culberhouse-rules-16

3 Ekim 2022 Kapalı Yazar: analsex

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Babes

Subject: Culberhouse Rules 16 See original story (www.//gay/incest/culberhouse-rules/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between related young-adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at fty/donate.html to keep the cum coming. You can also set up AMAZON SMILE so that your purchases on Amazon earn contributions to NIFTY! It’s a great, zero-cost way to enhance the support you already give them. ***** Dad’s voice was absolutely stone-hard. “This is not a discussion or a negotiation. Me, Dad. You, sons. My house. My food. My internet. List. Now.” I watched a dust mote in the air slow and stop. Silence reigned. Time ceased to have meaning. I am told that this is a survival behavior from our early evolution. Time doesn’t *really* slow, the brain simply goes into turbo-boost mode to give lizard-you a chance to figure out how to outrun the T-Rex. Sadly, all it really accomplished was to give me a short eternity in which to contemplate the conjunction of our Dad and our insanely-kinky brother-lust list. I desperately wanted to opt for the ravenous Tyrannosaur. At least that beast could only eviscerate you once. ***** Culberhouse Rules 16: Stardawg Night By Bear Pup ***** Mom liked Broadway musicals. There’s a line from one that she plays frequently, a funny and bawdy one that makes her blush at half the songs, called “The Producers”. It was apparently based on a movie so old that they used cue cards for the dialogue because sound hadn’t been invented yet. Like, I dunno, 1967 or some shit? However, it had a line that became important right then in the escalating voice of the guy who played Ferris Bueller: “No way out. No Way Out! NO WAY OUT!” “Okay, but um…” “No BUTs and no UMs! Show. Me. The list.” “It wasn’t that kind of ‘um’, honest! It’s just that it’s not, like, you know, printed or anything.” “It actually can’t be printed.” I turned and looked at Ryan, who’d apparently recovered the power of speech. “It’s part of the security. Anything you try and print comes out in this, I dunno, Indian script that’s all loops and swirls, and even that is random.” Really? That’s fucking COOL! “You have to look at it on the computer, dad.” “You have computers. I have eyes. Get moving!” We looked like a couple of muscle-jocks from the Warsaw Ghetto, headed for extermination with Dad the Nazi Stormtrooper behind us. We trudged along the interminable Bataan Death March the few yards down the hall to Ryan’s room. He sat and I handed him the thumb drive. He did his magic with the drive and the passphrase and all the rest of the crypto-genius crap and the list finally came up. It was obvious that Ryan had made updates on Friday night after the original Arnhart revelation, as he’d marked a number of things as complete with, I shuddered and nearly puked, embarrassingly-specific thank you notes. Another of those black-and-white movies from the Producers guy — Merv Brooks, I think, but from a bit later when they had talkies — came into the picture then. It was called “Young Frankenstein”. We’d watched it on a lark one night so long ago that Blockbuster Video still existed. When the ‘monster’ moved, he made this sound. Think of a tormented soul moaning. Now do that whilst sucking *in* a breath. Both Ryan and I turned, startled and worried, as that exact sound came from our father as he read. Seriously, I thought he’d had a stroke or some other old-guy medical emergency! “Ya, ya, you d-d-d-d-did…?” His voice dropped to the not-quite-inaudible ‘Dad’s inner monologue’ voice. “Holy fucking Jesus. They already did that? And THAT? It took me n Dougie years to get to… Oh, fuck, I’m gonna scream if I don’t bust a nut soon!” Voice back to the ‘willfully speaking’ tone, “You did, um, all that?” “No, Dad,” I responded, “only the ones that have, um, uh, er… comments?” “Yeah, kid, I guessed that part. But sixteen? Eleven? TWENTY?!?” Neither Ryan nor I could even look in his direction. Ryan was staring at his keyboard and I was staring at Ryan. “TALK!” we both levitated a foot or so at the sudden deployment of Dad Voice. “NOW!” And we both did. Well, not really. Talk was pretty much beyond us. We babbled, each desperate for the Dad Voice to go away and completely incapable of creating sentences. “STOP!” silence fell like the blade of a guillotine. “Other room. Now.” Ryan and I were both undone. Ryan was shaking like a leaf and white as a ghost. This kind of stress manifested differently for me. I was pinpoint focused in a way that meant I really could not see anything that was not in