Date: Mon, 20 Feb 2017 07:45:55 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Karl & Greg 16

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/karl-and-greg/karl-and-greg-1) for warnings
and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between blood-related 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. Skip food-related
paragraphs with (^) at the start. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at
donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

I heard as his own voice rose in pitch and knew we'd last no longer. With a
power-plunge down and a brutal finger-fuck up, Greg and I began to unload
in unison. Even over his back, I could see Greg's jism erupt, painting the
bed and wall beyond. I unloaded into his ass, unable to scream more as I'd
no air left. I flooded him and he blew over and over. The release was
physical, mental, emotional and perhaps even spiritual. Greg finally fell
forward off me and onto my legs. I summoned what strength was left and
flipped atop him, chest to back, pulling him to me. I rolled and spooned
him, snuggling and clinging to him, feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm
as he could feel mine. I dragged the blanket over us and we were both
asleep in moments.

*****

Karl & Greg 16: Cum Uppance

By Bear Pup

M/M; cuddling; oral; turnabout; teasing

When we woke, we had about two hours before Greg expected Pa to be home. We
cuddled and played a bit, but Greg was insistent that he have a meal
ready. I offered to help but he laughed (rightly) at my kitchen skills and
instead dismissed me on an odd errand. I was to go through the house,
inside and out, and make a list of all the projects that needed work. Trim
needing paint or repair, loose screens, squeaky doors, weedy flowerbeds. I
was still moving gingerly, but it was all within what my body could
tolerate.

I heard Pa's truck pull in. I was deeply conflicted about what I'd find
when Greg confronted him, and even more so about what I wanted to find. I
was furious at Pa for hurting Greg, but utterly baffled by the fact that we
both ended up (seemingly) happy with the outcome. What did it mean? What
was the right thing to do now? Luckily, the smart brother was in charge of
the thinking again. I smiled, relaxed (slightly) and went inside.

I found Greg on the floor, still naked, removing Pa's boots, web-belt and
overclothes. I could hear a shower running upstairs. Pa was exhausted but
beaming with pleasure and pride. As soon as I walked in, Greg jumped to me
and pulled off my dirty trainers, fearfully reeking socks and everything
except my boxers and jock. I was blushing something fierce and Pa winked at
me as he headed upstairs.

Greg finished and said, just as Pa's foot hit the first riser, "The shower
is running for you and should be hot, Karl. Let me know later if it's right
for you." My eyes went wide and I looked frantically to Pa, who'd turned so
quick he got a crink in his neck. Greg got up, that amazing fucking ass on
full display and petting my inner leg as he stood, then went to the kitchen
without a glance at either of us.

I wrenched my eyes away from that divine ass to look at Pa, who hadn't
moved. Pa shaved off above the bridge of his nose to separate his eyebrows
(I did too). At that moment, though, his was in full unibrow mode as he
scowled toward the kitchen door, any hint of a blank patch furrowed
away. 'Oh fuck. This is gonna be so bad,' I thought as he went upstairs and
I followed.

The shower in the bath Greg and I shared was, as promised, warm and
perfect. I heard Pa start his own in the adjacent master bath. I got
finished and dressed (more or less; why wear anything but fresh shorts?). I
walked in, utter confused, but Greg (now dressed in that sexy-as-fuck
apron) just ignored me so I sat down and enjoyed the amazing view.

^ There was a dish Mom had made that I had truly cherished as a kid. It
wasn't complicated or hard, just... yummy and special. I saw shredded
lettuce, grated white and yellow cheese and a thick, red salsa reeking of
peppers and tomatoes. My stomach growled like a lion as I realised... Greg
was making 'bad tacos'.

^ There was nothing bad about these wondrous folded slices of heaven, other
than they were perhaps the unhealthiest thing known to God or man. A patty
of hamburger on a corn tortilla was laid into an electric skillet with a
quarter-inch of bacon grease. When it softened, it was folded over and
cooked, then turned. Since new ones went in when done ones came out, you
ended up with an assembly line of scrumptiousness producing crispy-soft and
mouth-watering sandwiches begging to be stuffed with cheese and salsa and
salad and anything else that comes to mind.

