Mike and I Ch. 03

Another story. It has bad words in it, and more than questionable sexual practices. I do not condone the use of any words or actions depicted here outside of a fantasy context.

***

I didn't see Mike, or Tyler, for the rest of that week. I was in a state I couldn't describe, a feeling that I had never experienced.

My mind was split, divided.

Mike had been a poison in my life for so long that I couldn't think of him with any affection but I couldn't decide whether or not I still hated him.

On one hand he had helped me realize that the fantasies I had obsessed over for so many years were not mere fantasies but actual desires. What I had done, or rather, what they had done to me, resonated throughout my body, ringing me like a bell.

But then my mind would slide back in time, dip down into the memories of my high school years and my blood would boil in hatred.

Mike, and his friends to a lesser extent, had almost destroyed me as a person.

I didn't like to speculate about it, but I often wondered what kind of life I would have been living in a world where Mike didn't exist.

Would I have been happy? Would I have been popular, even? Respected? Was it really just Mike who was the architect of those miserable years?

Or was the fault in me. Maybe even if I had never been bullied, I still would have been unhappy, unsatisfied.

I went to work, moving through the repetitive motions like a robot. Even Ms. Galder's snide remarks couldn't get past my detachment.

My bangs I kept tucked back behind my ears, and I hoped people couldn't really see what I had done, but to be honest I didn't really care.

They had made a woman of me, so why couldn't I have bangs?

Eventually I began to come out of my haze and I came to at least one conclusion; I longed to feel Mike again, in my mouth, on my face, buried to the hilt in my ass.

I was ashamed to admit it, humiliated, disgusted even, but it was true.

And there was a more pressing issue to attend to; I was still locked up, and Mike had the key.

I had a deepening feeling he wouldn't give it back.

I felt for sure that he was using it as some sort of fucked up fishing device, gleefully waiting for me to bite and beg him for it.

And it was working, to a degree. Thinking about what had happened, and it was impossible not to, got me hard. Every time I tried to forget about the cage, the thought of Mike and Tyler would start the slow burn in my belly and then, once again, I would feel my restraint.

I was desperate to cum, but couldn't.

I watched the video a hundred times; I pulled at myself, I stroked myself through the cage and slapped at it in my frustration.

Nothing worked.

I didn't know if it was a mental or physical block. Rubbing myself felt great, sure, but however I tired I could not approach orgasm.

It was driving me absolutely crazy.

And then, at the height of my desperation, i received a phone call that sent me spiraling down into anxiety.

My step-father, Frank, was coming home.

"I'll be back tomorrow," said Frank, from Spain, "the house better be clean."

This is as good a time as any to describe my relationship with Frank.

For the short time I'd known him he had made it clear that he was less than interested in having one.

When he wasn't pretending I didn't exist, he was treating me with an almost palatable contempt. I don't know how my mom managed to explain his behaviour away, but she must have been doing some pretty extreme mental gymnastics to rationalize it.

Like his son, Frank was huge, but where Mike came off as somewhat of a Neanderthal, Frank was downright spooky.

Mike had his grin, but Frank had his stare.

When he was in one of his black moods and he looked at you it was terrifying.

I couldn't decide whether or not he was looking through me, or into me.

And he was physically imposing too. Maybe not as wide, or as muscled as Mike, but taller, leaner and more angular. Like Mike he was dark haired and clean-shaven, wearing his hair long in the front and slicked back.

Frank had been a lawyer at one point, though I didn't really know what he did now. When he was home he stayed mostly locked up in his study, talking on the phone.

"it's clean Frank," I muttered into the mouthpiece.

"Good," he said, and hung up.

But I had lied. Expecting to have it to myself until September, the house was a disaster. I was not exactly the most neat of people; take out food containers littered the kitchen that I was too lazy to cook in, damp towels and musty faceclothes covered the bathroom and, more importantly, evidence of what I had been up to was spread across the house.

My pocketbra, inserts included, hung from my door, my cute little plug was beside the bathroom sink and thongs, stockings and makeup were strewn about my room like they had been caught up in a tornado.