my hyper-narrow ten-degree field of vision. It had worked since I was a little-leaguer, and was my default when things went sideways. I didn’t shake or quake or stumble, but if you’d asked me what the person next to my center of attention looked like, I couldn’t have distinguished between Shania Twain and Sasquatch. My focus at that moment was Dad’s hands as he over-packed my bubbler. He took what I considered a pony hit and passed it to Ryan who took a hit for the ages. I burned the rest of the bowl in a hit worthy of Willie Nelson and held it long and deep. When I finally breathed again, Dad was watching us in much the same way that a female lion surveys a group of gazelles. “Taylor!” My heart absolutely froze for a several moments then tried to thump its way out of my chest. “Lube. Now.” Ryan, though, was the one to move. I couldn’t if I’d tried. He leapt to my bedside table — Wait! How the fuck did he know where my lube was? — and handed Dad the bottle with a hand that looked like it belonged to a ninety-year-old with palsy. “Both of you. SIT. Stay! I’ll be back in a minute.” He spun and went into the bathroom. I turned to Ryan and saw he was as completely undone as I was. He was shaking terribly and my vision had narrowed even further. All I could really see was his face and maybe a bit of his shoulders. I watched as some of his quivering subsided and I felt the Stardawg also working its special magic through my own body. Mellow was right. I could feel the primo weed take the stress, the fear and the worry by the throat and strangle the life and power from it. My vision was actually clearing when… We both spun back to the bathroom door when a telltale uhn-uhn-Uhn-UHNNNNNNN! sounded. Dad came back in a minute or so later, obviously having just tucked his own non-smakable fatty back into his jeans, face flushed but with no real sign of embarrassment. He tossed the bottle to me and muscle-memory took over, caught it and put it beside the beanbag without me having to think about it. His voice, though, was thick and a bit strained. “Okay. At least I can think again.” He looked up at us and laughed heartily. “My lord, boys, you look like owls! Yes, your dad jacks off. I know that you know that already izmit rus escort because you handed me a fucking bottle of lube last night before putting on the porno sound show. And, by the way, if you EVER leave your door ajar again, I will walk your mother into each of your rooms the next day and show her a bag of weed in each of your desks. AND it’ll be seeds and stems to boot, seriously trailer park garbage. Absolute skank-weed, if that term is still current. Do you KNOW what she will turn your summer into?” The prime rib was making a bit for attention with the definite chance of a second appearance at the thought. The CYO thing was going to be brutal, but that’s just nights and weekends. Mom on a tear over drugs? AND thinking that we weren’t even smart enough to buy good weed? CYO retreats with Brother Andrew looming over us would be the high (and definitely not ‘high’) points of the summer! We both nodded vigorously as Dad light-filled the bubbler again and indicated that we should both take pony hits. Once we all three partook, he sighed his own out. “Okay, so this is how it’s going to work.” He was mellow, sure, but the Dad Voice was there. This was not a negotiation, but a rule-laying session. “First, we have to figure out a way that we can keep your new hobby under Mom’s radar. With Dougie and me, it was easy. Dee had the other bedroom and we had bunk beds…” “Actually, um, Dad?” Ryan started, his voice squeaking. “We have an idea on that,” I continued. “The Arnharts had a lot of trouble finding space for studying with all three in High School at the same time.” Dad growled at me with a look that clearly asked if I was brain damaged and I blushed purple. I mean, he’d busted us busting a nut with the Arnharts. It’s not like he didn’t know the score. “Anyway, they moved into one room and made the other a study and gaming zone.” Ryan took up the mantle. “We, well, *I*, was planning to use the CYO thing to convince you and Mom that we should do the same. Make this our base of operations, as well as a study/gaming room when school came back in session. But you, well, you know already. Do you think that would, um, work with Mom?” Dad was thoughtful for a long moment, then grinned. “Actually, it will work better than you’d hoped. You both snore like mules–” We do? Ryan and I looked at each other bemusedly “–and Mary and I have already been trying to figure out a way to soundproof both your rooms. This way, we could just do the one. You’ll have to use