This work is copyrighted to the author © 2022.  Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story.  All rights reserved.

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Be warned! This story delves into aberrant sex practices. I’m not advocating it.  I may or may not even like it.  It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.

Peace, brothers.

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Before you read it, please note the following:

   * If you are under eighteen, do not read this story!

   * If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, do not read this story!

   * If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read nonconsensual sex stories, don't read this story!

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My Sister Goldie

Or

Life is but a dream

An Erotic Horror Story

by

Bad Robot

Click the Asstr link below to meet the

Characters:

https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/goldie.jpg

The Prologue . . .

"Hey Pops," I called out to dad as he walked in the door.

"Hey to you son," he replied as he wearily shuffled in with a newspaper in hand.

"You look tuckered, Dad. Hard day?"

‘You know it, Marty, his father George replied, as he flopped down on his tattered old armchair and heaved a long anguished sigh. After the holidays it’s not unlike folks to be calling in for trash pick ups the day long. So yeah, I'm feeling pretty drained."

"But you know what son," he then asked as he unzipped the front of his Midville Trash Company overalls and pulled out a comic book he'd just bought for his son.

And not just any old comic book, but a Duke Striker Crime Detective comic. The latest one, volumn #54, the greatest gift you could give a twelve year old in the whole wide world.

"Dad, Dad," I cried out, sounding stark raving mad with joy. "For me?"

"Of course it's for you, boy. I saw it on the rack down at Mortimores, and said to myself, how can I thank my boy for being the world greatest kid!

"Gee wiz dad, that's so great,” Marty-boy said as he hugged his dad tight, then turned and dashed off to his room to delve into the wonderous world of Duke Striker, the world's greatest crime buster until the sandman sprinkles sleepy dust in his eyes . . .

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The Tale

Life is but a dream . . .

Hello, my name is Marty Terwilliger, and it is a pleasure to meet you. Come in, Please, I’d love nothing more than to show you where I live, and what it’s like to be inside my Sun Coast Boulevard home at 7:30 in the morning.

But be forewarned, the distinction between sanity & madness in this household is a very thin line indeed!

---

“Goldie,” my mama Sherry called out through my sister’s door. “Don’t you dare step out today without putting on that new sunscreen Doctor Walters prescribed for you. What you want is to show you’re pretty ass, not your burn.”

“Yes mom, no mom, I won’t forget.”

“And don’t forget to put on the Minikini beneath. You never know,” she said, smiling with a waggish glint in her eye.

“I’ve already got it on, mama.”

“The pink one?”

“Yes, Mama, the pink one, the string one, the one with the thong strape that wedges up my butt and up inside my coochie when I trudge though the sand.”

“Good, it’s a timer saver,” she said, summing up her thoughts, and then turning to me, she looked all too ready to crawl up inside my head next.

“And you Mister! Tonight I don’t want to hear about your having spent your day spying on your sister again. In fact, I don’t even want to hear about your being spotted anywhere near Mojoe’s Oceanside Juice Shack. You got that, Mister?”

“But Mom,” I called back while squeezing my butt into my Billabongs and my feet into my Beach Comber sandles.

“Mama, I told you, I wasn’t spying. Dad told me to watch out for my sister, and that’s what I was doing & that’s why I was there, cuz that’s where she hangs out,” he labored to explain just as his father emerged from his bedroom to add his voice to the discussion, and add a measure more to all the morning madnessness.

“Yes, mother, I did tell him to watch over her, my darling Sherry,” my father, George Terwilliger, the family bread winner & noted attorney said in passing while tightening his tie.

“Oh, let me do that for you, dear,” she said, as she fluttered up to him like the vamp she was. A persona she had worked down to an art, and a role she loved to play when playing the part of the queen of Burlesque some years past, and now, as my father’s wife, and my surrogate mother.

“Thanks, honey bun. I’m all thumbs today.”

“My pleasure, dear,” she said as she slinked in close and grabbed hold of his crotch. “Humm, wow, is this sluggo what you’re calling a thumb, Honey Bunch!”

“No dear, I call that a distraction when I’m already late for work. And as to the topic under discussion, yes, I asked my son to look after his sister, and that he will, no matter where she chooses to spend her time.”

“Mommy, mommy,” Goldie again threw herself back into the mix. “What am I to do with this?” She asked while waving about the twenty dollar bill our mom had slipped into her shoulder bag.

“Sorry, Sweety, that’s all I had handy.”

“Wait a second,” I blurted out. “You give her a twenty and you give me five bucks? Mom, that won’t ever cover the cost of a cheeseburger for lunch.”

