Uncle Bob Ch. 21

Chapter 21. Questions and Answers

The next ten days turned out to be a very mixed bag. I was desperately trying to get away to see my slut-princess and her hot-chocolate friend, but I kept getting phone calls from people who were interested in some app development. I mean, customers - who'd have them? (Well, in my case, me, fortunately). So while I had a series of meetings that were looking very promising for my business, sexually, things remained in desert-mode.

Worse still, Stacey announced that they'd finally had an orgy with KOK. I felt almost physically sick.

"There were, like, six of us and eight boys. I got spit-roasted, twice, which was kinda fun but not as good as I thought it would be. I swallowed a lot of cum and my throat was sore. Hannah invited her boyfriend, Martin. I don't think he's, like, a regular member of KOK, but they let him join and he has this, like, super-big cock. He and one of the other boys actually made me come while they were fucking me, which was cool. Actually, Martin's cock felt really good inside me. I think Hannah's in love with him. He's nice, and I think he loves her too. I'm not sure he really wanted to join in our orgy but, like, me and Amy-Beth were going to do it and Hannah's, like, our bestie and he's kinda her boyfriend. And then she kinda got him to fuck us because, like, we're all besties and she wanted us to know what it felt like."

I tried to un-grit my teeth. "So is Martin as good a fuck as me?"

"Mmm, maybe." I felt a lurch in my guts. Then she laughed, "But no, not really. It's nice to feel his big cock inside me, and he can go really deep, which is wild, but it's not like when you fuck me, Uncle Bob. That's on a whole different level. And there's no way I could take Martin's cock up my ass. Fuck, that would really smart!"

I sighed. I had to get those plane tickets as soon as possible. But there seemed to be so much work to do first.

Then, a couple of days later and almost two weeks after my anal adventure with Chelsea, I was sitting in my office, about to call Brad after a successful Zoom call with yet another client, when I heard a sound guaranteed to raise my blood pressure. It was the throaty roar of a Ferrari engine. I looked out and, sure enough, there was my brother's car, pulling up outside my house. He was, of course, gunning the engine to make sure everyone knew he was driving a Ferrari. But the pathetic asshole had bought one in yellow, for fuck's sake. If you really must have a quarter-of-a-million-dollar dick extension, then the color should be red. OK, you might get away with black, even that dark green that British racing cars used to use. But yellow? Do me - and Ferrari - a fucking favor!

The doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was Michael, looking his usual 'smug but pissed' self.

"Michael! What an unpleasant surprise. You're not staying, I hope?"

"We need to talk. Can we go inside?"

"Promise you're not a vampire? I understand they can't come in unless you invite them."

He ignored my comment and pushed past me.

In the kitchen, he stood looking increasingly pissed. I smiled at him, in the hope of making him even more uncomfortable.

"Hey, bro, sit down. Take the weight off your ego."

"Stop being so surly with me or I'll..."

"Or you'll do what? Did you bring a firearm? If you did, you failed to check it at the door. And if you didn't, can I remind you that I'm pretty damn good at martial arts, whereas you're an overweight bag of piss."

He was looking really unhappy now, which is kinda how I wanted him to feel.

"Why do you have to be so rude to me?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe it's because you treat everyone you meet like shit. Especially the ones you should love and protect. It could be that I find that kind of behavior repugnant."

"Look, asshole..."

"Pot, kettle..."

"...I don't want you anywhere near my wife, ever again."

"Don't you think she has any say in the matter? Or do you want to keep her tied up? Maybe in the basement? How are you for duct tape these days?"

"What has she told you?"

"Nothing that I didn't already know; that you're a violent asshole who likes to hurt and humiliate people."

"Why you..."

"Careful. If you want to take a swing at me, go ahead, but a few seconds later, you'll find yourself on the floor with a broken nose and me stamping on your nuts. Hey, come to think about it, please do take a swing at me!"

"Look. I understand that she came here when we had a - disagreement."

"From what Stacey told me, that 'disagreement' involved you tying her up and beating her with a paddle, despite her begging you to stop. Quite a serious disagreement, if you ask me."

"Don't believe what Stacey tells you. She's a lying little bitch."

"Michael, if you're here in order to get your face punched through the back of your head, I'd be delighted to carry out the process - indeed, I've been waiting years to enjoy the opportunity. Of course, the forensics team may struggle to understand how your face ended up in your asshole. I'd have to explain to them that it's always been that way. If you don't want that, stop insulting your daughter."