I had work to do before they got home, and matters to discuss with Mike. There was no way in hell I was going to be locked up around my mom and Frank, no fucking way.

But then, mid cleaning, I paused.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Frank had said, surely he meant we?

Holy fuck, I thought, if my mom was staying in Spain, which was likely, then things were about to get worse. I had never been in the house alone with Frank for more than a couple of hours. This was going to be a nightmare.

And then I remembered something else. In my desperation I had made another order from the internet, something that I had hoped would finally give me the release I had been looking for...and it was set to arrive tomorrow.

Frank had an almost obsessive hold over the mail. He received packages fairly often, and mailed out some too. He would not hesitate to grill me over what I was having delivered to the house, and if he opened it all hell would break loose.

After the cleaning was finished I sat at the dining table with a cup of tea and steeled myself; I didn't want to force a confrontation, but I needed to text Mike.

Mike, I began, we need to talk.

The reply came almost immediately, Hey, Bambi! What's on your mind?

Mike, I wrote, you know what I mean. I need the key.

Why? Don't you think its better I hold on to it? Without that cage, I think you might get up to some trouble.

Quit the shit, Mike, I wrote, Frank's coming home.

Oh shit, said Mike, Haha, that's gunna be awkward!

Mike! I'm serious!

The phone went silent.

I stewed, I sweated, I paced around the house like a trapped animal.

The phone dinged and almost slipped from my sweaty grip.

With a mix of horror, sudden arousal and growing fear, I saw the second video pop up on my phone.

The video had been edited, Tyler's face was blurred and there was no sound, but it was definitely me, on all fours with a cum covered face, being impaled from behind by a thick, muscular man.

Even without the sound it was obvious at the end that I was begging for his cum on my face.

I think I'll keep the keys for now, wrote Mike, its too much fun not to. Bye, Bambi.

That night I couldn't sleep and stayed up until the sun began to rise. I set an alarm for as early as I could and woke, a few shirt hours later, bleary eyed and yawning.

There was nothing in the letter box.

Around nine am Frank pulled up to the house in a cab. I peered out at him from the window like I had done to Mike just days earlier.

In the early morning light he cut an impressive figure. He seemed taller and thinner than I remembered, and his skin was darkened by the Spanish sun. He hung his suit jacket over his shoulder, paid the cab without a word and, taking his luggage, approached the house.

I was sitting in the kitchen when he came in. He stared at me for a moment, the stare that seemed to go through a person and said in his deep, dry voice,

"I hope you have treated the house well. Your mother will be staying in Spain until September, I have been called back to work."

He paused, looking around the kitchen.

"I do not care what you do for August, but you will be quiet when I am in the house. Is that understood?"

I nodded meekly. Frank stared at me for a minute more and I had the impossible feeling that he knew.

Then he turned away and climbed the stairs to his room. I had not spoken a single word.

I waited in the kitchen, drinking cup after cup of tea, and kept my eye on the mail box. Upstairs I could hear Frank moving around, unpacking.

The telephone rang, suddenly, and I moved to answer it.

"Hello?" I said

The voice on the other end was female, and she sounded young.

"Can I speak to Frank, please?", she said.

Upstairs I heard Frank move to the second phone, "Put the receiver down, Justin", he said in a tone that you couldn't help but obey.

From the first floor I could the murmur of conversation and then the sharp clack of a hang up. Frank moved toward the bathroom and then came the sound of a bath being drawn.

I was puzzled. If that was a work colleague, then it was one whose voice I had never heard.

Did Frank have a secretary? The only people he had over were older men.

Could it be Frank was cheating on my mom?

Serves her right, I thought vindictively, for choosing such an asshole. But it didn't seem likely. To me, Frank appeared passionless, almost unsexual. Sure, he was a handsome man, even more handsome than Mike, but...

I blushed, was I attracted to Frank? No, I firmly put the thought out of mind.

Besides, I had bigger fish to fry.

All day I waited by the window, watching the mailbox and idly browsing the internet.

Several times I watched the second movie, humiliated by my arousal and each time swearing off another viewing.

Nobody came to the mailbox and I became worried.

