The New Sanning Promise Ch. 01

Snap! BOOM!

Side to floor. The thick wood of the frame slammed into the floor with a loud impact that reverberated through the house. If anyone had been home, they might have run up to his bedroom in fright.

Brandon lost his momentum, stood naked in his room amid unopened boxes, and looked at the fresh scuff in the floor where the bed had tilted. He sighed, dressed, and sent a text to his father.

"Bed frame broke. Don't ask."

He wouldn't. But his mother probably would.

The window was open, and Brandon walked to it to feel the cold air of the fall evening. The day had been rather warm, but the night temperature dropped quickly. He remembered the sundress Misty Henning wore to the welcome party, and wondered how much longer she would be able to dress like that.

The clock on his night stand read eight, and already a full moon bathed his body in tranquil light. He could see the way his skin glowed white in the moonlight, like the perfect marble of a Greek sculpture. Don't get too cocky, he thought, laughing at an easy pun. His cock still stood at full attention, pulsing lightly with the slowing beat of his heart.

Arms reached up to close the window, and then he saw her. A girl in the house next door, maybe a few years younger, staring slack-jawed at him through her window.

Lana, he recognized.

Brandon reached instinctively for curtains, but they had yet to be installed. He looked around for his clothes and snapped his boxers up from the floor, stepping into them quickly. He looked up just as his second foot found its way past the waistband.

She was still staring, mouth agape and purely relaxed. Her house was built a little higher, on a hill beside Brandon's, and she gazed down at him like Juliet fawning for Romeo from her balcony. Man, that's really what she looks like, he thought. Like she's in love.

He'd stopped when he saw that expression of sweetness on her, and now he stood before her once again, completely bare. The light from her room lit the dark blonde of her hair, but scarcely showed much of her face. He could see a cute button nose, a slightly crooked front tooth behind full lips, but not too much else. Only her eyes, locked dreamily and desirously onto his cock, and the first signs of drool falling from her mouth.

Maybe she's drunk, he thought. Maybe she doesn't even really see me. That sounded more plausible. Women did not drool for Brandon Harper.

Resigned to that reality, Brandon pulled his boxers up at last and walked across the room to turn his light on. When he checked the window again, Lana was gone.

**********

"Oh Brandon, you can't sleep like that," his mother said. "You'll slip right off the bed."

"I'll just move the mattress to the floor, then," he said. They were sitting at their old oak table with a box of pizza, like they were back at the old house doing their regular thing. Only now, there were boxes all over, nothing on the walls, and no Tiffany to fill the fourth chair.

"No," said Nora Harper, sternly. "You need a bed frame or you'll get back pain. If you had a box spring, maybe. But you don't."

"Well what's he supposed to do, then?" Brandon's father said through a mouth of peppers and olives. "I know, we'll prop up the bed frame with some books until we get a replacement."

"I won't damage any of our books."

"Nora, is there some specific solution you have in mind?"

She sat there obstinately for a moment, showing her husband a disappointed expression. "Mayor Henning assured me that everyone here is extremely hospitable. Brandon could stay the night with the Moores."

"I don't want to impose," Brandon said. Lana's trance-like gaze on his cock worried him the more he thought about it.

"Well, he did assure us," Brandon's father said. "He made a strong point of it, in fact."

His mother cut into another slice of pizza with a fork and knife. "While we were out seeing the town square a lovely couple bought us each an ice cream. From the looks of all these houses, everyone has a guest room and no guests to fill it."

Now they were both closing in on him. If Tiffany were here, she'd take their side and find some extra reason for him to give in. You should meet the people around here anyway, he could hear her say in her lovingly scornful tone. Don't want to become the local Boo Radley, do you?

It probably wasn't worth fighting. "All right, if they accept," Brandon acquiesced.

"How old did they say they were?" Nora asked.

"Twenty," Tom Harper answered. "Married straight out of high school, moved here last year. Ricky - was that his name? Ricky, yeah. He sold a patent for something or other. Gets royalties for the next couple of years. Something like that."

"Precocious," his mother commented. "Well, I hope you become good friends with them, Brandon."

**********

Ricky had a spot on his face just below his eye. Brandon couldn't tell whether it was a mole or just something stuck to his skin. Not wanting to risk embarrassing himself, he chose not to mention it, though he tried to take a close look as Ricky stepped up to pour him some whiskey.