"My daughter? Stacey's no fucking daughter of mine!"

"You know, the words 'Complete Asshole' will be inscribed on your tombstone. But maybe not complete - clearly some parts are missing, like any respect or consideration for anyone else. But before I finally break every bone in your entitled little body, will you please tell me why you're here?"

"Because you've been fucking my wife, you asshole!"

"Really? And what makes you say that?" It was of course true, and I was inordinately proud of it, but I wanted Michael to have to spell it out.

"It's fucking obvious. She came to stay here."

"Excuse me. My friend Brad came to stay here. Are you saying I fucked him as well?"

"So since she came home, she's let me - she's let me fuck her ass."

"Congratulations, Michael. Chelsea's way out of your league, so if she's allowed you to do something that most men far better than you would beg for, you're a lucky fucker."

"You showed her how to do it!" he almost screamed at me.

"You really think so? I can only guess that was because you had no fucking idea how to do it yourself."

At that point, he tried to punch me. Face down on the countertop, with his hand pulled up hard behind his back and my knee a fraction away from his crotch, he seemed a little unsure of himself.

"Michael," I said in clear tones into his ear so he'd understand me, "you're an asshole and you use people for your sport. If they don't do what you want them to, you fuck them up and try to destroy them. Now Chelsea's stronger than you give her credit for. Stacey got seriously fucked-up by you, but I've straightened her out by showing her the love that her father should've done. Dolores is your match, and if you give her the opportunity, she'll cut off your tiny balls and fry them for breakfast. And me, I just want the excuse to punch your stupid, smug face until it's a bloody mess. So I'm gonna throw you out now. And if you ever threaten anyone I care for - and that includes Chelsea these days - I will seriously come around to your bloated, tasteless house and break every fucking bone in your bloated, tasteless body. And I'll do it in a strict sequence, and make it as painful as I possibly can. You really could shake off the asshole life-form that's inhabiting your body, but you choose not to. So until you do, you're on notice that you'll get seriously beaten - and I mean seriously - if you ever hurt anyone I care for again, Capiche?"

He grunted, which I took for agreement. With his arm still pulled as painfully as I could manage behind his back, I shoved him to the door and literally threw him out.

"Stick your Ferrari up your ass, bro. You're such an enormous asshole that I'm sure it'll fit."

I slammed the door. The bell rang. I opened the door again, pulling my arm back, ready to punch him. But he was standing there, visibly shaken, holding out an envelope.

"You - you didn't give me a chance to give you this."

I snatched it from him and tore the envelope open.

"What the fuck is this?" I said, frowning at the legalese.

"It's a restraining order. If you ever come within a half mile of my wife again, I'll have you arrested. Stick that up your ass, motherfucker!" And with that he stormed off to his pissmobile, gunned the engine and roared off.

It was only 11 AM, but I went for a beer.

Despite the restraining order, I guessed that Michael would be divorcing Chelsea sometime soon, and citing me as her lover. Well, fuck it; Michael could humiliate himself as much as he liked. I was just worried about Chelsea.

I phoned Dolores.

"Hello, Robert." Note the full name. I guessed she was somehow also pissed with me.

"Hi Dolores. How are you?"

"I would be good, Robert, but I have a bone to pick with you."

"Really, Dolores? And I was hoping we could have a nice, civilized conversation, and I could offer you a legal case that you might enjoy."

"And what might that be, Robert?"

"Given your apparent antipathy toward me, I'm afraid we'll have to talk face-to-face before I can divulge that information."

"Very well - that would suit me too."

"Excellent. Come to my place tomorrow evening. I'll cook you dinner."

She seemed a little taken aback. There was a pause before she said "Very well. Shall we say seven?"

And at seven o'clock sharp, Dolores arrived in her open-top Porsche. I guess I should have been honored - a Ferrari and a Porsche in two days - but frankly, 'petrolheads' really don't impress me much.

"Dolores, how delightful to see you," I said, leaning in to kiss her. But she pushed past me and, seeing an opened bottle of Chardonnay on the countertop, helped herself to a glass.

"I'll come straight to the point, Robert," she said, as she deposited herself in one of my chairs. "Have you been fucking my daughter?"

It was an interesting opening question. I thought for a moment. Dolores was a lawyer, and could sniff out a lie at a hundred paces. I could try to avoid the question, or explain that it had all been Stacey's idea, but that wouldn't help. So I decided on a different strategy.

