Scrambled Holiday

Yes, Clifford, she thought, as she opened the car door. The desk in Daddy's office is a good place to fuck. And you damn well know it is.

She was driving down the street, past the park, when she saw him. Paul was sitting on a bench in the park. He had a bag of peanuts and was feeding the pigeons, which were increasing in numbers by the second. It looked almost Alfred Hitchcockian, with Paul coming close to being covered in pigeons—and not even noticing it.

She couldn't not stop. She parked illegally at the side of the street and moved quickly to the bench, where she took the bag of peanuts from his hands and tossed it over into the grass some distance away. The pigeons followed the bag, and the day was saved. She would have turned and left then, but Paul clutched at her arm and pulled her down on the bench beside him.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?"

"The pigeons are now safely over there, Dad," Merri answered. Both of them, though, knew he hadn't been talking about the pigeons.

"I just wanted a little variety. I missed . . . you know . . . the front door."

"Is that it, Dad? You just got tired of the way we've had to do it. It isn't because she has humongous knockers."

"Well, they are nice for variety too," he answered with a sad little frown. "But, you know, it's the whole 'what's proper' crap. I mean we're in our own home. And we're both adults. There don't have to be any children involved. If they aren't written into the story and we stay all 'no babies or STDs ensued and a good time was had by all' in how this gets written up, no one need get their knickers in a knot just because of what might happen in real life. We are just in a short story here, aren't we? I mean there will still be readers who can't see the fiction from what could have happened in a worst-case scenario, but really, when push comes to shove, they are licking their chops and cheering for the worst-case scenario, aren't they? I say fuck 'em. Being sour and anal is what gets them off."

"Sometimes I wonder where we are, Dad. Some of this sounds like stuff I'd have fun really doing. But, on the 'proper' business, something Steve told me last night is true, I think."

"What's that, sugar?"

"Maybe the health and gene pool Puritans stopped reading our story pages ago. Maybe we're free just to do what we want in this story from this point. And, what the hell, if they're still reading this story, maybe, as you say, they secretly get off on this stuff. And as far as any gene problems or anything, we could just not write a sequel to this story. We could just not get into any hereafter and just live and take our pleasures right here and now and have it all closed out with a 'they lived and fucked happily ever after' and stuff. Readers really go for that 'happily ever after' crap. Nobody gets after that for being unrealistic or a health danger to anyone."

"We could just do what we wanted? On this very page?"

Merri nodded her head. "Maybe even into the next page."

Paul groaned and gave her a grateful look, laced with arousal. One arm went around her shoulder, pulling her close to him, and the other hand worked its way up her thigh under her red shift.

"Ummm, Dad. Maybe not right here on the bench. The pigeons have stopped feeding and are watching us."

They made it as far as the backseat of the car. Paul sat in the middle of the backseat, and Merri sat in his lap, facing him, riding his cock and leveraging up and down off her calves, until, with a cry of ecstasy from her, he pulled her down all the way into his groin.

They paused there, panting and breathing heavily while Paul's cock throbbed inside her and her channel wall muscles shimmered over the hard shaft.

"Never, ever have I felt it so deep," she murmured. "I knew you were long, but, Christ, Dad. We could write it up in this story as you tickling the back of my throat with it—from the cunt entrance."

"Wouldn't that damage your cervix? I'm pretty sure that—"

"Shut up and fuck me, Daddy."

"I never could get all of the way in the other channel," he whispered. "You are so beautiful to me." He had previously pulled the shift over her head and now was leaning forward and taking her nipples in his mouth.

I'm not shitting him or just trying to make the text arousing. So, so, very long, she thought. I never knew how far into me he could reach. Such irony. All of the length Steve didn't get was added onto Father.

But then there was no further thinking, as Paul was gripping her waist in his hands and pulling her up and down on the cock. Faster and faster and even deeper. Her fingers were pistoning her clit. She was bouncing and writhing around on top of him to beat the band.

They came together. And when she felt his flow deep inside her, she moaned her pleasure, thinking also, however, that any rewrites or add-ons to this story definitely would have to note that no eggs were fertilized and no STDs acquired. Knowing now that she just could do that made her feel very, very free to go with the pleasure.

