“Catch me if you can!” Lana cried out. Lana ran to the closest tree on shore and hid behind it.
Lance took his time coming to shore. He knew that Lana wanted to play and he was willing to let her. But she would pay.
Lance walked with confidence from the water, went to his pants and got out a condom and then approached the tree. He came to the other side from Lana, dropped the condom on the ground and stopped. He could hear her breathing. He reached around the tree and grabbed her roughly pulling her to him.
“You caught me! Now, what are you going to do with me?” Lana questioned with a smile in her voice.
“I’m going to make you pay, that’s what I’m going to do.” Lance said. He faced her toward the tree with her back to him. He took her hands and placed them palm facing the tree. “Keep your hands there. You can be as loud as you want but nobody is going to hear you and nobody is going to save you.” Lance made loud noises as he kissed her neck and side of her face.
“I don’t want to be saved, I just want you.” Lana pushed her backside into Lance’s body.
Lance reached between their bodies and found her center with his fingers. He took his finger and flicked it across her clit. Lana jumped and her juices began flowing.
Lance took the condom from the ground, opened it and sheathed himself. Then he put his member at the opening of her heaven. “Tell me you want me.” Lance huskily spoke.
“I want you. I want this. Please. Don’t. Stop.” Lana panted this all out as quickly as she could.
Lance grinned as he began to enter her. “Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t give you what you want.” He thrust forward once, pulled back and then thrust forward again as far as he could.
Lance pounded in and out of Lana as she arched her back and pushed into him further. Her panting mixed with his and the wind took up their cries and scattered them in the skies.
Lana tossed her head back and cried out when Lance took his hand to her mound and flickered with her clit while he moved his member in and out with force. Lana flung her body into it when the tremors began to overtake her. Her powerful orgasm was over powering and with her cries, Lance’s orgasm overtook him.
They both stood there shaking for a moment before Lance pulled out of Lana, turned her around and swooped her into his arms. He carried her to the blanket and gently laid her down. Lying next to her, he gently caressed her and they both fell into a light slumber.
Upon waking up, they ate their late lunch before starting back on the track back to the bed and breakfast.
After reaching the inn, they spent a day relaxing and just getting to know one another. This day was for them and they would enjoy it.
Chapter 8
Lance stretched out on the bed Monday morning. They had turned to each other several times between yesterday and last night and Lana was exhausted. He watched as Lana’s naked form laid spread out over the bed and breathed softly in and out.
He reached out and lightly stroked Lana’s back but so softly as not to wake her. He knew that she must be exhausted.
Lance walked into the living room and picked up his cell phone and placed a phone call.
“Hey there, buddy. How are you?” Kyle asked when he answered the phone.
Lance gave a chuckle. “I’ve never been better. I know that you are an early bird and that is the only reason I am calling you before seven in the morning. Lana told me that you were taking off work today and I wanted to know if you wanted to come on over this morning.”
“Sure man. Let me clean up my coffee mess and I will head over there. I can be there in less than twenty minutes. Is that okay?” Kyle questioned.
Lance said, “That’s fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby of the bed and breakfast. I want to talk to you about something.” Lance had a little tribulation in his voice.
Kyle cautiously spoke next. “Okay. I hope that everything is okay. I will see you soon.”
Lance greeted Kyle at the door. Lance opened the door wide and allowed Kyle to pass through. After Kyle was in the door, Lance closed and locked it. They were not expecting any guests for more than seven hours so they had plenty of time before then.
Lance turned to Kyle. “There is something I wanted to tell you without Lana around. More than that, something I wanted to show you.” With that, Lance pulled Kyle to him and gave him an open mouthed kiss and embraced him with passion.
“Wow!” Kyle said as Lance released him. “That, I did not expect. Not that I’m complaining, but where did that come from?” Kyle asked.
Lance answered carefully. “I sat up for quite a while last night thinking. Lana told me that both of you wanted a relationship that compiled of all three of us. And I want that too. I just wanted to show you that I am open to this and welcome it with open arms. While I might not be ready to have sex with you, I am open to an intimate relationship with you. And Lana, of course.”
“Of course,” said Kyle. “And I want to thank you for that. It means a lot to me. Now, what do you say that we go and wake up sleeping beauty in the most wonderful way?”
Lance looked into Kyle’s eyes as he spoke. “I say let’s get to it. You know, they were right in culinary school.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.
“Well,” Lance said, “sometimes you need to just add spice.” With that, Lance grabbed Kyle’s arm and they walked hand and hand to the woman upstairs.
The End
The Home Coming
Chapter 1
Life is funny sometimes... By which, of course, I mean to say that my life can tend to be a fucking joke. Or, at any rate, that's how I felt at the period in time at which the events in question take place- it's very possible that my attitude towards it all might have shifted somewhat in the ensuing years.
It all started with my parents. Well, I mean that's pretty obvious... But I don't mean in the “When a mommy and a daddy love each other” sense. Things would have been a hell of a lot easier if they did love each other though, I'll tell you right now. In truth, they were one of those couples that you looked at with disbelief and wondered, how the hell did two such different people ever manage to fall in love with one another, and what in God's name decided them to stick this hellish sham of a relationship out for as long as they did?