the bathroom as your hallway, though, since our room is off the normal hall as well.” We nodded happily. “And if you don’t keep it 100% Mom-proof clean, then all bets are off. She’ll start popping in at VERY inopportune moments, with results that can only be called apocalyptic. Get me?” We did. We sooooo got him. “Second: Drugs. Both of you, right now, swear that you never, ever use ANYTHING except weed.” His stern frown was über-intimidating and I felt Ryan tense. I went into suspended-time mode. The juice I’d made him flush was dangerously close to coming out. I thought quickly and reviewed my queued-up sentences from every angle and decided that they were literally true and that they didn’t sound nearly as evasive as they actually were. “I have never once used anything other than booze and weed, Dad. I swear to you. And I’ll swear in no uncertain terms that Ryan does not use *anything* else and I will kick his scrawny ass to Wednesday if I found out he was risking his ride with anything that stupid.” Ryan shot a quick look at me and I watched him go through the same “true, but…” reasoning. He turned to face Dad fully. “Everything he said is absolutely true. I would never risk it, and I know Taylor will gleefully murder me if I do.” VERY smooth, big bro! Dad looked back and forth between us. His bullshit monitor might have been beeping a little, but my voice had been rock-steady and Ryan could sell anything that was not an outright lie as unequivocal truth. “Make damned sure it stays that way. I will help your mother make this summer, and the rest of your life, a living hell if you’ve lied to me, or if you do anything other than alcohol and pot. “Which is another thing. If I ever find out you’ve driven drunk, even one foot, I will come down on you like a fucking avalanche. You hear me?” We both nodded. “And don’t drive if you’re stoned. A little buzzed? I know that can’t always be helped. But if you are dazed enough that you’re squinting, wobbling or giggling, you CALL ME. I can cover for you with that, but not if you wreck the car or get busted by the cops.” We readily agreed with true sincerity. “On a similar subject, Can I assume you both have seriously well-hidden spots for your stash? And know how to get it to and from your dealer?” I cringed hard at the last word, one that I never really thought about in relation to pot. Dealers did, like, heroin, meth, oxy and crack. You bought weed from, well, friends. “I know Ryan’s is damned well hidden, since it took me a solid five hours dismantling his room to find it! I’m pretty sure that no one has ever found mine.” “I know it’s something to do with the closet.” I turned and looked. “You think you’re the only one who wanted to blackmail his brother? Seriously?” Ryan smirked at me. Fucker. “But I’ve spent months trying to figure it out, so I’m pretty sure he’s using some Hogwarts trick.” I grinned. Actually, he wasn’t far wrong. You have to slide the baseboard on one side straight up (not out; it won’t work) to reveal a two-inch gap between the floor and the drywall. From there, you have to reach *up* inside the wall then to one side. There was a shelf between one two-by-four and another that I’d put in when I hit puberty and need a secure place for porn. “It’s pretty solid,” I responded. “As for transport, I’m pretty sure we got that covered. I mean, mine won’t fool a drug dog, but you’d pretty well have to dismantle the car otherwise.” “Same here.” Ryan was confident, and I wondered at that. Mine was an “extra credit” (late night) project in Auto Shop and was honestly the main reason I took the class in my Sophomore year. “Good. Now, the sex stuff.” Dad blushed but pushed through, likely thanks to the calming effects of the Stardawg. Definitely good shit! “Not counting chicks, anyone other than the Arnharts?” “I don’t know about Mr Ape over here, but not for me.” Ryan smirked again. Bitch. “Since Golden Boy hasn’t given me a moment’s peace since we first fooled around,” I got an arm-punch for that, “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been with anyone and I haven’t had the strength or the privacy!” Dad giggled a little then went back to stern. “Keep it that way. Where are your rubbers?” We just blinked at this unexpected turn in the conversation. “Jeez, guys. Condoms? Snot-socks? Cum-sleeves? Whatever the fuck you call them nowadays.” “R-R-R-Rubbers is fine. I just wasn’t, um, exp-p-p-pecting the question?” I stuttered. I fumbled in my bedside table izmit escort and came up with a ziplock filled with the protection handed out at clinics and school lectures. Dad looked hard at my brother. “Can I assume you are also so