* * * *

Paul didn't want to come home yet. Merri drove him to a local multiplex movie theater and left before he'd chosen what movie to see. He'd seen an old colleague from the university at the box office, though, and they'd arranged for the colleague to drive Paul home after the movie.

When Merri arrived home, Clifford was back in the La-Z-Boy and was surrounded by empty beer cans. He'd made it through most of Fifty Shades of Grey, although he hadn't fooled Merri. He skipped to the good parts, and there being few of those, even he managed to get through the book quickly. He was still transfixed with what he was reading and a bit of spittle was dripping unnoticed out of the side of his mouth. His fly was open, and his cock was roaming free. Although he was flaccid, he'd neglected to put it back in its cage.

He's an ugly son of a gun, Merri thought, but boy does he have a Class A bod, and boy can he fuck. She felt in a teasing mood, though, feeling for the first time in two days that she could handle this family. So, she couldn't help herself.

"I understand there are a couple of sequels of this book out that you can use as a manual for trying on Muriel."

"No shit? Gotta get me copies of those. Where can I get them?"

"Just about anywhere, unfortunately," Merri answered.

"Muriel's gonna have one sore ass," he continued.

I certainly hope so, Merri thought. And sore knees too. She turned from him so he couldn't see her smile—just in time to see Muriel and Steve coming down from upstairs. Muriel was wearing Steve's shirt and nothing else and, Good god, she almost exclaimed, Steve was wearing the little black shift her mother had stolen from her to wear this morning. Merri couldn't help but observe that the shift looked better on Steve than it had on top-heavy Muriel. More darkly she realized that it looked better on him than on her as well.

The two were purring to each other in a very disgusting way.

Merri just stood there and watched her mother walk to the kitchen.

"I'll just put this in the dishwasher, shall I?" Muriel cooed. She was holding the John Holmes, all slathered up, at arm's length.

Steve was standing on the bottom step and could almost be heard cooing himself.

"What in the hell were you doing, Steve?" Merri asked while Muriel was in the kitchen.

"Ich liebe John Holmes," Steve answered with a shy smile.

"Of, for the love of . . ."

When Muriel returned to the living room from the kitchen, Merri leaned down and put her tongue in Clifford's ear and whispered, "Would you like to fuck me now?"

"Sure thing," Clifford said, in the same enthusiastic tone he'd use if she'd asked him if he wanted to turn a pro football game on the TV now or go out and adjust something vital on his motorcycle. He stood up immediately and took a couple of steps through the clattering sound of the empty beer cans.

Giving as close to a "stuck-out-tongue" expression to her mother without actually doing it, Merri took Clifford's arm and they started toward the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs, Merri, close to Steve, who was still standing on the end of the tread, turned, and said, sweetly, "Would you like to come too, Steve? Both of you do me at once?"

Steve looked bewildered, but his feet knew what he wanted, and they moved him up the stairs behind Merri and Clifford. Muriel followed them to the bottom of the stairs and stared daggers at her daughter all of the way up.

For starters, Merri laid on her back at the bottom edge of the master bed, legs splayed, while Clifford crouched between her thighs and fucked her hard and deep. Steve was gracefully posed with his knees by her shoulders, while she elevated her torso on her elbows and sucked his cock, at one point being able to swallow his balls at the same time. Both Steve and Clifford were working her nipples, and from time to time their hands brushed together.

The story at this point is way beyond condoms being a redeeming feature, so they won't be mentioned again, whether or not they actually were used.

Muriel came to the door at least two times that Merri could see, but no one invited her in, so she left in disgust—and a bit of despair—each time. Merri made sure that Clifford's thrusts were strong enough to bounce the headboard off the wall in a fast-paced rhythm that surely reached Muriel's ears no matter where she went in the house.

Merri had slower going and much more gagging when the two men exchanged places and she was working Clifford's cock with her mouth and throat while Steve was expertly—to her orgasm—working her clit with his lips, tongue, and teeth. The two men were still playing with her nipples, and she was interested to see that now Clifford's palms were covering Steve's while they rubbed around her chest.

As her last contribution to the threesome, Merri maneuvered herself between the two men, Clifford laying on the bed under her, his cock up her ass channel, and Steve hunched over on top of her doing what he could with his cock inside her other channel.

