The Lustley's Ch. 01

Cheryl clicked her tongue and stared at the admin building like she was going to attack it. "It's Hull. She hates me, plus she has a screechy voice."

I screwed my face up and sounded as whiny as I could."'My teacher hates me.' 'My coach hates me.' 'The principal hates me.' "

"That doesn't even sound like me."

"How do you know I was trying to?"

Cheryl scowled. "I know for sure Hull hates me, she even tried to get me kicked out of her class."

I rolled my eyes.

"She did! A couple girls who're in that class too hate me, and they told Hull they saw me giving her husband a blowjob behind Wilson Hall."

"Did you?" I shouldn't've even asked, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Cheryl picked a loose hair off her sweater. "No. We were behind the Library." She didn't look at me as she smirked. "He didn't mind, but apparently she did."

"Hull's a hardass, but she's fair," I said. "Unless you blow her husband."

Cheryl snickered.

"The school has a tutoring program, Cheryl," I said, "and they hooked me up with this girl Michelle. She helped me, and even if she ain't around anymore, they'd hook you up with somebody else. Well, not 'hook up' like... You know what I mean."

Ah, Michelle. It was a good thing she had brains, because she was really hurting in the looks department. I still ate her out, but only after she threatened to quit because I wasn't good at being tutored. I wouldn't fuck her, though, I ain't that horny or desperate. After I was done with that class, I was done with her. But she thought we were going steady, the mixed-up crazy chick. After I dumped her heavyweight ass, she posted on FB and IG that I was a complete fuck-face. Michelle might not help Cheryl if I asked her to, but if Cheryl went through the school, she would. Probably. As long as Cheryl didn't tell Michelle that her brother was Randy Lustley.

Cheryl sighed. "A tutor? Really? Ohh, man..."

"You have to keep a 3.0, or else 'goodbye scholarship.'"

Cheryl looked at me like she'd just bitten into a moldy turd. "Okay, I guess so."She looked at me with that cute-ass smile and patted my leg. "You always did look out for me, Randy."

"Somebody has to." We stared at each other. God, Cheryl was hot, but all I could think about was how long she kept her hand on my leg.

* * * * *

As a freshman, I learned four things dominated life: Studying, partying, drinking and fucking. The last three occurred regularly at my fraternity, Alpha Phi Gamma, the 'jock house'. My sister Cheryl did the first one reluctantly, but I learned first-hand she did at least two of the last three enthusiastically.

On the Tuesday after the football team won our third consecutive game to open the season, the longest streak in 15 years and two more victories than all last season, we partied. Well, we would've anyway, but at least we had a reason to besides just wanting to get shit-faced.

Because the football team was on a rare hot streak, the whole school wanted to party with us. I was concerned that the Alpha Phi Gamma house might not survive, since it was over 170 years old and was built by the town's founder, Mordecai St. John. It would've been a historical landmark had ol' 'Mordy' not been run out of town because of fraud and adultery. The roof leaked, the walls bowed and the floors sagged, but if the local historical society wasn't interested in keeping it up, then fuck it.

Since the jocks lived there, there had to be a contest of some kind. Naturally, it involved weed. The offensive line challenged the defensive line to a bong contest on the back porch. I was the starting tight end for the Pumas, so I had to play. It was a tight contest: One of theirs would pass out, then one of ours. Eventually, it was only me and Russell Jackson left. Russ was a defensive tackle and one huge son of a bitch, weighing somewhere between 350 pounds and a mountain. Somehow, though, I won.

I celebrated by getting sick. I staggered through the back door into the kitchen, staying upright by sliding my shoulders against the walls. I puked into the sink, only later thinking I should've taken the dishes out first. I grabbed a can of local micro-brew, figuring I couldn't get much sicker so what the fuck.

Through the haze of pot and tobacco smoke and the din of speed-metal death-thrash rock, I spotted Cheryl on the sofa. She was tangled up with Sammy Gilmore, the 7-foot 2-inch center of the Pumas basketball team. Even though he resembled a Neanderthal, Cheryl was shoving her tongue into his mouth. She had one leg over top of his, and he was fingering her snatch under her black leggings. She ground her hips into him while rubbing his hard cock through his sweatpants.

I stumbled over to them. "What the hell're you doing?" I asked Cheryl.

It took a second for Cheryl's eyes to focus. She breathed heavily and her head lolled back. If I didn't know better, I'd've thought she was about to come. She looked at me, surprised and annoyed. "Randy?? What the fuck're you doing here?"

"I live here." I looked around to make sure I was where I thought I was.

Cheryl looked around. "Ohhh, yeah."