fucking cheap you use generic rubbers, Ryan?” Ryan blinked but nodded. “Jesus, help me. I raised idiots. Go onto Amazon.” I opened my browser. Both Ryan and I have our own accounts, and I had Amazon Prime. When I got to Amazon, dad reached around me, one arm to each side of my neck, and started typing. It took me a minute to notice what he was doing because he had a spicy musk coming from his pits that was very much like Ryan’s. Ryan and I looked up and saw an insanely-long description for a brand called LifeStyles and a product called SKYN Extra-lube. I snorted a laugh when I saw it came with a silver “travel case.” Dad saw where I was looking and gave me a head-slap. “Don’t be an idiot, Taylor. Carrying the things in your wallet or pocket is begging for a pregnancy or disease. These things break, boys, something they don’t want to admit. Latex is better, but enough women are allergic that this brand is a good option. Also, the extra lube is more for the condom than you; lube helps prevent breakage from friction and such, especially on non-latex.” “How do you, um, uh, know this stuff, Dad? Do you…” Dad Voice was back. “Don’t you even finish that question, Taylor! No, I do NOT cheat on your mother and I won’t.” He got a seriously wicked look on his face. “But Mary is one of those women with latex allergies so I alwa–” Identical, loud and horrified groans of disgust rang out from both of us, half from reaction and half to keep from hearing what else he might have planned to say. Just… NO! He’d ordered two. “One case each wherever you carry your keys. Condoms never, ever are kept in a car. Throw out the ones that you’ve got hidden in the glove box or under the back seat; each one is a baby waiting to happen. The ones you carry in the case should only go in your pocket if there’s a reasonable chance you’ll get into a sexual situation. The more often you carry them, the more you have to replace them. I figure it’s fine for maybe twenty or so trips in the pocket, so that means roughly a replacement a month and that can get pricey. Put it in a gym bag or backpack instead. After this batch, just order the double-pack; it’s cheaper and you don’t need any more cases.” Ryan and I sat in stunned silence. This was waaaaaaay past The Talks we each got on our eleventh (changes coming, hair, ball-drop, wet dreams, be safe, etc.) and thirteenth birthdays (jacking off, sex with girls, cup size, no-means-no, be *safer*, etc.). “Outside of the Arnharts and each other, have you always played safe? Well, as safe as possible with porn-store rubbers?” We both nodded emphatically. “One of you is going to call the Arnhart boys and make sure that (one) they use protections outside of the three of them, each and every time; and (two) they get tested regularly. And both of YOU young men will get tested next week. And NOT at the clinic. You’ll go to Dr Mastron.” “Uh, whu?” “Dr Mastron. Same guy that does your sports physicals every year. He’s obviously familiar with all of your parts and is going to be easier to talk to. Most of the guys I know discreetly go to him for anything, um, sensitive. He files the insurance separately and you can always tell your mother it’s sports-related when she asks about the bills. “You will rubber up until after your tests come back, both with each other and with the Arnhart boys.” ‘Yes’ to the latter; ‘fuck that’ for Ryan. He tasted too good! “If they haven’t been tested, you rubber up until they do. That includes EVERYTHING, boys, not just penetration. Until you’re sure, don’t even kiss deep. There is plenty of nasty shit out there that doesn’t need sperm to spread.” Ryan kept shooting looks at me. Where did this person come from and what did he do with our stuffy, uptight father? I just shook my head like a dog with wet ears. This was moving way to fucking fast for me. “Which of you is calling the Arnharts?” “Now?!?” The sound echoed in the small room, both Ryan and I vocally appalled. “Yes, ‘now’. And I am going to make damned sure you ask the questions and get real answers.” Oh fuck. I could see the same thought run through Ryan’s head. How the fuck do you explain that question to another guy, and one you’d just started fucking around with? Multiply that times THREE?!? Plus, call? Who the fuck CALLS people? You text or snap, dude! Ryan jumped a foot as his shorts-pocket vibrated and began to sing “Boondocks”, a song he loved even though it was, like, totally ancient. I mean, seriously? We were NINE when that came out! It was, like, a year with single digits! “Um, uh, Hey? Ryan here?” I could make out Jack Arnhart’s voice and my eyes bugged out and Ryan looked like he was about