Steve was ecstatic when Merri said that he could use her cunt, saying, "What the hell. It's just a story."

What was really getting Merri's attention, though—in the moments when she could take her mind off a cock as thick as Clifford's inside her ass—was that the two men were relating in an aroused way to each other now. Their hands were occasionally going into a single, shared clenched fist, and they were eyeing each other lustily over her shoulder. She intentionally moved her torso to the left and the two kissed. Steve ran a hand through Clifford's chest hair, making little swirly patterns around his nipples, and Clifford had gotten a hand around to where he could squeeze one of Steve's butt cheeks. When Merri heard Steve moan and felt him flinch, she knew that Clifford and moved a finger or two into her brother's back entrance.

When she maneuvered herself from between them and went over and sat in a chair, the scene really got interesting. They were wrestling on the bed, seeming almost to be fighting each other—even boxing, as they were landing fist blows on hard bodies, growling and yelling dirty words at each other, and striking each other's butts hard. (This is the "boxing" part foreshadowed up the pages.)

When Clifford had maneuvered behind Steve and had him bent over the bed and pinned to the mattress and was working his cock inside Steve's ass, with Steve groaning and begging for it, Merri stood up and moved to the door. She turned around and watched Clifford pumping Steve's ass for a few minutes.

Clifford lifted Steve off the bed—just to show he could—and stood, crouched a bit, in the center of the room, with Steve draped over the front of him, arms around his neck with fists clenched, and legs extended out and back in what was probably a perfect dance position with some French name, and showed Steve as looking very elegant—just to show he could—while Clifford continued fucking him.

Merri continued she was leaving the room for a while while she watched her brother get royally fucked—and enjoying it.

But after twenty minutes of her leaving the room, it was evident that they were comfortable enough with each other to be left alone, so Merri snatched up her red shift from the floor and really did leave the room. At the top of the stairs, she shrugged into her shift and slowly descended. Muriel was standing at the front door, facing the staircase. For the first time since she'd arrived, she looked her real age.

Merri walked over to the Christmas tree and slowly started taking ornaments off and putting them back into the box. She wasn't sure which way she was supposed to be going with this tree—putting it up or taking it down, but an idea was forming in her mind that favored taking it down.

"They sound like they're killing each other up there," Muriel said in a tight voice.

"Hardly. They are having fun."

"I called the police."

"Bitch. Just because you weren't having fun too."

"Slut. You put them up to this."

The doorbell rang. Muriel opened the door. Three burly policemen stood outside. All dreamboats, all hunky. A redhead, a blond, and a brunette.

"Well, hello," Muriel said. In an instant, she had managed to erase twenty years off her face. She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chest—just in case they hadn't noticed.

"Someone reported a disturbance here, Ma'am," the blond said to Muriel's tits.

"Upstairs," Muriel said. "I'll take you all up there."

As she walked up the stairs with the blond cop behind her, his eyes on her ass, Muriel mouthed a "slut" to Merri and Merri answered with a mouthed "bitch."

"Sorry about that, Ma'am," the redheaded cop said to Merri at the door, while the brunette cop was putting Clifford and Steve in the back of the patrol car. "We've got to take them in. Court's out today, so they won't be arraigned until tomorrow. Again, sorry about that."

And then they were gone.

It wasn't until Merri reached the top of the stairs and heard the bumping of the headboard in the master bedroom that she realized what had been wrong at the door. There had only been two policemen.

A naked Muriel, feet on the floor and bent over the foot of the bed, was being fucked by the hunky blond policeman. His trousers were off and his shirt was open. He was pistoning her fast and furious with a cock that, if anything, was 20 percent thicker and longer than Clifford's. He was pistoning so hard and fast that it was like he had another call to go to in the next ten minutes—although Merri bet that Muriel could keep him at it for at least twenty-five minutes. He had his arms around Muriel in an embrace as she steadied herself, torso off the bed, with her own arms, and he was squeezing and prodding and otherwise luxuriating in her purported J-cup jigantic bazooms like he'd died and gone to heaven.

Muriel turned her head and gave Merri a triumphant "I still got it" look. She followed up by mouthing something that seemed to be "Plan C," even though that made no sense to Merri. The young woman shrugged, closed the door, and went back to stripping the Christmas tree.

