The Family Frizz Ch. 02

This is the tale of a young woman's journey of self-discovery. Initially the protagonist is unfamiliar with the correct terminology and use of various items and safe practices. Please forgive her many errors. Don't use this story as a how-to guide. There are several 'daydreams' in this story most are in fictional settings, the one at the University is imagined by the character. SHSU probably has rules against what is described.

......

This is a work of fiction all of the fictional sexual activity described occurs between fictional characters who are at least eighteen fictional years of age.

......

Let's eat grandma.

Let's eat, grandma.

I like commas, they save lives.

......

SUNDAY NIGHT

I woke up snuggled up with and half on top of my little brother Peter with him holding me in his arms. I had to pee, that is probably what woke me up. But I was able to repress my body's need for a while, quite a while until Pete woke up on his own. I love Pete and I think I might 'be in love with' Pete so while I didn't get off the couch because I didn't want to wake him, I also didn't want to wake him because I needed time to think and I wanted to remain in his arms a little bit longer.

As we laid in one another's arms both barely awake but neither wanting to get up and leave our father came down the stairs.

"My, you two make a really cute couple."

Dad had meant it as a joke, but it was true, Peter and I did make a cute couple, more importantly a loving one. Peter got up and started to fold the blanket that we had shared the first night of what I was thinking might just turn out to be our courtship. As he did, I filled the carafe of the Mr. Coffee and scooped coffee into the pleated paper filter from the 1960's modern spun copper jar that I loved. There were four in descending size, flour, sugar, coffee and tea. Another relic of simpler times when Peter and I were more innocent, and we the four of us were all together.

The coffee made and in cups I started to cook our breakfast or maybe brunch, arguably an early lunch from the clock on the wall. As I was frying some eggs mom came in using her key, just another point of confusion in my life. Why weren't you here all along?

After a nice family breakfast we went down to the boathouse and took the boat out onto Lake Livingston for the afternoon. Entering the boathouse where we had observed Shelia and dad last night I couldn't help but notice that the larger storage room, the one with the green table and cuffs and paddles was securely locked. A deadbolt had been added above the familiar knob in the time since I was living in dad's house.

"Has there been any trouble out here?" I said pointing at the deadbolt.

"No, it just a hopefully unnecessary precaution."

Cavalier is not a place a sane criminal would choose to work, you pretty much have Huntsville 30 minutes west and Livingston an hour east with Highway 190 skirting the upper reaches of the lake connecting them. Detection equals capture, hiding in the National Forest or a long swim.

Mom was standing right there next to the door to the dungeon, did she know what dad did in there. It was all kind of surreal, did mom and dad ever play like Shelia and dad. Mom wearing a leather mask covering her eyes and a tall thick collar with silver rings and studs, cuffs buckled to her wrists, dancing a dance of pain. Did she enjoy having clamps attached to her nipples and attached to a rope which severely limited her ability to move. Did dad make her body tense up, bend her knees and elbows and scream into a gag. Had mom ever been dad's very kinky fuck-buddy.

My parent's relationship with each other perplexed me. They were best friends and totally supported each other, Peter and me. They both taught, mom at Sam Houston State University, dad at Robert Cavalier High School. They shared values and interests, they did things together. The were married for twelve years. Was this, kinky sex, why they were no longer married. Would Shelia Rhodes do what mom was uninterested or unwilling to do.

Except that it couldn't have been Shelia, mom and dad divorced ten years ago, Shelia Rhodes arrived the year before my freshman year, that was seven years ago. Shelia wasn't at RCHS ten years ago.

But it still might have been because mom wouldn't...

So why would Shelia, she must enjoy it, or at least enjoy what it does for her...

As my five-cent-psychiatrist would say, its about trust, the right kind of trust. Right now, I had the wrong kind of trust with Steve. I trusted him to not be there for me, to not put me first and to not notice me. If I did something extreme with Steve, he might just forget and leave me tied to the ceiling on a short rope by my nipple rings. Oh my God did I just imagine myself... Attached to the ceiling like Shelia... What is wrong with me?

I would trust dad, he wouldn't just leave me, he'd take care of...

Oh my God! Where did that thought come from.