^ My mouth was already in full sprinkler mode. I hadn't had them since I
was, like, ten at the demand of every coach who'd ever heard of them. Mom
had stopped even cooking them for Pa after she got a rather snippy note
from the family doctor. Apparently, salty hamburger fried in bacon
drippings and loaded with drippy-melty cheese and other goodies was a
non-starter. Pa tried to ease him off with tales of massive lettuce and
salsa components, but Doctor Ryan was not impressed. Bad tacos were
relegated to fond, salivating memories

^ Pa arrived as the first set came out. Greg brought us each two, setting
my plate down a moment before Pa's. We both launched into the
delicacies. As an 18-year-old, I polished mine quickly and Greg instantly
replenished my plate. Pa finished and, when Greg noticed, gave him more as
well. Greg asked how I liked it and was it as good as Mom's but as I had a
half-taco and about two pounds of cheese, lettuce and salsa dripping from
my maw, I could only grunt in ecstasy. Pa's brows narrowed further.

^ It took about three more rounds, Greg eating at the stove just as Mom
always had before my sex/pain/food-addled brain noticed the pattern. I
would hardly swallow the last of a taco, sip near the bottom of my
milk-glass or get a napkin to the point where no more grease could be
absorbed before Greg was there with a replacement. Pa got served, but at
Greg's convenience.

I'll tell you what, though, PA noticed. Greg didn't ignore him. No, much
worse. He was attentive and helpful like one would be to a welcome
guest. He treated me, however, in the clearly-attentive and solicitous way
I guessed he'd been spoiling Pa with for two weeks. The pace of consumption
finally slowed. Greg had a few more ready and fried them off. He smiled at
me and said, "Taco salad for lunch next week?" I nodded like bobble-head
trying desperately to look anyplace but Pa.

Pa grumped off to watch the game. Greg had a beer ready for him as he moved
past, which seemed to improve things. I got up to help clear the mess. Greg
leant in and said, "Baby bro. Do you trust me?" I nodded. "Go into the
living room with Pa and watch the game, okay?" I nodded stupidly, at a
complete loss. But I never really minded watching the Reeds humiliate
themselves. I didn't have the guts to tell Pa that, when in Indy, I'd
joined Pete and become a White Sox fan.

I walked in and Greg was there seconds after I settled into the
armchair. "Karl, you forgot to get a beer." He turned and I am certain that
he clenched and rippled his ass for effect. What the FUCK was going on? Pa
was scowling at the TV, and not just cuz the Reds were already behind by
two runs.

We both started to get into the game, deriding the useless players that
'held the Reds back' and cheering whenever they failed to completely
face-plant. The kitchen noises, as always, a mere background detail. Both
of us, as Pa'd taught me, teased and caressed our jock-boxer-covered rods,
knowing the explosive payoff later. Maybe ten minutes later, Greg came
in. Pa looked up as Greg moved to me. I was in complete shock, though, when
he climbed onto the arm of my chair, legs dangling between my own.

Pa turned his dark and stormy gaze back to the game. I knew he was faking
for two reasons. One, he didn't drink the brand of beer being advertised
and I kept seeing him look over with the corner of his eye. This was going
to go so, so, so, sooooooooooo bad. When the game came back, Greg waited
until Pa burst out in a stream of invective for (yet another) dropped fly
ball and leant forward. "Play with my cock and balls, Karl."

Bewildered doesn't half cover my mind at that point. I reached down and
stroked him lightly before returning to my own teasing. He nudged me and I
finally got into a rhythm. When I was getting close, I'd switch to Greg,
and then back to me. Having my hand in constant motion was distracting, but
not in a bad way. The smell of Greg's still-bare crotch was having a
serious impact on me, though, and I couldn't resist sniffing my fingers
occasionally. Greg just smiled and faux-watched the game.

Pa cleared his throat. "Get me another beer, sport?" Greg smiled at him and
turned to me as he got up.

"You need one too, Baby Bro?" I just nodded, completely unsure what I was
getting into. Greg went to the kitchen and brought three beers, handing the
first to me and the second to Pa before he set his on the table next to me
and curled back up in my lap and I returned to the scritch-scratch of
Baseball Edging.

