Kinky: Three Men, One Collision

by Peter Butler

  He finally got it.

  Dillon grabbed at his crotch and moaned in mock pain. 'Ow..! The pain's excruciating.'

  Emily laughed. 'You poor boy. Can you get your bike and come back? Or, is it too painful to walk?'

  He gave her a knowing smile. 'I reckon I can manage. Where's the nearest first-aid station?'

  Emily pointed across the road to the large dimly lit house on the corner. 'It just so happens my house has everything we need.'

  ***

  Zac was feeling bullet-proof. He had shown the little hardware guy who was boss and now he had made his first move against his father. It was only a small graffiti attack on the Cramer building and he had been sensible enough to disguise his trademark "Z" by hiding it in the middle of other icons.

  Zac had always lived in the shadow of his father; his achievements were immense, his friends and contacts were many and powerful, his earning power was prodigious and his skills at fatherhood, non-existent.

  Zac had been brought up by a mother who's idea of a spectacular day was a nice brunch with the girls followed by picking up a new dress, or bracelet or shoes or maybe all of the above. Any involvement with Zac was considered a chore. This meant Zac had to get his guidance and morals from the hired help and his school teachers. All of whom were well intentioned but not up to the job of containing a young man who quickly learned that his father's power dribbled down and flowed onto him, even though he had no understanding of the process. From an early age Zac had been a handful. Tantrums when he was very young growing to violence as he became physically bigger. A sizable amount of money had passed from his father's bank account to Zac's victims over the years and Douglas Cramer was at a loss what to do about his problem child. If he was anyone else in the community he would have already lost his son to the care of the state. Knowing judges and police chiefs had allowed rules to be bent and corners to be cut, but Zac was approaching manhood and Douglas Cramer's powers were about to be neutered by Zac's loss of "minor" status.

  Douglas had considered forcing Zac into the military to, hopefully, beat some discipline into him. He had held back on the idea, for the moment, as he feared that the military might just make matters worse by giving Zac the skills to take his troubled, unpredictable mind to an unimaginable level. The last thing the family needed was a trained psychopath - they couldn't handle the unskilled one they already had.

  Still basking in the afterglow of the adrenaline rush he got from creating some more masterpieces, Zac rode slowly down the crushed-gravel path that led from the rear entry of his home to the pool-house, which he regarded as his home. He couldn't actually remember the last time he had been inside the main mansion, he guessed it would have been months ago when one of the morons he was related to had a birthday, or something. His mother and father had ceased to exist in his mind, it was his way of paying them back for totally ignoring him when he was growing-up. His sister, Lissy had always regarded him as just an annoyance in her life. Even from a very young age she had reacted to him more like he was a threat, or at least a challenge, to her right to get everything in life given to her by her parents. Stuck-up little bitch! In his own mind Zac had already paid her back for how she treated him: When he was a lot younger he used to spy on her, he would climb out his bedroom window and on to the tiled roof and make his way around to the other side of the house where her bedroom was located and lie, waiting totally still in the darkness for the show to begin. Being high up on the second floor, Lissy had not seen the need to draw her curtains. A big mistake. What Zac saw his older sister doing with her hair brush and various other elongated items as she lay on her bed had given him a perception of female sexuality that had indelibly linked pain and sex and females into his already stained immature brain. He had come to only enjoy sex if it involved pain. Not for him, though - he was a giver, not a taker.

  Zac knew something was amiss as soon as the pool-house became visible to him. The main lights were on. All of them. He never turned them all on, preferring low light and darkness, as he was a creature of the night - a Batman, or more likely a Joker, who blended with the shadows and did things that ordinary people could not. He didn't believe it at first but the next window confirmed what he had seen. He threw his bike to the ground and stormed into the main living-room. It took him only a moment to scan the entire room and see the extent of the damage that had been done. Instantly he put it all together - he knew exactly who had done this - the hardware guy. Zac had no awareness that he was screaming, but he was - in a voice so loud it had lights turning on in the main house, and also in a few of the surrounding properties.