to shit himself. “Hey, um… Uh. This is kinda awkward. I, well…” I heard Dave’s stronger voice, “You got us into this. You ask.” “All RIGHT,” Jack hissed, then sighed deeply. “Things, um, went a lot faster than, you know… Wait! You’re alone, right? No one can hear this, right? Ryan? Ryan?” Dad’s scowl was ferocious. “No, Jack. Just me and Tay.” “Thank God. And good Taylor is there as well. Like I said, things went really fast. We always play safe, well, except for each other. Do, um, do you and T-T-Taylor? You know? When you’re, um, with chicks?” “Chillax, Jack. Taylor and I were trying to work up the guts to ask you guys the same thing.” I could hear Jack practically melt with relief. “Yeah, we’ve always played safe. Like, every time, dude. Too afraid we’d get shotgunned by a dad, you know?” “Dude, yeah. Same with the three of us. And, um, we’re the first, you know, guys…?” “Very. Us?” “Same.” “You get tested?” “That came up too! It’s like we all freaked out at the same instant. Man, that’s creepy-cool! Billy and I had the full workup at the start of the spring season, but we’re getting Davey — OUCH! — Um, Dave checked this week. We’ll get reupped, too. You?” “Same answer, but it was fall for both of us so we’re going in to get poked and prodded next week, too, but maybe sooner now that, you know…” “Cool. Um, ya’know, uh, you be pissed if we cooled it until, like, everyone is on the same schedule?” “Can be pissed over sumpin we’s’a gonna ask ya. You just had the balls to pick up the phone first, buddy!” “Cool! Real cool. Thanks and, um… speaking of balls? I can’t fuckin WAIT to get those results back! C-ya.” “Ciao!” Ryan shut down the phone, triple-checked that the call was over, then melted in the beanbag chair and onto me. He was whispering, “Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck…” “Um, Dad? Um, can we take a break? Ryan’s brain just exploded and mine is melting out my ears?” “No trouble, sport. I’ll go get us some liquid refreshment.” “T-T-T-Take your time?” Dad chuckled and stood, weaving slightly from the absolutely dank chronic he’d brought kocaeli escort to the party. I pulled his baggie across and reloaded the bubbler and forced Ryan to take a monster hit and I finished the bowl. I packed another so Dad could partake when he got back. I hugged Ryan to me hard, his back to my chest as he came down from wherever he went when the phone range. I frowned. What are the odds that they…? And that they’d, you know, *called* and shit? Dad interrupted that thought with a beer bottle and he handed a second to Ryan. He noticed the greenish air and started to frown until he saw I’d repacked the bowl for him and left the lighter next to his chair. He smiled and ruffled my hair like I was seven. He baked off about half the bowl showing serious lungsmanship and Ryan and I shared out the rest, two good pony hits. When he finally exhaled — who the fuck was this, our father or a pearl diver? — he said, “So, room, weed, transport, rubbers, testing. Where was I. Oh! Round the house rules. I mentioned the noise level. That stays even after you get the soundproofing. People outside might still hear you. And never, ever when you mother is in the house. Stop! I know, you already do it on the down low — right slang, right? — when she’s here, but double up on the caution. That is NOT a conversation I could survive, even if I pretended it was just one of you jacking out a load.” Ryan shuddered and I felt the prime rib haunting me again. No. That would NOT be happening. “Keep it in your room, not in the woods. I know you toke out there, so I assume you’ve christened a few trees? Well, fuck. Now I’ve gone and given you a new idea. I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Do. Not. Get. Risky. Dougie and I were another time, kids. Everyone didn’t run around with a video camera in their pockets; we didn’t even have phone to put them on!” I nodded as Ryan just sat, still a bit mind-blown over the whole evening. “When Mom’s out, you still keep it quiet, please. I can only take so much. And don’t you ever wear the shit you got on around your mother. But…” a leer came out of nowhere, “definitely around me. You guys are smokin hot. And, no, don’t offer to give me some sort of live performance. On one hand, the very thought creeps me out and on the other? I’m not sure I could survive the trip!” I choked and Ryan nearly heaved. Dad’s voice got very serious, to a level that had both Ryan and I taut as bowstrings. “The CYO thing. This Brother Whoever. I do NOT want either of you to…” “DAD! NO! The man is a monster for one and he damned near called and told you everything before he relented