I would trust Pete, it might be fun to be Pete's love-slave. Pete loves me, you know like a brother. I can work on that. Pete would take really good care of me get me all 'dorphed up' like we said on the cross-country team, not let me get hurt.

It didn't horrify me that thought of being submissive to Peter, why? Trust?

Logic was failing me right now. My father is into electrocuting his fuck-buddy, I know its not really electrocuting but I don't actually know what it is called. Maybe I should ask Janet, Ms. Carson our research librarian at SHSU.

"Excuse me do you have a book on how to safely electrocute your sex partner, it's for my dad."

"Why yes, here it is 'Zapp!' by Raylene Frizz," she says, "oh I'm sorry it is checked out. It seems to be very popular. I can put you on the waiting list."

"OK, do you have a guesstimate when it might be available?"

"Let me check," said Ms. Carson stepping behind a bookcase.

A few minutes later Ms. Carson emerged from stacks in a tiny red bikini top over a black leather mini-skirt and white thigh boots with six-inch heels. "There seem to be thirteen names on the waiting list, but I do have this book on lesbian dildo bondage."

"Well, I don't know."

"Oh, all of the librarians love it."

She handed me the book and picked up a long skinny box that a half-dozen roses might have been in. The box contained a small tub of Crisco and an eighteen-inch long dildo with a white leather harness.

"Take your clothes off and follow me to the circulation desk and we will get you all checked out." Ms. Carson said as the other librarians gathered around wearing leather swimsuits, nipple rings and silver chains.

WHAT? Where is this coming from?

It was very relaxing being in the boat on the lake, we sailed to and fro, drank some sun-tea and ate the sandwiches that dad had made. Several times I maneuvered myself into a position where Peter would end up holding me or sitting tightly beside me. He seemed to get it moving to and not away from me. Once I ended up in his lap. God it felt so natural being there.

......

All good things end and that evening I returned to Steve's apartment near campus. It was time to put my plan into action, I was going to move out of Steve's apartment slowly and see if he noticed or objected. I called him from dad's house and asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner tonight.

"Don't worry about me I will just grab something from the fridge, this paper is kicking my ass."

Yeah, right. I was hurt by Steve not coming, and doubly hurt because he was bullshitting me, Steve was very bright, but he did not possess much initiative. He would wait till the last moment and then spend two hours writing a paper the day before, sometimes the morning before it was due. Handed in with the ink still wet it would still garner the class' highest grade. So, as I drove the twenty-five-minute drive west through the National Forest I was less than thrilled.

I wondered where Steve was when I got to his apartment, I had called and he knew I was coming. Oh well, I took a shower. No Steve, so I got dressed and started to collect my stuff together. I was just starting to get my first load together when he came back from wherever he had been.

"Hi, how was everything at your father's?"

Well at least he remembered where I had been. I started to answer but he just walked over to the word processor and began typing the paper that was due on Monday, one that he has had two weeks to write. The one he used as an excuse to not come with me two days ago. I returned to work slowly gathering my clothing and toiletries, my books and albums. Carrying them down it must have been six or seven loads. Filling my tiny trunk and then starting on the backseat of my German Mustang. I continued to collect items as Steve left the apartment, all he had was his floppy disc and some typing paper, so he was obviously off to use Clayton's inkjet printer.

I wondered to myself why our downstairs neighbor lets everyone sponge off of him. Steve would say that he uses Clay's printer because the finished product looks nicer than what he can produce on his Brother word processor, even when it has a fresh ribbon, which he is too cheap to buy. He returned just as I was walking up the stairs from putting my last armload in my little silver car, he hadn't noticed what I was doing.

I know he was busy, busy doing something he put off to the last minute, something he used as an excuse for not coming to dad's but then never actually got around to doing, but it's an awful feeling being ignored. Or maybe he thought that I was just tiding up, after all I was the only one who ever did that around here.

I thought about an old joke where the punchline was the man would never leave the woman because to replace her, he would have to hire three women, a cook, a maid and a prostitute. Sadly, I thought Steve would just hire a cook, or eat on campus.

To me being ignored is worse than anything, I think that is called operant conditioning. I tried to remember back to my Freshman Psychology class. Mom and dad were both totally 'timeout' parents, they even had a 'time out corner' half way up the stairs. Sitting on the first stair past the landing all you could see was a blank white wall and the equally white wooden handrail. Booooring.