"So you have a younger sister?" asked Ricky Moore.

"Yeah, she's nineteen," Brandon answered. "Are you old enough to buy this?"

Ricky laughed and corked the bottle again. "I will be in a few months," he said. "Nobody really minds. As long as I can pay for it."

Ricky walked back to the kitchen and fished himself a half empty bottle of vodka and started making something specific. Brandon sat in a large velvet chair beside the empty fireplace, taking a sip of his whiskey slowly to try and avert his eyes from the smiling blonde on the chaise in front of him.

"Will she be coming to live here?" Lana Moore asked him. "Your sister."

Brandon chewed on an ice cube, tried to focus on the cold. "She's in Europe with some of her college friends, but I think she'll come by for a few weeks before she heads back to school." He tilted his head back to the kitchen. "This is pretty good."

"I've got very good tastes," Ricky boasted with an easy smile. He looked his age, neither the awkward college freshman nor the hardened man.

At last Ricky came to sit down, handing his wife a mixed drink and already sipping from his own glass of beer. Brandon ran out of excuses to look elsewhere, and took in Lana's cute outfit. She wore tight fitting jeans and a woven brown belt. She had a loose grey shirt and blue jacquette overshirt, with blue Converse All-Stars to match sitting by the front door. She could have been a Macy's model.

Instantly Brandon could see their chemistry. As Ricky sat down, Lana leaned back on the chaise and laid her legs on top of his. He began comfortably stroking her thighs just above the knee, possessive but cute.

"I've been dying for some fresh faces," Lana complained. "We're just about the youngest people here."

"Yeah, I've heard a little about that," Brandon said. "No schools around here, huh?"

They looked at each other, checking for contradiction, and then shook their heads. "Not that I know of," Ricky said. "Folks either have family somewhere else, or they just plain don't want any little ones."

"Who needs 'em," Lana said with a wry smile. "I think Ricky and I are perfectly happy with one another."

"There's another couple across town, Kim and Frank Sinnitz," Ricky continued. "About your age I think. She's a freelancer, does a lot of coding. He's the only plumber we have that does domestic work, so he keeps pretty busy."

"If you're looking for single girls, your options are slim," Lana said with a sympathetic twist of her mouth. "Melanie Jarowski moved here this summer by herself. Kind of shy, but she seems nice. And then there's Sabrina."

Brandon heard the contempt in her voice and Ricky patted her on the leg. Was that her at the welcoming party? He was curious, but he said, "I won't ask. I'm sure I'll hear about her eventually."

They talked for a little while longer, hopping from subject to subject. Brandon noted just how easy going they looked, and the ways they subtly showed some genuine interest. Ricky and Lana had no patience for awkward niceties; when they asked a question they really wanted an answer. That made Brandon feel much more comfortable.

But still, he couldn't shake the image of Lana drooling in the window, just a few hours ago. Now she draped herself lazily over her husband, sober when he arrived and only slipping into a buzz deeper into the conversation. She was fully present, and quick as a whip to boot.

"My father said something about a patent?" Brandon asked, trying not to dwell.

"Oh, I won't bore you with the details." Ricky patted Lana's legs and stood up, kissing his wife on the forehead. "But that's actually not a bad segue for me to head off to bed. I try to keep some consistent work hours for my hobbies."

He saw that Lana stayed put. "Not tired yet?"

She smiled at Brandon sweetly and bounced to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that her husband had picked out. "My hobbies are open twenty-four seven," she cooed. "I'm a bit of a night owl anyway. But don't let me keep you up."

Ricky was already gone, plodding up the stairs to the spacious master bedroom they'd shown him when he arrived. Brandon gazed around the living room again, trying to think of a good enough excuse to go to bed as well. But the theoretical voice of his sister rolled back into his thoughts. You have to make friends.

"I don't start work for a little while," he answered. "Two or three days."

"An optometrist," Lana said, sliding down the chaise toward him and handing him the bottle. She leaned forward, a fist holding up her head by the chin. "But what do you do for fun?"

"Oh just what most optometrists are into," he said, starting to pour himself another glass. "Lion taming, treasure hunting, wooing women around the world."

