Date: Sun, 28 May 2017 12:09:49 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Culberhouse Rules 3

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/culberhouse-rules/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved.
Includes sex between related young-adult 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. Donate to
Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Deal!" Holy fuck this was going to be hottest year of my life. And by God,
I was going to make damned sure it the fucking hottest that Ryan had ever
dreamed of. We separated to begin working on our lists, agreeing to
reconvene in time to build dinner and go over the {oh, god, my gut trembled
at the thought} list of upcoming events.

*****

Culberhouse Rules 3: The Bait

By Bear Pup

*****

Dinner was a Jock Special -- protein and veggies and lots of both. I got to
the kitchen first and pulled out the steak Mom had left us for the
evening. I never could understand why stores called steaks 'roasts'. I
mean, yeah, we had to use the largest cast-iron skillet Mom owned and it
took twelve minutes on each side to get it to rare, but it's still a steak!
I heard a gasp and turned to see Ryan's eyes devouring my naked body. I
notice he'd put on a pair of shorts. He noticed my look and they were gone
instantly.

I got the steak rub going which would take a while to coat all the
surfaces. While I did that, Ryan got out two big ole bags of frozen veggies
we'd have as sides. My stomach let out a loud growl of approval when I
noticed one bag was Crowder Peas, my personal favorite. The other was
carrots. I liked them but he loved the things. He also had a truly amazing
way to cook them!

I set to work cooking the steak and he prepped the beans first, with herbed
salt and a little butter and water in a shallow pan, halfway between
sautéing and steaming. The fan was working overtime to suck the curling
meat-smoke out of the house and both of us started to drool in hunger. Ryan
built a salad as I gave the steak the first and only turn, noting the thick
crust. Ryan gave a growl of approval then went back to the salad prep.

By the time I pulled the steak off to rest, both of us were dying. The
Crowders were pushing their own sweet scent into the air. I pulled the
steak and stepped aside so Ryan could work his special magic. He dumped a
cup of wine into the pan and quickly scraped all the yummy brown stuff off
the bottom. While it bubbled madly, he dumped in the big bag of carrots and
a pat of butter.

The carrots quickly took on the dark color of the steak-juice and then
darkened more as their natural sugars made a natural glaze. He shook the
pan occasionally as we ate the salad. When the timer dinged 12 minutes,
Ryan decanted the veggies into two huge bowls and I pulled the tinfoil off
the steak.

I used the knife we'd always called Dad's Saber and cut the steak in
two. The center was bright red, fading to pink then a thin crust of brown
on the very edge.  We set to like the animals we were and before very long,
the massive slab of beef was gone along with all but the merest trace of
the carrots and beans. We sat back and sighed long and deep.

Like a single voice, we both yelled, "THE LIST!" and made a mad dash to our
rooms. For some reason, it seemed obvious that we should end up in Ryan's
room. We traded lists and were both dripping with dogwater in seconds. Holy
FUCK! There was a lot of overlap, but some of the differences damned near
gave me heart failure! I looked up and Ryan was bright red from the nipples
north in sex-flush. I took several deep breaths before I was sure I could
actually speak.

"Um, okay. So, um, how do we make one list?" Ryan shakily put my list down
and looked at me.

"More to the point, Taylor, how do we make abso-fucking-lutely sure no one
ever finds this?" I paled at the thought. My God, if someone had walked in
over the last hour? I got queasy and the steak started to complain in my
gut. Fuck, fucker, fuckest.

"Actually, Taylor, I got this." He had a slow smile. Ryan went over and
grabbed his keychain, waking his laptop as he did so. He grabbed a USB key
and I give him an, 'are you and idiot?' look. What could be LESS safe that
carrying something like that around? My jaw dropped, though, when he pulled
the sheath of to reveal actual fucking little number keys.

I moved over and sat on the edge of his desk, wincing at the groan it gave
out as my weight settled. Ryan looked up, "This, my darling little brother,
is the ultimate security." His agile fingers punched a dozen of the keys
and a little light turned green. He plugged it in to the laptop and clicked
Bitdefender and ran 'Custom Scan Ryan'.