Frank stayed in his study, doing whatever it was he was called back for. The phone was silent and around nine, after forcing myself to stay awake, I finally surrendered to sleep.

Later on that night I was awoken by a sound. I sleepily looked at my phone, it was three am.

The sound came again, it was the garden door closing. Muffled by distance I could still recognize it, I had used it enough times myself when coming home late.

My mind whirled and exhaustion left me in a rush. Was it Mike? Who else could it be?

Slipping out of my room I tip toed across the upstairs landing, moving as slowly as I dared. The lights on the first floor were dimmed, barely illuminating the white walls of the shadowed kitchen, but from my vantage point I could see clearly enough.

Standing in the kitchen, speaking softly enough so that I couldn't hear, was Frank and a woman.

She wore a long, dark coat that covered her from neck to ankle and in her hand she carried a pair of black high heels. Her hair was shoulder length and dyed a colour so blonde it was near white. Her lips were glossy and her skin was tanned bronze. From what little I could see of her shape beneath the coat I got the impression she was thick, chunky even.

I withdrew my head quickly as Frank glared up the stair. I felt sure he hadn't seen me, hidden in the darkness as I was, but to be caught now would be disaster.

I went back to my room, but left the door open a crack and listened.

I heard soft footsteps move towards Frank's study, and then a slight click as the door closed behind them.

I sat there for a minute, my thoughts swirling about. I felt sure now that Frank was a cheater, or at least was about to be one.

What kind of married man invited women over in the middle of the night when his wife was over seas?

And then it all came together in my head. If I outed Frank there was a good chance my mom would divorce him. If my mom divorced Frank, then I would be free of Mike, at least in one aspect.

We could even move. If we moved I could have a chance at a new life.

There were a lot of ifs in that chain of thought. Besides, I was chained to Mike physically, digitally and mentally. In all three areas he had a strong grip.

But...but...

What could a little research hurt? It would be easy to pull off, and I was pretty sure I could do it without much risk. I was curious to say the least.

Frank's study looked out over the garden. Not far from the window were thick bushes. Under the cover of darkness it would be almost impossible to see anything, especially if he had a light on in the study itself.

So I waited a long ten more minutes, during which my heart beat briskly in my breast, then I slid out of my room and down the stairs.

I went out the patio doors on the other side of the house and then around through the backyard, my skin goose pimpled in the cool, late night air.

I slid around the corner of the house already one of assumptions was correct; there was light on in the study. I crawled on my hands and knees until I was behind the row of high bushes and then poked my head through.

I had to stiffle a gasp. Looking from my vantage point I could see into the study clearly. It was looking at a film screen.

In the study Frank sat at his desk, hands clasped before him.

On the other side of the desk there was an identical chair to the one Frank sat in, and it was to this chair that the woman was tied, nude.

She knelt on the chair, facing away from Frank with ropes around her ankles, wrists and neck. Her ankles, tucked up under her thighs, were attached to where the arms of the chair met the seating pad, her wrists to the apex of the chair's back and her neck to her wrists, leaving her head hanging over the back of the chair.

From my angle I could see that her unbound breasts sagged almost to her knees and her flabby ass jiggled like jello as she shifted uncomfortably.

To me she looked like some kind of trussed up turkey and it did not look even remotely pleasureable.

To say that the was the last thing I had expected would be understating it. Blowjobs, yes, over the desk, maybe, but this bondage stuff didn't seem like Frank.

Or, after I let it all sink in, maybe it did.

Mike was mean, but his dad, when he actually let his emotions show, was cruel. To have this poor girl in front of him, helpless, restrained...maybe it all fit.

In his study Frank slowly got to his feet and stretched, catlike.

He stared at the woman like she was nothing more than something to look at. As he stared I took out my phone and began to film.

Frank went back to his desk and took something out of a drawer. It took me a second to realize it was a paddle.

As he approached the woman his mouth moved, but I couldn't hear anything from within the room. Whatever he had said certainly had an effect, the woman began to struggle at her bonds.

Frank moved slowly and surely towards her and as he got closer he suddenly swung the paddle downwards upon the woman's upraised buttocks.

