Well, That Backfired Ch. 03

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

TOM

"Is that the house?" I ask Mom as I pull along the curb of the quiet Des Moines cul-de-sac. Mom looks out of the passenger window and nods.

"He still has the black Explorer," Mom says, gesturing to the truck in the driveway, "you were conceived in the back seat, Tom."

"That's more information than I needed." I reply. Mom gives me an exaggerated look of shock, and I smile.

"What about me?" Laurie perks up from the back seat.

"You were made behind the dumpster of a Hardee's Jr, Sweetie," Mom smirks back at her daughter, "and the best versions of you ended up on my back."

"You don't want the best versions of me," Laurie sniggers as she runs her hands through the coils of Mom's hair, "you like the worst version too much."

Mother and daughter lock eyes with each other over the front seat of the van. From the shoulders up, the picture of the two almost looks like a mirror image; identical faces of differing age with identical hungry smiles. They move together, their lips part, their tongues entwine, and their fingers slink into the curls of each other's auburn hair.

"Hey, Sierra," Eleanor pipes-in from the back seat, "is that Bradley?"

Mom whips her head to the side, and stares out the passenger window. Through the reflection of the glass, I see the dim features of her face express melancholy longing. I look over her shoulders, and see my dad for the first time in over a decade. Holy shit, it's like looking in a mirror. Save for the bald spot on the crown of his head, and the muscle on his arms, he's a spitting image of myself. He walks out the front door, and gets into the Explorer. A woman follows him out, and waves as he pulls from the driveway. Goddamn Dad, you sure know how to pick 'em. Audrie is twenty-seven years of tan skin, blonde hair, and a body you could paint on a warship. Statuesque and bodacious, she looks more like a swimsuit model than a suburban trophy wife. She's wearing hooped earrings that dangle between strands of long platinum hair, and her face bares the soft features of rosy cheeks, luscious pink lips, a narrow nose, and grey clear irises shining from big oval eyes.

"You guys know the plan," Eleanor whispers to Laurie and me, "you two go in there and have fun with your step mom, and Sierra and I will go deal with Bradley."

"You're going to have to help us on this one," I say to Eleanor, "I don't think Laurie and I can handle a woman like that on our own."

"Just because she's a hot piece, doesn't mean she's a hard mark," Eleanor chuckles, "you got me in bed, and if I may be so bold, I think I'm rather attractive."

"You're a shameless slut, Ellie," I smirk, "it was just a matter of time before I got my turn."

Eleanor pouts her full red lips in mock indignation. Her green eyes sparkle mischievously from her freckled, pixie-like face, whose innocent structure acts as a perverse mask for the lecherous mind behind it. Her crimson hair bows inwardly about her cheeks, accentuating the girlishness of her portrait, but the innocent façade does not extend to her body. Large, pale breasts protrude vulgarly from the cut neckline of her t-shirt, and her thick legs widen into a set of glutes that burst lasciviously from her plaid skirt. Eleanor is a slut, she'd be the first to tell you that, but she is so much more. I've never met someone who can read a person like Eleanor can; she gleans more from a single glance than most could from an extensive conversation. If Laurie and I are going to take Audrie on our own, we'll need some help from our redheaded harlot.

"Alright," Eleanor says, and glances out the window. She studies the woman across the street for a moment, and then turns back to me, "what can you tell me about her?"

I look at the beautiful blonde on her porch, and can't see past the ass and titties. I'm a simple man, what can I say?

"A hot piece of ass." I reply, and catch a scornful look from Mom and Laurie.

"Let me help you." Eleanor says with a roll of her eyes, and gestures to my step-mom, "She drives a Prius with a Bernie Sanders bumper sticker, she has a 'peace' flag in the window, a 'legalize it' sign in the yard, and a rainbow tire cover in the driveway. She has a UCLA t-shirt, but a John Deere hat on. It's Thursday, and she's in her house at ten AM. What does that tell you about her?"

"She's... a democrat?" I ask stupidly.

"No shit, Sherlock," Eleanor snorts, "since you're such a fucking genius, I'll just tell you. Audrie is a classic example of a country girl who 'found herself' in a big-city college. She was the hottest bitch in a small town high school, thought she was too good for the place, and applied to UCLA. Only when she got to L.A, she realized she was just a small fish in a big pond. Her rural heritage didn't jive with the hot urban sentiments of her peers, and her superiority complex vanished. Audrie felt insecure for the first time in her life, so what did she do? She reinvented herself to fit in. She cast away her country roots, and dove into the progressive college experience with both feet. She sexually overcompensated because she wanted to experience everything, and she chose a major like Women's Studies or some shit because all the sudden she was an activist. She had the time of her life, and those four years she spent in UCLA defined her. But then she graduated, and realized that a liberal art's major doesn't pay like a STEM degree, and frankly, she was too hot to have a real job. She moved back to Iowa, and latched onto the first man with a stable income she could find: your dad. Now, she spends her days doing yoga and bitching about Trump on the internet. But do you know what the most important thing about Audrie is? She's bored."

