A Lesson in Biology
Copyright© 2026 by Lubrican
Chapter 15
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 15 - She wanted to be a cheerleader but her grades were too low. Summer school might solve that problem. But she needed a tutor to make sure. Her mom got a name from the school and he was hired. When they got to the biology tutoring, she wanted to understand the reproductive system. He was happy to teach her about it.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Mult Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Harem Interracial Black Male White Female First Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Voyeurism
Gerrald left the building with his briefcase, in which there were nineteen pages of assets listed. An hour later he was being searched by unsmiling prison guards who ran metal detectors over his whole body and spent way too long going between his legs and over his privates. They knew not to open the briefcase, but they did send it through an X-Ray machine. He was then taken to a dingy, sparse room with nothing on its blue and gray concrete walls, and dirty, checkerboard tiles on the floor. The metal desk he sat at was bolted to the floor. The chair he sat in had a two foot chain welded to one leg. The other end was also bolted to the floor.
He consumed three more TUMS before a door in the back wall opened and his client shuffled in. He was helped to the chair opposite Gerald and appeared to be favoring one leg as he limped. He sank down into his chair and the guard went back through the door they had entered through.
Brad Fitts looked terrible. He had a black eye and scrapes on the skin of his cheeks and forehead. He leaned in his chair and looked blearily at Gerald.
“Who the fuck are you?” the prisoner asked.
“I’m your lawyer,” said Gerald.
“Why isn’t Brendan here?”
Gerald assumed he was talking about Brendan Archer, one of the fair-haired boys near the top of the ladder on Mister Masters team.
“I’m your divorce lawyer,” said Gerald.
“What does the bitch want, now?”
“I have the list of assets the judge has approved to be split between you during future negotiations. If you sign it, then the judge will give you and Mrs. Fitts ninety days to take control of each person’s property. It would be very routine if you weren’t ... here.”
“Will it get me out of this hell-hole?”
“What?”
“Will these negotiations you’re talking about get me out of this fucking place? I know my wife isn’t going to come here and bring tea and cookies while she robs me blind.”
“She isn’t robbing you blind. Once everything is split up, it will have to amount to equal value, within reason, or the negotiations will have to go on. And I don’t know this for sure, but I would imagine they’ll let you go to our offices to meet with Mrs. Fitts.”
“Equal split?” said Brad. “Lemme see that.”
He took the pages and looked at them closely. He seemed to be looking for something and Gerald was pretty sure he knew what that “something” was.
“How do we split the checking account?” he said.
“Your wife has been paying bills and since filing for divorce has been forbidden from buying anything that costs more than one hundred dollars without the court’s approval. The balance changes daily so it wasn’t listed. Whatever is in there when the judge signs the decree will be split in half. I will have started a new bank account with only your name on it. Any funds from selling assets will be split in half and your half deposited in that account. Your stocks and bonds are an unknown quantity at this time because I didn’t have the information to compile them, but your wife said there were over three million in value. Those can be cashed out and the money split, or you can negotiate for items of equal amount in order to keep them in your name. Do you know how much the value is of your stocks and bonds?”
“She only knows about half of it,” said Brad.
“Well, I have to counsel you to divulge the value of everything. If you hide assets and the court finds out, the penalty is very stiff.”
“I’m on trial for murder!” Brad barked. “They want to give me life! How much more can they do to me if I don’t tell them about every investment I have. Hell, I don’t even know how many investments I have. I’ll need that money when I get out. Brendan says that even if I have to go to prison, I’ll be out in a couple of years. And he says you guys have some ideas about things the prosecutor has done that will get me off. I’m going to need money to survive if I walk free.”
“If you go free you’ll have at least two million dollars, probably much more if the investments are worth a lot.” Gerald was sweating, now.
“And my fucking wife will also have two million dollars, too, right?”
“Look. I know you and your wife are at odds, but don’t let that cloud your judgment. My compatriots at Masters, Hoople and Appleton are very good at their job. They’re the best, and if anybody can get you off of these charges, they will. If you sign this then I leave here and the next time we meet it will be to decide who gets which car and whether or not to sell the house and split those proceeds and things like that. Do you want to keep going in front of a judge after you are free?”
“No,” grunted Brad. “You say I’ll have two mill?”
“At least. Your stocks and bonds haven’t been tabulated, yet.”
“If I give her the house can I keep my investments?”
“If the house and investments are reasonably equal in value, yes. I think I could negotiate that.”
“Then that’s what I want to do. Just get me out of this gulag so I can breathe clean air and not have to live with animals.”
“I’ll do my best to make the first round of negotiations happen soon.”
“First round?”
