a little strangled laugh which could have meant yes or no. What 
an innocent. She broke into a grin like a little girl who'd woken up on 
Easter morning with the biggest Easter basket in the world, and all the 
time in the world to eat it in. She ran both hands up under his shirt and 
undershirt, over the ripple of his ribs, and playfully pinched his 
nipples. They were quite hard...as was his cock, judging by how he was 
beginning to squirm. 

"...Tyler!"

"That's my name." She undid his fly. Yes...quite hard, forming a pretty 
bulge under the white fabric of his briefs. She slipped her hand under 
the elastic and gave him a firm but loving squeeze. "Why don't we go lie 
down, huh?"

"My father--" Reed groaned as she tickled his balls.

"Yes, I'm sure he'll get out his bullwhip and beat you raw for spending 
an enjoyable afternoon having sex with a willing woman. You're 
eighteen, what does he expect?"

"He hired you!" 

"So?" She kissed him before he could start protesting again. He had a 
musky, bitter taste from the absinthe. His mouth was inert with surprise 
at first, but then she felt his tongue slide under hers, accepting the 
invitation with a slippery, albeit tentative, passion of his own. His
hard-
on poked her thigh. "Come on! You're a healthy young man. Why 
shouldn't you enjoy yourself?"

(part 2 to come)

From cobaltjade@aol.com Thu Apr 24 22:48:53 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!sprint!news-peer.gsl.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! (2/4)
Date: 25 Apr 1997 02:48:53 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 491
Message-ID: <19970425024700.WAA04871@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com

The following is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of adult 
sexual fantasies and is intended for entertainment purposes. You heard 
me right. ENTERTAINMENT. At least three felonies and several 
misdemeanors are committed in the course of it, so kids, don't try this at

home...unless you want to wind up in court. This story is intended for 
those over the age of 21. If you are a minor, you have no business 
reading this, and if you are, be aware you breaking the law in some 
states.

This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade. Archiving and reposting 
of this work is permitted provided that no fee is charged for the use of 
the archival or posting site.  Charging a fee for this story, or
publishing 
without this preface or tagline violates my copyright.

(Part two)

"So?" She kissed him before he could start protesting again. He had a 
musky, bitter taste from the absinthe. His mouth was inert with surprise 
at first, but then she felt his tongue slide under hers, accepting the 
invitation with a slippery, albeit tentative, passion of his own. His
hard-
on poked her thigh. "Come on! You're a healthy young man. Why 
shouldn't you enjoy yourself?"

"How old are you?" he gasped when he could talk again.

"Old enough to be your mother...if I hadn't had the common sense I had 
at age fourteen." She brought her lips close to his ear. "Stop 
complaining and I'll give you a tongue job."

That did the trick. "Um...all right." He quickly stripped off the rest of
his 
clothes. His body was pale and lean, caught somewhere between boy and 
man, the muscles well-defined but not overly athletic. Tyler's grin 
spread wider. Yes, that ass was as nice as she'd thought. "Lie down."

He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress. Her bed was king-sized and 
canopied, made of matte black metal that was barred like a cage. Sheer 
black curtains draped each side, tied back at the posts. Reed stretched 
out over the Indian-print bedspread and tried to look relaxed, then 
jumped as his foot brushed the cold steel of a handcuff. "Uh, Tyler..."

"It'll only be for ten minutes." She turned round to face him again, 
having wriggled out of her underwear. She made sure he got a good look 
at her breasts, which, while not large, were the right size and shape to 
scoop up a generous serving of ice cream from a ten-gallon bucket. 

"Not handcuffs!" He drew his knees up, his whole body going defensive.

"Pretty please?" She stroked his leg ankle to thigh, the curly, almost 
colorless hair a soft scratch against her fingers, and rested her chin on 
his knee. Her breasts bumped against his shin. "Try it, you might like 
it." She reached for his cock again.

"No." He closed his thighs and pushed her hand away. "I'm really not 
into that. I mean, I don't mind having sex, but, ah..."

Stubborn. "Five minutes. And no handcuffs. I'll use something soft, 
something you could wriggle out of if you wanted to." She kissed his 
chin and feigned an innocent smile. "Yes?"

His cock answered for him.

She reached underneath the bed for a roll of wide black tape, the 
clothlike kind one might use for strapping packages. "Move over." Reed 
scooted to the other side of the bed. "Put your arms over your head." 
Businesslike, she wrapped each of his wrists and taped them to the bars 
of the headboard. "Now spread your legs." He grunted when she grabbed 
his left ankle and pulled, securing it in a thick cuff of tape she wound 
around the railing at the foot of the bed. She repeated the process for 
his right ankle. Now he was magnificently splayed in a giant X, white 
and yellow against the earth tones of her bedspread, with highlights 
(being an artist, she thought in artist's terms) of Mars black at the 
corners...and, in accents of bubblegum pink, two dots and a bar at the X's

center. The tape looked soft and innocuous enough but was actually 
reinforced with kevlar. A friend who'd worked in the aircraft industry 
had stolen it for her. It was only a matter of time before he discovered 
how strong it really was.

"Happy now?" he said.

"I should take a picture of this," she leered.

"No!"

"Just kidding." Tyler climbed over the bottom rail and straddled his 
ribcage. She ran her hands up his arms from armpits to wrists, then 
curled his helpless fingers between her own. She squeezed her thighs 
together, making sure he felt the soft pressure and the warmth from 
her now-purring pussy. "Like that?" 

He tried to catch one of her dangling breasts in his mouth. Uh-oh. 
Better watch that; she didn't want him to get too excited too quickly. 