and admitted he liked some of the ideas. And I think part of that was that both of us were seconds from blowing chunks all over the office at the thought. And, um, well…” I blushed furiously, “he made it clear that he would be in the cabin with us every retreat and make sure that we did not, um, enjoy the great outdoors in any way.” Dad laughed at that. “Good. I like the man already. You are NOT to use the retreats as a smorgasbord. Even if someone offers. I am so pissed that you used our faith as a cover that I can’t even tell you how mad I am about that, but it’s done, and it looks like it might lead to something good. If I even get a HINT that you have, well, fuck! done anything improper at one of those, I will enact Operation Ditchweed and double-down on anything your mother does to you. We clear?” Our heads nodded like they were on very old springs and he continued. “And the Arnhart thing. I know you’re using religion as a cover. I don’t like it, not one bit. But I see how you got there. You will never, EVER do something like that again. That said, their dad, Jake, has always been allergic to religion due to, well, I won’t go into that. I don’t care if they end up Catholic (that would be a bonus), but I want you to promise to sincerely get them to understand that Faith can be a positive force in people’s lives. Even though it’s not exactly looking that way on current evidence.” His fearsome countenance could easily have inspired any Renaissance master’s image of a wrathful God. Ryan spoke, for the first time since the phone call. “Dad? Listen to me, please? I think they really DO want to know, and not just for the sex. At first, they seemed genuinely puzzled about Confession. After, it seemed to make real sense to them. Yes,” he hung his head miserably, “we… well, *I*, decided to use it as an excuse, but I think it’s maybe more than that.” Thank you, Stardawg, for helping put my foot right into the dogshit. “And think about it, Dad. What better way to get a guy to think about salvation than appealing straight to his nads? Oops.” That was when I realized that I had totally fucked my golden-voiced brother’s rap. Fuck! Ryan looked like he was going to strangle me and Dad looked apoplectic — for about eleven seconds before busting into a belly-laugh that literally rolled him out of the chair and onto to the floor. He was crying with laughter and Ryan scowled at me as I watched with trepidation over what would come next. He finally caught his breath but stayed laying on the floor across from me. “Taylor, son,” he giggled again, “I’m not sure Pope Francis is ready for your brand of Roman Catholicism, but I can’t say you’re wrong. ‘Bust a nut’ has far more allure for guys your age than ‘bust your ass.’ Then again, busting an ass…” and we were off to Gigglesville again. He finally wound down and sobered (a little; it was Stardawg and Pliny the Elder after all). “I guess bringing sheep into the folds, even if you act like a wolf to do it, balances out someplace. And if it doesn’t? Fuck it. You’re young, hung and full’a cum. You’d do it anyways, so why not try and have a positive side-effect? Just don’t make a habit of it, boys. The Church really doesn’t need any more gay publicity right now. Know what I mean?” What’s odd is that the flip comment made me think of something deeply profound. Father Sean’s admission that he was gay, under constant temptation in the confessional, and still *completely* celibate suddenly awed me. A majority of Americans thought that priests always fooled around with guys — either boys, each other or the men of the parish. It’s like society had given him a pass. And he still did not, and would not, use it. The CYO thing, something that started as a lark and a ruse, suddenly *meant* something to me. A religion that had people like Father Sean in it, and Brother Andrew? A religion that fostered the kind of sad, disappointed acceptance of my own failure? This was bigger than sex. It was bigger than the revelation of what Ryan and I could be to each other. It was bigger than all of us. It was… divine in a way I could not yet understand. Thank you to beta-readers Roy and the incomparable Jeff Moses (a Nifty author whose talent I hope one day to achieve) for excellent help with making this more readable. Their suggestions made many parts of this chapter much easier to read and understand, and they consistently improve the entire story by spotting the places it fails to live up to what you, the reader, expect. The star, though, Is Zach. His edits constantly challenge me to see what I wrote instead of what I meant.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32