My earliest memories, of childhood, weren't so gloomy. I don't know if those days predated the era of their constant fighting, or whether I was simply too young and moronic to have noticed it. I'm sure, like all couples, they probably did their fair share of quibbling, but for the most part I recall my youngest years of existence as being relatively peaceful, happy even. And maybe that was where I made my first mistake... By no fault of my own, I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security, laboring under the impression that things were mostly good, that they would always be good, and that my loving family would forever be a happy, healthy, peachy-as-pie nuclear unit that could by no means be separated. Not by rain nor snow nor sleet or hail.
God, I was a moron.
It was as if the fact of thinking such nonsense, in and of itself, led to the beginning of the end, because I remember things starting to slip quite clearly, startling me in my innocent naivety. It started with my nights, very gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. Mommy and Daddy's voices seemed to be picking up just the slightest bit in pitch and tone, amplifying, resounding throughout the house as they mistakenly believed me to be asleep upstairs in my room. And generally, I had been, until their explosive arguments began to awaken me.
But, initially at least, the conflict was contained to such nocturnal spurts. I would sit out through the worst of the yelling, trembling beneath the blankets, and then all of the sudden, it would reside, flatlining, gone again until the following evening.
During the daytime, it might have been as though I'd somehow fantasized the existence of an argument to begin with. Like, somehow, everything was alright again- or, well... Maybe not alright, exactly. Things were, admittedly, tense. I felt a bit stifl
ed in the sort of atmosphere that was suddenly taking over our home at times. But... Well, it wasn't something that was constant, exactly. There were still familiar glimpses of normalcy- and in fact, they sometimes even outweighed the bad times. If I let myself, I could keep on believing that things with my family were like they'd always been, and go on blind but pacified in the hopes that whatever emotional blows were being exchanged between my parents could be healed simply enough with time.
Days went by. I took notice of the fact that both of my parents were being considerably more friendly, more loving with me than they were with one another. Half of me didn't mind this completely, but half of me saw easily through their somewhat blatant and unreasonable attempts at hogging the lion's share of my affection. I was, more or less, caught in the middle, tugged in opposite directions by warring factions, and doing my absolute youthful damnedest to keep the peace for as long as possible.
But of course, there was only so much I could do. Each of them began to grow paranoid, accusing the other of trying to butter me up- an act of which they were both guilty, mind you- and the fighting just kept getting worse and worse as the days progressed. Both my compliance with or defiance of their wishes did little more than add fuel to the fire of their arguments, and the yelling and accusing began to seep into the daylight hours just as readily as they had the nighttime, so that the sparring began to grow almost inescapable.
And then, suddenly, somehow, everything seemed to grow calmer. Like, all at once more or less, and without much explanation. Of course there was an explanation, but it took a while before it sunk in fully.
It started out with my father spending longer hours at the office, and coming home far more amenable at the end of the day- and more than likely, you can probably figure out where this going from there...
Initially, I didn't give a fuck what the root cause of this renewed domestic peace was, I was just happy as hell for things to be getting back to some semblance of normalcy. It was, of course, the calm before the storm, and being lulled back into this false sense of security was perhaps in part responsible for the emotional severity of it all when the lightning struck once more.
I'll never forget the night my mother found out about my father's affair with his secretary. She'd been suspicious for some time at that point, I think, but had never bothered to poke around in the mess of it for fear of what she might find. I'm actually not a hundred percent sure what led to the grand revelation of Dad's infidelity, but the night it happened it was as though fire and brimstone rained down from the sky, and everything basically collapsed on itself in a great, sloppy heap. Mom was throwing Dad's things outside, cursing up a fury of profanity, nearly becoming physically violent with him, but scarcely restraining herself, I'm fairly certain, for my benefit alone.
When at last the dust of it all had settled, my father promptly moved into a hotel, and divorce proceedings began almost immediately. It goes without saying that I was quite shaken up by all that had gone on, and I felt as though a major part of my life up to that point had suddenly, and without warning, abandoned me. My mother was completely justified in her outrage, of course, but I think part of me still blamed her for all of it all the same, and our relationship grew incredibly strained.
During my teenage years, I kept mostly to myself, not really connecting to anyone at all the way I used to, passing my days sort of flatly, and biding my time. I got just a little bit too artsy for my own good during that period as well, writing poetry, learning guitar, shit like that to help me make sense of what I was going through.
And then, without warning, things flipped on their head once more, and as much as I should have suspected it, I was perhaps as unprepared as ever.
My mother, inevitably, ended up remarrying- not a surprise, in and of itself, but to be expected sooner or later I suppose. What did come as a shock was the moment that I first laid eyes on my new stepbrother Kyle, and I swore to God I felt my heart stop beating in my chest for a moment.
Kyle was... Kyle was... Shit...