“Woman!” My father huffed, and then sighed, as he thought to add his two cents worth. “Son, trust me when I say, there is no comodity known to man that is more costly than a woman. They’ll eat up every dime you make, and then bleed you for more. Son, take my advice, stay away from the snatch, or get ready to lube up your asshole.”

“George, why are you being mean to me?” Sherry pouted. “Well, we’ll just see what you have to say tonight, honey bun. And don’t worry, I’ll supply the lube.”

It was then I heard a knock & a ‘Yoohoo’ coming from the front door, where Johnny Elliot, my curly haired, freckle face, best buddy stood wearing a play kid’s version of a Buccaneers football helmet and shin guards.

“What is that you’re wearing, young man?” my father asked as he walked passed him to join me in my room.

“A helmet, Mr. Terwilliger, sir.”

“Huh! Well, let me rephrase that. “Why are you wearing a helmet?”

“For pertection, Sir. I don’t know why, but my mother likes my face the way it is.”

“Oh lord,” my dad said, shaking his head, “Oh my goodness,” my stepmom Sherry followed with a snicker, while I just said, “Get in here, you lug nut” while pulling him into my room by the face guard.

“Why are you acting all put out, Marty?” he asked me. “I ain’t done nothing wrong, or did I?”

“No,” I told him as I shut the door behind him, then turned & walked over to my bedroom window to watch my sister, Goldie, across Suncoast Boulevard and then upon the golden sands of Marabella Beach just across the avenue.

It was sight worthy a thousand words that brought the beach side traffic to a stand still as the sightseers sitting inside their fancy automobiles stopped to watch the the wee little thing in her string bikini waddle her twine-split bums & her twine-split camel toe across the street to join her legion of admirers who inhabit the digs down in front of Mojoes Juice Shack. A place hidden amonst the dunes where the worse of the worst long-haired, dope smoking, mother rapeing, father stabbing, beach bums gathered to share the comradery and do their worst.

“Jiminy,”does your mama know where your sister goes everyday to hang out?” Johnny asked as he came up to stand beside me.

“That’s not the question to be asking,” I told him. “The question is, why is it she thinks it’s cool to allow her step-daughter to walk out the house damn near totally naked.”

“Yeah, right, save for a string or two. What a joke!”

“Or, maybe it’s just one of those two peas in the same pod sorta things that my mama is always saying about you & me. You know, one blind mouse following the other, and both to stupid to know not to stick their nose in the trap.”

“Yeah, she’s got that right, but what does that have to do with anything,” I asked.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just one of those ‘from which parent she’d gotten her genes from” sort of things. You know, like she says about me when I done something bad. “That’s your dad!”

“You got it? Me, my dad, both knot heads?”

“Yeah, okay, I got it, but where’s the connection?”

“Well, you did say that your mother had once worked as a dancer at Mini’s Cabaret, right? That place downtown that my mama says is a place for floozy's.”

“A floozy?” What the hell is a floozy, you retard?” I asked him.

“Hey, it ain’t me saying that. I’m just telling, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay, so what’s your point?”

“My point is, isn’t that kinda like the same thing? Your mama being a lady who likes it fast and loose and your sister playing it the same way. Yes?”

”Huh! Well now, that’s deep. It’s worth some thought that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just saying,” Johnny replied, with a shug, then turned and strolled over to flop down on my bed.

I thought that kind of telling in a ‘said his peace’ sorta way, and while I didn’t have much left to say to him, I was quick to join him. Only in my case, it was because I had a whole lot of thinking to do, and as I hopped atop my bed, the place where I always did my best thinking, I went for it.

So I sat there, and he sat there, with the quiet between was near deafening for the longest while, and until . . .

“You know, buddy,” I said to him, “I remember my daddy telling me about how he came to meet my step-mom, Sherry.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“I remember him saying that it was the way her shook her big titties across his face that done it for him.”

“Yeah? This was when she was ‘Sherry Cherry’ the striper?”

“Yeah! He told me he was sitting there at a table that fronted the stage upon which she was dancing when, like a diver jumping of the high board, she flopped her g-string wearing ass down on his lap.”

“Wow!” he giggled. “What a love story.”

“Yep, my dad said that there had to have been atleast a hundred men in the room throwing 10 spots at her, but that it was only his mug she choose to mash her tits into, and that it was upon his lap that she choose to sit her puss.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like I said, he thought that was really cool, but really messy too, because that pit of slim between her legs was leaking like a sieve.”

“Your daddy said that?”

“Sure did!”

“Now that’s funny,” he laughted heartedly, near splitting his gut. “Imagine, just a moment ago I wondering where it was that Goldie got her genes.”