I stare blankly at Eleanor, both amazed and a little scared at how well she just read a woman she'd never met. Eleanor grins broadly at me, and then kisses me on the neck, places a single finger on my cheek, and turns my attention back to the woman in the doorway.

"I think it's time I take the training wheels off and let my students fend for themselves." She whispers seductively, her lips tickling my ear, "Why don't you and Laurie give Audrie some excitement?"

AUDRIE

Congratulations on finally getting your GED, I type furiously into the YouTube comment section, you can put it right next to your NRA certificate. You know, it's people like you that are the reason this country...

A knock on the door interrupts my self-righteous monologue, and I break my attention from the five paragraphs I was planning to write. Fucking girl scouts; I had a whole dissertation to drop on that ignorant asshole. I walk across the kitchen, open the door, and my jaw almost hits the floor. Holy shit, it's a young Bradley. The hair, the eyes, the frame; it's all there.

"Hey," the young man smiles easily, "are you Audrie Baker?"

"Y-y-yes!" I stammer, still stupefied at what I'm looking at, "How can I help you?"

"I'm Tom Baker," the man says (of course he is!), "and this is my sister, Laurie."

I barely noticed the girl standing next to him. She's about five inches shorter than myself, brown haired, blue-eyed, and wearing a very risqué plaid skirt and button-up shirt. She's pretty, and she's knows it.

"Can we come in?" She asks, smiling with the same easy smile as her brother.

"Of course!" I exclaim a little too eagerly, "Come in, come in!"

I usher my step-children into the room, my heart beating with excitement. I'd always heard about Tom and Laurie from Bradley, but the only pictures he has of them are of when they were barely older than toddlers. I finally get a chance to meet the mysterious part of his past! This is the most exciting thing to happen to me since I watched the Game of Thrones trailer!

"Make yourselves at home!" I say, gesturing grandly to the minimalist living room, "I'll get you guys something to drink; beer?" I ask, knowing they're underage. It seems like a desperate attempt to show them I'm 'cool,' and it is, but I really want these kids to like me.

"Sure," Tom smiles, "got any Bud?"

"No Bud here," I say, "only craft. You ever have an IPA before?"

"What's an IPA?" Laurie asks.

"Indian Pale Ale." I say with a bit too much smugness, "You'll love it, trust me."

I walk into the kitchen, very pleased with myself. I'm going to be the awesome step-mom who lets them drink, and knows about trendy microbreweries. Maybe I should offer them some weed? Do they smoke weed? Of course they do, they're high school kids. I pull the bottles from the fridge, and take out the bag from the drawer.

"You just missed your dad," I say as I pop the caps and pack a bowl, "by like, ten seconds. I can give him a call if you want."

"No," Tom's voice says from the living room, "we'd like it to be a surprise."

I finish packing the weed into the bowl, grab the frosty pale ales, and walk into the living room. Tom and Laurie are sitting on the couch together, and I notice Laurie briskly pull her hand away from his as I step into the room. I hand them each their beverages, then coyly show them the pipe I had behind my back.

"I don't know if you guys partake," I say slyly as I gently pad the top of the herb, "but I wouldn't be a good host if I didn't offer."

"I do," Laurie says brightly, accepting the pipe in her hands and giving me an appraising smile (fuck yeah, cool step-mom status confirmed!), before looking at her twin brother, "I don't know about Tom though."

"I've never done it," Tom says, looking at the weed apprehensively, "I like to keep a clear mind."

"You don't have to if you don't want to; no peer pressure." I say warmly as I sit on the couch next to Laurie, "But it's an indica strain, which means it's like a body high, and won't mess with your head too much."

Laurie lights the corner of the bowl, and inhales until the cherry glows brightly against her face. She takes a smooth exhale without any coughing, and I see her expression begin to droop slightly. She gives me a blissful smile, then passes me the pipe. I expertly corner the bowl, inhale, hold it in, and let it out slowly, before passing it to Tom. Tom looks nervously at the pipe, and Laurie puts a comforting hand on his upper thigh. His composure relaxes, and he accepts my offer. I smile inwardly; I get to be Tom's first experience with marijuana! Cool step-mom status just got elevated to 'awesome.'