  'YOU... FUCKIN... RETARD...!' echoed repeatedly around the freshly spray-painted walls and the TV's and sound equipment and lounges and... everything, even the fridge. His prized Playstation Racing Driver simulation console that had been specially constructed for him for his last birthday had been turned pink; the screens and the expensive pair of blue Corbeau racing seats were covered in painted Z's. It was ruined along with almost everything else he possessed.

  Zac screamed his obscenities again and again at the top of his voice as he thrashed his way down the passage, too preoccupied at swearing at the dreadful graffiti scarring the walls to notice that he was treading in human excrement that had pooled in scattered blotches on the richly carpeted floor.

  'FUCK... FUCK... FUCK...' He shouted to himself as he returned to the carnage ravaged living-room, but stopped dead in his tracks when he looked at the open main door. In the doorway stood frozen, his father, mother, Livvy and two of the housemaids, all were still panting from the run and dressed only in their pyjamas, no dressing-gowns or jackets, such was their haste to investigate the anguished screams and swearing they had heard. They all had horrified looks on their faces. Livvy was also pinching her nose from a smell that was exactly three numbers less than her favorite number... 5.

  ***

  Emily whispered, 'Leave your bike over there,' she pointed to a tree trunk that was in almost total darkness. 'Nobody will see it anyway, as no one comes outside at night.' She smiled at Dillon as she added in a Southern accent, 'except little old ball-breaker, me!'

  Dillon wanted to share in her light-hearted banter but he was too anxious about what might be going to happen in just a few moments. He assumed Emily's parents would be home and wondered how she would explain his presence. He had taken her meaning of first-aide as something more than an ice-pack or a bandage: she had to mean sex - surely. He still had the rubber gloves in his hand and he glanced at the box and wondered, what is she planning to do with them?

  He stowed his bike and returned to her side. Once again she held his hand as she led him to the front door. The portico light was on and he expected the door would fly open at any second and he would be confronted with a six-six, two hundred and fifty pound father pointing accusingly at him and his box of rubber gloves. Before that could happen Emily inserted her key into the lock and opened the heavyset door. To Dillon's joy it did so silently and no man-eating father was standing behind it.

  Emily looked at him and sensed his nervousness. She suddenly thrust both her hands at his face, at the same time said, 'Boo!' with a big grin. Then she added, 'Lighten up, giraffe boy. Don't want you going all tense on me... just yet.'

  That was the moment Dillon knew for sure he was about to have sex for the first time. With a real girl.

  'Wait here,' she whispered, 'I'll go check and see if mom is cooked.'

  Before he could ask, she was already walking away down the very wide entrance foyer. As Emily disappeared into an adjoining room Dillon took in his surroundings. About twenty feet from the front door a large carpeted staircase led up to a landing that split into another two staircases that folded off to the right and left. Beside where he stood was a closed solid door, about thirty feet further down where the stairwell bisected the hall lay another door, this one was open. The one Emily had gone through was on the opposite side. A further thirty feet, or so his view of the hallway ended when it s
plit into a T-section. At the end of the hall hung a huge mirror surrounded by an ornate gold frame, and Dillon could see his reflection standing awkwardly in front of the closed front door. He was too far away to see the anxious look on his own face, but he knew it was there.

  Then he heard Emily. She was talking to someone. And her voice seemed to be coming towards him from somewhere down the hallway, perhaps from the room she had gone into, he couldn't tell. Whatever she had said, was now being responded to... by a second female voice, and he could tell that both women were heading towards the foyer where he was standing because their voices were getting louder. They were still inside the room that Emily had gone into when Dillon made his decision, he raced the four steps required to the closed door on his left and turned the handle. He prayed it wasn't an office or a bedroom and he was about to charge in on the owner of the house, or anybody else for that matter, but he had no choice, if he stayed where he was he would definitely be discovered, this option gave him a better chance of remaining hidden. The room was in darkness and he quickly closed the door and braced himself for the scream that would surely follow if it was someones bedroom. He allowed himself a quiet, Phew! when enough time had elapsed to assume he was alone. His eyes had not adjusted enough for him to identify the type room he was in, so he pressed himself against the door and waited, a short time later he heard Emily's voice outside the door.