So she stretched instead across his chest with her chin in her hands, 
gazing up at the agonized frustration on his face, and how vulnerable 
that frustration made him. "You're gorgeous, do you know that?" She 
ran a hand, palm down, over the muscles of his flank, feeling him 
quiver as if given an electric shock. Sensitive! "You are a beautiful 
young man, and I'm going to enjoy every inch of you." She gave his 
nipple a delicate peck, then set to work on it in a more vigorous fashion 
with her teeth and tongue.

"Tyler...uh...ah...." Even the noises he made sounded amazed, as if he had

never considered such sensitive parts of himself existed. He had a spicy, 
almost sweet smell, a combination of clean male flesh, musky oranges, 
and fabric softener. Not too much hair, just a soft down. And he was so 
pale he was coloring nicely, the nipples pink as the candy conversation 
hearts schoolchildren brought back from Valentine's Day parties.

"Ah!" He jumped, spine arching, as she gave his tit a hard nip with one 
of her canine teeth. "That hurt."

"If it didn't hurt you wouldn't like it so much, would you?" She ran her 
tongue down his breastbone from throat to belly. She sucked at the hard 
flesh there as he groaned. "Have you ever had oral sex before?"

"No." He sounded at once eager and desperate. He raised his head a little,

looking at her down his body to where she crouched between his 
legs...an odd but stimulating perspective, from her point of view.

She clicked her teeth together several times, loud.

"This isn't funny, Tyler!" He was angry now. "It's been over five 
minutes. I didn't say you could hurt me--"

"I'm not going to hurt you." She caught his cock, lightly, in her hand as 
it was beginning to deflate and massaged it back to life. She stroked it 
against her face, over her lips. "I love cock. I will worship your penis.
I 
will give it the attention and respect it deserves." She caught the tip in

her mouth and engulfed him.

"Unh!"

She disengaged almost immediately and grinned up at him. "That was a 
sneak preview." She had more exploration in mind before the main 
event. 

He groaned again as she licked his scrotum, giving the loose flesh there 
soft, teasing nips and took one of his balls in her mouth, then the other.

The dandelion fluff of his pubic hair tickled her nose. She let her 
tongue explore that virgin forest, savoring the taste of salty, musky 
flesh. Was he a virgin? She'd be surprised if he was (after all, he was so

gorgeous) but a late first sexual experience wasn't unheard of, albeit 
rare.

She held his hips and ran her tongue down the shaft of his cock. It was 
hard again, and several shades pinker than the rest of him. She took it 
in her mouth, slower this time. It gently bumped the back of her throat. 
She began to suck in a languid rhythm, scraping him lightly with her 
teeth, wrapping her tongue around that hard, delicious tube. She took 
him to the root, and back again, her head sliding back and forth like a 
piston in a well-tuned Ferrari.

"Oh Jesus...oh...fuck-" He was actually saying words this time.

He shuddered under her, his pelvis jerking. She held his hips, stroking 
the sensitive juncture between trunk and body with her thumbs. Then 
she grinned (as much as she was able to with a tumescent cock filling 
her mouth) and brought her hands up underneath him, digging her 
fingers into his buttocks. She parted them roughly with her knuckles, 
keeping her fingernails protectively curled under.

But he came before she could do anything else, in a series of quick, 
explosive spurts. She took it deep, swallowing most of the cum before 
she slid his limp shaft out of her mouth. But not all.

She scrambled around to change position, curling around his body to 
face him. He was breathing deeply, head turned to the side. He looked 
spent as a rock star's dew-rag at the end of a show. "Hey." He opened his 
eyes. She kissed him hard, opening his lips with her tongue. He made a 
disgusted face as the fresh cum entered his mouth. 

"It's only semen. Jeesh! You suck the blood off a paper cut when you get 
one, you probably swallow your own snot sometimes. What's so different 
about your own cum?" 

"Who says I wanted to eat it?" he complained.

"Come on. You liked it."  She gave him another kiss, a reassuring one 
this time. Then, because she'd been wanting to do it, she fanned his 
wavy yellow hair out over his shoulders with her fingers. He tried to 
keep up the annoyed act but nature and hormones won out again. God, 
he was such a cutie! Getting another idea, she scampered over the edge 
of the bed and fetched the telephone from off the floor. "Here, call your 
brother."

"What?" 

She began to tickle him.

"All right! All right!" Gasping, laughing, he gave in to her, seemingly 
too worn out to fight any more. He had clearly enjoyed the blowjob, 
even if he wasn't gushing with superlatives. He rattled off the number, 
and she held the receiver close to his mouth and ear. "Hi Brent, it's, uh,

me. Listen, I'm in Seattle, at the artist's house, and I-"

She quickly cupped her hand over the receiver. "Tell him to come down 
and get you."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

She teased him until he was breathless again, caught between groans 
and giggles. Finally he settled down. "I need you to pick me up. Just get 
down here, okay?"

"I'm in the middle of doing something," she heard his brother say.

"You're going to have to drop it. Look, Brent, don't be a little shit,
okay? 
You remember what Dad said." After a few more crude-but-loving 
brotherly exchanges, she took the receiver and clicked it back down, 
with great decorum, on the base of the phone. Their eyes locked.

"Will you let me go now?" Reed said.

She grinned. Not on your life. She ran her hands over his chest again, 
and he shuddered. She had all the time in the world, and all this body to 
play with. Why should she? She buried her face in the sheer masculine 
freshness of him.

"You fuck like a man."

Startled, she raised her head.

Reed gave her an ironic little smile. "Hey, I went to school for four 
months in San Francisco, didn't I?"

#

She pulled that story out of him, along with a few others.

Mark was the cousin of a friend of his, an older student who was going 
to Berkeley. A jazz aficionado, he'd invited Reed out to sample some 
clubs. They'd gotten very drunk and wound up at a gay bath Reed had 
innocently commented on when they drove by it earlier. He was 
underage, but some fake ID had taken care of that.

