Revenge is Sweet Pt. 02

Then I felt the urge to flee, having seen about all I could take, and I hadn't peed since Jenny almost turned me into a lesbian, so I ran to the bathroom, peed and cried. Water coming out of both ends, completely out of control. Luckily, the fan drowned out his loathsome moaning from how damn good Jenny felt inside. After giving him plenty of time, I went back.

Goddamn it! His cute little ass was still pumping away. How long can my brother screw someone? He did screw me for a while, but I thought that was time slowing down, like they say it does in a car crash. He must have been on top of her for five minutes! How long is any girl supposed to watch her brother screw the girl her boyfriend dumped her for? I sat down on the side of the bed.

Suddenly, he pulled out. I guess he realized he might want to screw his best friend's girl, but he didn't want to leave evidence of our revenge in the form of a baby, because he leaned over her yanking on himself right next to her boob. Deep in concentration, biting his tongue, hand moving a million miles an hour—this part was actually fascinating.

What happened next, I'm pretty sure he could not have done if he tried. Ejaculate shot out of my brother's dick with enough force that it overshot the boob right below it. If he was aiming, it was a hell of a shot. That first, giant string of brother-goo hit her right in the face. I swear it splattered from the corner of Jenny's mouth, across her cheek, over her nose to her forehead. Some of it even got into those gorgeous, dark curls of hers!

Jenny was laughing, probably for a different reason than I was. Nowadays, I hear it's a thing for a guy to come on a girl's face, but little, innocent me had never heard of such a thing back then. Brandon was still stroking himself, and a huge, pearlescent pile was running down the side of her breast, and he rubbed the tip on her nipple when he finally stopped spewing.

"Oh, lord! Look at this mess," she laughed. "I need a shower!"

"Go ahead," he said. Soon as she shut the door and turned on the fan, I started punching the hell out of him. Mostly on his upper arm, but when he didn't flinch, I threw one at his nose. Somehow, he blocked it, grabbed my arm and threw me down on the bed in one motion. He crawled on top of me and pinned me down. "Listen, do you hear the shower?"

"I don't think she's turned it on yet."

"Then we have a few minutes."

He didn't ask. Had he, I would have said no, because I didn't want him touching me right then, but when he pulled my legs apart, I let him. I let him kiss the inside of my thighs as his fingers ran through the tuft of red curls. I let him kiss the most tender part of my body, and it felt a hundred times more intense than when Jenny kissed me there.

She might be more technically skilled than he was, in a way no man can ever be, but she was not my brother, and somehow that magnified his every touch, his every lick. Okay, when he sucked really hard on my clitoris, that might be hard to beat no matter who sucked.

Only a minute after he went down on me, the fan got loud and the bathroom door opened. "Oh my god!"

Brandon didn't panic like I started to. Instead, he rolled over using the inside of my thigh as a pillow, held out his hand invitingly toward her, and said, "You're just in time. I was warming her up for you."

"This is getting too heavy," she said.

"There's nothing to wig out over; we're all just having fun." Not much of a sales pitch, I know, but she was close enough to grab her by the bum and pull her back to the bed, where she fell squealing on top of me.

"Tell me the truth: are you two..."

"Jenny, we just got carried away. You girls got a little carried away, then I got carried away with you, then I got a little carried away with her, that's all."

"I'm glad you're back," I added. We all sat naked on the bed downing the rest of our wine. My brother played with one gorgeous tit, the same one that had his spunk all over it a minute ago. Since her hair was dry, she must have just sponged herself off. I really didn't want her to freak out too much, so I played with her other boob. Then, I kissed her.

Next thing you know, we were rolling around, all three of us, hands and lips and legs everywhere. Brandon and I were both caressing Jenny's body, she was caressing mine and sucking on my breast again while Brandon squeezed the other one. His hands were rough and hers soft, but sometimes I couldn't even tell who was touching what part of me. She kissed him then me, and the three of us kissed, tongues flicking whoever's in that little triangular space when all three had our cheeks pressed together. That last glass of wine had me buzzing, and probably Jenny, too, because she only had a few pounds over me.