I sipped my beer, trying with mounting desperation to keep my eyes equally
on Greg's dick, Pa's glowering brow and the delightful humiliation of the
Reds. Maybe 30 minutes later, Greg leant down and whispered, "You need to
do homework. Tell Pa." He placed the punctuation with a grope and pinch of
my desperate cockhead and I (sorry to admit it) squeaked.

"Pa {soprano, fight for baritone, cough-cough}, um, Pa, I've got to, you
know, study? I have tests all week and they, well, they make my grade and
I've been doing Brickyard stuff for months."

Greg got up and helped me stand, my raging boner evident to Pa and him, but
that didn't bother me. Pa taught me to be proud of my rampant dick. I was a
bit taken aback when he looked at my throbber and frowned, though. I
scurried upstairs to my room.

I actually did need to study. I tried, really and truly, to read all the
cra- stuff they told me I needed, but it was the BRICKYARD! It was racing
HEAVEN! I started to frantically look through my books, noticing that one a
few had grease marks. Since grease was an inescapable companion of an
apprentice mechanic, that means they were the only ones I'd touched. I was
on the verge of panic when Greg came into my room.

"Karl, breathe! You're not going to fail. I won't let it happen. Let's
start with Monday. What tests do you have Monday?" I frantically consulted
my schedule (after a ten-minute comedy routine of finding it stuffed inside
a folder).

"Uh, Um, Social Studies and, um, U.S., um, History." I gulped audibly. I
was going to fail and blow my chance at Purdue. I was going to blow my
chance at the local mechanic school. I was gonna blow my chance at blowing!

"Stop, Karl. Focus. Get a pad out. Shut up, do what I tell you." I did,
finding a pad and pen in my backpack. I suddenly squeaked like a girl when
I sat up and Greg had crawled under the desk. He made me hunch forward
until he could strip me of the boxers. I just whimpered.

What followed was the most-intense and most-effective educational session
of my entire life. Greg pulled my jock to the side and released my rampant
cock, edged for the last two hours during the game. His lips tormented me,
bringing me close to the edge and, with a suddenness that had me whining,
making me take notes. "Which states bordered Ohio?" {nurse, suckle,
whine}. "Which countries are on the Arabian Peninsula?" {lick, nibble,
whine}. "What branch of government includes the Treasury?" {suck,
long-tongue, whine}. "Name the top six Civil War generals for the South."
{intense begging, lick, whine}. "Compare and explain the battles of Shiloh,
Gettysburg and Appomattox?" {whine, nibble WHINE}. "What was Reconstruction
and why did the South call it retribution?" {whimper, suckle,
WHINE}. "Explain Teddy Roosevelt and Rough Riders and what they did in
Cuba." {argh! tickle, WHIIIINE}.

Every so often, my evil fucking brother made me read back my notes whilst
he sucked distractingly on my nuts. I was practically in tears, but not
nearly as bad as when I said something wrong and he *bit down*. There is
nothing that focuses the mind of a student better than a slurping tongue
and sharp teeth encasing parts that a boy is really, really reluctant to
lose.

When Greg was satisfied, it was going on ten. We'd been at this for easily
three hours. I was pouring sweat and shaking with need. Pa's game was
ending from the sound of his derisive and disgusted curses. Greg looked up
at me.

"Pa taught you to be vocal, right?" I nodded. "He taught you to really get
into it, right?" I nodded. "Do that, Karl. I love you, but do that or I
will bite your fucking nuts off. Got me?" I nodded like I was on
crack. Then... then Greg went to actual work on me.

Greg didn't have to tell me. He didn't have to encourage me. I could have
had laryngitis and swallowed mother-in-law's tongue and I would have still
screamed.

I went fucking insane as Greg gave me the blow job of a lifetime. I gripped
the seat of my desk chair as he went to work. Tongue, lips, teeth, fingers,
nose. Fuck! I don't know. Eyelids? Chin? Earlobes? I didn't fucking care.

