Date: Sat, 25 Feb 2017 21:25:57 -0500 From: Bear Pup Subject: Karl and Greg 17 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 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. ***** Karl and Greg 17: The Big Game By Bear Pup M/M; competition; oral For a few lifetimes, Pa and I just stared at the TV which remained as vacant as our minds. I felt like a Monty Python character who had just be savaged by a fluffy white bunny. There was something so, well, *wrong* about a Greg who could stare down Pa and make me actually, honestly use the word, "Eek." There were some vague noises from the kitchen, but neither of us had the, well, the balls to look in that direction in case the Greg From Hell returned. We both tensed when we felt Greg came back to the room. "Pa, Karl, would you care for lunch? We're having French Dips and they're ready when you are." Neither of us actually turned our head, but we caught each other's sideways-cranked eyeballs. I was still a kid; Pa could throw himself on that grenade! "Um, sure, son. That sounds, um, great." We got up and Greg was wearing his sexy-as-fuck apron and smiling like nothing had happened other than sunshine and smiles. He turned, those whatever-the-fuck red things still framing his incomparable ass and apron-strings trailing in the delectable crack. We followed meekly back to the table. Greg set a plate for each of us with a grinder fresh from the oven, crispy cheese and something on top. A bowl of brown stuff and a beer were there as well. ^ [Greg: AAGGHH! I can't take it! Grinder? BROWN STUFF? Fresh-cut baguettes, toasted with horseradish mayo, thinly-sliced rare roast beef then a layer of Gruyere all topped with sliced onions in herbed oil and salt. Baked open-face until hot and bubbly with a rich au jus on the side and a Belgian Wheat beer. Fine. Back to your regularly-schedule lunk already in progress... Sheesh!] The food was out of this world. You dunked the grinder in the brown stuff and it was heaven. The beer was different, but seemed really great when you were eating. Pa and I finished our huge ones and Greg ate a slight-smaller version, jumping up to refill the beer or the browns stuff as needed. It was like yesterday, only sexier, with a side of 'OMG, I hope Scary-Greg is gone now'. When the last crumb was gone, Greg's very chipper and sweet voice was back. "Let's go in the living room and talk. Pa? Karl? I'll bring the beers." And he did. Pa sat in his chair, I in mine and Greg sat on the sofa just like we did normally when watching TV before I went off to Indy. I choked up a little, as Mom had always sat on the other end of the couch, the one close to Pa, and I really did feel a pang now and then that no one sat there anymore. The voice that spoke was Greg's. I know because his lips moved. But it was a calm, business-like Greg. Not the fluffy-bunny Greg or the near-to-tears Greg or the {gulp} fires-of-hell Greg. Both Pa and I watched with cautious optimism. "Now, here is how this will work if either of you ever want to have sex with me again." He stood up. The apron was gone but his raging boner wasn't, and neither were those crotchless shorts-things that demanded that you look at his package. He handed each of us a sheet of paper, moving in a way that made me pop so hard I thought I broke my dick. That was nothing, though, compared to when he 'accidentally' dropped his pencil and bent over. Even Pa gasped as that luscious ass parted and we could each see that winking hole. I moaned, not giving a fuck if they heard me. He returned to his seat and waited, finally pulling a pad over his crotch to break our concentration. We both gulped, and looked down. He'd given us each a list like the one I'd made, but with some items changed, added or dropped. Next to each was a number. "Sports and points are the only way I can think of to get you two to pay attention, so here's the Big Game, better than football by a long shot. That's a list of what needs to be done around here. Every Sunday, I'll have a new list for the week. Either of you are free to pick one or more things off that list and do them. You can also just lay around on Sunday and relax, or go out, or whatever you like, entirely your choice. "If you *do* want to do some chores, look at the number. You score that many points for completing the item and doing it well. If you're sloppy you get squat. If nobody has points by dinner, I go out afterwards and sleep in my room. Whoever has the most points, though, is whom I'll be sleeping with each night. "Will you 'get