Brandon pushed me onto my back, and each of them started sucking on a nipple. Both their hands reached between my legs, rubbing me with open palms and fingers. Someone's finger plunged into me, and I didn't feel a fingernail, but who knows for sure. Sometimes Jenny felt better sucking my breasts, sometimes Brandon. I came hard, and they knew it, each one still suckling me.

Right after that, Brandon dragged her down with him to my crotch, and together they ate the hell out of me. I couldn't bear it, grabbing two fists of hair, grabbing the pillow beside my head, groping my own breasts still wet with their sweat and saliva.

Whether the same orgasm or another I cannot say, but two tongues inside me blew me away even more than two people sucking my titties and groping my crotch. I never considered myself the type to be an orgy girl, but here I was having a threesome with my brother and my ex's girlfriend and I felt so damn alive! They made me climax; legs spread so wide to let them both in.

"Go kiss her breasts again, Jen," he said, and like a good little girl, she did. Kissed me on the lips and neck, again, too, while my brother gently tongued me like there might be more left, but I felt spent. My body was floating, and I closed my eyes...

His penis slid into me!

My eyes opened wide to see his face over me, his hand holding Jenny's head to my breast. He slid so slowly into me it took a couple of seconds, and when it did, the end hit something deep inside me. I guess it was my cervix, but nothing ever touched it before.

The shock of everything was so great, and he felt so good inside me, all I could do was gasp.

"Let's give her another one, Jen," he said, and she did her best. Every inch of my skin tingled, gooseflesh formed all over my body and he stared into my eyes as his hips worked a slow, steady rhythm. Jen's head kept him from reaching me for a kiss, even with my neck craned up, so I pulled him down to the side so I could turn my head to him. Brandon bit my lower lip, pulling and stretching it down. He licked my upper lip. Our tongues circled outside our mouths.

A small splash of warmth inside signaled he gave in, and after as much as he came before, must have wasted most of his supply on Jenny's face. I turned so he slid against me in a way that tickled my soul, Jenny's tongue licked harder and faster on my nipple, and soon cascades of pleasure took my body again. My fingers dug into Jenny's gorgeous curls and my brother's butt as he drove into me harder as I came. His eyes, inches from mine, stared back at me.

They say redheads steal souls, but can our souls be stolen from us?

#

The next day, nothing seemed right.

I stayed in Brandon's bed until he made sure the coast was clear, and I drank water and coffee dressed in one of his oxford button-down shirts with nothing on underneath. "Where do you keep your Tylenol?"

He pointed to the cabinet next to the sink.

"The kitchen? Why not the bathroom?"

"You're right here. That's usually when I start thinking about it after drinking hard."

"We did drink hard, didn't we?"

"At least we didn't drink as much as Jenny."

She left right after Brandon and I made love. "Did she seem okay to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was strange. She left almost in a hurry. You don't suppose...?"

"I'm sorry, Aoife. I got a little carried away."

"Me, too."

We both hid behind our coffee mugs, drinking nervously in utter silence.

"You were incredible," he finally said.

"Seducing Jenny and all?"

"No. You were amazing. I couldn't sleep last night, it was...do you know you snore?"

"I do not!"

"It's cute. Real quiet, not like when Uncle Henry came to visit. Remember that?"

"He was the worst."

He stood right up against me as I leaned against the counter, laid his mug behind me and took mine from my lips. "We shouldn't have done that, but it was the most incredible night of my life..."

"Mine, too," I hugged him, so relieved he didn't freak out over it.

"I wished we were alone..."

"Me, too!"

"But you did like Jenny—any fool could see that."

"What she did to me was—aMAZING—but I am not a lesbian." No, I was something far more onerous, as everyone was about to find out.

#

People began looking at me differently as early as after classes that afternoon. Only paranoia, I told myself. In my last class that day, my 2:00 American Lit class, the teacher said, "If you look on your syllabus, the next book is Hawthorne. We will dive into The Scarlet Letter on Monday. So, make sure you read it this weekend, if you have not already done so."

It hit hard as the ground after falling from a tree. Dull numbness overcame me, the pit of my stomach fell away, and a giant, red I appeared on my forehead. Without a mirror to see, I felt it real as if paint from the lettering dripped down along the bridge of my nose. Others saw it, though, plain on their faces as they turned to watch me walk by. Snide whispers, amused smiles and a few looks of disgust from the students followed on my way to the dorm.