  'Easy mom,' she said, 'nice and slow. Put your weight on my shoulder.'

  'You're a good girl, Emmy,' Dillon heard mom reply, then one of the women burped. He could hear their footsteps slowly climbing the stairs.

  By now Dillon's eyes had adjusted to the low light and he looked around the room. It was like a large closet, in fact it was larger than his bedroom. The wall to the left had two rows of polished wooden pegs that he assumed were for hats to hang on. Below them were three very large ceramic jars about three feet high and placed apart by the same distance. He would never have guessed what they were for except one of them held five umbrellas. The other two walls were like his own bedroom closet except this closet had about a hundred coat-hangers dangling off the decorative brass poles. All but three were empty. The only items that told him anything were the small raincoat hanging from one of the hangers and the equally small pair of aqua colored gumboots with a picture of the animated girl from Frozen on the side.

  Without warning the door slid open. Luckily Dillon was standing behind it and was, for the moment, hidden. He tensed as he waited in the darkness but he realized he had an advantage - his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness. As the door was pushed closed he could see her form - it was Emily and if she didn't turn on the lights he intended to move behind her and.. He almost did, and then he remembered what happened the first time he did that. Instead he quietly hissed, 'Hi.. Why didn't you warn me you were going to do that?'

  'Hi, yourself. And I did - You heard us coming.' He could see her turn towards the direction of his voice and the next moment her body slid against his. 'You like making out in cloak-rooms, eh?'

  Before he could answer that he'd be happy making out with her on an iceberg or in the middle of a busy road, she gently pressed her lips against his mouth ending the talking part for the time being. He still had hold of the box of gloves and he dropped them to the floor and wrapped his arms around her. She still hadn't released her kiss, so he moved his hand down her back until he had hold of a large handful of ass.

  Emily immediately pulled back from the kiss and took a step away from him leaving his hand empty, once again.

  'I'm sorry,' he stuttered. 'I shouldn't have grabbed you.'

  Emily said nothing but he could see she had a slight smile on her face. 'Let's get out of here, this room kinda gives me the creeps.'

  Dillon noticed her smile, for a moment he assumed he had blown it, again. 'Don't tell me it's haunted.'

  She chuckled softly in a sexy way. 'Sort of. For me anyway.'

  'I'm not following..'

  'Well, I don't know, for sure, but from what I've picked up over the years I have a strong feeling I was conceived in this room.'

  'No shit!'

  'Well they don't actually come out and say it, but the looks they have on their faces when this room's mentioned tell me something went down here.' She bent down and picked up the box, then opened the door and led Dillon out into the empty hallway.

  Halfway up the first flight of stairs Dillon asked quietly, 'How many people are here with you?'

  She thought for a second. 'Five.'

  'So, what happens if your dad finds me here?'

  'That would be big trouble.'

  'Then maybe I shouldn't be here,' he said, reluctantly.

  'Yeah, you should,' she smiled sweetly to him as they climbed the stairs. 'I meant it would mean big trouble for him. He's in Sacramento doing a big deal and if he was home already, that'd mean the deal had gone belly-up... No bonus - Big trouble!'

  He just shook his head. The way her brain jumped around... 'What does he do?'

  'Mom says he's a wanker, that's her way of being clever. He's a banker.. one who spends more time working on his deals than his marriage.'

  'What about your mom?'

  'Oh! She's a wine expert. Tonight, she had already studied one and a half bottles of a nice French Chardy with a hint of citrus and aged oak. I'm sure she'll write her report in the morning after she's come round and barfed most of it into the toilet.'

  Dillon was a little surprised at Emily's put-downs of her family. It bothered him that she was unhappy, like so many other parts of her, it didn't add up. He couldn't imagine how you could be unhappy living in a mansion, like this. His parent's house was tiny in comparison, everyone was crammed in on top of each other which should make for more tension, and yet they all got on beautifully. It didn't make sense.

  'You said there were five people?'