To put it mildly, Kyle was just about every swinging thing I could want in a guy my age, and more. From the get-go, I could pick up on the fact of some kind of feelings developing toward him, initially judging from nothing more but his appearance. He had a handsome face, with dark, penetrating eyes, black hair, and a strong jawline, his lips mesmerizing, and seeming as though they somehow possessed their own form of gravitational pull on the viewer. His body was, quite simply, fucking immaculate, rippling with muscles and built like a fucking tank, so that he looked like some kind of male model or bodybuilder, and it became intensely difficult not to fantasize about him in the dirtiest of ways. He always dressed in such a manner that avoiding these sorts of thoughts felt next to impossible- tanktops with absolutely tremendous arm holes, revealing vast, fleshy swaths of his bare torso underneath; tight jeans that snuggled in deep to his body, and left very little to the imagination...
And what was more, the sexual tension between the two of us was almost unbearable from the get-go. Our parents married, and our household was consolidated into a single unit, which meant that I was left in almost perpetual proximity to the beautiful bastard, and almost any time I was around him I felt my stomach so swollen with butterflies that I couldn't fucking stand it. It was impossible to fully comprehend the odd dynamic the two of us seemed to share- I mean, hell, two hormonally charged young adults told to treat each other like brother and sister, yet sharing no blood relation and being forced to be in near constant contact with one another under the same fucking roof? It was enough to drive a girl crazy, I don't mind telling you right away.
There were so many awkward situations in those days that I can't even begin to scratch the surface of it. First and foremost, there were the times when we hung out with one another- we got along quite well, unsurprisingly, but it generally got to be too much too fast, and we found ourselves spiraling rapidly from sibling camaraderie into a mutual and unmistakable desire to tear one another's clothes off. Inevitably, we would always have to pry ourselves apart whenever these urges swept over us, and we could both generally tell when this was the case. Our nostrils would flare, my breasts would beat harder than hell, sweat would begin to roll down along our radiant bodies... Time and time again I would turn away from my beloved stepbrother before doing something stupid, and would catch a plain and obvious view of his crotch, the fabric of his jeans bulging fiercely into the open, as sure a sign as any of his poorly hidden attraction for me.
Some nights, I would lay in bed mere feet away from him, our bedrooms separated as they were by a single wall, and overhear what were clearly sounds of him masturbating... God, how those nights seemed to draw on. I would here the loud, meaty slap of hand against pelvis, wet and perverse and erotic, and I would burn for Kyle's forbidden fruit, my lips watering mercilessly, and those of my pussy getting wetter than hell to match them. I was eighteen at the time, thank God, which meant that once the hot, humid summer in question had drawn to a close I would be in the clear from this waking nightmare- off to college, and free from the sexually oppressive company of my taboo, semi-incestuous stepbrother's love.
But then again, the perversities didn't stop at just that...
For one thing, on the nights I overheard him beating himself off, I simply could not avoid fantasizing about him, mentally picturing myself in the bedroom with him, bent over on my hands and knees, being taken like a fucking animal as he pounded me to oblivion, possibly anally...
And fuck me, I would burst out in a cold sweat, and start to masturbate myself simultaneously, rubbing my pussy in time to the bursts of flesh on flesh pulsing from the next room, and challenging myself to orgasm at the exact point when the thrusting of his wrist seemed to come to a halt. At the very least, if nothing else, my own masturbatory efforts were far quieter, less disruptive than Kyle's relentless pounding of his own cock, and I could carry on with my business somewhat more discreetly- not that that made me feel a hell of a lot better about these forbidde
n thoughts and actions.
There were a couple of more... Direct incidents, as well...
In case one needs reminding, we now shared a bathroom with one another, and as accustomed as we were to having household privacy, neither of us had quite gotten used to having to lock the door...
And yeah... Things went bad pretty quickly...
First there was the day he walked in on me undressing, down to my goddamn bra and panties, evoking a shriek of terror and a quick wrapping of my limbs around my body to preserve some pathetic semblance of modesty. He apologized profusely, but stared wide-eyed, fixedly for a moment before he was able to tear away his astonished gaze, and scramble out of the hallway. My heart beat in my chest like a fucking drum for several minutes after his departure, and somehow I felt as turned on by the incident as I was alarmed. I fantasized about him crawling into the shower with me, ravishing my wet, naked body, and this, in turn, led me to jumping into the tub and massaging my clit to orgasm with the detachable shower head. It might have been one of the most satisfying climaxes I'd ever experienced in my life up to that point, if you want the honest to God truth about it...
A few weeks passed, then, and we'd mostly managed to rid the awkward incidents from our minds- that is, until the exact same thing happened once more, only this time with the shoe on the other foot so to speak. I was the one to walk in on him this time, in a state of undress like myself, save for one crucial exception- Kyle, standing like a deer in the headlights in the center of the bathroom, was completely ass naked when I walked in on him. I gasped, and as he did, gaped ashamedly at his nude body, his nine inch penis fully erect, hard and veiny, his fingers curled around it as though he'd been in the process of beginning to masturbate. He was in such shock at the sight of me that he couldn't even let go, but simply strengthened his grip on the long hard cock, so intensely that I thought he might rip the damn thing clean off.
Billionaire: Menage: Swinger: Let's Swing (MMF Bisexual Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Short Stories) Page 35