It got so bad, I went up the library, instead, and hid up at my little table on the third floor until closing time, subsisting on Fritos from the vending machine.

Did I mention how rapidly news spreads around a small college campus?

In the lobby of my dorm, as I scurried quickly toward the stairs, two girls I recognized but did not know watched me like I had three heads. As I passed, one said intentionally loud enough to hear, "Isn't she the brotherfucker?"

In my room, Sherri greeted me with, "What is going on? Your brother has called like ten times."

No need to call, I just went to my car and drove over there.

He opened the door, beer in hand and already drunk, tugged me by the wrist inside and quickly shut the door. "Jenny talked."

We held each other tight as the world collapsed around us. If anyone still had not heard, by tomorrow they would. He led me to his room, where we did the only thing left of us. Revenge sex. Together, we tried to satisfy our insatiable desires, but really, we had nothing but revenge sex.

First, he spread my legs and took me, standing over me while my legs dangled over the side of his bed, my feet sometimes on the floor but mostly around his waist, without either the viciousness of our first time or the tenderness of the night before. After that I rode him, taking control and mounting him. Using him.

There was no one but ourselves to get revenge upon, so I lay there and let him revenge fuck me, pretending I did not enjoy it. Then I used him trying to get revenge upon him for ruining me like he had. But it felt so good and I enjoyed him so completely that the only person I got any measure of revenge upon was myself.

Afterward, we slept with the skin of our naked backs against each other as I contemplated how badly our plan went wrong.

#

Girls are the worst. Each walk of shame to class or back to my dorm, the red I on me grew larger. Giggles, heads turning to watch me walk by or to pointedly ignore me. And everywhere I went, I heard their new name for me. Brotherfucker.

Leaving math class that day, a big football player flanked by two of his teammates blocked the door.

"Hi, Aoife. I was wondering, do I look like your brother? Some people say I do." He could not look less like Brandon if he tried.

"I'm late for class."

"Maybe you can adopt me? I'll make a good brother, and I'll take good care of my little sis." His buddies laughed and I tried to get by and flee from the classroom. I might still be there if someone had not tapped him on the shoulder trying to enter for the next class, and after they walked in, I scooted out the door to a hallway full of accusing eyes watching me.

My brother faced an entirely different experience. Perhaps because he'd spent 3+ years making friends, they gave my brother much less of a hard time. "Most of the guys say if their sister looked like you, they'd do the same thing."

"Why can't the girls at least be that honest? You are cute as hell, too."

"Not as cute as you, though. Some guys ask if you've got a firebush, that sort of thing."

"Please tell me you don't talk about my pubic hair."

"No, I tell 'em to fuck off."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"It's not fair, though. What do the girls say?"

"Not much" he said. "With them, it's mostly looks. Not sure how to interpret them, but they smile and whisper to each other when I go by."

"Probably whispering they wish you were their brother. The same ones who call me Brotherfucker. That's the only thing they say to me."

The story of the football players did upset him, so he began escorting me around campus. That put an end to most of the comments, although—if anything—brought more stares. Less amused by the two of us daring to show our faces together than accusatory and judgmental stares.

Monday morning, a student whose work-study job was as a go-fer in the Administration building waited outside class. "The dean wants to see you and your brother in his office right away. Says it's very important."

They kept us waiting outside for a half-hour, giving us a chance to sit and plot our strategy.

"Come in," the Dean finally said, motioning to chairs in front of his impressive, carved desk. "Please sit. I presume you know why you are here."

"Not exactly," I answered.

"There have been some allegations of misconduct of a rather sensitive nature. Are you aware of these allegations?"

"Yes, sir," my brother answered.

"Good, because I am not comfortable discussing the details with a young woman present. This conduct, if true, violates the honor code and the student code of conduct and are quite serious allegations. In fact, this misconduct is a very serious crime in this state. A felony, in fact."

"Just to make sure we understand exactly what this is about, is it because people are saying I had sex with my sister?"

Visibly uncomfortable at Brandon openly discussing this subject, the Dean answered, "Yes, that is the substance of the allegations. As you know, such conduct violates many of our rules."