* * * *

"Bail is set at $5,000. Apiece." The judge pounded his gavel hard on his desk. It was not a good day to be a defendant in his court. They were shorthanded and he'd been called in from the golf links. Clifford and Steve were told to rise and move toward the door at the back of the courtroom. Both turned, scanning the room for a familiar face. Muriel's was the only one they saw.

"Five grand each, Mom. Can you . . .?"

Muriel shrugged from across the room and gave him a sad little look.

"Babe?" Clifford spoke up.

"Merri's got it," Steve called out. "Talk to her for me, will you, Mother?"

"We was married," Clifford called out. "I think it should go to my bail."

Muriel just shrugged again and gave them both an "I'll see what I can do" look.

The two, penned in separate but adjoining wire cages, spent the next couple of hours each telling the other why Merri's bail money was going to go to him. Neither pulled punches on claims of being able to satisfy her sexually better than the other.

"You got a visitor, ladies," their jailer called out from the other room late on the evening of December 28th.

"Good. Merri and my bail," Clifford said, standing up and moving to the front of the cage.

"I rather think it's mine. Blood is thicker and all that."

"I wouldn't think you'd want to mention thicker," Clifford muttered.

"Hello, boys," Muriel said, as she strutted into the holding area, once more poured into her gold-sequined shift—and once more a blonde with ringlets. "How you hanging?" She came in on the arm of a blond cop.

"Which one, Mother?" Steve asked. "Which one of us is Merri springing?"

"I got her picture on the cell phone here." Muriel held up the cell phone for both of them to see. "She wanted to say hi and wish you both the best of luck. See, there she is with Paul at the rail of the cruise ship. She's used the $5,000 to take them both on a New Year's cruise to the Bahamas."

"But that means—" Steve said.

"You gotta get me outta here, babe," Clifford whined. "You know what I think about being caged up like this."

"Relax, boys. It's all a misunderstanding. I'm sure when the case comes up you'll be able to convince the judge you weren't fighting. Now, what you tell him you were doing might be a little dicey. I don't think he'll understand our family quite like we do."

"Babe."

"Oh, and let me introduce you to Chuck. He was good enough to arrange for me to be able to come back and visit you. But we gotta go now. He wants to show me his house. I think it's got enough bedrooms for what I was thinkin' of doing—and it's nice to have a policeman around in that sort of house too. And, he says he wants to show me his gun again too. Cliff, you really should see his gun. I mean, you have a nice gun, sweetie, but Chuckie here, now he's got a GUN—if you know what I mean."

Clifford was still "babing" Muriel while she and her big, blond gunslinger were heading out of the holding cell door.

For a moment the two men looked, one to the next, in horror and despair. And then they moved toward each other and raised their hands to the wire cage wall, wrapping their fingers around each other's.

"I guess it's just you and me now, babe," Clifford murmured.

"It could be worse," Steve answered. "And when we get out of here . . ."

"Yes, babe. When we get out of here, I'll give you a real good time. I'll fuck you five ways from Tuesday. And I'll do you on Wednesday too. One sweet ass. And, damn, I could use a beer about now too."

"I can't wait. Merry Christmas, lover."

"Same to you, babe. You read any of that there Fifty Shades of Grey book yet?"

"But of course. Hasn't everyone? Well, everyone in Seattle, at least. Everyone says it trash. And they've read the second and third one too."

"Yeah, I heard it's got them sequels things too. Looks to me like it's as good for the cocks as for the hens. Bet we could . . . wait till you see the room I got fixed up in my basement."

"Scintillating. I do so love being dominated by a big-cocked man."

"If that means you like a good Hells Angels fuck and a little manhandling, I'm all for that too. Just you and me now, though. As far as I can see, this family of yours is just too uptight about what others think."

Steve blinked his eyes in disbelief. This magnificent brute really was dim as a tulip bulb. "The whole family? Paul? Me? Muriel, for god's sake?"

"Well, Merri at least. She's got some hang-ups."

"I can certainly agree with you there," Steve said, "Or at least until the last day or so." He was thinking back to her letting him fuck her properly at last—with no mention in the story of having used a condom.