Chapter 3

Michelle and Peter

In the span of a few weeks my entire world had turned itself upside down then righted itself, only to be turned all topsy-turvy again. Maybe it was a lack of sleep. My little brother Peter and I have classes at Sam Houston State University and should have been in bed, maybe even actually sleeping in those beds.

Sleeping? In a bed? How odd ... Sleeping in separate beds to prepare ourselves properly for school. But instead we were both staking out the boathouse together, looking to partake of a different sort of an education. Waiting and watching for Shelia, Mrs. Rhodes, from the ‘hide’ we had prepared while dad was in the boat out on the lake.

My little brother had my jeans scooted down a bit and was alternately massaging first my right and then my left buttock in his strong hands. Oh, that felt so nice, while very lightly toying with my blood filled and somewhat greasy labia. While this was a fact-finding mission, and dad had much to teach me, much to teach both of us. I had thus far been quite successfully stimulated by Pete’s loving touch, so as to be pretty much ambivalent as to whether there would be another ‘class’ tonight.

As I lay in the improvised hide my wrists were bound together above my head, and my ankles bound as well below me with rough hemp rope. I could make nary a sound, as that vile scoundrel Snidely Whiplash had tied my fancy frilly white pantaloons into a gag, which he then dastardly placed in my mouth. His rough hands were within my many dainty petticoats and he was...

Oh my, he was rudely touching my most private of places. He was groping me. Me ... Poor, pure, young ... Sweet Nell ... Groping her bum, and forcefully fingering her sweet sweetness located nearby. As he did so ... Oh, the brute ... As he did so ... Oh, poor utterly helpless Sweet Nell was becoming a soppy wet mess.

It was wrong, Nell knew it was wrong. So why didn’t it feel wrong to her. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. To feel what? Good? All tingly, being manhandled by a mustachioed villain with a large black top hat. But Sweet Nell’s body was reacting to Snidley’s unwanted touch, it was preparing itself for inevitable penetration.

Tied to a railway track Nell was waiting and perversely gleefully anticipating the next oncoming train. She was hoping that gallant Dudley did not arrive in time to save her from the Federico Fellini Express as it entered the damp and inviting Fenwick Tunnel on its way to ... O ... Oh ... Yes.

Ahhhh, oh, oh yes that was nice. Pete’s talented hand making her ... Sweet Nell ... Making me Mickey just so ... So happy in this “dark sacred night,” thinking to Nell, to her, to myself, to Mickey, “what a wonderful, wonderful world.” I could almost hear ‘Satchmo’ Louie Armstrong singing softly in the nearby trees by the lake, as I returned back to earth.

Being with Pete made me not care that we had wasted a night in the backyard, when we could have been doing pretty much the same thing in my nice comfortable bed. Inside, without all the mosquitoes, and those smoky PIC coils ... Pushing my many doubts away for another day.

Not doubts about fucking Pete. No, loving my wonderful caring little brother was absolutely the right thing for me. Those doubts were doubts about whether it was it really the right thing for me to do to, or maybe for Peter. We could not ever tell anyone else about our love.

It would be pretty easy to hide in plain sight. It was completely natural for siblings to do things, lots of things together and to be really close. But not to be intimate. Not kissing each other in public or Peter placing his hand even briefly on my butt like it just had been, well on TOP of my jeans.

Leaving Steve had definitely been the right thing for me to do for me. Which wasn’t saying the same thing as saying that my claiming Peter as mine was the right thing for me to do to, or for him. I could have put myself back out there into the fray.

I had boyfriends and even a couple of lovers before Steve. I could do it again, but those others would not, could not possibly hold up in comparison with Pete. It was almost as if Peter had been created by the angels specifically with Michelle in mind.

Doubts about us watching dad torment and then please his very kinky lover, because it was voyeuristic, and kinda weird watching your father have very kinky sex with one of your old high school teachers. Interestingly though no doubts about watching Sheila gush and dance, scream and come. Certainly, no doubts about my wanting Pete to do something mildly like that to me. Just questions about how to make it happen without messing up what we have together right now.

No, I really want Peter to spank me, to tie me up and fuck me, and to do to me some of the other things we have witnessed together in the boathouse. I mean logically how else could I decide if it was really as much fun as it looked like it was for Sheila when dad did it to her. Besides Deuteronomy tells parents to teach their children all that they know so they shall follow the correct path and Ephesians says children should be taught discipline. Dad is obviously an expert who can teach us much in that subject.

We returned to the house and since dad was there, our separate bedrooms. I should prefer the mosquitoes and Pete, to soft blankets no mosquitoes and no Pete. Daylight, breakfast and the shared drive to Huntsville came too early. Although on this day I tried something new, a demure dress rather than blue jeans. Just the little dress, a belt and sandals, no bra or panties.

Once we were out on highway one-ninety I lifted the hem of the dress a bit giving my brother-lover a clear sideward glance at my most private of places, the one he now indisputably owned. I made it clear that what was mine was his to look at, and to most certainly touch. To touch all he wanted to so long as he kept the car on the road so that we could do it again and again.

On our third ‘stakeout’ of the boathouse Sheila pulled up and parked behind the building so that we could not see her car from the house. But we were not in the house, we were in a repurposed duck blind and we had our game in sight. Two kinksters in full view as they entered the barn-red building through the propped open back door. We approached quickly but silently and were able to see dad and Sheila embracing and kissing each other just like most couples do.

Then Sheila removed her tasteful high necked and cuffed long sleeve white blouse. High collars and long sleeves in this weather, another ignored clue. She wore no bra, and dad picked up one decently sized breast and then the other by the substantial rings pierced through the base of their nipples. She was wearing a skinny baby blue, no a little turquoise dog collar that matched her tasteful skirt and pumps. Turquoise pumps today, I mean really, how many different pairs of pumps does Mrs. Rhodes own.

She walked to the wall and took the thick black leather cuffs down from their hook and carefully buckled them onto her own wrists herself. Then she chose the smaller black rubber ball gag from the wall, locking it into place in her mouth, and after that a very small black fabric blindfold that a normal person might wear to sleep in. She unzipped and then stepped from her turquoise skirt. She wore no panties and her outer labia were again held together by that big brass padlock hanging from the substantial piercings in her sex.

My God! I wonder if she ever wore that to school. Was Mrs. Rhodes ever in front of our class reading excerpts from Shelly’s “Fragment of a Romance” to us with no panties on under her skirt, her outer cunt lips padlocked together with a big brass lock. Shelia getting off on romantic poetry while that not-insubstantial brass weight tugged on her cunt, erotically making her aware of her every movement.