  'My little sister, Maisie. She's a dream-boat. I love her to bits.' She smirked at him, then added, 'Maisie's big talent is sleeping. You could hang her up by her ankles and she'd still nod off. My parents had a party here once for two hundred and fifty people. A rock band with stadium amps provided the vibe. Some unfriendly neighbors who clearly didn't get an invitation, called the cops about the noise. Little Maisie was clueless.

  Dillon smiled. 'Two to go. You open up pretty slowly, Emily Kane.'

  She gave him a look acknowledging his little play-on-words. 'Bessie, our housekeeper. She's pretty old. About forty I think, so she's well and truly asleep by now, plus she sleeps in her own section of the house at the back. You can forget about her.'

  Dillon just looked at her, wondering why she was dragging the explanation out for so long. His querying look coincided with their arrival at a closed door, which Emily opened and led him inside.

  'Welcome to my bedroom.. number five,' she said with a throaty chuckle.

  He smiled, then turned and took in the room she spent her time in. He was surprised at what he saw. He had expected pink and frills like the spare bedroom in Mrs. Kemsley's house, but he was looking at deep blue walls, a large desk with an impressive PC, a wall mounted TV that was much bigger than the one at his place, she even had a mini-bar in the corner. No girlie stuff on the walls either, just framed retro movie posters from The Godfather and Jaws, plus a Hendrix poster and an original concert poster for The Beatles. He wandered over for a closer look. His mouth fell open when he read the black ink handwritten inscription: To sweet Emily, love Marlon. The Jaws poster was signed: Keep away from the sharks, Emily. Steven S. The two music posters were unsigned, but Dillon still guessed that those four items on her bedroom walls were worth more than his parents house.

  A pair of hands reached around his chest from behind and started making a small circle in the middle. Slowly the circle got bigger until it touched his belt buckle on the bottom of its sweep. The next circle went below the buckle and had to negotiate a large lump that had suddenly formed. The hand seemed to want to stay in that spot which only caused the lump to get an
grier.

  Emily pressed her face into the side of his neck and growled softly into his ear. Then her teeth gently bit his lobe, tugging at it playfully. All the time her hand kept rubbing. Dillon was in heaven. Every nerve-ending in his body was firing neurons, he felt like he had been plugged into a socket. Emily stopped stroking and turned his body to face her, then she kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth so deeply he imagined it going down his throat.

  Dillon knew he should take some control of what was happening, but he didn't know what to do and Emily seemed to be totally into what she was doing. He decided to use this as a learning time.

  Having turned him to face her meant that his hands were now free to roam her extremities and he edged them down her backside and up under her skirt. Her tongue was still moving around inside his mouth and the sensation was driving him crazy. Between their two bodies a living entity was pulsating, straining, demanding. Emily was refusing to acknowledge it, which only made it try harder to gain her attention. He moaned as a small amount of air managed to escape through his mouth and she responded with a low guttural growl as his hands massaged her bare cheeks, his fingers eventually found the crease of her backside and began to slide downwards. Her panties had a thin strip of fabric that sat between her butt-cheeks and like a climber abseiling down a cliff, Dillon's fingers traced down the soft, smooth fabric until it met a slightly moist, wider piece of fabric. His fingers paused, he knew where he was at this point, from here on he knew her body became very different to his. His life ambition right now was a desperate need to explore every millimeter of those differences.

  He gently pressed his finger into the familiar natural depression and she tensed a little, her cheeks contracting in a natural display of rejection. He softly massaged the area and when he felt her body relaxing once more he pressed again, this time with more intensity.

  She tensed again and his finger met strong resistance, at the same moment she pulled her lips from him and moved her head back a few inches. The look on her face was unreadable. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt her in someway? Her face looked intense. Not an angry intense, more a deeply concentrating type of intense. Her eyes never left his. And then without warning she pushed him backwards. It caught him totally by surprise and he threw his arms out as an automatic response. He need not have panicked as his body landed gently on her bed, then she tumbled on top of him and continued kissing him, this time unbuttoning his shirt and making a trail of moist little kisses that inched it's way towards his belt buckle. When all the buttons were released she helped him out of the shirt.