“Well you know how that works, bro, you took Mrs. Gubber’s class. It’s the daddy adds the water to the mix & it’s the mama who stirs it!”

“Yeah, dude, I know, I ain’t stupid. But, it stills takes two to make a cake, and as far as I know, half a slut is still a slut.”

“Yeah, sure, that makes sense. I’d say we’re both tuned into the same wave length on that one.”

“I wonder,” he then said with his eyes lit up rich with the surprise of discovery. “Do you think that maybe that’s the reason why Goldie, your sister, likes to wag her ass and tits outside in front of Mojo’s juice bar? You know, to get all juiced up, like your mom once did on stage?”

“What?”

“You know, to entice the men into jumping her bones?”

“Johnny, have you gone crazy? She ain’t got no tits. Nips, yeah, like li’bumps but that don’t count, no way, no how. And please, don’t go talking about her puss, cuz I’ve seen it, and I can tell you first hand, if she’s got one more hair on her puss than I have on my knuckles, then I’d be lying.”

“Then why do you think she does down there? There has to be something in it for her.”

“Yeah, well, now, that’s the question ain’t it!” But right now we don’t have the time to sit and wonder about it. Right now we gotta get going. Otherwise, I’ll have nothing to tell my dad when he gets home.”

“Come on, buddy, let’s get going.”

---

Later that day upon their return home . . .

“Where did you find this,” Johnny Elliot, my friend, my bud, asked as he picked out baggy from the heap of garbage I’d collected as a guise while watching what was going on down at Mojoy’s juice bar from a distance.”

“I don’t know,” I told him straight out. “I just saw it blowing my way across the dunes, and thought to myself, ‘well, who knows . . . .’ ”

“Well, I know what I saw Goldie doing,” Johnny replied, “and I don’t care who knows or who I tell.”

“Yeah, well, what was that?”

“You remember when you left to walk around to the other side of Mojo’s shack so we could watch the goings on from different directions just in case?

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, well, that’s when I saw Goldie with the biggest, nastiest, ugliest, long haired mother raping, father stabbing, low down scoundrels I ever saw.”

“Whoa, easy there, buddy, that’s like saying a lot.”

“Well, I ain’t lying. He looked all of them things and more, and so did the 5 other louts who followed him in, and none of them had a stitch of clothes on, and that included Goldie.”

“You mean they were standing outside naked?”

“Yeah! I guess they were sunning or some shit, and then they just got up and went inside with Goldie leading the way.

“You mean, like a tribe of naked jungle natives or something?”

“Yeah! Like that. Like a tribe of sprear chucking naked natives trouping though the jungle only it was though the dunes on a Florida beach.”

“Yeah, will, okay, I got it. So what happened?”

“Yeah, well, like I was saying, Goldie was leading the way while pulling along that big, mean, ugly looking fella by his cock. And I’m talking about supersized, got me buddy?”

“Did it come with fries?” I jokingly asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” you idiot.”

“I was just asking, that’s all,” I said while still tittering. “I mean what’s lunch without fries, and a cup of Mayo to dip them in.”

“Dude, no one dips their fries in Mayo.”

“Goldie does.”

“Ugh! Really dude? Johnny replied with his hand around his throat, acting was if gagging.”

“Yeah, really, dude, she does. And she looks really funny with that mayo oozing out her mouth too.”

“Damn, that’s ugly.”

“Sure is,” but no less the ugly then what you saw.”

“What?”

“Dude, you know, what you saw outside the shack when Goldie, bare naked, was pulling along one of those big bad, mother raper, father stabber along by his cock and into the hut. Atleast I’d have something really wicked to tell my dad. I mean that’s pretty nasty stuff, absent only a first hand accounting of him balling her.”

“Yeah, that’d do her in for sure. Pow! Good night, Goldie! Adiós, good-by.”

“But you know what, dude?”

“What?

“I wouldn’t exactly call the baggy you found doggy-do. It’s a really valuable find.”

“What? You gone crazy?”

“No, I’ve seen its likes before,” he then said, only this time, sounded as it a tad bit spooked.”

“What’s with you, bud? Did you trip and fall on your head or something? I mean, it’s just a sandwish bag, that’s all.”

“Oh? I don’t think so. Look here,” he then said while taking hold of it. “See here, you see the faint shadowy image of the letters ‘CS’ and the word ‘BOO’?

“Yeah, yeah, I see it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen something like it before, only the one I saw wasn’t all sun bleached & faded like this one is.”

“What is it?”

“Listen! About a week or so past, the police came to our school to teach us about the dangers of drugs. They showed us all sorts of paraphernalia, and in the mix, there was a baggy that looked exactly like this one.”