"So how many guys did you let doink you?" Tyler said.

"Just Mark." Ordinarily he would have been insulted at the smutty talk, 
but now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. As natural as 
being spread-eagled on a crazy artist's bed in the middle of a sunny 
afternoon, a warm, fragrant breeze blowing past the gauzy curtains. He 
reflected on what the neighbors would see if they were completely 
blown open. "I was very drunk."

She held a hashish cigarette for him to take a draw on. The stubs of 
several more rested in a saucer on her nightstand. Presents from 
Amsterdam, she'd said.  "Are you gay?"

"No."

"Bi?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Mmm." She nuzzled the soft hollow between his neck and shoulder, 
taking little bites of the skin here and there. Completely off her 
rocker...but the most erotically alive woman he'd ever experienced. Not 
that there had been many at this point in his life. Kayley, his girlfriend

in high school, had given him his first fuck. She was a blonde 
California girl, a star on the track team and an honor student like 
himself. He had been crazy about her but had never really known her. 
He was shocked when she confessed to being bulimic and seeing a 
psychiatrist in his senior year. He'd broken it off, unwilling to handle 
her neurosises. It had taken the rest of his senior year to discover that 
other girls didn't taste like mouthwash all the time.

Then there was Yumi, a fellow student at the Conservatory, who'd been 
so shy and demure he'd always felt like apologizing whenever he'd had 
sex with her. 

And Mark, of course.

Tyler stretched out beside him, propping her head up on her hand, and 
started to stroke him again. "Did you like it?" 

Oh God, he wished she wouldn't do that...especially since she'd get him 
hard, then pull back and leer at him like a gleeful, perverted elf. When 
he went soft the torture would begin again, building to a point where he 
felt the cum was going to start spilling out of his ears unless he got
some 
relief. But there was nothing mean or nasty about the teasing, for all 
the frustration it caused him. On the contrary, it was very flattering to 
be an object of lust to someone who so obviously enjoyed him!

"You didn't answer me. Did you like it?"

He gave her a little nod, unable to keep a smile from forming. "Yes, I 
liked it."

Ooh! She gave his cock a good taffy pull, equal parts pleasure and pain. 
When the hell was she going to let it inside her? She must be horny as 
all-out too, after nearly an hour of it. Maybe she just liked to watch!

"Your dad said you'd been in an accident. What happened?"

She had to have seen the scar on his abdomen where his spleen had 
been removed. "It was a drunk driver. I was driving back after 
practicing at school one night and got hit head-on. My car was totaled. 
My head got whacked pretty bad. I don't remember any of it. The last 
thing I remember was eating breakfast with my girlfriend two days 
before. After that, nothing, until I woke up in the hospital, with my 
body fucked up..." He couldn't tell her how awful it had been, to be 
drugged, intubated, and catheterized...unable to eat or even use the 
bathroom on his own. 

She gave him a surprisingly tender kiss. "What happened to the other 
guy?"

"He died on the scene. Look in my wallet." She scrambled down from the 
bed and rooted through his pants pockets. She still wore that short, silky

robe, loosely belted, though she'd taken her underwear off ages ago. She 
didn't look 32, but she didn't look 18 either. Her body wasn't all that 
great. She wasn't long-limbed and athletic like Kayley or pert like Yumi. 
She was petite but fleshy, and her ass and thighs jiggled when she 
walked. But somehow that only made her look sexier, because they were 
real...and because she was real and with him, too. He groaned, feeling 
another hard-on making itself known. How could he even think of 
getting a hard-on while talking about his accident!

She parted the leather creases of the wallet, looking in the billfold. 
"There it is. Take it out."

"Oh," she said, then again: "Oh!"

It was a picture taken of him in the hospital while he was still 
unconscious. After five months it was still hard for him to look at it. He

was intubated, the plastic cylinder held in his mouth by a gag of white 
tape, and both his eyes were purple and swollen shut. His head was 
bandaged from where the surgeons had reattached his scalp. That area 
had been shaved, but fortunately his hair was so curly and thick it was 
hard to notice.

"You?" She didn't really have to ask the question.

"Yeah. I carry that picture around with me to show people what 
happens if they drink and drive. You can't see it, but my foot got caught 
under the gas pedal and was...fileted, for want of a better word. I had to

have a couple of skin grafts. It was pretty painful."

"Aww." She crawled to the bottom of the bed where his foot remained a 
well-secured prisoner. She had to have seen the scars when she was 
taping him up, but hadn't commented on them. His foot did look better 
than it had five months ago, but to him it still looked like a jigsaw 
puzzle, a pickled specimen from a mad scientist's lab. He hated looking at

it. It made him feel like a cripple. He never went barefoot anymore. 
"You can walk on it okay, can't you?" 

"Yeah, but I can't be on it too long before it starts hurting. And forget 
about soccer or rock climbing." The latter came out with more bitterness 
than he'd intended; he'd just gotten into the sport last summer. "I'm
still 
seeing a physical therapist for it."

"At least it wasn't your hands," she said. Then, to his surprise, she 
grasped his foot with both hands, giving it the same loving attention 
she had given to his cock. Her fingers applied a firm but respectful 
pressure. "Do you feel that?"

"A little. My physical therapist says the nerves need time to grow back."

"This is called reflexology. It'll make the blood flow better." There was 
nothing sexual about the massage...it was just an expression of 
sympathy, an acknowledgment of his grief. For the first time in his life 
he had a taste of the depth of intimacy possible between a man and a 
woman.

"How did your parents take it?" she asked softly.

