Date: Sat, 20 Jul 2002 10:11:00 -0700 (PDT) From: PsychoPuppy Subject: Tool-Men Chapter 3: Memories of Flesh The following is a fictional story involving fictional characters from the television series "Home Improvement." It is intended for the entertainment of consenting adults in the privacy of their homes, and if you object to or offended by descriptions of sexual acts between consenting adults, do not read any further. The sexual orientation and practices depicted in this story do not in any way suggest or reflect the actions or orientations of the characters or the actors who portray these characters. The phrases Home Improvement, Tooltime & Binford, and all characters are trademarks of and copyright The Walt Disney Company, Touchstone Television and Wind Dancer Production Group. I want to make something perfectly clear; this is an erotica series. I did not write this to be a quick porn story, or any other cheap form of entertainment. Some installations will be mostly dialogue and scene setting, others will be filled with hot man sex. If you are not interested in reading the actual story, then just skim ahead to the "good parts-" but know you are missing a lot of intrigue and realistic plot lines. Well, that is to say, I have attempted to keep the plot line relatively true to the TV series and reality in general. Anyway... enjoy! Tool-Men By PsychoPuppy Part 3: Memories of Flesh Jill had always clamed that Tim could sleep through World War III. Tim knew it was a lie, but he also knew better then to argue with the Harpy-Queen over such a trivial matter. When the boys were younger and called out in the night, if they were sick or had a nightmare, it was he who went to them. They called for "dad." When they were babies he would try to wake Jill to go rock them back to sleep- "try' being the operative word. Even knocking her in the ribs with a hard elbow sometimes didn't even do the job. So there he was, a young man working full time, going to rock his screaming kids back to sleep. All the while his lovely wife slept the night away, and complained that he was always "tired and not in the mood to do anything" the next day. Yet now he suspected that the odd turn of sleeping habits might come to his advantage. Tim's eyes had fluttered open a few moments earlier, still drowsy and unfocussed in the early morning darkness, but his hearing was sharp as ever. Then he heard the sound again, a grunt, or groan, or some other type of noise. At first he thought one of the boys had fallen down the stairs, but soon relaxed as the sound came again, softer this time, and most definitely not a tone of pain or discomfort. Tim recognized that sound as a sly smile crept across his stubble smattered face: it was the same sound he made during especially good orgasm. And now one of his boys was making it. Tim was not sure exactly why, but he suddenly felt a rush of pride in that moment. He lay in the dark and strained his ears for the sound his son's pleasure, to hear the same deep grunt that often reverberated from his own throat. He realized then that his boys were going to be full men soon, one of them already capable of grunting the same mating call as his old man. Slowly Tim got out of bed, careful not to disturb the wench laying at his side and snoring (from both ends) in her seemingly peaceful slumber. The hallway was as silent as a tomb while Tim stealthily padded down its carpeted length. He wasn't quite sure why he needed to know which one of the boys had made that sound, but something deep inside forced his hesitant feet onward. It felt almost primal to him, like a call from the ages when men hunted beside wolves and there was nothing stronger then a farther and sons bond. He stood outside Randy's door, listening intently for any sounds which would tell him of his suspicions. There was considerable doubt that the sound had come from Randy; the 18 year old barely had strong stubble along his cheeks and almost none on his chin. But still, Tim paused and waited. One minute passed, and another. `Forget this,' he thought darkly, `Lets see what's behind door number 1!' Carefully, and oh so very cautiously, he opened his middle son's door just a crack and peered in. In the darkness of the early morning, nothing but the scant outlines of furniture were visible to the Tool-Man. Strangely, no sounds of breathing could be heard at all... meaning Randy wasn't in his bedroom. `Maybe he couldn't sleep and wanted to go wax the hot rod,' Tim pondered as he closed the bedroom door with the same care he had used in opening it, 'That always helps me sleep. Wait a minute, this is Randy. He isn't a car guy...' A strange thought pounced from a dark, hidden corner of Tim's mind and exposed itself to his conscious thoughts. With a shaking step, Tim crept further down the hall to Brad's room and closed his eyes, focusing ever ounce of concentration to his hearing. There was breathing behind the door. Heavy breathing. Very heavy breathing. And unless Tim totally missed his guess, there was the distinct sound of two people behind the door, not one. Which could only mean... Tim placed a trembling hand on the brass doorknob and took firm hold. Drawing a now shuddered breath, he paused for a moment, stealing himself to what might be discovered. He was their father, it was his right to know.... `Wait! To know what?' But the question was left to linger on the edge of his mind as the doorknob twisted fully around in his strong grip, and the door slid open a crack with not a single sound. Tim leaned forward and peered in, the dim light of the rising sun casting the blackness from the room and replacing it with an inky gray. The scent of man sweat and sex hit him in the face like a brick, its odor unmistakable. He could clearly see the outlines of the objects which filled his eldest son's room... and the two bodies on the bed. A bulge began to inflate Tim's boxers, but he was beyond the point of noticing. * Randy sat up and looked down at