I bucked and writhed, whinnied and screamed, moaned and begged, sobbed and
howled. Whenever I was close, Greg moved to another place that sent me
insane and the sounds would cycle again. I begged for, I'm not even sure
what. I begged for whatever Greg would give me. When I was a screaming,
screeching, cauldron of hormone-laced jelly, complete with soundtrack, I
vaguely heard Pa's door slam and felt Greg's smile. And then we were THERE!

I have never had an orgasm like that, and (secretly) hope I never do
again. I made noises unknown to the animal world. I made sounds that have
not been heard since the Big Bang. I begged for stuff that I just flat made
up. But I came, and Greg took it, teasing me ever higher as my voice rose
to the rafters and suddenly went to a range even I could not hear.

I pumped so much cum I actually worried that I'd drowned my precious
brother. I sighed deeply for, oh-so-many-reasons when he surfaced, smiling
at me.

Greg poured me into the bathroom and onto the commode where I let loose
with a serious piss. He then scooped up all the parts of me and schmooshed
them into my bedroom, turning off lights at each doorway. He decanted me
into my bed and pulled the covers over us. I assume all that because my
first conscious thought after the beginning of that epic cum was, "Greg is
so warm and nice to hold."

It was also the last thought before I heard a distant beeping. Greg was
gone, but his scent lingered. I felt myself go rigid at that smell and
drifted back to sleep. I came awake to a tray with some eggy-toast-stuff
and bacon with juice and milk being put in front of me.

Greg looked at me, serious, and I tried (really truly) to focus. "Baby bro,
eat up. Study your books. If Pa knocks or comes in, ignore him and
study. Can you do that for me, Baby Bro? It is really, really
important. Can you do that?"

I just smiled and nodded and went full-hard when Greg's face softened and
he ran his long, thin fingers along my ear and jaw. "I'll be back in an
hour or so, Baby Bro. Trust me." After he left, I frowned. The idea that I
might NOT trust him nagged at me. He was my world. I know, at one level,
that it was possible he might do something to hurt me, but the idea was
beyond my comprehension. I protected Greg. Greg protected me. That is what
brothers did.

I buried myself in the books and was slightly surprised when Pa knocked and
came in. He seemed to want to talk, but Greg seemed to know so much, even
more than Pa, so I just grunted as I read and focused on what I needed for
Monday. Eventually, Pa went back downstairs.

Greg was back in a couple hours and passed me into the bathroom. I tried
not to notice, but his body mesmerised me. Every move, every gesture. I'd
watched him for a decade or more, but now even his eyebrow and the set of
his shoulders seemed significant to me. I desperately wanted to please this
man, in any and all ways that were within my power.

He called out, "Go down and sit with Pa. It's Sunday. He's watching
something sport-related. Be Karl and enjoy it, Baby Bro!"

And I did. As it turned out, Pa was watching the "other" kind of racing,
NASCAR. It was nothing compared to the real monster machines of Indy, but
there was speed and skill and chance. We dove into its spell, each turn a
danger, each straight-away an opportunity for glory. The drivers fought in
a way that was subtly but significantly different from Indy. For Indy, the
battle was man and machine against the track, the other drivers to be
avoided, overcome, outperformed. With NASCAR, the track was simple so it
became man versus man. I could understand the visceral excitement, but it
was the difference between pro wrestlers and Greco-Roman. Flash and dash
and brute force instead of subtly, skill and technique.

So, yeah, I am that much of a lunk. Put me and Pa in front of a babble-box
with anything remotely-sport and off my mind went. That lasted for about
twenty minutes.

Greg came in wearing... wearing, um, I don't know what that was. It was a
deep, blood red and rode low round his hips and down his flanks, then again
circled his thighs. The near-glowing red simply framed his rampant cock and
luscious ass, though, both of which were completely uncovered. You'd think
something so bright and gaudy would distract attention; instead, it
distilled attention forcing every brain cell to think of nothing but the
raw, lusty pleasure it cradled and displayed.

He came over and crawled onto my lap, legs straddling me, and kissed me
deeply, passionately, possessively. Looking back, I can clearly imagine
what Pa saw. Pa had spent two weeks drawing the sexual Greg out of the deep
cave where my brother had hidden it. Now his younger son sat there,
boxer-crotch straining under the flame-framed succulent ass, as Greg
writhed and moaned into the kiss, a sexual beast set free... and choosing
someone else. At the time, though, all I could think was,
mmnnnMMMMnnnmmmmggggrrrrrrrrr.