"So," I say, as Tom's virgin lungs hack up smoke, "tell me all about yourselves; I want to hear everything."

Laurie gives me the synopsis of her life as we burn the weed between us. I learn that she's on the varsity gymnastics team, that she's a closeted metalhead, that's she's taking a year off before college to travel, and that she's currently applying to USC, UCLA, Nebraska, and Boise State. I unabashedly tell her to go to UCLA (go Bruins!), recant the tale of how I met her father, and bitch about Donald Trump a little bit. Tom isn't much of a talker, and elects to let Laurie and I carry most of the conversation. I glean a bit of information from him; he's going to Nebraska, he likes videogames and he's interested in programming, but he mostly remains an intriguing mystery to me. After a half hour, a case of beer, and three bowls of weed, I notice that I'm a little too drunk and a little too high, and so are Laurie and Tom.

"Oh fuck," Tom groans, and barely makes it to his feet, "bathroom!" And he dashes across the hardwood floor in his socks, keeping his balance with a violent flourish of drunken pirouettes. Laurie tries to get up to help him, sways dangerously to the side, overcorrects, then falls awkwardly on top of me.

"Oh my god, I'm so irresponsible!" I laugh, "Your father is going to kill me!"

"I can walk!" Laurie laughs embarrassedly, before failing another attempt, and landing face-first into my lap.

"You are such a light weight!" I cackle, "You're going to have to work on that before you go to UCLA."

"Fuck that, go Trojans!" Laurie yells mirthfully, her voice muffled as she talks against my belly.

"I will disown you if you go to USC!".

"You can't tell me what to do." Laurie grins up at me, "You're not my real mom."

"I was wondering when you'd pull that shit." I smirk, crinkling my nose.

"My real mommy lets me do anything I want," Laurie says in a baby voice, "and the Bruins fucking suck."

"You little bitch!" I laugh, and throw her off me and onto her back. Laurie laughs gleefully as she sprawls on the couch, her skirt hiking up dangerously past her thighs. I pounce on her in a fit of playfulness and begin tickling and prodding her into a writhing mess of flailing arms and legs.

"Tom!" Laurie yells, "Tom, Audrie is beating me!"

"Shh! Shh! Shh!" I giggle as I clasp a hand over her mouth, "Shut the fuck up!"

Laurie licks the palm of my hand, and I pull it back in revulsion.

"You nasty little girl!" I exclaim through bursts of laughter.

"You have no idea." Laurie giggles. Then, her demeanor changes. The playful curl of her lips subsides into an easy, expectant smile. Her wide-eyed drunkenness softens into a half-lidded gaze. I'm suddenly very aware of the position of our bodies; my legs entwined with hers, my breasts squishing against her petite bust. Her hands are raised above her head and splayed lazily open, and mine are gently gripping her at the waist. How the fuck did this happen?

"I, uhh..." I say awkwardly as I attempt to sit up in my drunken state, "this is weird."

"It doesn't seem weird to me at all," Laurie whispers, and raises her leg so that it bends at the knee, allowing our crotches to push together, "and it seemed very natural for you. You really did have fun in college, didn't you?"

"I did," I giggle, and instinctively separate my legs about her thigh, "but those days are behind me."

"They don't have to be," Laurie says, and shifts her body so that we press together from thigh to breast, "it can be our little secret."

"I'm a married woman," I say, unable to stop myself from breathing heavily in anticipation, "and you're my step-daughter."

"Doesn't that just make it so much hotter?" Laurie whispers. I smile lustfully, and almost kiss her right there, but I stop myself. No, I cannot do this. Laurie is drunk, underaged, and the daughter of my husband. A husband who I love dearly. I struggle to lift myself off her, but my drunken limbs don't cooperate.

"Whoa," Tom's voice says from the threshold, "I clearly missed something."

"Audrie was trying to convince me to go to UCLA." Laurie smiles at her brother, "Her recruitment methods are a bit unorthodox, but she's making a compelling argument."

"This is not what it looks like;" I smile bashfully at Tom, "we were just having some fun."

"Clearly." Tom smiles easily to me, and walks toward us. I manage to ease myself upright from Laurie and try to make room on the couch for Tom, but he doesn't sit in the vacant spot I've provided for him. No, Tom stops in front of us, leans forward, and kisses Laurie. Not a kiss on the cheek or the forehead, but an open-lipped, passionate entwining of tongues. What the fuck. They pull from each other, their gazes locked in their love and lust, and then they turn their sapphire irises on me.