Her eyes went wide, her wrist slack. An ice cube tumbled out of her glass, beyond her notice. "That's amazing," she said at last. "You're like an action hero."

Brandon laughed uncomfortably. She did not smile with the knowledge of a joke, and her attention was hyper focused onto whatever he might say next.

"Not to mention a secret agent," he said, hoping she would sense the joke. "But I won't bore you with the details." What do you do for fun? Brandon meant to ask next, but Lana slipped to the floor and took his hand into two of hers.

"I want to hear all about it," she said, puppy eyes close to bursting. "I've never met anyone who really did all of those things. How do you have time for it?"

She's serious, he thought. Or she's about to burst the bubble. "I don't," he admitted. "I was only kidding."

Lana blushed quickly and cutely, and started to laugh at herself. "Oh my god, of course you were kidding. I'm such a dope."

"Maybe a little too much to drink?" he suggested.

"That must be it," she said with her embarrassed smile, standing back up to return to her own seat. "I promise I am smarter than that."

"I believe you," he said. "In fact I think you're one of the smartest people I've met in town."

"I'm one of the only people you've met in town," she said. "For more than a few seconds, anyway."

"True, but I've got a sense for these things," Brandon replied. And then, unbidden, the whiskey in his brain moved his mouth for him. "I'm sorry about the window being so awkward."

You stupid asshole, he scolded himself. She probably would have forgotten all about it if you didn't mention it.

"No," Lana said cheerily. "Not awkward at all! I had so much fun."

"You... uh..." Was she thinking of the same thing?

"Your cock," she said, confirming. "It's gorgeous."

"Thank you," he managed stiffly. "But I don't think we should -"

"Oh!" she said, covering her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I tend to be a little blunt and you're just really easy to talk to."

He nodded, crossed his legs to hide his rising erection. "Can I ask you about that, then?"

"Of course."

"You looked like you were in a trance," he said. "I almost thought you didn't really know where you were looking. What was going on?"

"That's just how I get when I see a hard cock," she said, waving her hand dismissively. She made it sound like a small annoyance. "I'm not really sure why. But I promise I've got a little more brain activity than it looks."

"Well," he said, "I promise my curtains will be installed soon."

"Don't worry about it," she laughed. The whole topic sounded like an everyday misunderstanding the way she spoke of it. I wonder if Ricky knows about it.

"I have other secrets to keep," he joked.

"Oh!" Her hands went back to cover her mouth, like she'd crossed a boundary again. "I don't mean to make light of that, I'm so sorry."

"Lana, relax," he said, her name flowing from his lips with ease. "I'm only kidding."

She pressed a palm to her forehead again. "Gah! I really need to start picking up on that."

Now it was too late. His curiosity was getting the better of him. "It's not a problem. But seriously, I am the world's best lover."

Her head tilted in wonder. "Wow," she breathed, admiring him. "What's it like? Do women just beg for you all the time?"

Not a joke, Brandon convinced himself. She wasn't cruel enough to commit to a joke this long. But could she really be that gullible? He remembered Misty, suddenly having trouble with her age, asking her husband to clarify.

"So you're twenty," he said, ignoring her question.

"Yes, almost twenty-one."

"Actually, you are twenty-one."

Her eyes went to the floor, as if having an epiphany. "Right... I'm sorry, I don't know why I forgot that."

Jesus Christ, he thought. This cannot be for real. Only one way to find out.

"No, you're really twenty."

"Yes, twenty, duh. I should remember my own birthday."

Brandon leaned forward and placed his empty glass on the coffee table. "Right, your birthday is today," he informed her.

She got sad, suddenly. "Yeah, it is. But nobody remembered."

"Nobody but me." The whiskey was coursing through his thoughts now, making him feel bolder as he explored Lana's gullibility. He stood up and walked over to the chaise, sitting beside her.

"I don't even remember telling you," she said. "Weird..."

"I just have a sense for these things," Brandon replied.

Lana leaned against his arm, and sighed. "That's so sweet of you. Thanks, Brandon."

He grasped her hand affectionately, and then stood up. "Well, I think I might start passing out soon if I don't get to bed."

"I'll show you the guest room," she said, standing. She was walking with a bit of slump in her shoulders. Brandon started feeling bad.