He then opened the file browser. An encrypted folder popped up as drive
E. Ryan double-clicked it and was challenged for a passphrase. With a
couple keystrokes, something called 'Bitdefender Virtual Keyboard' popped
up and he clicked through a series of letters and symbols. A few folders
popped up but he suddenly reddened and turned to me.

"Sanctuary?" Since we were kids playing a video game I can't even recall,
Sanctuary was our code for an unbreakable truce. Usually one of us was
about to be busted hard by the rents or other kids, and needed the
other. It was an oath. It promised that one would never use what he learned
under Sanctuary against the other, though there was always a level of, 'you
owe me bro'. You could refuse and walk away or swear forever.

I nodded, "Sanctuary."

First up was a thing called KaalaVeb. "Totally secure and private
browsing." He opened it and immediately a page loaded that was flat HTML,
links with descriptors. I scanned down the list and flipped.

"Fuck, Ryan! That's every gay porn site on the fucking internet!" He
blushed and nodded. "Where did you find that list?"

He coughed and wouldn't look at me. "I, uh, put it together instead of
using bookmarks. That way I can put, you know, descriptions." I looked
closer. One said 'seriously nasty wrestling porn' and another 'loud,
verbal, hot, nasty Daddy'. He quickly clicked away. "When I find something
I like, I add it to the HTML file. KaalaVeb opens my list as the default."
He clicked a couple of the icon buttons in quick succession and a set of
folders appeared. "You can't get to the files unless you're through the
thumb-drive lock, then the encrypted passphrase, then inside KaalaVeb. Not
perfect, but damned secure."

Okay, here is where I mention that, along with the humiliating math skills,
Ryan is also a computer genius. It's one reason I was so perplexed when he
went with the nice car instead of the kick-ass computer. Well, fuck me. He
didn't NEED one! He opened a folder with still images that made the
magazine cutouts in his portfolio look like Boy's Life covers. I just kept
paging down, getting hotter and hotter with each image. They all, I mean
ALL, looked like some alternate-Earth version of me. Some of the poses,
positions and acts, though, left me breathless and in aching need of
relief.

He returned with another, identical drive. He looked at me shyly and
muttered, "They were BOGO on Tiger." He thumbed a combination and the light
on the new stick went green. "We need a password that is 7-15 letters or
numbers. Can't be guessable by ANYONE, bro."  We chatted and settled on We
R Gonna Party (93724666272789). He held this button and pushed that one and
those long, beautiful fingers flew until the light blinked. He repeated the
sequence and the light went red, repeated it again and it went green.

He plugged the stick into another port of the computer and
dragged-and-dropped the encrypted folder from the old to the new. "Okay,
you now have the whole shebang, including my nastiest porn, at your
fingertips."

"Okay, but what the passphrase?"

He literally banged his head on his keyboard, "Oh, GOD!"

"Ryan, Sanctuary. Plus, do we really still have secrets?"

"You are gonna rub this in for the rest of my life, Taylor!"

"Swear to God, Ryan. I will never, ever mention it." Okay, this HAD to be
good!

He sighed several times, blushing candy-apple red, then said, "It's
'Puhlease, Taylor, sir!' Please spelled p-u-h-lease. Please and Taylor
capitalized, commas and spaces between the words, exclamation point at the
end." His voice was resigned and almost despondent.

I reached down and yanked his face into mine, kissing him deeply. I broke
the kiss and growled, "That is so fucking sexy that I nearly came big
brother. You got more secrets like, that save em til I'm tied up or I might
just rape you!" I kissed him again so he could feel just how much I meant
it.

We were both panting and had glazed eyes when we broke. Ryan got himself
pulled together quickly and snatched up the list. His fingers flew in a
program (also on the thumb drive) called ThumbSheet and the list took
shape. He had five columns: Number, Action, Whose, Date and ACK (for
Acknowledgement). I watched in awe as he never ONCE looked at the screen,
typing madly from our lists.  In ten minutes, there were roughly a hundred
lines of text. He shoved the sheets at me and said in a distracted voice,
"Shred these. Flush the pieces down the toilet in batches. Go."