Brad, his older brother still experiencing the occasional shiver of pleasure in the afterglow of his incredible orgasm. Peeking southward, however, Randy remembered that he was still far from finished with the night's fun, despite that dawn was quick approaching. His nearly-6" prick jutted from the thick mat of sweaty pubes which graced its base while a slow stream of precum dribbled down the shaft, coating his low hanging balls. Brad opened one eye, then the other, beaming a smile at the coolest little brother in the whole fucking world. "Hey." He whispered as a final tiny shudder of joy raced from his now deflated prick to his brain. "Hey." Randy responded, leaning forward to rest fully on his big brothers chest, his head dropping over Brad's left shoulder. Brad instinctively reached around and gave Randy a solid hug, pressing him close, and noticing the burning hard-on that still throbbed between the younger boy's legs. "Dude, you are an animal! So soon?" Brad half chuckled. "No dufus!" Randy chided, "I still haven't got off. You selfish bastard." In response Brad punched him squarely in the arm, while guiding his hips to a kneeling position just above his own crotch. Randy knelt on all four's above his brother and closed his eyes, giving in to what was to come. Brad ran his fingertips along Randy's chest and belly, finally grasping the steel cock which pointed up at his face. Randy moaned softly as Brad's already lubed hand easily manipulated his slimy prick, working the shiny head around in slow circles, and then quickly pumping the shaft. With his other hand Brad held on to Randy's shoulder, moving the boy in time with his strokes. Ragged breathing soon followed this hot course of action, as the heat from Brads whole body pressed up to greet Randy's sweaty flesh. The bigger boy had also begun to move his own legs slowly up and down Randy's inner thighs, lightly brushing his balls and tickling him with the stout blonde hair which marked his maturity. Physical maturity, at any rate. "Soon?" Brad barely whispered as he opened his eyes and saw Randy's face; it was all scrunched up, his mouth opening and closing in gasps and muted moans like some bizarre fish out of water. The lads head lulled back and forth, as if in a trance. Brad ran his strong hand across Randy's shoulder and up the side of his neck, nuzzling the full side of his face and running the ball of his thumb across his brother's lips. A loud gasp escaped those same lips almost immediately, followed by vigorous fucking of the hand which held the boys strong cock. "B... Brad..." Randy whispered unconsciously, something he never normally did. `Wow,' thought Brad in a far distant place of his mind, `Randy has never been this hot before, what turned his crank?' Just as the lusty thought ran its course, his brother tensed and collapsed to his elbows, hips dancing to and fro as a thick river of cum exploded from his screaming dick. Low grunts and groans wracked Randy's body as Brad's hand continued to milk his brother's seed all over his lightly furred chest and belly. The hand which had been caressing Randy's face was quickly needed, however, to silence the younger boy from moaning too loudly. * Brad's strong hand slipped over his mouth just as another wave of pleasure sent Randy's body into sock, as if he had been fucked by a live wire. Randy was beyond any point of conscious thought as his spasms began to come harder and faster, and he could smell the full load of sperm which coated Brad's toned chest and crotch. But then a sudden movement, an action his rational mind might have dismissed, caught his primal attention. In the mirror beside Brad's bed there was something odd... Randy's mind half snapped back into place as he realized what he had just seen. His father was watching from the doorway. Randy squeezed his eyes shut hard as another spasm of pleasure swam from his cock to every square inch of his stout body, invading his brain. * `FUCK!' Tim cursed silently as he hurried to firmly, yet quietly, close Brad's bedroom door. His prick was as hard as the slab of garnet he had dropped on Al's foot yesterday, and eagerly pointed the way back to his own bedroom. The man rushed with cat-like grace through the darkened hallway, emerging in his bedroom and slipping into the washroom before he had even taken two full breaths. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he closed the door behind, and locked it without thought. The toilet made a disapproving creak as he all but collapsed backward on it, both legs no longer enough to support his wavering weight. Thoughts and feeling, half buried emotions and fragments of dreams spun dizzily though the Tool-Man's head. Drawing deep, yet uneven breaths, Tim leaned forward to rest his head in both hands. `What have I just seen?!' Tim asked himself as droplets of sweat slid down his face and back, shimmering in the dull morning light like beads of oil. `Brad and Randy were just... oh no... oh nonono. They were just... with each other. How?' His thought pattern went on like this for quite some time. Every emotion was just as confused as his rational mind; one minute causing the man to feel aroused beyond his wildest dreams, while at another he was nauseous as a virgin sailor. "Its just not fare." He finally sighed. `Oh, but it is fare. Isn't it, Tool-Man?' A small voice in the back of Tim's brain mocked him, hiding within the deepest shadows. `It's perfectly fare. You had fun with Marty, and now Brand and Randy continue the Wheel of Lust. You should be happy they love each other so much. Some brothers _hate_ one another.' `Like how Marty probably hates me?!!!' Tim shrieked back at the voice, his face turning red even as tears stung his eyes, `Like how Marty and I cared for each other so much when we were younger, but now barely ever talk?! Is that the legacy my sons will have, then? A pitiful relationship for the price of a few nights of...' But anger and shame had overtaken him by this point, and