“They said it was an example of the type of marking the bad guys use tag their merchandise so you’ll know what to ask for the next time you come around.”

“You mean to say that the ‘C & S’ on this baggy are the initials of the guy who sold it.”

“No, I didn’t say that. I just said it’s an image of something that has been sun bleached on. You see how the letters are all backwards, like a reflection in a mirror?”

“Yeah, I see.”

“Well, that proofs what I’m telling you is right. It’s an image of something, someone, had put in the baggy, that’s all. Probably, a piece of paper or some such that tells you that it ain’t shredded wheat you’re buying.”

“Yeah, well, tell me, if I were a guy looking to buy whatever it was that was inside, what does this say I’d be buying?”

“Boo! See, it says so right there,” he said, pointing to the ‘OOB’ imprint on the bag.

“You mean like a ghost says boo!

“No, stupid, like the illegal substance you’d be buying.”

“So, let me understand. You’re saying that’s the reason why Goldie’s goes down there is to get stoned?”

“Look, I don’t know. We went out to look for clues to try figure out what the fuck is going on and that’s a clue. As to what it all means, that’s for you to figure out, not me.”

“Huh!” Marty huffed while sorting out his thoughts. Then after a long moment, “Yeah, well, I did tell you that Mojoe’s was a hang out for the creeps and junkies, so I guess that fits. She is definitely a creep.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting those vibes too,” Johnny replied.

“C & S, C & S,” Marty then started to mumble while working his way through the list of possibilities: “Charley Slasher, Cyd Switch Blade, Crusher the Slam-Man Smith, who?”

----

The next morning Johnny Elliot arrived a bit earlier than usual, though not so early as to be surprised to fine Marty still in the shower.

“Dude, it’s like ten in the morning,” he said loud enough to be heard over the rush of hot, steamy shower water.

“Sorry, Bud, I went to sleep a bit late last night.”

“I gotcha,” no problemo, dude” Johnny replied while sitting his ass down on the toilet.

“Hey, will you do me one and grab a towel & toss it over.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said while looking around, “that is if I can find one.”

“Dude, don’t play the lame game with me. The towels are hanging on the rack, dumbo!”

“The hell they are. There ain’t shit hanging on the towel rack.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot, this is laundry day.”

“Meaning?” Johnny then asked with a shrug.

“Meaning my mom gathers up all dirties once a weeks, socks and unidies, sheets & towels, the whole wad and takes it all down to the laundry.

“Meaning . . .?

“Meaning, there ain’t no towels for me to dry off with, and no undies to put on either.”

“Nothing.”

“Well, let me rephrase that. The laundry has been cleaned & returned but it still sits in bundles in my mom’s room.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, like I said, I’ll go dig it up.”

“No, dude, it’s all in bundles in my mom’s room and you can’t go in there. It’s gotta be me,” I told him while stepping out of the shower.

“Whoa, Dude! Now that’s a dong!” he laughed while scrutinizing my shit.

“Fuck you, homo, shut the fuck up. Now, come on, we’re got us some digging to do.”

And so I did with my best bud following along behind watching my dong bounce back & force between his knees like a brat dangling & swaying down from the rafters. That is until I pushed open his parent’s bedroom door and he caught sight of the four laundry bags that looked to hold every stitch of clothing our family owned.

“You do those two bags, and I’ll do the other two.”

“Sure, bro, I’m already on it,” he said as he startled digging until . . .

“Hey, bro, what’s this,” he said shortly thereafter, while holding up a bra with a cup size big enough to support Goldie’s bun’s had she strapped it around her hips.

“You know damn well what it is, you jerk. Now, stop playing and find me a pair of underpants before I freeze my balls.”

“No, dude, I ain’t talking about the bra. I’m talking this,” he said, holding up a baggy that he’d pulled out from the inside one of those humongous titty cups. “I found it stuck inside the cup held tight by static energy or some shit.”

“Damn, that’s odd. Those Chinamen who work the laundry are usually pretty careful about that sorta thing. Did you find any undies other towels for me wipe off with?”

“Nope! But if you think finding this baggy inside odd, take a closer look at the bag. See there,” he said while pointing at the same sun bleached & faded image of a C &S sunburnt into the side!”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, bro, I feeling your pain.”

“I don’t get it. It makes no sense,” I said while scratching his head.

“Dude, do you remember us talking yesterday, and you were telling me about the story your dad told you about how he met your mom, and how he loved to call her Sherry Cherry.”

“Yeah, like I said, he calls her that all the time. He told me that was her stage name, and she loved it. She was also so inclinged to stuff real, honest to goodness cherries, up her puss & up her ass, for customers to eat out for $50 bucks a pop.”