I went. Being able to DO something, no matter how menial, made me feel
better. I found the cross-cut shredder in Mom's office and put a new trash
sack in it and shredded the pages. I put Mom's shreds back and took my bag
to the downstairs bath, shaking it to mix things up. I flushed a big
handful there, flushed again to make sure nothing was left, and repeated
the process at the two other commodes in the house. I got back, winded,
"Done!"

Everything was now numbered and labelled with a net of 88 lines. Ryan was
doing some other strange things and said, distractedly, "Okay, we're
there. You keep the drive but give it to me for edits." His eyes flew wide
and he blushed again, "If-if that's okay, Taylor?"

I yanked him from the chair. "It's more than 'okay' big brother. But right
now, we really need some, um, One, Seven and Eight." His head spun to the
screen and he melted into me.

"Oh, God, Taylor, I love you."

We wrestled each other onto his bed and proceeded to have (as prescribed) a
30-minute kissing and writhing session. Lube magically appeared and Ryan
began to stroke both our aching cocks together in his long-fingered
hands. I clutched him to me like a lifeline, putting my soul into the kiss
just as my body knew nothing other than those hands. It took hours
(minutes) for us both to start huffing and chuffing into the kiss.

Ryan blew first, but I could feel his cock thicken and pulse with cum
through my own desperate prick and followed in seconds. As per Eight, we
writhed against each other throughout the orgasm and long after, smearing
ourselves with each other's slime. Only when the sensation became too
overwhelming did we separate.

I was ashamed to note that I was crying like a baby until I realized those
wracking motions next to me was Ryan in the same boat. When I finally came
down enough. I pulled my brother like a rag doll into another embrace and
kissed him thoroughly, then began to plant soft, urgent kisses on every
part of his face, neck, throat and shoulder.

I finally staggered upright and moved to the laptop. On lines One, Seven
and Eight, I typed, 'Thank you, Ryan, for making a dream come true'. He was
at my side a moment later and went in to each of those cells and typed,
'No, Taylor, thank you'.

We went back to the bed and simply kissed and cuddled until the light no
longer mattered and we fell asleep in each other's arms.

As long as I could remember, Ryan was the early riser. Today, though, I
woke early. Perhaps it was the fact that we'd left the light on. I found
that I was curled behind Ryan. His taller, leaner frame putting my head
into his upper back. I turned my head to let my breath go elsewhere,
relishing the scent of man and sex than I held in my arms.

I laid there and thought of what the summer would bring. My morning wood
turned to something else entirely and I stealthily reached down to see if I
could stroke one out without waking Big Brother. "Stop." Damn! He rolled to
face me, smiling adorably. "I think we need another rule. From now on,
neither of us comes without the other."

"Um, sorry, Ry, but that doesn't work for me." He frowned and started to
speak but I cut him off. "I love you and want you and need you, but I also
have a cred to keep up and so do you. If we suddenly both turn into monks,
it *will* be noticed."

He nodded. "Okay, how about this. Outside dates with girls, neither cums
without the other unless he has asked and the other agreed. I'm thinking
like sport camps and college overnights when we're gonna be apart and
shit."

"Agreed!"

"So, let's fix the immediate problem" He reached down and began to caress
my cock with one hand and my balls with the other. He soon had me
whimpering then moaning and growling with urgency., It always takes me a
long time to cum first thing in the morning, but he launched me to heaven
in record time.

"My turn."

"Actually, Taylor, I'd, uh, rather stay horny for later?" My eyes glowed
with lust at that thought. We got up and, since we didn't have the normal
distractions, we decided to do early Mass. Ryan drove, of course. The
sermon was on the second reading, from the First Letter of Peter, and
mainly on the verses, "Sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts. Always be
ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your
hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence..."

Father Sean used that as his springboard into how important it was to be
open about our faith and bring others into the fold, but also why Catholics
didn't scream through megaphones at street corners or go door-to-door with
the aim of guilting or annoying people into coming to church. That type of
thing was the opposite of "gentleness and reverence."