That was until Greg's attention fluttered. One hand that had been gripping
my head moved away and I heard a slap, then he twisted further. I slowly
surfaced, vision actually red around the edges as lust had seized me. I saw
Pa over Greg's shoulder, eyes alight with hunger, and saw Greg beat his
hand away, a hand that had been caressing his ass. A hand touching Greg
that Greg did not want. Suddenly, Greg was on the floor next to the chair
and I was in Pa's face, literally growling.

"Don't you touch him. He's mine!"

"Stand down, youngster."

"Do. Not. Touch. Him. MINE!"

"Karl, I'm warning you."

By this point, our foreheads were perhaps an inch away as each of us tried
to stare and snort down the other. The difference here was that, for the
first time in my life, I would not, *could* not back down and I saw a
flicker or concern in Pa's eyes. I growled again and saw that doubt grow.

I always forgot that Greg is as much an athlete as me, just in a different
way. Pa and I were inexplicably three feet from each other and Greg was
between us, having pried us apart with sheer force, one thin hand on each
chest.

"Sit, both of you. SIT!" Fuck! Where did my quiet and reserved little
brother find a voice like that? Pa and I found ourselves sitting, sorta
like well-trained dog as the voice of command.

Greg had turned off the TV and now stood in front of it. "What seems to be
the problem here, Pa?"

Pa's chest was heaving and I watch sweat bead up on his forehead and lip,
but his voice was low and steady and fucking sexy as all hell. "Don't fuck
with me Greg. Don't you push me away, son. After all I..."

Greg's voice cut across his growl like a thin knife through thick
butter. "After all you gave me to Karl as a birthday present. Right, Pa?
And after you explained that you had to ask permission to play with his new
toy. Right, Pa? Last night you growled and grumped when I took care of him?
Made his favourite meal? Gave him a blow job that, thanks to *your*
training, rocked his world so hard I had to pour him into bed? After you
gave me away as a birthday present and I *choose* to give myself to Karl as
well. After all that.... Pa?"

Every nerve lit up and glowed when Greg said that. I was beyond proud and
thrilled and... possessive. I was certainly in awe at Greg's newfound
power, but also terrified. No one -- NO ONE -- challenged Pa like that. The
look on our father's face screamed danger. I decided that, to keep the
French Lick murder rate low, that I had to say something.

"Greg? It's okay. Come over here and sit down, Greg." I patted my lap
again, hopefully. Oops.

"And YOU!" Greg rounded on me. It was like one of those cartoons when we
were kids, a kind of animal transformer. I guess some part of me was seeing
Greg as a beautiful, powerful, sleek, lovable Weimaraner; what turned was
pure wolf slavering with power and rage. My jaw dropped and eyes popped.

"You come in all 'I been edging! Ug! Me fuck machine!' and you think that
WORKS? You run off and try to freeze your useless nuts off, I feed you a
great dinner and blow your dick AND your fucking mind, and now you're
patting your lap like, like I should jump back into it?" My now
three-inch-tall body cowered, all eyeballs and no balls to speak of.

"YOU!" Oh, thank God, he's aimed at Pa again. "I don't belong to you, so
deal with it!"

"YOU!" Eek. He was back. "I am not your toy, so deal with it!"

Greg stalked out, but I still could not help but marvel at this amazing
sexual beast. I might feel like a tiny little puppy smacked HARD across the
nose with a rolled-up newspaper, but everything about Greg stoked a lust I
never even knew I held.

I looked up as Pa and saw... a mirror. His jaw had dropped so far I could
see his tonsils. His eyes were enormous and suffused with worry, confusion
and lust.

I swallowed hard. "Um, okay, um... so that happened." Pa just nodded
slowly. It was abundantly clear that neither of us knew what came next,
were both petrified to find out.

<eof>

At least three elements in this chapter came straight from suggestions
readers sent me. You guys are making my writing better, and it is
appreciated.

*****

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