"Well??"

"Well what?"

"What are you... --are you doing here?" I demanded.

Cheryl arched her eyebrows and smirked. "Jesus, Randy. You look totally fucked up."

I didn't just look it.

Sammy looked at me, more or less. Eyes glazed over and barely open, he smirked. "Hey, Billy, how ya doin'? Get lost."

"I'm Randy. I'm her brother."

Sammy looked at Cheryl, then back at me. He was annoyed, but not enough to pull his fingers out of my sister's twat. "Huh. Get lost."

I grabbed Cheryl's arm and pulled her up. "I need to talk to you," I said.

"Get your fucking hands off me!!" Cheryl yelled, prying at my fingers.

"Hey man, what the fuck?!" Sammy shouted.

I held my hand up. "It's cool, Sammy. It's cool."

I dragged Cheryl into the kitchen. Sammy stayed on the couch, thank God. Walking, talking and breathing at the same time was hard, but I did it without dropping to the floor or puking. Again.

Smacking me with her free hand, Cheryl yelled, "Let me the fuck go! I'll scream, I swear to fucking God!!"

I spun to face her, holding onto her arm so she couldn't go anywhere, and to keep myself standing. "What... What are you doing? Here?"

Cheryl tugged, trying to pull her arm away. "None of your business, I don't have to answer to you!" She rubbed her crotch. "I was just about to come, asshole. Thanks a lot."

Sure enough, Cheryl's leggings were soaked and her intoxicating scent cut through the haze.

"You should be, uh, should be studying..." I took a deep breath through my nose. "...For the History midterm, you're nowhere near." Another deep inhale through my nose. "Ready."

Cheryl pried at my fingers. "What, is Michelle ratting me out to you?"

I took a couple more deep breaths through my nose. Man, Cheryl's scent was amazing. "She didn't- she's not 'ratting you out'. I told her to tell me what was going on." Of course, before she agreed to, I had to eat her out again.

"Same thing." Cheryl clicked her tongue. "What'd she say?"

"That you're having trouble in-- with your-- American History, Colonial, whatever, you know. Hull's class."

"She's fucking lying!" Cheryl pointed at me. "I know Samuel Adams was the first President, so there!"

I shook my head. "George Washington was the first. Samuel Adams was never President." I only knew that because of Michelle. More shocking was that I remembered it, especially considering my fucked-up condition right then.

"Adams was too President!!"

I nodded. "John Adams was, not Sam. Sam's the beer."

Cheryl shrugged. "Well, whatever. Who cares? You're all fucked up, and Michelle can go to hell."

I put my other hand on Cheryl's shoulder and pulled her closer. Even in that moment, polluted by pot and swimming in booze, having my face so close to hers was electrifying. "Don't blow this off, I'm telling you."

"Telling me? Fuck you!" Cheryl shook her arms and knocked my hands away. As hot as she was when she wasn't going berzerk, she was even hotter when she was. She got this wild-animal-untamed-primal thing going that tingled my crotch. By this time she was very aroused, both from getting fingered and by arguing, so her scent was strong. Real strong.

Cheryl huffed and pushed me aside. She stepped into the living room, then turned back. "Sammy says his dick's a foot long, but it only felt like about ten inches to me. I'll let you know which one of us is right."

I waved my hand. I already knew how big Sammy's dong was; he'd forgotten to lock the bathroom door one time and I walked in as he was stepping out of the shower. For a sec, I thought he'd bought a pet anaconda.

I watched my sister straddle Sammy, facing him. If only she showed half as much interest in her studies as she did in cocks, she would earn a master's degree in a year and a half.

* * * * *

Our winning streak didn't last long. Over the next month, the ACU Pumas lost four in a row, getting shut out in two. Coach Kelsey was so pissed he forbid us from drinking, smoking, partying and even fucking. Most of my teammates only went to college for those four things. Me too, although I hoped that some pro scout would see me and I'd get drafted for the NFL. But mostly, it was the drinking, smoking, partying and fucking.

Coach wanted us to regain our focus, as if that would help. Truth was, we sucked. He pretty much admitted that when he said that since our next opponent was Western Carolina, the first-place team in the Northern Division of the Eastern Athletic Conference, we'd probably get our asses kicked no matter how hard we focused.

Nothing like a little motivation.

As if prepping for WCU wasn't bad enough, I had a killer exam that week in Chemistry 201. The test was on Friday, the game was on Saturday, so on Thursday I was cramming for both. My playbook and class notes were spread out on my and my roommate Bobby Golden's bed. I wished I had him to study with, but he was in AC University Hospital with a ripped-up knee. I felt bad for him. Not only was his season over, so was his career, probably. I missed him, but at least I had the whole room to myself.