It set me thinking, though, of Ryan and me. There was no way that we could
hide from Mom and Dad that we'd suddenly stopped being at each other's
throats after all this time. And our various packs at school would see it,
too. I fidgeted through the rest of the mass. Luckily the recessional hymn
was one of those that had more squiggles and lines than a bait shop. Less
than half the people were singing, and most of them women and out of
tune. Even Golden Boy only made a token attempt then just mouthed the words
from the hymnal. My distraction couldn't really have been noticed.

"Um, Ryan?" I started as we buckled into the car. "The reading made me
think about something that we need to talk about."

"Which one?"

"Second reading, the one about explaining our Christian Joy to anyone who
asks? Well--"

"Yeah. How are we gonna make this work, right? We've fought for as long as
anyone had ever known us. Why the change?"

"Uh, well, yeah. Exactly."

"Actually, I was thinking about that too and I have an idea. It would mean
being pricks to each other more than ever for a week."

"Go on..."

My eyes started to sparkle halfway through. Damn, Ryan was fucking smart!
But it took me to do the real setup. A flyer and a couple e-mails were
written and saved. The no-jacking rule was off since there'd be little
chance of us getting together while we were playing this out. Regardless,
we stroked each other to mind-blowing orgasms twice more before getting
ready for The Show.

When Mom and Dad got home that afternoon, it was to find two things, one
business-as-usual and the other not. We timed it so we were screaming at
each other as they came in from the garage.

"Fuck you, you little creep! Stay outta my stuff!"

"Go to hell, Taylor. I played ONE GAME."

"Yeah, you played one game on MY fucking computer! You made your choice
Golden Boy and got the pretty car for the
pretty-boy. Hands. Off. My. SHIT!"

"TAYLOR! RYAN! How DARE you use language like that in my house?" Mom, of
course. "I will not have you fighting!" We shut up and simply glared at
each other. We had a decade of practice at that one.

"Young men, shake hands and go to your rooms. Your mother and I will not
put up with the behavior, you hear me? You are brothers and nearly adults
and you will damned well start to act like it!"

I turned and stalked off to shouts of "I said SHAKE young man! Taylor! Get
back here this instant!" I slammed my door and collapsed against it in
giggles. This was almost too easy. I heard Ryan's door slam, too, after a
terse and inaudible argument.

Inside the missal from mass was a (freshly-printed and still-warm) flyer
from the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization). They were advertising a
Siblings Revival series designed to get families closer together. There
'happened' to be one this coming weekend called Brotherly Love,
specifically for brothers who could not get along. The price was
reasonable, only $75 per teen, to be held at Fish & Fiddle Resort. Pairs
would stay in a cabin together, fish together, and have CYO-led activities
to bring them closer.

I was not at all surprised when my computer DINGed as the brand-new Gmail
account I'd set up got its first and only mail message. The auto-reply said
that they would get a response from a CYO Coordinator within 24 hours but
no guarantees could be made as space was limited on all but the Sisterhood
Revival in three weeks which had plenty of space. I sent a quick thumbs-up
emoji to Ryan. The hook was set.

We actually ramped-up the vindictiveness, especially when our packs or
parents were nearby. Monday afternoon, Mom got a reply from the CYO
coordinator with the bad news that the Brotherly Love weekend was sold
out. That was from Ryan. An hour later I sent a reversal directly from
Father Allen. One pair of 'young men' had been forced to cancel. They could
not, however, take payment this late with check or credit card only
cash. It gave instructions on what to pack, where to go, when to be there,
etc.

We got home that afternoon to a pair of supremely smug parents. The
screaming match that ensued on the news that we were both losing a whole
weekend to some brother-bonding crap was epic. The teen outrage the next
day with our packs was delightful, and we fought our way through the week,
occasionally getting in low blows that really did piss one or the other
off... until a quick wink settled it.

Friday rolled around and, on script, we had another yelling match with the
rents where even Golden Boy got shouted down by Dad. We packed in a rage
and left the next morning in a huff. We made it to the cutoff by North Big
Creek before the pressure was too much. Ryan pulled into the trees and we
kissed so hard we bruised our lips. We were both painfully hard, but agreed
to wait until we were locked in the 'rustic' (read: private) cabin we'd
reserved. This is going to be one fucking hell of a Revival.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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