“Damn, bro, this nasty.”

“It sure the fuck is.”

“Yeah, well, now tell me. Would a woman who does something like that be above selling dope!”

“Yeah, you’re right. But why would she need to? My dad has the bucks, and plenty of them!”

“Ask him, not me, Marty!”

----

When later that day George, his father, arrived home from work Marty thought to have a sit down with him.

“Dad, you make good money, right? Enough to lavish mom with all the money she could ever want, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a buck or two in my pocket.”

“Yeah, well, I only ask because I’m feeling a little put out.”

“About what, Marty?

“Well, for starters, why would mama need to go out to find ways to fatten her purse with money that according to you, she don’t even need?”

“She does?”

“Dad, I want to show you something,” Marty then said, as he reach into pocket and and pulled out Baggy.

“What’s that, son?”

“A baggy, dad,”

“Yeah, I can see that, son. It’s a sandwich baggy, big deal.”

“To keep food fresh in, right dad?”

“Yeah, son, that’s what I just say.”

“Wrong! See this,” Marty replied, while pointing to that sun bleached & faded image ‘CS, Boo’ imprinted on the side.

“Huh, well now, that don’t look your everyday kitchen baggy now does it?”

“I didn’t find it in the kitchen. I found it stuck to mama’s bra when I was separating the laundry. And I’ve been told that it’s drug paraphernalia.

“Oh, you have, have you?”

“Yes, Dad, I have. And anyway you choose see it, that spells bad news daddy.”

“Yeah, boy, it looks like it. I guess that means you got me, Copper,” he said with a smirk while throwing up his hands.

“Look, my hands are up, so don’t be shoot’in, Copper,” he then said, using the exact same words that Duke Striker’s caught criminal snarled out upon his capture at the end of the comic book he had been reading.

And it was only when his thoughts & reminiscences grew clearer, and more focus, that he came to realize that his dad wasn’t ever there. That he was alone in his room on his bed asleep with the comic book at his side, and no doubt dreaming. Yet, the whole of it all still felt so real to him that he already could hear his dad call out the last line . . .

“Okay, Copper, I know when I’ve been bettered, so just slap on the cuffs and lock me up . . .”

---

Epilogue

Flipping the Page . . .

“Hey, honey,” Sherry said as she walked in the door, shed her scarf, and closed the door behind.

“I’m bushed, what’s for dinner, George.”

“Stuffer Bell Peppers, babe, with a tomato & cucumber salad to go along with it.”

“Oh, it sounds divine. I guess that means the garbage hauling business down at the Midville Trash Company was pretty slow today.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say slow, just easy going. Leastwise it gave me enough time to clean off the skunk and do some shopping before I got home.”

“So, you think dinner sounds fine, do you? He again asked his wife.

“Oh yeah, plenty fine, thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome, my Cuddle Muffin. Do you want to know what else I bought when I was shopping down at Mortimores today?

“Yes, George, what?”

“The new Duke Striker Crime Detective comic, the latest one, volumn #54. I saw it right there on the rack beside the check out counter. And you want to know what I said to myself when I saw it?” I asked myself how can I thank my ‘Marty’ for being the world greatest kid!

“Oh, George, how wonderful! I bet his eyes grew big as saucers when he saw it.”

“You bet, honey. He was floating on a cloud.”

“He’s in bed?”

“Yeah, babe, he took two bites of dinner, then grabbed hold of that comic and went straight to his to room, and I ain’t seen nothing of him since. Fact, if it weren’t for the sound of his gasping you wouldn’t even know he was in there.”

“Oh my, it sound like he was seventh heaven. But, George, so much time spend in his room. I mean other than school, he spends all of his time in his room, and now he has all the more reason.”

“He’s at that age, hon. You know, all the changes that come about as a boy starts to become a man.”

“Yes, I know, but as it is, other than the time spent at school he keeps himself hidden away in his room. No sleep overs, no friends come to visit, and he’s not involved in any outside activities whatsoever. Now, you know that can’t be healthy, sweetie.”

“And what about boy, Johnny, Johnny Elliot, the boy who he said we his best friend. I haven’t seen him around for ages, like light years ago.”

“Oh Sherry, stop being such a negative nay-bob and look at the bright side. Atleast now he has is favority comic book hero at his side while he is beating off.”

“Oh my,” she blushed like an innocent, “you are the rascal.”

“Oh well I’d better look in on him to see if he at lease took to the time to remove his clothes before falling asleep . . .

The end

A Bad Robot story, hope you got it . . .

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