When my cell phone rang, I was trying to figure out if 'C6-H12-O6' was an offensive football formation or a chemical formula. "Hello?"

Cheryl sobbed. "Randy? Randy, can-can I come over? I really-- need to talk-- to you!"

Shit. The one time I didn't look at the caller ID before I answered... "Tonight? Shit... I got a big test, I mean, it's not a good--"

Cheryl sobbed again. "Please, Randy. Please??"

I sighed. Cheryl was the Queen of Drama. If she was crushing on a guy and he didn't call, or if he ghosted her, she was a blubbering infant. Life was over, the world was cruel, blah-blah-blah. Then the next day, everything was cool. But this time, she sounded different. I told her to come over.

Ten minutes later, Cheryl was at the front door. From the way she'd sounded, I figured she'd be a mess. It was worse than that. Her eyes were red and moist, her hair was tied into a straggly knot, her t-shirt was dirty and stained, and her skin-tight leggings looked like they'd been hand-washed in a backed-up toilet.

"Jesus Christ, Cheryl," I said.

"I know, I--" Cheryl lunged forward and threw her arms around me. Maybe I shouldn't have, but the first thing I thought of was her titties pressing into my chest. My cock sure noticed.

She tugged at her stained t-shirt. "I couldn't sleep last night, I haven't eaten anything all day, I've just been crying. After I called you, I ran over here as fast as I could."

"You ran? Actually ran? That's at least two miles."

"I didn't have any other way here. I couldn't get anybody to give me a ride, and I didn't have enough money for an Uber." The look on Cheryl's face almost tore my heart out. She looked like a scared little animal, alone and cold.

But even though she was a wreck, my sister was still hot. Without a bra, her nipples pushed her shirt out and teased me. Her leggings hugged her full hips and long legs like a second skin. Best of all, her scent was strong and musky. The big game and my killer exam would have to wait.

Cheryl covered her face with her hands and put her head on my shoulder. "Oh, Randy... Randy..."

I patted her head. "What's the matter?"

"They-- They--" Cheryl sobbed a few more times. "They took my scholarship away."

"Huh? What're you talking about?"

Cheryl pulled away and wiped her face with the palm of her right hand. She was going to say something else when Zack, one of my frat brothers and the backup quarterback, walked in from the kitchen.

"Hey, Cheryl! I thought I heard somebody at the door." Zack gestured toward the kitchen. "You want in on a bong? We got one goin' in the back!"

Cheryl looked at Zack like he was a talking hemorrhoid. "Can we go to your room and talk?" she asked me.

I guided Cheryl toward the steps and waved off Zack. "Not now, 'Z'."

Zack's smile never wavered. "Okay, then how 'bout a blowjob? She's always up for a blowjob, ain't she? I know I am."

Most of the time, 'Z' was funny. This wasn't one. I shook my head as I said, "She's got some shit goin' on."

"Okay, okay, just askin'." 'Z'started for the kitchen. "Let me know if she changes her mind about the bong. Or the blowjob."

As Cheryl and I were going up the steps to my room, 'Z' yelled, "Especially the blowjob!!"

As we walked into my room, 'Z' was still yelling. "A handjob, even!"

Cheryl sat in the armchair in the corner of my room, crumpling the books and papers already there.

"Here, let me..." I pulled the books and papers out from under Cheryl. It would've been easier if she'd gotten up, but she only leaned forward a little.

I dropped the books and papers on the floor, closed the door and sat on Bobby's bed. "Now tell me again, about your scholarship--?"

"That fucking Dean Frasier, he took it away. He's always had it in for me, right from the beginning."

"Does your coach know about this?"

Cheryl sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her fingers. "Coach Martin doesn't like me."

"How can she not like you? The softball season hasn't even started yet." I wrinkled my eyebrows. "You didn't give her husband a blowjob too, did you?"

Cheryl looked at me out of the corner of her eye, then looked at the floor.

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

Quietly, Cheryl said, "Sometimes I wish I didn't love cock so much. But I do, I really do."

I shook my head. "They don't take your scholarship away for no reason. What's your GPA?"

Cheryl buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She said something, but her voice was muffled.

"What?"

Cheryl looked away and whispered something, but I still couldn't hear it.

I leaned toward her. "What?"

Cheryl looked at me. "1.4, okay?!1.4!"

Without planning to, I jumped off the bed. "1.4?? Fuck, you get 1.5 just for spelling your name right! 1.4?!"