In my twenty-one years I had never once been paddled. It's funny thinking about it, I wondered to myself if Shelia Rhodes had been dad's fuck-buddy when she taught my Senior English class. If she had been, then there was a day when I sat in her class having done something that I shouldn't have the night before, but on that day it was her ass that was a bright red, not mine.

That could have made for a humorous situation in class. Senior English at Robert Cavalier High, oops Michelle forgot her final term paper, it's done but at home. Mrs. Rhodes was thinking about the situation. Finally, she announced plan of action. She stood in front of the class wearing her trademark black skirt with matching pumps and white blouse with the Chantilly Lace cuffs and collar.

Oh my God! Thinking back Mrs. Rhodes always wore pumps, even with jeans, and nearly always wore close fitting cuffs on blouses and either high tight collars or a little black Victorian choker with a scrimshawed silhouette in reverse on an Ivory oval. Was Shelia chuckling to herself wearing fetish clothing to school. Sometimes she acted like she was getting wet while talking about Byron, like a fool I had thought it was the poetry.

Shelia Rhodes stepped in front of her desk and before her class started to unbutton her blouse. She folded it and sat it neatly on the oak surface, then removed her padded bra revealing two huge silver nipple rings. The boys in class began to clap. She blew them kisses. Then she unzipped her black skirt and stepped out of it, folded it and placed it on top of her blouse. She shimmied as she pulled her big white panties off and they appeared to have a damp spot.

She threw them right to Tommy DeLeuw, it was the 'class virgin's' lucky day, he took a big sniff of our teacher's pussy juice and put them on his head like a hat. Then she announced that she needed two of my classmates to come forward and inspect her butt. She asked them to remember how red her cheeks were and how wet her pussy was. Bruno, a football player, asked how he was supposed to tell how wet she was. Gina, a cheerleader told him to do as she did and pushed a finger into Shelia.

Shelia took a Ping-Pong paddle out of the desk and said, "Michelle please take of all of your clothes."

"Why, Mrs. Rhodes?"

"You agreed to be paddled."

"Yes."

"So, take off your clothes, start with your shirt."

"Yes Mrs. Rhodes"

"Now your pants..."

"Pants..."

"Pants..."

"Have you seen my pants?" Steve asked bringing me back to reality.

"Folded, clean in the laundry basket, where they've been since Friday. I bet you can't guess how I know."

"Want to come down to Clay's and have a beer?"

"In a minute."

"OK, see ya," said Steve as he finished getting dressed and left the apartment.

I started out wondering what my daydream meant but instead of clarity my mind returned to its previously scheduled programming. I was naked standing before my entire class. Then my father walked in, what was he doing, asking Shelia to lunch. She was explaining the situation to him. How my penance for forgetting my paper was for her to make my buttocks as red as he had made hers, last night before he buggered her... The boys high-fived my dad and blew kisses to Mrs. Rhodes. And to make my pussy gush from being paddled like hers did. The girls ran up and kissed Mrs. Rhodes. Dad approved. WHAT? Why am I daydreaming that?

He left, telling her that he was going back to his room to get some needles and rings.

"So, we can pierce Micky's nipples after you are done paddling her. They will be her graduation present."

"Yes Master, I will wait for you," dream Shelia answered.

WHAT? What the Sam Hill was I just daydreaming?

I have never done this before having waking sex dreams when I am not alone. Sex dreams with my father and with Shelia as significant characters, earlier sex dreams with Pete and me playing and then dreams with mom and dad. It was fucked-up but significantly Steve was not in any of them.

I told Steve that I would come down and so I did, but my heart wasn't in it. For the first time in months I was glad that Steve didn't initiate sex when we returned to the apartment. I am a modern girl, there is nothing wrong with my suggesting intimacy, but he never did like he used to anymore. I slept my last night next to Steve in his bed and wished it were Pete beside me.

......

MONDAY NIGHT

I had actually moved too much stuff Sunday night and had to go down to my little Capri to get clothing to wear to class. After class I drove back home, to dad's house, the one he bought and then totally rebuilt after the divorce. Mom would have loved for me to come over and it would save me forty-five minutes or so a day in commuting time, but I would have to sleep on her couch... Without Pete.