"They flew down immediately. It happened four days before Christmas, 
which cast kind of a bummer on things...we always celebrate every year 
with a big party for family friends and Dad's students. They had to 
cancel the open house that year. When I came to they were very teary. 
They drove me back as soon as I could travel. I was having headaches all 
the time, and sometimes I couldn't remember my name. Like when 
you're trying to remember something but can't say it, even though it's 
on the tip of your tongue. I went through a lot of weird shit. One time I 
started crying because I'd forgotten how to put the cap back on the 
toothpaste."

She pressed her fingers into his foot heel to arch to ball, and back 
again. The scars didn't seem to disgust her. He realized that he didn't 
have to feel so self-conscious about them, either. A heavy weight left 
him, one that he'd been aware of only by its sudden departure. "Did you 
tell them about your wild adventure in the gay bath?"

"No. And I'm not going to. They'd freak out because of the AIDS risk."

"You use a condom?"

"Well yeah, of course. My father warned my brother and me about that. 
What do you think we are, total dweebs?"

She shrugged. "He seemed protective."

"Well, he is my father. If I had to be a kid again, I'd rather he was than

wasn't. He always had his own ideas on how to raise us. It's the teacher 
in him, I guess. The No Television rule, for example. As a family we 
always took vacations together...skiing, hiking...we'd go to the 
symphony, too, and the musical performances on campus. I got started 
on the piano when I was six. So you could say he was strict, but maybe a 
better word is tight. He lets us mouth off to him as long as we understand

who lays down the law. And as long as we keep it polite. Do you know 
what he'd say if he saw those punks in the street?" He imitated his 
father's voice. " 'Why are they wasting their lives like that?'  He calls
it 
giving society the collective finger."

"Collective finger?"

"You know. Like this." He raised his middle finger, which was hard to do 
as his hand was still taped to the bed railing.

She gave a high-pitched hyena laugh. "What do you think of those 
punks?"

"I don't get it. I mean, I knew people at school who were into that, and 
that's cool. They were OK people. But there's not much point in looking 
like a weirdo is there, with studs in your lip and your hair dyed blue. I 
mean, why bother? Life is rich enough without it. There's music and the 
outdoors and giving back to society, and being with your friends and 
family. I feel sorry for those kids. It's like they're asking for
attention, 
trying to make everyone notice how different they are. They're kind of 
sad. I'd rather jump off a cliff than have someone stick a ring through 
my nose."

Something about his tone amused her, so she was almost purring as she 
massaged his foot. "So what makes you such a superior human being?"

"Those kids aren't doing anything with their lives. They're just slacking 
off, marking time. I'm going to school, I have a goal. I'm going to be in 
the New York Philharmonic five years from now, did you know that?" 
He tried for a bit of masculine bravado but she said nothing, only 
smiled. What was she thinking?

He heard car tires crunch on the driveway gravel. His brother had 
arrived from Bellingham. Tyler went over to the window, staring 
dazedly at the Mustang for several long seconds. For the first time he 
realized how stoned she was.

"Hey, can you let me go now?"

She acted like she hadn't heard him. She turned and started walking 
towards the bedroom door.

"Tyler!"

She glanced down at her skimpy robe. "Oh." She grabbed a loose long-
sleeved dress off a chair and yanked it on over the robe, then rushed 
out.

"Tyler?" he called, but she was gone. "Tyler! Let me go!" It was the 
loudest he'd ever raised his voice to a female. But it was useless. He
heard 
the kitchen door open as she thumped down the stairs. To let his brother 
in. 

"Oh, shit." He flexed his arms and legs, pulling and twisting at the tape 
in a vain effort to free himself. Nothing happened. "Oh, shit!" More 
emphatic this time, as he realized with horror he couldn't get loose. He 
tossed and struggled, gritted his teeth, and made the bed shake until he 
thought the neighbors downstairs would complain. But he remained as 
splayed and helpless as he had been in the beginning. "Fuck! Shit!"

Finally the sounds he had been dreading to hear: Tyler joking with his 
brother as they began to walk down the short hall that led to the 
bedroom. No, please, she couldn't, not with his brother...

She did.

(part 3 to come)

From cobaltjade@aol.com Thu Apr 24 22:50:19 1997
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From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! (3/4)
Date: 25 Apr 1997 02:50:19 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
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Message-ID: <19970425024800.WAA04919@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com

The following is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of adult 
sexual fantasies and is intended for entertainment purposes. You heard 
me right. ENTERTAINMENT. At least three felonies and several 
misdemeanors are committed in the course of it, so kids, don't try this at

home...unless you want to wind up in court. This story is intended for 
those over the age of 21. If you are a minor, you have no business 
reading this, and if you are, be aware you breaking the law in some 
states.

This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade. Archiving and reposting 
of this work is permitted provided that no fee is charged for the use of 
the archival or posting site.  Charging a fee for this story, or
publishing 
without this preface or tagline violates my copyright.

(Part three)

Brent glanced around the bedroom, taking in the sketches and 
paintings that covered the walls. His jaw dropped open when he looked 
at the bed. Tyler slithered up behind him with her arms folded, leaning 
with one shoulder against the post. Brent glanced towards her as if to 
ask a question, and she nodded. She was clearly enjoying this. Damn 
her!

His brother broke out laughing and clapped his hands together. It was 
that infuriating, high-pitched "Ha! Ha! Ha!" whenever he thought 
something deserved mocking. "I never would've believed it," he 
guffawed. "My brother, the B&D freak. I never knew you were such a 
crazy-ass. Whose idea was it, yours or hers?"

"Hers," Reed said shortly, feeling an embarrassing full-body flush creep 
over his naked skin. Why the fuck did he have to be so pale?

"That's right," Tyler said, taking a nip from the bottle of absinthe.