Cheryl looked at me with those big brown eyes, eyes that would look fake on anybody else. "Well, 1.42..."

As if those last two-hundredth's made a difference. But as bad as her GPA was, it was only the middle of the term. ACU didn't yank scholarships until after the semester was over and final grades were in. Even then, they'd've given her a verbal and then a written warning, then had her meet with the dean. It'd have to really extreme for them to yank a scholarship now. Unless...

"How many classes did you miss?" I asked. I knew the answer had to be bad when she didn't answer me. "Cheryl, how many??"

Cheryl sighed. "Almost... Almost half."

"Half??" Geez, I sounded like Dad.

"Almost half." Cheryl looked down and shrugged. "Well, maybe a little more than half."

"More than half??"

"Just a little more. I think."

I threw my hands up. "No wonder they're pulling your scholarship. Maybe you should've spent more time studying and less time fucking."

Cheryl glowered at me. "Don't yell at me! I didn't spend all my time fucking!" She looked at the far wall. "A lot of it, maybe, but... not all."

"This ain't funny," I said. "If you think I'm yelling, wait 'til Mom and Dad find out."

Shrugging one shoulder, Cheryl shook her head. "They probably won't be surprised anyhow."

"What? Sure they--"

"--Come on, Randy. We both know they don't look at me the same way they look at you. You're their pride and joy, and I'm... not."

"Even if that's true, it's only because you fuck up all the time, getting sent to the principal's office and shit." I took a deep breath. "You're not getting kicked out, Cheryl. You can still go here... I think. You'll just have pay tuition."

Cheryl got a look of astonishment on her face. "Pay tuition? With what?"

I shrugged. "That's what Dad's going to yell at you about."

Cheryl clicked her tongue and grabbed my sweatpants. "Fix it for me, please? Fix it so I get my scholarship back, okay?"

"'Fix it'? How?"

"Please? I really don't want to have to leave school and get a job. Or have Mom and Dad yell at me."

I tapped my fingers on my chest. "What makes you think I can get your scholarship back?"

"Dean Frasier loves you as much as he hates me." Cheryl's voice grew more desperate. "He'd change his mind if you asked him to, I know he would. Please? Pretty please??"

"What makes you think I have any pull with Dean Frasier? He doesn't know who I am."

"Sure he does, he has to. You're on the football team."

I chuckled. "What does that have to do with it? Just because Frasier and Coach are tight doesn't mean Frasier knows me."

Cheryl squeezed my thigh."Say yes, please?"

"I don't..." I said. Cheryl's hand on my thigh got me wobbly so I sat down. "Maybe if you had, say, a 2.5 GPA and went to a lot more of your classes..."

"I got a 1.42."

"1.42 ain't 2.5. It's short by..." I tapped my fingers against my leg while I ran the numbers in my head. Fucking decimals. "A lot."

Cheryl tugged on my sweatpants so hard I thought she was going to yank them off. "Please?" she pleaded. "Maybe you could talk to Coach Kelsey and he could talk to Frasier. Pretty please?" she asked.

I had to admit, her idea wasn't entirely whacko. Coach Kelsey and Dean Frasier had gone to the same college, were in the same fraternity, and graduated one year apart. Maybe, if Coach talked to Frasier, it might work. "Might. Okay? Might."

Cheryl stomped her feet and clapped her hands. "Ooh Randy, I knew you'd come through for me!"

I held up my hand. "I haven't asked Coach yet. He might not do it. And even if he does, it doesn't mean Frasier'll change his mind."

"I ain't worried about all that." Cheryl pulled off her canvas shoes, revealing ankle socks that looked like they'd been on her feet for days. I didn't mind, though. The pungent smell of her feet sent a fresh charge through my rod. "Can I stay here tonight? I don't want to be all by myself," she asked.

"You won't be," I said. "Heather'll be there."

"She doesn't like me. She says I keep stealing her boyfriends."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I didn't even need to ask.

"First of all, they could hardly be called her 'boyfriends'. Boyfriends are ones you fuck." Cheryl put both her hands on my legs."I'm sorry, I forgot... I know you and her..."

"I don't care who she goes with." Heather and I had split up over a month ago. When I first met her the day Cheryl moved into the dorm, she flirted like crazy, the cock-tease. After that, Heather made me jump through hoops before she'd let me touch her titties, and she guarded her pussy like it was made out of gold. There were plenty of chicks on campus, most of them better-looking than her, so I kicked her ass to the curb.

Cheryl squeezed my thighs. "C'mon, please?" she asked.

I sighed. "We're not supposed to have girls here after nine."

"I'm not just 'a girl'. I'm your sister."