"Stupid me," Brandon said, "today's not your birthday."

"No," she admitted, remembering herself. "It's this January."

He nodded, and started following her to the guest room, watching as the pep went back into her step. She spread her arms out, feeling the walls as they walked down the hall toward the cozy extra bedroom on the first floor.

When at last they arrived, Lana stepped in ahead of him and opened the window for him. He could see his bedroom from here, though if she'd been watching from here, she would not have seen what he was doing. "It's a little hot," she said. "There's a remote for the ceiling fan if you want. Always good to get some airflow going."

"Can't argue with that," he said. Brandon walked to the bed and sat down, his back to the window. He slipped his shoes off and placed them beside the nightstand. "I haven't unpacked my pajamas," he told her, remembering.

"Oh! Not a problem. Hell, sleep naked if you want," she said with a wink. "The world's best lover has to be ready at any time, right?"

I forgot to say I was kidding. Although, why bother? "Naturally," he said, the whiskey taking over his mouth again. "If a woman sleeps in the same house as me, she can't resist."

"Even me?"

Brandon laughed. "You'll be desperate," he said. Even if she believes it, he thought, she'll laugh when she figures out the truth in the morning. No harm, no foul.

"Well, sweet dreams," she said with a slow saunter out of the room.

**********

Brandon did sleep naked, unable to resist stroking himself before falling asleep. He didn't give himself the chance to finish after Lana spotted him through the window, though he doubted he would be bold enough to cum in a bed that wasn't his own. He fell asleep, shaft in hand, and dreamt.

Dreams did not come easily, nor did they remain very long after waking. But this was no ordinary dream.

The sun was so bright, so much closer to the Earth. A golden ziggurat rose from a verdant plain, and atop it sat a young man, not much younger than Brandon, looking at the valley below where Brandon stood. All around him, thousands of naked women bowed, knelt, begged for him. "Master, Master!" they shouted.

Sitting next to the young man's throne was another, a woman so blindingly illuminated that Brandon could not see her face. A blonde girl crawled up the steps and spoke, but she was so far above that Brandon could not hear them.

But the women around him started to chant in perfect unison, "Bring him the world, bring him the world, bring him the world, bring him the world!"

And they were gone, faded into sunlight, and Brandon was left with the sea of bare women. He looked in every direction for a familiar face, and found no one. With a start he realized that he was naked as well, and slowly, one by one, the girls around him took notice.

Without hesitation, they knelt and took him into their mouths. He did not fight it.

In the throes of his pleasure, he finally saw her, the russet-haired girl with the black make up. She walked to him, bare but in control of herself, and looked him directly in the eyes. "Tell me the Truth," she said. "You're the one that belongs up there, aren't you?"

He looked up to the ziggurat again, and saw the empty thrones. "No," he said. "I don't think I am."

"I guess we'd better find out."

It became dark then, and when Brandon looked down he saw Lana between his legs, eyes nearly crossed looking at the thick cock standing straight in front of her.

And he realized he was no longer dreaming.

Lana had crawled into the bed while he slept, took the blankets off him, and lost herself in a loving cock lust. Sure enough, a drop of saliva fell from her lips and onto Brandon's leg.

"Lana," he said, afraid to speak too loudly. "What are you doing?"

"I couldn't resist," she said in a dreamy flatness. "You were right, I... have to have you."

She was naked, her small breasts hanging close from her chest and moving with heavy, expectant breaths.

Brandon laid there, stunned. "I... Ricky..."

"He won't mind," she said, "I can't resist... Please, Brandon?"

"I don't understand."

"I need your cock," she groaned in her slow monotone. "I'll do anything."

He could only have been asleep for an hour. The whiskey he'd had too much of only felt heavier now, and the pressure in his groin from two failures to cum had overridden his better judgement. Like a lion pouncing on prey he pulled her by her hips and brought her mouth to his. They intertwined tongues, and Lana began to grind her sex against his. Precum leaked out of him so quickly that they were both slick with each other's juices in seconds.

"Fuck me," she begged. "Fuck me with that gorgeous cock."

Brandon rolled on top of her, spread her legs, and dipped inside the warmest pussy he'd ever felt in his life. He was already down to the hilt when he realized they had no condom.

And he didn't care to bring it up.