Uninvited

When he awoke the next morning, they were both gone and he had the place to himself for the first time since he arrived. However, not knowing when Sean would return from dropping her off at the airport he didn't dare set foot inside the house, even though they'd left the side door leading into the laundry room open for him. But while he felt the house was somewhat off limits to him, he saw no harm in taking a cleansing swim in the pool followed by a soak in the hot tub, and for a brief couple of hours he was happy for the first time in months. His bliss was short-lived though, and his soak in the tub was cut short by the sound of Sean's Mercedes rumbling up the driveway.

Chris bolted for the safety of the pool house, and once inside he drew all the blinds and turned up the t.v. He soon fell asleep on the sofa and didn't wake up until after midnight. He awoke to a black t.v. screen with a message that read, "Check your cables." Ignoring that, he peeked out from behind the blinds to find that for the first night since he arrived, all the outdoor lights had been left off, and the pool deck looked about as black as the t.v. screen. The house looked pitch black as well except for the glow of the massive flat screen casting light through the living room windows. The light was flickering in the way they all do when the picture cuts to different scenes, which raised the question of why the pool house t.v. was out of order all the sudden. Under any other circumstances, he might not have assumed the worst, but knowing Sean as he did, this was most definitely his doing.

Assuming that the pool house was serviced by the main house, Chris wondered if there was a box outside where Sean could have easily disabled his television by unplugging a cable, and turning off the outdoor lighting might be to make it harder for him to find it. But Chris forgot all about that when he pulled open the sliding door and he was immediately slapped in the face by a strong chemical odor strong enough to make his eyes water. He pulled his shirt collar up and over his mouth and nose, but it did little to mask the smell which he immediately recognized as Chlorine, and not the amount you'd normally expect to smell around a swimming pool.

Hell, not even a public pool.

He took a step out of the pool house and his foot struck an empty plastic jug, which he kicked in the dark and sent spinning across the pool deck. A few steps later, he kicked another one. He closed his eyes tight for about thirty seconds and waited for them to adjust to the dark, and when he reopened them he could see the glimmering surface of the water in the pool and the dozen or so empty jugs scattered around the pool deck.

Chris had briefly lived in a house with a pool as a kid, and part of his summertime chores had included cleaning said pool, and adding chemicals as needed. The most Chlorine he'd ever had to add to the pool water to balance the levels had been two jugs, and even that had been after a two week long camping trip where nobody was looking after it. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the dark, Chris was able to count at least eighteen jugs scattered about the pool deck, which was more Chlorine than necessary for an entire summer. Surely Sean knew that . . .

And that's when Chris put it together.

Sean had come home, seen the wet footprints around the pool deck and leading into the pool house, and he'd taken action. Only, instead of simply telling Chris the pool was off limits (if that was to be the case), he'd made the pool unusable to anyone, including himself! It would take at least a week or two for all that Chlorine to evaporate, maybe even longer, and it would surely scorch the skin and eyes of anyone foolish enough to go out in the dark, and take a dive. Like Chris, perhaps.

Chris was so infuriated that he decided to confront Sean about what he'd done; if they were going to be living there together on any level whatsoever, then they needed to figure out a way to co-exist (at least for a little while). Now that his eyes had adjusted, he easily made his way up to the house, side-stepping half a dozen empty jugs along the way, after which he let himself in through the laundry room door and headed towards the kitchen; all the while thinking about all the things he needed to say; like how he was going to tell Jennifer the reason why all the meals she'd attempted to share with him had gone into the trash, and all the nasty things her husband had said to him behind her back. And how he'd been perfectly willing to hide out in the pool house when Sean was home, and how he'd stay out of their damned pool if it offended him so much. He was still formulating all those things when he reached the kitchen and could just barely see Sean's head over the back of the sofa, and he first heard whatever it was Sean was watching on the massive flat screen.

What he heard was a long moan, obviously male, which ended with, "Suck it, you sissy faggot."