some'? If you're nice and ask and I am in the mood, yes. If you're bitchy and entitled and nasty about it, you know where the jack-off lotion is kept but don't expect me to help or even watch." Pa and I were spellbound. What the fuck was going on? "No game is fun if there aren't penalties, extra points and bonuses, though. Be a grump or a fuckwad to me or each other -- pull some macho bullshit like this afternoon, for instance -- and Every. Fucking. Point vanishes. Do anything that pisses me off, and I deduct 10 points. If you hurt me, physically or in any other way -- like giving me as a fucking birthday present {glare to Pa} or patting your lap like I'm your fucking dog {glare to me} -- and that's 20 points lost. And if you're in the red at supper, that is where you START the next day until you work it off. "Extra points are simple. Do more than just the job on the list, like something really a lot better, and you can get points added. Anywhere from 2 to 5. "As for bonuses, they don't work that way. Go out of your way to be nice to each other, or me, or do something special for us or treat us, and you might get anything from a long, sexy wank to a phenomenal blow job. Do something really great and unexpected and I throw in your favourite kinks next time I'm in your bed. Erotic massage? A little piss-play? A long, oh sooooo loooooong edging session? Orgasmic foot rub? Don't worry, I'll keep it interesting." Pa and I were flat out drooling at this point, he was sucking in huge lungfuls of air and I was panting like puppy. "Let's see if you were listening. Karl, how do you earn points?" "Um, uh, um... Do stuff on the list and be nice." "Half-right. Points come from the list. Being really, really nice gets you," he slowly licked his lips, "special treatment." "Pa, how do you lose points." "Um, be mean to you or not do what you say?" "No, you never have to do what I say. I'm not your boss. And it's not about me, it's about US. Be mean to *anyone* in the house, act like a fucking idiot to *anyone*, be a dick *in any way* and those points get flushed. Make me mad or hurt me, yep, those lose points. Being a prick loses you everything." "Karl, what do you get if you do something really, really special for Pa and me?" "Oh, God, Greg, I hope it's another blow job like last night!" Greg chuckled, "could be, or could be something even... better." My mind boggled at the thought of dot-dot-dot better. I nearly came in my pants. "Now, this next week will be a hard one for everybody. Tests for me and Karl and a lot of dealing with two freaked out sons for Pa. So this week we have special rules. "Karl, each afternoon I'm going to quiz you on each of the two tests you took. If I think you aced it, you get 30 points. If I think you passed it pretty well, 15. Otherwise zip. Pa starts with 30 points each day for making the money that keeps us in this house, and can do any chores he wants for more. You, Karl, don't get points from anything other than getting great grades." I did some quick math. If this were an algebra test, I'd'a flunked it straight, but this was just sports scores with weird weightings. No sweat! Nothing small enough to fit at the end of the day was worth more than 5-10 points, so if I aced one test and even passed the other each day, I got Greg. If I flunked even one, or otherwise fucked up AT ALL and Pa even, like, cleaned a cupboard, I was gonna listen to them fuck themselves silly with nothing but a jack-rag. FUCK! "Well, Pa, Karl, it's 1:00 and the bell rings at six o'clock sharp..." Pa was up first but I had a jump on the stairs as we ran to get some clothes on. Now, there were some real subtleties in this scoring system. Some of the items seemed easy but could be really fidgety, like making the washer stop moving and thumping. Could take 30 seconds and wrench, or an hour with a whole toolkit. Some were straightforward, clear the garage; fix a squeaky door; weed the flowerbed. But those had tiny little scores and you'd have to do lots. Some were an all-day crap-shoot on whether you could get it done at all, like organise the shed, but were worth a ton of points. All of that was thought out before I even topped the stairs. By the time I had dragged on the minimum of clothes, I was already out the back door. I saw Pa had his toolbelt and was headed to the laundry. The shed had been a playground for me since I was a kid, so I knew the massive junk-pile was actually not that bad. I dove in like a man possessed. Everything, and I mean *everything* came out and got sorted and I