From cobaltjade@aol.com Mon Apr 28 19:34:21 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! by Cobalt Jade (1/3)
From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Date: 28 Apr 1997 23:34:21 GMT
--------

[F/mm, teen, bndg, 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!

by Cobalt Jade



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 Mon Apr 28 19:35:48 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! by Cobalt Jade (2/3)
From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Date: 28 Apr 1997 23:35:48 GMT
--------

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 2)

"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 Mon Apr 28 19:37:24 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: [NEW] Dad's Going to KILL Us! by Cobalt Jade (3/3)
From: cobaltjade@aol.com (CobaltJade)
Date: 28 Apr 1997 23:37:24 GMT
--------
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 3)

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.

#

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 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.

Tyler walked them downstairs, 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 the story between themselves, in the 
future, over a six-pack of beer by the pool. 

"Brent, go on ahead to the car, will you?" His brother pulled a 
face, seeing a gushy farewell scene coming. He went to toss his 
backpack in the trunk.

"Tyler..." Reed began, as she folded her arms over her bathrobe 
and gazed seriously at him, her face disarmingly pixyish. She 
smelled of cedar oil soap. It was hard to look her in the eye. He 
kept seeing her face when he pinned her down on the bed and 
stuck his cock in her mouth. The memory made him feel guilty 
and embarrassed now. He wanted to say a million things, and ask 
a million questions, but only one came out: "Why?"

She shrugged. "Maybe I like young guys. I could tell you about a 
little girl who was always trying to fit in and never did, or I could 
tell you about a teenager who was constantly put down for being 
poor, being ugly, being different...or I could tell you about an art 
student who sacrificed everything, literally everything, to put 
herself through school and be the best she could be...or I would 
tell you about the crazy bitchiness of the art world, the friends 
who drop you when you're no longer hot, the agents who screw 
you blind, and long hours of pounding the pavement going to 
gallery after gallery begging to show slides of your work even to 
even the janitor if he was interested. 

"But you don't really want to know about all that, do you?"

She kissed him softly on the mouth. "Take care of yourself, Ice 
Prince."

"Drive safe," she called as he walked to the car. She gave a last 
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 had 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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