But there was something familiar about the voice, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He took several more steps forward, quietly now as his intention to make a big entrance was replaced with morbid curiosity. Perhaps he thought he'd catch Sean in the middle of something he could then use to make him less of an asshole during his stay. Or maybe he was just curious. Either way, he should have turned around and gone out the way he came in. Instead, he crept across the kitchen tiles like an animal stalking its prey.

He heard the unmistakable sounds of someone (a male) choking on a cock, and the same familiar voice said, "I'm not taking those cuffs off till you swallow . . . got it?"

Chris had had similar things said to him more times than he could possibly remember, and he'd certainly choked on more than his share of cocks, but there was something off about this, it sounded almost sadistic in nature to the point of non-consent. He continued to creep closer, with more and more of Sean's upper body becoming visible as Chris rounded the kitchen island and approached the threshold of the living room. It was there that he first caught a glimpse of the unbelievable.

Sean appeared to be naked from the waist down and he was masturbating himself, a task that took both of his hands; one hand to grip the bottom of his shaft, and another hand to jerk off the top half of his massive cock. Playing on the screen was an obvious male dressed in drag handcuffed on their knees, and a man was standing naked before him, fucking his throat brutally. Now, Chris had seen a lot of cocks in his time, but most of them over a certain size could only be found attached to professionals, and seen on a screen as Sean was currently doing. But the monster that Sean had in his two fists was exactly that; a "porn-star" cock. Just then, the man on screen said, "Are you ready to swallow my cum you faggot?", and Chris realized . . . Sean was jerking off to one of his own videos. He was the man on screen with the strangely familiar voice.

Chris turned and attempted to flee. As he did, his arm grazed a pot handle poking out of the sink and it caused the dishes beneath it to settle. The sound was nothing more than a couple of plates rubbing together, but to Chris it sounded as loud as a car crash, and Sean heard it too.

He broke into a dead run, and the house fell instantly silent as Sean stopped the video and began pulling on his pants. Chris bolted out the laundry room door and ran towards the pool house as fast as he could. His eyes were no longer adjusted to the dark and he only made it about half way before he tripped over the empty Chlorine jugs and went down hard on the pool deck, skinning both palms and both knees on the stones. He was struggling to his feet when every light on the exterior of the house and around the patio suddenly came on. Looking up at the house, he could see Sean's silhouette looking down at him from the dining room. They looked at each other for a moment, after which Sean opened the door and charged out of the house towards him.

Panicked, Chris tried to run to the pool house with the growing sound of Sean's feet pounding on the patio stones filling his ears. His right knee was throbbing from the fall so he was somewhat hobbled, and he just barely made it inside and slammed the sliding door shut as Sean reached it. Chris locked the door and drew the curtains, but then he heard the sound of a key being slid into the lock from outside.

Of course Sean had keys, he owned the place.

Chris then bolted into the bathroom and locked himself inside, searching desperately for something he could use as a weapon. Outside he heard the sliding glass door open and then close again, and light shone in through beneath the bathroom door. A moment later, someone tried to open the bathroom door, which was locked with one of those door knobs that have no key, but require only the pointed end of a coat hanger to open. The closet just outside the bathroom door was full of those hangers, and Chris was sure that Sean knew it.

"Open the fucking door," Sean growled through the door, rattling the handle hard enough to shake it in its frame.

Chris slapped on the bathroom light and continued his search for something he could use as a weapon, but what he found wasn't going to do him any good.

A toilet brush and plunger . . .

A pair of little cuticle scissors . . .

A bar of soap he could wrap in a towel . . .

Then he spotted the lid for the toilet tank and decided it was his best option. He swept a book and a glass bowl of pot pourri off of the tank and lifted the lid, holding it like a makeshift club of sorts. "Don't come in here, Sean," he called out. "I mean it! Look . . . I'm sorry, okay? I didn't see a thing, I swear . . . and it'll never happen again. From now on I'll never come into the house when you're home, not ever. Let's just start over and pretend that none of this ever happened, okay?"

After a few moments of silence, Sean resumed pounding on the door from the other side and Chris screamed at him to go away. Finally, he played the last card he had left, "Get the fuck out of here or I'll tell Jennifer what I saw . . . maybe my stepfather too!"