Brent leaned over the bottom railing and smirked. They'd seen each 
other naked before--they'd shared a room since puberty--but Reed 
couldn't help feeling helpless and exposed anyway. He hadn't been very 
nice to his brother lately. Brent had been tolerant of him since the 
accident, but now that Reed was returning to his old self Brent wanted 
his room, and his privacy, back. "Think I should tell Dad?"

"I'll skin your ass alive!" Reed snarled.

"Ooo!" Brent pulled back in mock fear. Why did he have to be such a 
little pain in the ass? It was bad enough that he'd been more precocious 
than Reed. He'd heard his mother refer to them as "the early bloomer" 
and "the late one" when she talked to his aunts on the phone. Reed had 
never felt so hopeless and infuriated as  on the day when 14-year-old 
Brent came home and announced "Guess who I fucked today!" while he, 
at 17, was still an awkward virgin jacking off in the john with a copy of 
Penthouse. "Aren't you going to let him go?"

Tyler broke out into a shit-eating grin. "What do you think?"

"You've had your laughs," Reed snapped. "Just untie me, okay? My arms 
and legs are getting cramped."

"No, I want to enjoy this," Brent said. "Now maybe if you *paid* me, say, 
fifty dollars, I might--"

He never finished his sentence because Tyler, sans dress, had come up 
behind him and inserted her hands under his Save the Rainforest t-
shirt, then down the crotch of his frayed, knee-ripped Levis. The look 
on his brother's face was priceless as she fondled his cock and pushed 
her naked breasts into his back...just like a kewpie doll knocked off a 
carnival barker's shelf by a baseball.

"Don't you want to join him?" Tyler whispered lasciviously.

Brent recovered quickly. "No," he grinned, having caught on to the 
game that was being played. He must have smelled the hemp, too, and 
realized she was drugged out of her mind. "Let him watch." He kissed 
her, making sure Reed saw their tongues meet. 

Reed's stomach churned with fury. "You little fuck! I'm going to kill 
you!"

"Try walking back to Bellingham, then," Brent said before Tyler 
attacked him with her mouth again, pushing him back into the wall so 
he couldn't make much more than "mwuh-mwuh-mwuh" noises.

Shit! Reed would have kicked the bed, if he was able. Fuck her, leaving 
him horny as hell and then getting it on with his brother!

The mattress bounced as Brent and Tyler fell against the covers. They 
were giggling now, Tyler giving little love bites as Brent's common 
sense and control vanished by the second. Long strands of sandy blonde 
hair escaped from his ponytail and hit her in the face. She pulled down 
his jeans and briefs, revealing an ass as creamy white as Reed's own, 
albeit covered with freckles. The paleness made a strong contrast 
against his brother's tan, which had come from a recent trip to Florida 
he, Reed, had been too fucked up to go along on. Not fair! 

Reed jumped as they pressed up against him, Tyler's soft back 
undulating against his side as she ran her hands over his brother's butt. 
The pressure increased when Brent rolled around on top her, catching 
one of her nipples in his mouth.

"Don't do this, Brent," Reed ordered, dropping back his Older Brother 
mode, a ploy that, given his circumstances, miserably failed him. "If you 
want to fuck, take it somewhere else."

"I think your brother doth protest too much," Tyler said, and suddenly 
slapped a fresh piece of tape over his mouth. Now he couldn't talk at all.

Shit!

"We should go into the other room," Brent panted, having finally kicked 
himself free of his clothes. "I mean, don't you want some privacy?"

"Don't you think he'd like to watch?" Tyler said amusedly. "Look. He's 
enjoying it!"

To his horror Reed realized he was half-erect.

Brent sat up on his knees and looked at him, at once fascinated, 
repentant, and aghast. His face was very flushed and perspiration 
slicked his skin. His hazel-green eyes were very wide. And at that 
moment Tyler popped a capsule of amyl nitrate under his nose and he 
assumed the expression of someone hit over the head with a hammer. 
Where had she gotten that? Mark had said poppers were illegal!

Tyler shoved Brent back onto the bed and snapped the forgotten 
handcuffs around his wrists, then around each ankle. He was chained in 
the form of a Y, his arms stretched above his head and fastened to the 
top bar of the headboard, his legs spread as far apart as Reed's were. He 
had a bit more latitude to squirm around...not that it would do him much 
good. Brent shook his head several times, coming to, then realized how 
he was bound. He pulled at the handcuffs but of course nothing 
happened. "Fuck!"

"We will have no rough language in this house," Tyler said sternly, now 
standing at the foot of the bed. "Unless, of course, it comes from me."
She 
took several steps back, admiring her handiwork. "My oh my. Two sweet 
little boys have wandered into my bed. What a pretty picture you two 
make. Wanna see?" She opened the doors to her closet, revealing a full-
length mirror on the back of each one. Reed saw, with a mixture of 
arousal and mortification, what an interesting picture they did 
make...splayed out like game being dressed for the butcher, their 
genitals on display like precious jewels.

"I'm really not interested in this, Tyler," Brent stammered as she took 
another pull of absinthe and swaggered back to the bed. "We have to be 
home by nine. My father's gotten paranoid since Reed's accident--he's 
always thinking about drunk drivers. I'm not allowed to drive after 
dark. Reed can't drive either. He doesn't have a valid Washington State 
license any more. Our parents will be worried sick. Let us go?" He tried 
to smile, but, being still woozy from the drug, it came out as a twitch.

"Sheltered aren't you?" Tyler said. She put her hands on her hips, 
making her tits jut out like comic book superheroine's. "Maybe I should 
go back down to Broadway and pick up a few bi goth types, then let them 
have their way with you."

Brent went speechless with shock. They both realized that, as stoned and 
drunk as she was, it was very possible. "Your brother's had a taste of 
that already."