"Yes."

I looked at the expression on her face. No indication of surprise, shock, or indeed, anything other than calm resignation.

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Several months. A little after her graduation, until just after she went to college."

I'm not sure that Dolores expected such candor, and she seemed a little wrong-footed, so I asked her straight.

"So what made you suspect?"

"She left a memory stick behind in her room. I found it. There was a diary, in which she talked about all the things she'd done with 'UB'. It could only have been you. Then there were videos. They confirmed it."

"What did she say about 'UB'? Did he rape her? Did he force her to do anything she didn't want to do?"

"Well, no. It seems she was delighted that he - you - did everything she wanted."

"OK, so what's your beef?"

Her face finally registered emotion; seemingly anger. "She's my daughter! My fucking daughter! And your niece! That's my beef!" She was very attractive when she was angry.

"Yeah, she's your fucking daughter. And she loves fucking. Absolutely adores it. And I adore her. I love her with every ounce of my being, I'd genuinely and unreservedly lay down my life for her. But I don't think she's my niece."

"What?"

"Because she's not my brother's child, is she? Is she?"

"I - what - what makes you say that?"

"Oh come on, Dolores. I know you're a lawyer, but you can't bullshit me any more. I've told you the truth, so now it's your turn. Michael is infertile. He can't have kids. He told Chelsea he'd had a vasectomy after Stacey was born, but why would he when you'd told me that, as a result of the birth, you couldn't have kids? So I guess he was infertile all along, and when you got pregnant, he knew Stacey wasn't his daughter. He's even told me so himself, though I don't think he meant to. He reluctantly brought her up, leaving me do a lot of the parenting. So fess up, Dolores. Who is Stacey's father?"

Her previously-belligerent attitude suddenly softened. She looked, for the first time since I'd known her, rather embarrassed. She took a large sip of her wine. When she spoke again, her tone had changed.

"Robert, you know how it was. We were - we were just starting out in the legal practice. We had to network, get known in those early days. We went to a party on a yacht. It was a - a lively party."

"That is, a lot of sex was involved?"

She gave me an exasperated look. "You have to understand. It was part of how we had to operate back then."

I could feel tingling, a premonition of something joyous, but I held it back.

"So you fucked another man while Michael fucked other women. I get it. How did you end up getting pregnant?"

"There was this Scandinavian guy called Lars. He was hot. Tall, long blond hair, very fit, great shoulders, strong face, great charisma. He was clearly attracted to me, and I to him. It was a party. It was understood that anyone could do anything - have sex with anyone - they wanted. Michael went off to fuck two big-titted Russian women. Then Lars approached me and invited me to his cabin. I think he said something like 'Hi, you must be Dolores. I'm Lars. You're hot. I have a big cock. Would you like to have your brains fucked out?'."

"Oh, you can't beat old-style romance, can you?"

"Like I said, the party was about making connections - usually young women connected to powerful and influential guys' cocks. Lars was around forty and ran his own law firm with maybe twenty lawyers working for him. And I have to say, he was as good as his word. He did have a big cock - long and thick - and he made me come maybe a dozen times that night and the following morning. It was the best sex I ever had."

"Better than with me?"

"Robert, don't flatter yourself. Yes, you were good, but Lars was amazing. He told me we didn't need to bother with condoms as he'd had a vasectomy, so I was oozing cum. But either he lied or that snip didn't work."

"So what did he say when you found you were pregnant? And what was Michael's reaction?"

"Well, I phoned Lars while he was on a skiing trip to Whistler. He said he couldn't understand how it could've happened. I told him I could; he'd lied about the vasectomy. I was furious. Anyway, he said he hadn't lied and he was sure it couldn't have been him. He suggested a paternity test to prove it when he got back."

"And what was the result?"

"I never found out. Three days later, he and a friend were skiing off-piste and got caught in an avalanche. Neither of them survived. Anyway, at first Michael wanted me to get an abortion. I told him there was still a slim chance it was his. He had a low sperm-count, but it wasn't zero. And I struggled with the decision for some time. Finally, at the last minute, he changed his mind. He said it would be good for us to have a child and look like a normal family. It meant my career had to go on hold for a while, but I felt like it was a good time for me to become maternal. I didn't reckon on how hard the delivery would be. They had to perform an emergency C-section, and they tied my tubes at the same time because they said it would be even worse a second time."