This time, I asked, "You have specific rules about that?"

"No, not specific rules," the dean answered, afraid to look at my eyes, he stared at my chest which, hidden under a shapeless, warm sweater, offered even less to look at than usual. "We have rules about sexual misconduct."

Brandon answered, "If you enforce those, you would need to expel half the student body. Including at least half of the Baptist Student Union."

The Dean grew frustrated. "Section G. 4 of the Student Code of Conduct forbids, and I quote, behavior involving sexual or moral depravity that brings disrepute to the student body, the faculty or the University in general."

"May I see that?" Brandon asked, and the Dean slid it across the polished surface of his desk. "Section G reads, Any conduct or behavior in this paragraph shall be forbidden on this campus, and shall be subject to disciplinary action up to and including expulsion. Specific punishment shall be the discretion of the Board, which may consider factors such as whether a first or repeated offense, and so on. Number 2 is consumption of alcoholic beverages or illegal drugs, and number 7 here is fighting."

"The allegations in this case are more serious than drinking alcohol or fighting."

"Huh—number 15 here is smoking. Those big urns filled with sand outside the dorms and classroom buildings are ashtrays, aren't they?"

"Surely you are not comparing allegations of sexual misconduct involving you and your sister with smoking! Incest is a felony."

"I believe what he is saying," I jumped in, unable to sit quietly any longer, "is that people openly violate this rule about smoking, and there are dozens of witnesses. What evidence do you have against us?"

"There is a witness. I interviewed her myself."

"We know who that witness is. She is the girl my sister's boyfriend dumped her for. She is also the girlfriend of the guy who's leg I broke in soccer practice, who had to withdraw from school this term. Obviously, she is biased. Jenny set us up seeking revenge against us. My sister and I will, of course, deny doing anything wrong. Look at her—does she look like the sort of girl who would engage in any sort of moral or sexual depravity, as the Code calls it?"

His defense made me so proud I wanted to kiss him right then and there.

"It will be your word against hers, and I assure you, her story will be taken very seriously. It is most uncommon for a student to falsely accuse others of sexual misconduct."

"Are allegations of incest common among the students here?"

"No, but they happen every few years."

Brandon held up the Code of Conduct again. "We all know that the allegations against my sister and I involve conduct that occurred off-campus. Allegedly. This code of conduct only applies to on-campus activities."

"Am I to understand that the two of you wish for the Board to hold a hearing to determine what happened?"

My face burned with rage and embarrassment. The humiliation of a hearing where they would openly discuss the terrible, wonderful, illegal acts we committed is the last thing I wanted.

"No," Brandon answered. "I have a different solution that will be much less embarrassing for everyone involved—including the school."

#

From the window on the top floor of the library, the first snowfall of winter made the campus look beautiful. Practically the highest point on campus, it gave a view of the science building where Brandon had his last exam of the term. Easy to spot in his varsity letterman's jacket as he trudged footprints through virgin snow toward the library.

Nobody knew we met here, a little-used stairway in a corner made sure of that. When he arrived, he leaned over me and gave me a kiss on the back of the neck and squeezed my shoulder, his hand lightly brushing against my breast before pulling it away. Through my cashmere sweater, it felt like fire. "How is your studying?"

"Good. I'm going to ace that English exam. How was your exam?"

"Easy. You will love senior year tests, when they finally decide to stop flunking out students and let us boost our GPAs for grad school." Under the table, he crossed his ankle over mine.

This was our last exam week there. My first and last. The Dean took the deal he offered, and the next day, we started filling out transfer applications to colleges far away from this place. Replies already were trickling in, and we tossed each one where the other was not also accepted.

Our fellow students still taunted us, of course. The deal included a promise not to spend time alone—on or off campus. My dorm and his apartment were strictly off-limits to the other. We could only be together in public which, technically, included the third floor of the library where hardly anyone else went.

He could have laid me across the table, pulled off my jeans and screwed my brains out and no one would ever know. But a promise was a promise, and other than an occasional grope of my derriere or a breast, or when I would accidentally bump his pants to see if he was hard in there, we kept our hands to ourselves.