How dare she! Brent gave him a quick glance, but Reed could only shake 
his head. Sometimes his brother looked almost like a girl, with his full 
rosy lips that formed a heart-shaped pout whenever he was astonished, 
like now. That, along with his long hair, made him look suddenly like 
the cartoon character Penelope Pitstop in the clutches of the Hooded 
Claw.

"No, don't do that," Brent said quickly.

"Then you're gonna have to join them," Tyler said.

"Join?" His brother looked very desperate, and very puzzled, but, 
realizing they had no choice but to play along, he said, "Okay, um, we'll 
join."

She flashed them an evil grin. "All right. Now, if you'll excuse me...." 
She left the room, mumbling something over her shoulder.

"What'd she say?" Brent whispered when she had gone. "She's going to 
heat up something in the microwave? Reed, what the hell are we going 
to do?"

Reed heard the panic in his brother's voice, but there wasn't anything 
he could do. He couldn't even shrug, much less tell Brent he had heard 
the word correctly...and it was autoclave.

Tyler came back a few minutes later with an enamel tray she placed on 
the bed between them. They couldn't raise their heads far enough to see 
what was in it, though Reed suspected. Then she reached in and held up 
the freshly sterilized piercing instrument. "You boys," she announced, 
"are finally going to join Generation X."

"No!" Brent blurted.

"Yes!" Tyler echoed his tone, giving it a mocking spin. She picked up a 
clear plastic box full of rings. They were of different sizes and 
thicknesses, from tiny ones a quarter of an inch across to thick gold 
ones the size of a man's wedding ring. Some had beads of semiprecious 
stone attached to them. She rattled the box. "Any preferences?"

"You don't understand." Brent was nearly babbling. "Our parents, 
they...they told us not to do that. As long as we were living under the 
same roof. Get pierced, I mean. My Dad hates it. He sees enough of it on 
his students. We'll never hear the end of it."

"I think your brother is old enough for your father to respect his 
decision," Tyler said with a knowing look.

Reed began to sweat. Oh God, why had he gone about the Broadway 
slackers earlier. He shook his head slowly, side to side, saying "no" the 
only way he could. But he knew it was useless. She was going to do 
whatever she wanted to do, and neither one of them could do a damn 
thing about it. Although his parents had been indulgent since his 
accident, they wouldn't think too much of his judgement--or his 
recovery--if he came home with a ring sticking out of a freshly crusted 
scab.

"The equipment belongs to a friend of mine," Tyler said casually as she 
prepared a small bottle of something, probably antiseptic. "He lost the 
lease on his studio a couple of months ago so I've been keeping his stuff 
for him until he finds another place. I've helped him out a couple of 
times so I do know how to use this."

"You don't have a license," Brent desperately. "You're breaking the 
law!"

"Be quiet," Tyler said. "Or do want it through your tongue?"

Brent clenched his jaw, his eyes glassy. Just the other week he had been 
talking out loud about getting his ears pierced. Reed reminded him that 
he still lived under his parents' roof and drove their car, and that was 
the end of that speculation. Well, now he might get his wish, under 
slightly more unusual circumstances than he'd pictured.

Tyler finished her preparations and faced him with the gun. She held 
up a gold ring where he could see it clearly. "You're going to go first. 
Where do you want it, white boy? Your lip, your navel...your cock?" He 
flinched as she goosed his penis with the cold steel of the handle. That 
wasn't possible...was it?

It would hurt like hell if it was.

Tyler laughed wickedly. She knew he couldn't talk back. How could she 
have changed from concerned lover to perverted bitch? "Don't worry, I 
couldn't be so mean." She swabbed the side of Reed's nostril with a Q-tip 
as Brent looked on in horrified fascination. Reed shook his head. He felt 
betrayed. No, please, don't do this...

But she had her way. It hurt more than he thought it would. There was 
more blood than he'd thought, too. "It didn't hurt that much, did it," 
Tyler said in a falsely reassuring tone. "Now it's your brother's turn."

Brent recoiled as she doused the gun with more alcohol and selected a 
ring for him. He eyed the blood Reed still felt trickling from his nose. 
"See this? It's silver. That's a malachite stone in the middle of it."

Brent tried to draw his knees up as Tyler drew closer, but the handcuffs 
only permitted them to rise a few inches off the bed. He squirmed his 
butt on the covers, trying to gain leverage to hoist himself into a
sitting 
position. "You can't do this! Reed!"

Brent was a pain in the ass, but he was still his little brother. Reed 
clenched his muscles, trying to kick his way free, but nothing 
happened. 

"Charming, but futile," Tyler said. She ran her hand across Brent's silky 
belly, pausing to stroke his cock, which was becoming hard again with 
excitement or terror. "Where do you want it? I've got two. Maybe one 
through each tit, huh?"

Brent fought her, thrashing and jabbing at her with his knees so she 
couldn't get close. She finally sat on him, her weight keeping him 
pressed to the mattress. His eyes were glazed and wild. He jerked his 
head away when she drew close. "Stop that!" she ordered. "Do you want 
me to fuck up? Do you want me to put it somewhere it isn't supposed to 
go?"

"Fuck you!" Brent shouted. His body bucked as he tried to throw her off. 
Tyler bounced like a rodeo star on a Brahma bull, her tits wobbling like 
dishes of flan. Gleefully thinking of a new perversity, she reached in 
back of herself and stroked Brent's cock to full erection. 

Brent nearly went cross-eyed when he realized what was happening. 
Still grinning, Tyler lowered herself on his erection and began to slide 
her hips up and down, moving in little circles like a swizzle stick being 
sloshed around in a drink.

Reed wouldn't have thought it possible for a woman to rape a man. But 
Tyler was putting the lie to that as she began to pant and groan. His 
brother began to participate, thrusting his hips up at her and making 
animal noises of his own. Reed couldn't look away. His own hard-on 
came back with an intensity that was almost painful. Jesus! What kind of 
pervert was he, getting turned on watching his brother being raped? 