"But Stacey must've made it worth it, I guess."

"Yes - and no. Of course I love her - what mother wouldn't love her baby? But Michael started to resent her, and that began to drive us apart. I knew he was seeing other women, but I focused on my little girl. Then, just when she was getting old enough to go to kindergarten, your parents died. They left us a half-share in their house and enough money for me to employ a nanny and restart my career. But I don't think Michael ever truly accepted Stacey. He couldn't get over the fact that she was another man's child."

"Well, I guess that would explain why Stacey is blonde with blue eyes and you and Michael are both dark-haired with brown eyes. And why she's so kind and loving, while he's such a self-centered prick. But anyway, Michael's loss was my gain," I replied. Actually, there was now a huge bubble of excitement welling up inside me. Stacey and I weren't related. Our relationship was no longer incestuous.

But Dolores was looking sad.

"Hey, Dolores, doesn't it help, getting all of that weight off, if I may say, your very impressive and delightful chest?"

She looked at me and, for the first time ever, I saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh Bob, I'm confused. I came here to metaphorically tear your nuts off for daring to fuck my daughter - and for your joint hypocrisy over me and Josh, when you'd been fucking both me and my daughter at the same time."

"Well, not simultaneously, though that would've been fun..." I started, but her look silenced me.

"Be serious for once, you - you frivolous shit! The two of you got so holier-than-thou with Josh and me. You were such a supercilious asshole. I felt so ashamed at the time, and really frightened that I'd lose Stacey. I was terrified of having to do anal with you. Michael had tried it and it hurt so much. And all the while, you were fucking Stacey's ass and pretending you were just her kindly uncle. That was despicable, Bob!" She looked seriously pissed.

I got up and went to kneel in front of her. "Yeah, you know, Dolores, you're absolutely right, and I'm truly sorry and genuinely ashamed. I really didn't set out to hurt you. What you and I had had was pretty damn good, and I felt rather betrayed. But in my defense - and in my opinion, much more important than anything I might have felt for myself - Stacey was much more pissed than me, and I was acting primarily on her behalf. I absolutely hate anything that hurts that girl."

Dolores looked at me, and I could see that her anger was subsiding.

"Stacey knew that what she and I had wasn't feasible in anything but the short term, which is why she let Josh fuck her and why she then got you and me fixed up together. She thought she had a neat solution to the problem; she had a 'legal' boyfriend, I had a hot fuck-buddy and you had someone to look after your needs. She was genuinely trying to end the sexual relationship she and I had in a way that was as painless as possible, so we could return to how things had been before everything turned weird. We knew - or rather, we believed - that what we'd been doing was illegal, even though we both loved it, and we knew we had to try to get back to some normality. You seducing Josh kinda put paid to that. But yes, I'd like to ask for your forgiveness, and I promise you have mine. We were cruel to you, and I'm truly sorry about that, but at the time, you have no idea how much that hurt Stacey, and I'm kinda conditioned to hurt people who hurt that little girl."

I reached out with a tissue and dabbed away a couple of tears that were trickling down her cheeks and threatening to smear her perfect make-up. Then I poured her another glass of Chardonnay, and got one for myself.

"Do you think I'm a bad mother?"

"No, not at all. The way Stacey reacted when we saw you and Josh was because she loves you and she felt that you were showing you didn't love her. But we both know that you do. You made a brave decision nineteen years ago to keep your baby, and she's turned out just fine, thanks to you."

She looked at me and smiled. "And I think you can claim a little credit for how she is now."

"Well, thank you ma'am for those kind words. But I wonder whether it's just that Stacey is naturally a very loving person. I'm usually all about cold logic. She's the one with the emotional intelligence. And she's always had it. You remember when my mom and dad died? I was seventeen, and I was devastated. I was sitting at home, when we were all staying at my parents' house, almost breaking down, and Stacey came in. She was three, maybe four years old. She looked at me and said 'Are you sad, Uncle Bob? Is it because gramps and grandma have gone to see Jesus?' And I nearly fell apart, but Stacey just climbed into my lap and hugged me. A three-year-old, who understood my hurt and was comforting me! And she's always been kind to anyone who's suffering, which is why she immediately bonded with Hannah when she needed friends. Stacey's so special, and I love her to the center of the Milky Way and back. You raised an exceptional girl, Dolores, and you should be proud."