So after dinner Pete and I stayed up and looked out for signs of Shelia Rhodes, it was like I was eleven and 'Harriet the Spy' all over again. Shelia didn't show but it was fun playing around and being silly with Pete. Basically, confirming what I already knew, that he was the one for me.

Tuesday was my first day commuting in almost a year. I spoke with Steve and he broke my heart with his lackadaisical response to my moving out. I spent the afternoon with mom and the evening with Peter trying to spy on dad and Shelia again, but no luck.

......

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

We finally scored on Wednesday Mrs. Rhodes arrived and parked behind the boat-house, her car out of casual view. Once inside of their 'playroom' Shelia unzipped and stepped out of the navy-blue skirt that she had been wearing, however unlike my daydreams she wore no underwear, What she did wear was a very large brass padlock the stainless steel hasp of which obviously passed through two rather large diameter holes pierced trough her Labia Major.

She was wearing white pumps and a fancy white blouse with Chantilly Lace cuffs and high collar. Nailed that one. The blouse was slowly, maybe even seductively, removed for her Master exposing her pale and freckled, rather large for her frame, very nice for her maybe thirty-five years and unrestrained by a brassiere breasts. My batting average fell to .333, when she did not pause to fold anything it fell again to .250.

Dad was wearing blue jeans and a tan button-down shirt with cowboy boots. He sat in a chair that had not been in view on Saturday. She walked over and bent over his lap. With his bare hand he spanked her buttocks, it seemed to go on forever, I was mesmerized I was inexplicably aroused. My panties were a mess. After what I would later surmise to be forty strokes twenty to each buttock, she rose unsteadily he lovingly held her so that she would not fall as she stumbled slowly to the green table.

Standing, her pretty white pumps shoulder width apart holding herself erect by holding the edge of the green table. Dad slapping her breasts with a wooden school ruler. He alternated his blows between breasts and the top or the sensitive underside of same. Her breasts a pretty shade of red, and massive quantiles of endorphins cruising through her blood stream, she turned away from dad. He took a piece of leather and tied her wrists behind her back.

Oh my God, it was an epiphany. Their lack of speech, their lack of non-verbal cues and communication the only way that was possible was... How long had this been going on while nobody noticed. Not that I am being Enid Strict, made famous by Dana Carvey. Peter was right, they are grown-ups in an obviously consensual relationship. It's a commentary on how blind I had been. Oh, like how blind I had been for first sorta moving in with, and then for remaining with Steve.

Then with dad taking her place in relation to the green table, she unbuttoned his 501s and pulled them down, don't buy stock in BVD folks. He gripped the edge of the table. Shelia went to her knees with her arms tied behind her back giving my father a very slow and very sensuous blow job. She obviously took him beyond the confines of her mouth, she took him down into her throat.

Then they switched again, it's like its freaking choreographed. Dad folded his fuck-buddy over the green table face down and proceeded to insert his penis, wet from her throat into her anal cavity. She was loving it. It was like a scene from an unexpunged Louis L'Amour novel. Dad was riding Shelia really, really hard and putting her away really, really wet.

Interesting, Harriet the Spy had just witnessed her father having an orgasm. As he recovered he untied his paramour and lifted her onto the green table. The show was not over, with her legs in cuffs and hooked to the ceiling dad delivered blows to Shelia's buttocks with a paddle. Then he disconnected her and he rolled her over and used that paddle on her breasts. I could only imagine the level of endorphins in her bloodstream.

Dad lit a candle and with her lying face up on the table dripped semi-hot wax upon her breasts, then on her belly and in her red pubes. Then putting the candle away, he inserted a small vibrator into her pussy while he licked her. He withdrew the vibrator and inserted three fingers, his thumb on her clitty, thrusted several times and then went back to the vibrator. Several highs and lows followed until Shelia gave out an Oscar-worthy orgasm, her ass lifting six inches it seemed from the table.

Dad gently kissed, then licked and finally lapped his lover's cunt before pushing his right hand formed into a shadow puppet duck's head into that happy vagina. I had heard of this, was uncertain it was possible, certain that it could not be enjoyable. But Shelia Rhodes was happy, ecstatic, getting off like crazy on the insane level of overstimulation provided by my father's fist moving in and out and all about in her sloppy wet vagina.