Her back arched up with a sudden spasm and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

There was no sound at all, it was eeire. I began to think that maybe Frank had soundproofed his study. If that was true then it raised a number of additional questions.

Had Frank done this before, and if so, how many times? A man who kept a paddle in a desk drawer would be at the very least curious about using it.

When Frank stayed in his study late to "work", was this what he was talking about? Was my mother involved? Or was she oblivious.

I shuddered.

Frank brought down the paddle again, his face was emotionless, seemingly unanimated, but as he raised the paddle for another blow I saw his expression began to change.

Life returned to his features, and with each successive stroke his lips pulled back into a snarl and his cheeks flushed.

The woman screamed, still silently, with every strike. His ass went from tan to red as Frank's arm descended again and again.

With his other hand Frank unzipped himself. I gasped as he drew himself forth from his fly.

Mike had been huge, and Tyler too, but there was something juvenile about them.

With Frank, who grew larger with each passing second and was every inch as big as his son's, there was no doubt.

He had a man's cock.

I could feel myself start to stir between my legs and half consciously reached down to stroke my restrained sex.

Frank, too, had reached his zenith, with one quick movement he cupped the woman's chin and forced open her moth and then rammed his cock home to the hilt.

Even silently I could almost hear her gagging as Frank thrust himself in and out of her mouth, never once lessening his incessant assault on her bottom.

Spit dripped from her mouth like a faucet and strands of the stuff hung from the bottom of Frank's shaft.

His demonic grimace reached a fever pitch and he threw the paddle away into the corner of the room.

Withdrawing himself from her mouth Frank spun the chair around until she faced directly out of the window.

He grabbed her by her hair and, with a jerk, seemed to ram himself into her from behind.

I didn't know where Frank had buried himself, but the woman's face, now covered with spit and her ruined makeup clenched up as if in pain.

I knew then that he was assuredly in her ass.

Like father, like son.

Her ample buttocks bounced with every thrust, her breasts flopped around as if alive.

Frank reached around and, inserting several fingers into her mouth, pulled her mouth into a torturous grin.

Frank continued like this for a good while. He was not fast or slow about his pleasure, but took his time with her hole.

He spoke frequently and I dearly wished I could hear what he said.

Soon his rhythm sped up. He seemed to loose control over his robotic strokes and went at her with an increasingly frenzied power.

Abruptly he pulled himself out of her and spun the chair around again.

Back into her mouth he thrust his cock and continued his wild bucking.

Within seconds he stopped and, pulling out, once again forced the woman's mouth open.

From the tip of his visibly pulsating cock shot an unbelievable amount of thick, white spunk, but his aim was true and almost all of it shot directly into her mouth.

He shot so much of the stuff that he literally filled her mouth to the brim, but not a single drip fell to the floor. He still grasped her by the chin and he tilted her head up so that she looked straight into his eyes.

He spoke something then, and with a grimace she swallowed the entire mouthful.

I turned off my phone and sat back into the deeper shadow of the bush.

What I had just seen reverberated through my mind.

I had just watched Frank, my seemingly unpassionate step-father, do some of the most extreme acts to a woman I had ever seen.

It wasn't the acts themselves, which I felt sure were relatively pedestrian in some circles, rather it was the startling shift between the man I knew to be cold and robotic and this impassioned creature who had emerged from the husk of Frank in the midst of sadism.

When I came back to myself the woman was already dressed and heading for the door. Frank followed suit after he returned the paddle to the drawer, but at the door to the study he paused.

He was himself again, either that or he had put back on the mask. He stared out of the window. A shudder ran through me as I imagined those green eyes meeting mine, then he flicked off the light and plunged the room into darkness.

The rest of the night passed slowly and I tossed and turned for hours in my bed. I finally reached a shallow and fitful sleep as the sun began to rise. Fragmented and unsettling dreams followed, with Mike capering through them like some clown before finally taking off his painted mask to reveal Frank's grinning face.

I awoke to a blazing midday sun and the immediate realization that something was wrong.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered beneath my breath as I threw back the sweat-soaked blanket, in the shock of last night's revelations I had forgotten to set an alarm.