The pounding stopped abruptly and Chris could hear him breathing through the door. Finally, he began to retreat, but not without leaving Chris with one final thought; "This isn't over you fucking cocksucker."

He heard the sliding door slide open and slam shut once again, but Chris wasn't buying it. He sat down on the floor with his back against the door and remained there until he finally fell asleep as the dawn began to shine through the frosted bathroom window.

Chapter 3

For the remainder of Jennifer's absence, Chris remained out of sight except between the hours of eight and four, when Sean was usually at work. He stayed in the pool house 90% of the time, venturing out only long enough to run some laundry and out for more t.v. dinners. Meanwhile, Sean continued his passive-aggressive attacks against him; leaving all the patio lights off at night and sometimes blasting loud music through the outdoor sound system at odd hours. But the moment Jennifer returned home from her second convention, Sean reverted back to his crafty impersonation of a decent human being. She returned on Friday night, and all of the outdoor lights were miraculously turned on at night as was the signal to the television, all the empty Chlorine jugs mysteriously vanished, and there was no more loud music being blasted through the outdoor speakers.

Chris had no delusions about their feud being over though; even while Jennifer relayed the minutiae of her of her trip, Sean was standing slightly behind her, shooting daggers at him through his eyes. But it wasn't enough to shoot him dirty looks, Chris soon learned that Sean was willing to stoop much MUCH lower than that.

"We had a bit of a mishap while you were gone," Sean mentioned casually. "Chris decided to add some Chlorine to the pool, which I appreciate, but he ended up using every jug in the shed!"

Jennifer let out an "Awww," of disappointment, and Chris could only stand there like an idiot, unable to say a word in his own defense. After all, who was Jennifer going to believe? Her husband, or her panty-stealing freeloading step-brother?

It occurred to Chris at that moment that even his "Ace in the hole", his tool of mutually assured destruction, was faulty in its conception. Normally, if he was to tell a family member that he caught their spouse masturbating to homemade transsexual porn that they'd also starred in, he'd probably have their full attention. But in this case had the unfortunate paradox of being both true, and too outlandish to believe. Unless Jennifer had caught him doing the same thing at some point or another, his denial would be easy for her to believe, and make Chris look like a sick, perverted, liar.

"Well damn, Chris," Jennifer said, her disappointment as clear as the freckles on her cheeks, "I would have liked to use my pool this weekend, what did you go and do that for?"

To this, Chris responded in the only way he could think of that wouldn't make the situation any worse than it already was, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

If that had been all that happened, Chris might have gotten over it, but Sean wasn't done fucking with him; he was just getting started.

Five minutes before Sean appeared in the kitchen to tell his lie about the Chlorine, and while Jennifer had been telling Chris about her trip, Sean had paid a little visit to the pool house. Chris didn't find out about it till he went to bed that night, at which time he entered the bedroom to find a cold pool of cum congealing on his pillow. But Sean hadn't stopped there; he'd also pissed all over the mattress and covered it up with the duvet. For the second time that night, Chris was confronted with another paradox; he could leave the cum and the piss on the bed and sleep on the sofa instead, but then Jennifer would think that Chris had done it. Or . . . he could tell Jennifer that Sean had deposited the fluids there, which he would stringently deny, after which it would be assumed that Chris had done it. It was yet another one of those things that he was powerless to do anything about. Worse than that, he was now stuck with the unfortunate task of cleaning it all.

He stayed up till three thirty that morning, scrubbing the mattress with hot soapy water before flipping it, and replacing the soiled bedding, which he secreted in the closet to be cleaned after Jennifer had gone on her next trip. All the while, Chris found himself wondering . . . if Sean was willing to go this far, how much farther would he go? Knowing his stepfather's intense dislike for his stepson, would Sean be willing to sabotage the paid internship Jennifer had wrangled for him? It certainly seemed within the realm of possibility. He found out later that night; Sean was willing to go much farther than that.