"Ah...oh...fuck..." Brent moaned.

Tyler hissed in reply, scratching her fingernails along his ribs. Her 
thighs plunged up and down, impaling herself again and again on his 
brother's well-lubed cock. She came in a series of little shocks that made

her look like she was being electrocuted. Reed half-expected her hair to 
smoke. It was the first time he'd ever really seen a woman come. Brent 
shot his load a few seconds later, then sank back with a defeated groan. 
That was unusual. Usually his brother only needed thirty seconds. 

Tyler wasted no time. She grabbed Brent's jaw, painted the corner of his 
eye with antiseptic, then pierced the skin at the outer tip of his 
eyebrow. Brent blinked back involuntary tears as Tyler cleaned up the 
blood. She'd been less careful than with Reed so there was a bit more.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked. She fetched a mirror so they 
could have a look at themselves. "See?"

Brent's wound was beginning to bruise, and Reed was horrified at the 
size of the ring sticking out of his nostril. It still hurt like hell.

Tyler put aside the tray and snuggled between them on the bed. There 
was just enough space for her to lie comfortably and touch either one of 
them if she chose. "We have the rest of the afternoon," she purred, 
running her hands down their bodies, throat to hip. She paused at their 
cocks. "Now what should we do..."

It was a very long wait until evening.

#
(part 4 to come)

From cobaltjade@aol.com Thu Apr 24 22:51:19 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!sprint!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! (4/4)
Date: 25 Apr 1997 02:51:19 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 254
Message-ID: <19970425024900.WAA05018@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com

The following is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of adult 
sexual fantasies and is intended for entertainment purposes. You heard 
me right. ENTERTAINMENT. At least three felonies and several 
misdemeanors are committed in the course of it, so kids, don't try this at

home...unless you want to wind up in court. This story is intended for 
those over the age of 21. If you are a minor, you have no business 
reading this, and if you are, be aware you breaking the law in some 
states.

This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade. Archiving and reposting 
of this work is permitted provided that no fee is charged for the use of 
the archival or posting site.  Charging a fee for this story, or
publishing 
without this preface or tagline violates my copyright.

(Part four)

She stroked and teased them, then masturbated herself a few times, but 
wouldn't let them come. Finally she fell asleep, her right leg flung over 
Reed's thigh, her left arm across Brent's chest.

"Reed," Brent whispered, "Do you think she's going to let us go?"

What a stupid question. Brent seemed to have forgotten he couldn't 
reply.

"Dad knows where we are. He knows this address. He has her phone 
number."

Reed knew she had unplugged the phone ages ago. He wondered how 
many young men disappeared over the years in scenarios like this, 
while their families thought they were the victims of wanderlust or foul 
play.

Tyler stirred, then roused her head, groggy. She smelled like pussy, 
stale smoke, sweat and booze. Not exactly a bouquet, and not exactly 
unarousing, either. She coughed a few times, acting very hungover. 
"Whoa. Must'a fallen asleep." She noted her captives. "I'm going to take 
that tape off now. Are you gonna be good?"

She ripped off the tape before Reed could shake his head yes. It stung, 
pulling out small facial hairs. "Ow!"

"Will you let us go now?" Brent asked humbly.

"Huh? Oh, all right." She didn't seem to be too interested in them 
anymore, or in the fact she had committed at least three felonies. She 
got a pair of scissors off her dresser and cut the tape at Reed's wrists
and 
ankles. He sat up on the bed, stretching his arms and legs and rubbing 
them back into full circulation. Still moving like a zombie, she grabbed 
a key from under her mattress and unlocked Brent's handcuffs. 

Reed waited until she undid the third one. It was now or never; justice 
demanded that the biter be bitten.

He grabbed her from behind, catching her in a headlock and pulling 
her arms behind her back. She screeched in outrage as he pulled her 
toward the empty handcuffs. "Now, Brent! Get her! It's payback time!" 

Brent caught her legs and pulled her ankles apart. Then, overcome by 
the wide-open pussy before him, he forgot all about the idea of revenge 
and went down on her, burying his head between her switching thighs.

"Brent! Shit!" Why the hell couldn't his brother control himself for 
once? Tyler began to gyrate as his brother's tongue drove deep, jerking 
like a woman being roasted alive on a spit. She drew her knees up as she 
gasped, catching his brother's head between them like a vise. 

Reed pulled her robe over her head and used the silk belt to tie her 
wrists together, then secured them to the headboard of the bed. He 
planted his knees on either side of her shoulders and pushed her head 
down on the mattress. She knew what was coming and was helpless to 
prevent it. Reed felt a roller coaster thrill race through him as she 
realized she was one small-boned and sedentary woman against two 
athletic young men.

She eagerly opened her mouth to admit his cock. Some payback! 

He pushed his cock into her mouth anyway, fucking her with an 
intensity that had been building all afternoon, and had gone unsatisfied 
all afternoon. She drew on his sex with her tongue and lips, sucking 
until he thought her face would turn blue. Brent ate her out at the other 
end, pushing her in a rhythm that Reed felt beneath his body, a rhythm 
that engorged him even more painfully. Tyler sucked him deeper, her 
hips galloping against the mattress. The noises she made merged into 
pain. Reed dug his fingers into her hair, sealing her tight to his crotch,

as the rhythm drove them on and on.

She came in spasmic jerks and then he did, too, with an explosive thrust 
he swore would have hit the wall, if his cock hadn't been buried deep 
within her throat.

He withdrew as she swallowed spasmodically. His brother raised his 
head, panting. Then they collectively sighed and slumped together, 
utterly spent. 

"Do you wanna have a bath?" Tyler asked weakly.