"Our family is a little different than others," Laurie says as she unbuttons Tom's fly, and my heart skips a beat, "and a lot of people can't accept that, but you're not like them, Audrie."

"You've been so open and caring with us," Tom says, unbuckling his belt, and my stomach knots, "there's no judgement with you."

"We feel safe with you," Laurie smiles warmly as she reaches into Tom's pants, and my breath quickens, "we feel like we can be ourselves around you."

I like to think I'm a sexually open-minded person; I've had sex with men, women, and all different combinations of the two, and I'm a firm believer that anything done between consenting partners is fair game, but this... this is new to me. It seems that in my quest to make Tom and Laurie like me, and not view me as the home-wrecking cunt who stole their father, I inadvertently made them a little too comfortable with me. My first reaction was shock, but my second reaction is quite different. My step-children trust me so much that they are willing to show a part of themselves they keep hidden from the world. Isn't that something only family can do? Their confidence in me is endearing, and I must admit, their relationship is... exciting.

"You can be yourselves around me," I smile as I lean back on the couch, "there's no judgement here."

"Should we get a room?" Laurie asks, her eyes watching me knowingly, "We wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No," I say, feeling my words slip with tremors of excitement, "you're fine where you are."

"Do you like to watch?" Tom smiles as his pants drop, and I see what Laurie is holding in her hand.

"I'm certainly not participating," I smirk, staring unabashedly at the bulging gift between his legs, "Just pretend I'm not here."

Laurie strokes Tom until he's engorged in her hand. She looks up at him with a lustful expression of youthful excitement, and he looks down at her with a love so desperate it makes my heart ache. She leans forward, and plants a tender kiss on the tip of his cock. He runs a hand through her delightful curls and guides her forward. Laurie separates her pouting lips and wraps them around him as he inches his way into her mouth. She closes her eyes and savors the taste of him as her neck begins to bulge with his girth. She takes him all the way in, and Tom's head falls back in bliss. She gags a little, showing her inexperience, but she doesn't pull him out. She holds him deeply, and rotates her lips against his pelvis; her nose squishing into the flesh of his lower abdomen as lines of saliva drip from her mouth. I spread my legs, and push my hand under my waistband.

She pulls away from him, her lips sucking so tightly that her blushing cheeks stretch from her face. She watches him from the tops of her eyes as she does it, gauging his reaction and adjusting for his needs. Her hand slinks between his legs, and gently massages his balls as she rotates her lips about his crease. Tom's grip on her head tightens, and he begins to pull her toward him. Laurie places her palms flat against his thighs, and tries to push back, but he forces her to take him in. I almost yell at him, but then I notice the expression in her eyes. They're partially rolled-back, and brimming with primal want; she likes it like this. I ease back into the couch, and glide my fingers through the moist petals of my erogeneity.

Tom forces his sister's head forward again, and again, and again. Every brutal pass down his length causes Laurie to gag, and her eyes to well with tears. Wet, pained gurgles permeate from her mouth, but she dutifully keeps her lips locked and sucking. Eventually she surrenders completely, and stops trying to resist him with her hands, bringing them between her own legs. From my view on the couch, I can see the dark stain down the length of her laced panties. She drives her fingers down her skirt, the knuckles writhing chaotically beneath the fabric of her undergarment. Her hips shift, her legs quiver, and her mouth hums muffled tones of desperate pleasure between the gags and sucks. The sounds coming from her would be screams of delight were her mouth not occupied, but as they are, they sound like the pleading tones of a gagged captive. I push my fingers inside myself, and gasp.

"Don't you fucking stop, Laurie," Tom growls as he holds his sister against his crotch, her body writhing in pleasure and discomfort, "take me in, you brother-fucking slut."

Laurie seems to melt in the degradation of his words. Her back arches, her legs spread, and her skirt hikes past her hips. She glances at me from the bottom of her eyes, gives me a little wink, and pushes her panties to the side. She forks her fingers about her dripping pussy lips, spreading them wide as she defiles her ruby insides in front of me. I push my fingers deeper into myself, and furiously work my thumb along my clit as I watch her. Tom finally pulls out of his sister, and Laurie reels forward in a chorus of grateful, desperate breaths. He grabs her by the hair and rips her head backward. Her face is flushed, streaked with eyeliner, and wet with strained tears, but when he pulls her hair, her smile is devious, bright and lustful. An animalistic laugh that almost sounds like a growl flows from her lecherous lips, and brother and sister kiss in hedonistic passion; their mouths devouring each other as their bodies press.