was seconds form putting it back when the idea of 'extra points' popped. I ran into the house and got the push-broom from the garage. The floor was spotless in minutes, and every item I put back got a brush-up before ending up in its proper place. Maybe two hours left. I ran in and asked breathlessly, "Do I tell you when I'm done or at the end." Greg laughed and said either was fine, so I told him about the shed and the clean-up just before I launched myself toward the garage. Fuck if that bastards Pa hadn't already got the Christmas decoration boxes out and into the attic. Damn. Check the list. BINGO! I snatched a step-ladder, some chamois and a wad of lead stickers and ran for Karl's room. Balancing a ceiling fan so it doesn't tick or squeak is a fussy job, but I'd just spent 9 weeks at the Brickyard. That fan was nothing but a goddam sideways wheel! I spotted the wobble and went to place the lead for the first test and realised that the fan was fucking filthy. I cleaned the whole thing, even the lamp part, the balanced it. That took four tries, but only maybe fifteen minutes. I ran and did the ones in Pa's room, my room and the living room, giving each the same treatment. About an hour left! I scanned the list. Cars? Machine? Tronics? Nothing. Pa was a builder and I knew he's be all over the doors and windows and trim like white on rice. Hall closet! No, that thing was a monster that could eat the unwary. Maybe next week. Instead, I decided to dust the highboy in the hall. This knickknack nightmare had been Mom's domain, and I guess it probably hurt Greg a lot to touch the stuff. I felt sad, but not the way it would have made him feel. It wasn't a lot of points but it seemed... right. I took meticulous care of every item, not just dusting but polishing and shining the relics of a woman who was important to me, but was Greg's universe. I even windexed the glass, finishing just a few minutes before the deadline. I was in front of Greg explaining the fans and the curios when Pa came, drenched in sweat in and announced he'd done the loose trim and railings around *the entire house*, including the porch. FUCK! That was a buttload of points! Greg told us to turn on the TV and enjoy the sports for a bit as dinner would be served at 6:30. We both just collapsed in our chairs. We grinned at each other like opponents at the end of a long and friendly match and settled back for some baseball. The Reds were off today, but that was okay. KC was playing. Pa had always said that his two favourite teams were the Reds and whoever was playing the fucking Royals. Into that backdrop rose a smell that made both of us growl, and stomachs, too. Greg eventually came in. Pa and I tensed. The bout was over and we were about to hear from the judges. And Greg said... nothing. Greg smiled and moved over to me. My heart soared in elation and joy. He slowly teased out my cock and balls and began to lick and nibble my foreskin. I moaned as his amazing tongue worked its way down under the skin to clean the day's sweat and musk and I groaned in appreciation. Suddenly, the winning was second to the fact that the person I worshipped, man and boy, was crouched in my crotch and sending me to heaven. A sudden deep-throat sent me squealing, then down to my nuts with long, supple tongue-strokes. Long low growls of satisfaction kept erupting from me. When his long, thin hand slipped under and found my pucker, I whinnied like a horse then went back to purring like a lion. Round and round, foreskin, head, shaft, deep-throat and back. One hand teasing and tormenting my quivering ass and the other caressing and tickling my sensitive balls. This wasn't the long, insane, intense, mind-altering thing that I'd had last night, but it was damn sure a close second. This was a not the edging and torturous rapture, but in about ten lifetimes/minutes I was howling in ecstasy when he finally brought me off, explosively, and began to lick and suckle up the drops. I looked over and Pa's face was a thing to behold. He did not like being beat, and he was not pleased in any way, shape or form. He looked like a red thunderstorm poised to wipe out a town. Greg tucked me back in, zipped me up and sat back as my breathing returned to normal and an almost-liquid contentment took me. I was in heaven, and not only because I beat Pa, but because I won Greg. Greg sat back on his haunches and looked up and smiled gently. "Karl, I'm sorry, Pa won." Keep the letters coming and let me know what you think about the newly-emancipated Greg. -Bear Pup