#

Tyler didn't have a shower, only an old Victorian lion-footed tub. They 
sat together in the steaming water--"The water heater's kind of funky, 
so I only get enough for one bath at a time--" and squeezed sponges over 
themselves, knees up to accommodate the tightness of the space. Tyler 
told dirty jokes to Brent and blew a raspberry between his naked 
shoulderblades. He giggled like a dirty-minded ten-year-old, having 
forgotten all about the ordeal on the bed.

Reed had not. He knew their parents would hit the ceiling when they 
saw them stagger in. Brent, like most kids his age, had been fascinated 
with the idea of body piercing, but only a handful of his friends who 
had actually done it. Though smartass, he wasn't the rebellious grunge 
type, and would probably take a lot of ribbing from his peers for it.

Reed knew he would take most of the heat from his father, because he 
had been the elder and permitted it to happen. Not only that, but their 
ex-hippy parents would know exactly what else they'd been up to, from 
the post-hash redness in their eyes to the liberal scratches and love 
bites they sported...along with the normal variety of bruises caused by a 
petite naked female bouncing around on top of them.

"I'm sorry about the ring," Tyler said, squeezing warm water over his 
back. "I was kind of out of it. I didn't know what I was doing."

I'll say you didn't, he thought, but the up-and-down motion of the 
sponge felt good anyway. Brent climbed out of the tub and folded a towel 
into a cushion for his butt so he could sit on the edge. He began to dry 
himself between swigs from his third beer. Reed had the sense not to 
drink, foreseeing the drive home, but he couldn't help feeling 
resentful.

"I've got a friend who can take them out for you," Tyler continued, her 
voice a husky whisper from all the screeching she'd done. "I'd do it 
myself, but I don't have the right tools here. He gets home from his shift

around eleven."

"Our parents would still see the holes, and we have to be back in 
Bellingham by nine," Reed said. "So what's the use of that?"

"Come on, Ice Prince, don't be mad." She wrapped her arms around his 
chest, cheek resting briefly on his shoulder. "That ring is real gold. It 
would cost you over two hundred dollars to get it done downtown."

Her wet breasts pressed against his back. He was still annoyed, but not as

much.

#

Tyler offered to cook them some bacon and eggs before they left, but 
Brent put the kabosh on that. "I'm a vegan," he said with superior 
disdain. There wasn't much else to eat in her refrigerator besides a half-
empty jar of pesto and a few wilted lettuce leaves, so they decided to go.

"See you," Tyler said, now in a plain terrycloth bathrobe that reached 
her ankles. She looked tired, but still had a gleam in her eyes that told 
them she wouldn't mind doing the whole thing again. "Hey, don't tell 
your Dad about this, will you?"

Reed shook his head no. How could she be so nonchalant after an 
experience like that? She acted like it happened every day. Maybe it did. 
He wasn't about to tell anyone, and neither was Brent. They might share 
it between themselves, in the future, over a six-pack of beer by the pool.

What made it more awkward was that they would have to see her again, 
when she delivered their father's new painting.

"Drive safe," she called as they walked to the car. She gave a little wave

of her hand, then the door shut.

Brent went automatically to the driver's side, but Reed pushed him aside. 
"No. I'm driving."

"You don't have a license for this state!"

"And you're bombed. No way are you going back on the highway." Brent 
complained under his breath, but took the passenger seat anyway and 
handed over the keys. Reed backed the Mustang out onto the street. They 
drove along the quiet street under the oaks, heading for the lights of 
Broadway and the on-ramp to the freeway.

"Reed? Do you think she was crazy?"

For all his sexual hyperactivity Brent knew very little about the female 
personality. "No. I think it's her lifestyle."

"She fucked *me,*" his brother said smugly.

"Yeah, but I got two blowjobs."

They debated which was better the rest of the way out of Seattle, then 
Brent decided to take a nap. He drew his legs up like a child, lying
curled 
against the passenger door with his head cradled on his arm. Reed felt 
just a little bit sorry for his brother. He had a year left of high school
to 
go, and there was no way he'd be satisfied with girls his own age now.

He woke up on the outskirts of Bellingham complaining of hunger. Reed 
pulled into a casual restaurant they were familiar with where a lot of 
his friends from high school worked. He hadn't been in there since 
last Thanksgiving, before his accident, and was surprised at the happy 
reception he got from his old friends.

"Looks like you boys have gone grunge," Anna the waitress joked. "I'm 
glad to see you're doing better. We all heard about the accident."

"I'll have a veggie burger," Brent said.

Anna eyed the beaded ring at the corner of his eyebrow. "Very stylish. 
Hey Chris, Terry. Look who's back."

They found themselves the objects of bemused admiration, not ridicule 
like Reed had feared. It felt good to be back with his old friends. He 
wondered why he hadn't gotten in touch with them sooner. 

After a quick meal they went back out to the car. It was almost midnight. 
They had a ten-minute drive to their house from here...ten minutes to 
cook up a plausible story between them.

"We met an ex-teacher of mine from San Francisco," Reed thought out 
loud. "It happened downtown. He drugged our drinks and dragged us to a 
piercing parlor. Then we got mugged when we were walking back to 
the car."

"Drugged with what?" Brent said. "LSD? Dad's gonna ask if we filed a 
police report, Reed."

"Okay. We went to a concert in a park where someone slipped us drugged 
Gatorade. We don't remember anything after that except waking up on 
the grass with these rings stuck in us."

"No! That's totally unbelievable!"

"You got a better one?" Reed snapped.

Brent didn't reply. He rolled down the window to look at himself in the 
sideview mirror. The bruise around his new brow ring looked like 
someone had mashed a ripe blueberry into his face.

"Dad's going to KILL us," he moaned.

END

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