“Yes. You’re going to be in here until your case is settled. Time travels a little slower for Brendan than it will for me. We’ll demand short hours for negotiations; let’s say one hour per meeting. That way we can get you out of here and to our offices five or six times; you know, stretch things out and make it multiple trips.”
“I like that idea,” said Brad. “I need to get out of here.”
“Yes, your black eye tells me that,” said Gerald. “On my way out I’ll lodge a formal complaint that you are being mistreated.”
“This?” Brad touched the edge of the discolored skin around his eye. “This is nothing. They take my food. They took my fucking blanket. And I haven’t taken a shower in three weeks because I know better than to be around a bunch of other naked men in this hell hole. Have you ever taken it up the ass, Mr. lawyer whose name I can’t remember? Because I do not plan to be taking it up the ass. I have much more important things on my mind than being roughed up in the yard. You guys need to get me out of here before I get owned by some gang!”
Brad had gotten loud and the door opened. A guard looked in. Gerald held up one finger. He handed Brad a pen.
“Time’s up,” growled the guard.
Brad scratched his signature on the paper. He tried to keep the pen but the guard searched him and found it.
“You just love getting written up, don’t you, pretty boy?” growled the guard.
“Please,” Brad begged over his shoulder as he was led away. “Get me out of here!”
Gerald snatched up the papers and stuffed them in his briefcase.
By the time he pulled his car out of the prison drive, his whole roll of TUMS was gone.
The judge treated this divorce just like he had treated hundreds of others. Both parties had agreed to split the assets. The cash would be tabulated and split evenly. The parties would decide who got what property and that list would be returned to the judge for his approval. Their attorneys could speak with their clients and negotiate the split. Brad was not allowed to leave the lockup to discuss who got the golf clubs. In the end, the judge instructed the attorneys to determine only the assets in particular that each wanted. All other assets would be auctioned off and the proceeds be divided in half.
Gerald always removed the page that split seven million dollar’s worth of gold and jewels when he gave the updated list to Brad. And he always put the missing page back in the stack when there were negotiations with the other lawyer.
Brad wanted money, rather than things. New things could be purchased with money. He agreed to give Molly the house if he retained ownership of his investments. It took a month, but finally both parties had agreed how to split the assets. Mrs. Fitts had made a long list of the items she wished to keep. Mr. Fitts had identified a few items that would be placed in storage until his criminal trial and any obligations issuing from that were complete. All remaining items in the list would be sold at auction. All Brad asked about each time Gerald saw him was how much money he would have in the bank when the divorce was final. Gerald always answered vaguely. He used the word “millions” a lot.
If Bradley Fitts didn’t know that the gold had been discovered, and was considered “cash”, which meant an even split then it wasn’t Gerald’s fault. And if Fitts didn’t read every line item on the final list, that wasn’t Gerald’s fault, either.
He took the list – minus the page that could blow up in Gerald’s face - to Mr. Hoople for his final approval. This time he got to go into the office and talk to his boss.
Mr. Hoople didn’t even look at the list.
“I’ll have Archer get him to sign this the next time he goes in for a conference,” said Gerald’s boss.
“But I planned on doing that,” Gerald said.
“We don’t want a bevy of lawyers visiting this guy and drawing attention to this. You’ve already been to see him what, three times? The media routinely get visitor lists with FOIs. This is a circus already. You haven’t been approached by any reporters, have you?”
“No, Sir. I would have informed you of that if it happened.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll have Archer get his signature and you can take it to the judge and get this over with before any industrious journalist goes through who has filed for divorce lately and sees this.”
“But I kind of need to talk to him, Sir,” Gerald almost moaned.
“Give Archer a list of your questions and he’ll get the answers to you. I want to hear that the judge approved everything and has banged the gavel.”
“Yes, Sir,” Gerald said.
He left, empty-handed.
By the time he got back to his desk he was already practicing looking confused and saying he had given Mr. Hoople twenty pages, not nineteen, and that fucking Brendan Archer must have lost one.
Or, when the signed agreement was given back to him to take to the judge, he’d just put the missing page back in and presto he’ll be off the case. If there was any fallout about the list, he’d just say Archer didn’t discuss the list well enough with the client, or something like that.
A week later Gerald and a nobody lawyer named Gene produced an agreement signed by both parties. The property had been split up and what belonged to Brad would be put in a rental storage unit until Brad was free to use or sell it. Funds had been added up and split down the middle. Half of the gold and jewels had been removed from the safety deposit box and his half of all money would be put into the bank account where his gold was.
Both lawyers had been present in court when the agreement was given to the judge.