Chris had finally gone to bed around four am after he'd finished cleaning the mattress, and by that time he was so exhausted that he was asleep almost as fast as his head hit the mattress. Before that though, he rinsed off in a hot shower and decided, for the first time since he'd arrived there, to wear something feminine to bed. Dressing up had been the farthest thing from his mind with all that was going on with Sean, but knowing that Jennifer was home to keep an eye on her husband made him feel safer. While he wasn't about to go strutting around the pool wearing fishnets and a blonde wig, he felt safe enough to slip into a pair of satin panties and a matching pink camisole. He'd needed it too. Strange as it was, the longer he denied the things he kept in that suitcase of his, the less manageable his life seemed to become. He'd been that way since he was fifteen years old when he'd put on his first pair of panties, the ones he'd stolen out of Jennifer's drawer the summer they'd lived together as teens . . . the ones he'd later been caught with.

From the moment he'd put them on, his sexuality had taken a sharp deviation, which eventually led him into the world of hard core BDSM, and having rough sex with men while dressed as a female.

After about a year of counselling afterwards, Chris' parents became convinced that he was over his strange little "fetish", and that he'd been "cured." In fact, by that time Chris had a stash of over a hundred items he'd either shoplifted or plucked from neighboring clotheslines. His desire to dress entirely as a girl and perform sex acts on men was growing inside of him exponentially, and although it would take many years for him to become his true self, his new-found sexuality now revolved entirely around being the "girl" in any given encounter. Even when Chris would meet an attractive female, his desire for her was more about being her than it was about being with her. Even now, with everything that was going on in his life, including the hostile environment he'd landed himself in, it wasn't enough to quiet those urges. And like a junkie getting their fix, he felt better the moment he felt satin against his skin once more.

That night, he should have stuck with his boys' clothes, though he'd never really know whether it would have made any difference or not.

He'd only been asleep for about an hour or so when he was startled awake by something, or someone. The clock on the nightstand said 5:20 am, and it was still dark out. He noticed he was no longer covered by a blanket and he began fumbling around in the dark trying to find it, and that's when he felt the bed sag as someone climbed onto it with him. One might think his first thought was of his stepsister coming to him, finally . . . after all this time, but he knew better than that. Even before he was shoved back down onto his back and a dark figure straddled his chest, he knew it was Sean.

Chris instinctively tried to struggle but the effort came a few seconds too late as Sean used his knees to pin both of Chris' arms to the mattress, painfully. He tried to scream, "GET OFF OF ME!" but only got as far as "GET," before Sean clamped a powerful hand across his mouth, all but silencing him.

"Shut the fuck up," Sean hissed at him. "Jennifer took a sleeping pill before bed, and I could probably stick my thumb up her asshole without waking her up. So I thought I'd come down and see what you were up to. And look at you . . . all dressed up and ready for me."

Chris began to thrash and struggle, but all Sean had to do was lean forward slightly and press his knees deeper into Chris' biceps to keep him pinned down. All he could do was kick his legs and feet at the empty air, which he did until he was out of breath.

"Shhhh," Sean said in the dark, "this will go a lot faster if you just accept it."

At this, Chris shook his head vehemently and tried to scream through the hand clamped over his mouth, with no result.

"I've decided that having one person living under my roof who won't suck my cock is one person too many, and two I just won't stand for. Jennifer used to do it under protest when we were dating, but that all ended when I put a ring on her finger. So, since she won't suck my cock to pay your rent, I guess you'll have to do."

Chris began to thrash again, but Sean simply waited patiently until he was exhausted once more, requiring zero effort on his part. "Come on, Chrissy," Sean said once he'd gone still. "You didn't get all dressed up for nothing . . . I know fags like you, as you saw when you were somewhere you shouldn't have been and saw something you shouldn't have seen. You must want some dick in you, right?"

Again, Chris shook his head violently, but that did nothing to dissuade Sean, who responded by reaching down with his free hand and lowering his zipper. He could only watch in horror as Sean produced that foot-long monster he'd caught a glimpse of the other night, and it seemed even bigger to see it up close and personal. "Don't worry," Sean said. "I'm not going to fuck you . . . not this time, even though I obviously could. I just want to cum, so the faster you get me there the sooner I'll be out of here."