Tim was beyond finishing the sentence. Even if he had wanted to. Only three tears fell from the mans rugged face that night as he sat on the toilet seat, further contemplating what he had seen. And then, slowly, unconsciously, he stopped contemplating and just started remembering. Reminiscing. Recalling the sounds, and the smells of Brad's bedroom. Randy's grunts, and... Marty. All feelings of guilt fled from the Tool-Man as his boxers hit the tiled floor, its crotch fully dampened by the flow of man juice which dripped even now from the life-giving slit in his prick. His tool was hot to the touch, beyond hot, it was like grasping the tail pipe of a formula one race car. The clear wet juice flowed freely, thick and slick, lubricating the shaft and moistening his balls to a soft shine. Tim's right hand flowed over his jerking prick in short, smooth strokes while his head rolled from side to side, eyes lightly closed. His left hand moved forcefully up and down his chest and belly, the fingers massaging the sensitive skin normally protected by coarse dark hair. Suddenly those strong fingers dug into his wet pubes and brought the scent of his own sex to fill his lungs. Bombarded by the stench of his pits and crotch, Tim could not help but notice how similar it was to that of his sons. His sons. His boys lying on Brad's bed, getting each other off. Sharing their most sacred fluid. Giving each other pleasure beyond anything they had ever imagined. Marty's legs wrapped around his hips as Tim bucked his concrete rod in and out of the younger mans tight asshole. Marty's tight, smooth little asshole. It had been a raging furnace, its heat enough to flash fry any mortal flesh. But Tim's penis was no weak mortal flesh. It was the Tool-Man's Tool: an instrument perfected for fucking and ... RRRrrrrgh RRRRRrrrrrrrrrgh RRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggghhh!!! Tim grunted as deeply and loudly as he dared, heart pounding in his chest as ragged gasps of air flooded his lungs with the pungent odor of his own fuck frenzy. His boys fucking. Marty wanting it. Needing it, oh god, *begging* for it. The orgasm hit like a 16-wheeler, knocking the wind out of Tim's quivering lungs as the first shot of hot cum sprayed up into the air and landed on his face, coating his lips. The second followed closely behind the first, and the third anointed his hairy chest with the seed which had formed the objects of his sexual fantasy. The fourth and fifth shot, each respectable, came as a surprise to Tim who had not blasted that many in quite some time. Tim's hand squeezed and milked his dwindling hard-on as he licked the sperm from his lips, and massaged the rest into his chest and belly, before finally collapsing back on the toilet. "Oh my god." He whispered after a short time. `Where're the feelings of guilt? Where's the mental scolding?' He wondered blankly as his unfocussed eyes stared at the ceiling... and beyond. * When Randy opened his eyes the shadow of his father had vanished from the doorway, which was now closed tight. `Did I imagine that?' He wondered to himself, looking back down at Brad who was beaming a triumphant smile up at his kid bro. `But if I imagined it... then why would I think of dad watching us gettin' off? Why would I think of dad...' Randy's thoughts suddenly stopped as something in his sharp little mind clicked into place. * "Randy?" Brad whispered as his younger brother lay down atop his strong form, "Hey, you okay? Ya look all shook up." "N-no, I'm... um... I'm alright Butt-head." Randy sassed back to the concerned look his bro was insulting him with. "Hell, I'm better then alright." Randy nestled down close to Brad and hugged him tight. Brad returned the gesture whole heartedly. "Randy, I'm sorry." Brand whispered after a long time of simply basking in the afterglow of their mutually mind-blowing orgasms. "For what?" Randy replied, propping himself onto his elbows and looking down at the face of his older brother only inches from his own. "I should've told you, er, I mean...." Brad was never very good with words, and after he and Randy had `played' he always felt shy around the younger boy, "I mean, I should've let you know when I was goin'a... y'know... loose it." Randy returned the statement with a blank expression for a long minute, then his eyes widened in recognition of what Brad was trying to say. "Oh! Hey, its okay, I need the protein if I'm goin'a get as big as you!" This was obviously a joke, because at nearly the same age, Randy was well under a foot shorter then his older sibling. He was short period, really. Even his younger brother was taller by far. But still, the slender frame he had been fated to wear was cute in its own way, compact and delicate. But still a man's growing body, and tough enough to give what it could take. "Did you, um, manage to..." Brad finished his question in a blur of words, leaving Randy to replay the sentence a few times in his mind before understanding it, "DidYouMagageToSpitItAllOut?" Randy hesitated. He wasn't sure how to tell Brad that he had swallowed the vast majority of his fraternal spunk. Randy had sucked Brad more then a few times, and his generous brother had returned the favor more then a few himself, but they had always been careful not to go "over the line." But now Randy was not only over the line... he had crossed it, then backed up, crossed it again, then turned around and kicked it to death. "Randy." Brad's voice was very quiet. It was not so much a question, nor a reminder that he was waiting, but just a single statement. He knew. "I'm sorry Brad, it's just that I was so fucking hot and you were so into it, I..." "Another line we crossed together." Brad whispered simply. "Ya." To be continued... If you enjoyed this first installment of "Tool-Men," or have any suggestions, please e-mail me (PsychoPuppy21@yahoo.com) and let me know! If you want to send flames or insults, those are welcome too... I always enjoy a good laugh.