“Since this divorce is uncontested, and since assets have been assigned, the parties have ninety days to take possession of their property. Suitable financial experts will be hired and paid out of the combined financial assets. It will be their job to move money and establish separate accounts. Any conflicts will be handled by you two gentlemen. I don’t want to hear about this case again.”
He banged his gavel and ignored Gerald and Gene.
Gerald never talked to Brad again. The judge in his criminal case said there would be no more delays and the trial proceeded. The jury only deliberated for forty-five minutes before they came back with a verdict of guilty on all charges. A month later Bradley Fitts was sentenced to forty-five years with credit of 135 days already served. He was sent to the state penitentiary, where it was fully another month before he was processed, assigned a cell, and was treated for contusions to his face and head, including one eye so swollen that he couldn’t see out of it.
He said he slipped and fell, hitting his face on a wall.
By the time he got to talk with his attorney and was told the divorce was final, Brad said he didn’t give a fuck about the divorce and wanted to know when his appeal would be filed.
“It has been filed already, but you’re going to need to get another lawyer.”
“Why?”
“The ... ah ... funds that have been paying for your defense have dried up. If we can’t get paid we can’t continue to represent you.”
“What do you mean dried up? My father is a millionaire!”
“You’ll have to discuss that with him. All I know is that whoever was paying for your defense has stopped. Unless you have the funds to keep paying, yourself, then I’m afraid you’ll have to find somebody else to continue with your appeal.”
“I’ve got the money,” growled Brad. “I just need to get access to it. I need you to get me a checkbook.”
“I can’t do that, but if you assign a power of attorney to someone to manage your financial situation, they can make disbursements. Is there anybody you’d trust to do that?”
“I don’t even know where my money is,” said Brad. Nobody had mentioned his gold and he wanted it to stay that way. He thought hard about who he could trust with his money.
“Could somebody at your firm be my power of attorney?”
“I’m afraid that would be a conflict of interests. What I can do is get a list of a few certified public accountants who could work on your behalf. That person could also file your taxes, which is important, since you’re going to be here for a while.”
“If I have to file taxes that is eight months from now. I thought you guys could get me out in a month.”
“It will take longer than that. We’re stalled, at the moment, but after you hire a CPA to manage your funds he can pay us and we’ll be pushing on that appeal.”
Two hours later, using the last of his credit to make phone calls, Brad dialed his father’s number. When it was answered, his father said, “I’m sorry, son, but you’ve already cost us a bundle. You said they’d get you off. You said you weren’t drunk and that somebody cut you off. They had CCTV footage of the accident, Brad. There was no other car. And the lab test showed your blood alcohol level was two points over the maximum. They found you guilty because you were guilty. You killed that girl and our family name will be blackened for I don’t know how long. You have to take responsibility for your actions and that means you have to face the music.”
“Can you at least put some money in my commissary account?” groaned Brad.
He knew that tone in his father’s voice. It was the tone that said he’d made up his mind and nothing was going to change it.
“I’ll talk to your mother but she is terribly embarrassed and I don’t think she’ll want to support you any longer. Now that you’ve been found guilty she is horrified to go to events or even her card parties. All she can think about is how that DNA test showed the baby was yours. You killed our grandchild, boy.”
“Please, Dad,” Brad whined.
The connection went dead.
Molly sat at the kitchen table and stared at the document that said she was no longer married to Bradley Allen Fitts. Delores sat across the table, looking at the separation of assets document.
“Girl, you rich,” she said, looking up at Molly.
“I don’t know how to be rich,” said Molly.
“You got the house and everything in it. You got the cars. You got almost four million dollars in the bank. You can do anything you want to.”
“Can I?”
Delores knew what Molly meant.
“He is just as eager to get you in bed as he is to get me in bed. You don’t have to resist the urge anymore.”
“It all seems so unreal,” Molly sighed.
Delores got up and went to pull Molly up. She put her hands on Molly’s waist and leaned forward to press her thick lips to Molly’s thinner ones. It was a five second kiss and then Delores leaned back.
“Did that feel real?”
“I would rather make love to Marcus than you,” Molly said. She pulled Delores into a tight embrace. “I love your son and I love your daughters and I love you, too,” Molly moaned.
“I have an idea,” said Delores.
“What?” Molly said, stepping back a foot.
“I think we should both get some slinky, slutty bedroom wear and get gussied up and then call Marcus and tell him we need to talk to him. I think it would be fun to see what he’d do.”
“I love that idea,” Molly gushed. “At least I would have some kind of goal. Right now I feel like I’m floating in an ocean and there is no land in sight.”
“Marcus will be your island,” said Delores. “We can seduce him together. Would it bother you if I was there when he becomes your island?”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.