Step Sister’s Secret – Part 3 – Correspondence

The summer passed. Sara cried for a week, but like all 19 year olds the things that seemed like the end of the world were pretty much forgotten in a week. By the time school started again she was herself, although she did cringe if her step-brother’s name was mentioned. David lounged around the city for the rest of the summer thinking, writing and studying. Sara was going off to college in September and he likely wouldn’t see her again until some Christmas or wedding.

As for the stories, David wrote a few but didn’t post any. He made a conscious decision not to look on the newsgroups, not to look for her. That lasted about a month and then he gave in. “BeatDownLove” he typed in the search box and then just stared for a while before pressing the return key and wincing.

There were about eight stories, many of which were commented on heavily. He noticed “The Wrestling Match” was not among them. In fact none of them seemed to be about a step-brother and step-sister. He looked at the codes next to each story and saw “Mf, MF, ff, MM, MMf”… no “inc” which stood for incest. He though that he should have felt relieved, but he didn’t.


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Step Sister’s Secret – Part 2 – The Wrestling Matches

After their conversation things got better between David and his step-sister. The stories were forgotten, for while, and summer went on. David spend a lot of time getting used to having nothing to do for a while and he did a lot of swimming and driving down to the beach with his old friends. He invited Sara, too and sometimes she came along, though she was shy around David’s older friends.

Just lounging around didn’t suit David very well. He was the kind of person who needed to do things and soon he got the idea of taking a road trip with some of his friends. He packed up some things, including his laptop and drove up the coast for a getaway. It was in the hotel that he got his first email from Sara.


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Step-Sister’s Secret – Part 1 – Homecoming

Sara (with no H) sat at the attic window like a puppy waiting for its owners to come home. From outside the two-story townhouse anyone looking up would see nothing but a pair of glasses and a pair of purple pigtails peeking out of a narrow window. When the dirty white taxi pulled up to the house, those pigtails turned into a jumping, screaming, laughing monster.

David could hear the machine-gun thumping of his step-sister running down a fight of stairs just as his step-mother opened the front door of the house. His father came out first and held out his hand to shake.

“Welcome-” but the greeting was interrupted by a teenager in multicolored clothes who tackled the tall young man who had just exited the cab.

“David!” Sara shrieked. She half hugged and half sat on him as he tried in vain to hold on to his suitcases.

His father just smirked and shook his head, “call me crazy, but I think she missed you,” he said as he watched his step-daughter’s face go from pure glee to pure anger.


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Ménage à Text

Truth be told, Elise didn’t even really like him. That’s not to say she wasn’t already wet when she got off at his subway stop and climbed the familiar stairs into the lingering evening sun. She hadn’t been to his apartment in weeks. She hadn’t walked through the dirty streets of his neighborhood, next to the big school with the high metal fence and the little stores with the weird religious candles and the exotic smells.

All right, maybe she liked him in some weird way. He could be a good friend, in his own fashion, if he wanted to, but he was so very full of himself sometimes, so very Mark. They had dated for a while around two years ago, and maybe they were even in love for a couple of minutes, but Mark was an ass and that all disintegrated quickly. He was a much better fuck than he ever was a boyfriend.

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Following a Mouse

She seemed like a little mouse. That’s how I thought of her, what I called her in my head. My little mouse. Oh, how I was wrong.

That’s the way it is being a man sometimes. You see a woman and she can’t look you in the eyes. She is sweet and pretty and her cheeks go red when you joke with her and you think you know her. You imagine her small and innocent and you are tall and strong and can show her the world. In a way it is comforting. It makes you powerful. All the secrets of desire are yours to show her.

Real life is far more complex, and far more interesting.

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A Meal of You

A story influenced by Alice in Wonderland. A young girl slips into a daydream world and is thrown into a frightening adventure. WARNING! Don’t read this if you are offended by fairy tale type characters of indeterminate age, very questionable consent, attempted cannibalism(?!), obscene cutlery, mammoth root vegetables and/or the misuse of butter.

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Betty the Bruiser

I came home to find the apartment in disarray. A lamp, which was still on, was laying on the floor, shining a spotlight on the half empty bookshelf. The books were strewn about floor and one was soaking up the water that a vase once held, the violets having been trampled.

My Betty was a bruiser, a broad shouldered girl, too tall to ever be comfortable in her own skin. She’d been beaten into shape as a kid by her step-father, that was until she was old enough to kick his ass.

She sat on the kitchen floor with the last of my good bourbon. Unlaced roller-skates, a black skirt, and one of my old white t-shirts. Her tattoos were nothing but shadows under the white cotton, thick black and red lines peeking out.

“We lost,” she slurred and gave me a particularly petulant glare.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned on the counter of the small kitchen, looking down at her as she rocked the bottle of amber liquid on the black and white tiled floor.

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Let Go

It started with Jones from accounting. He was called into an office, so routine, and then security came and unplugged his computer. Donna Moore was next, she was some kind of account rep. In a week Baker, Lee and Hernandez were all gone.

They all walked out of that office with same dull numb looks on their face, like they’d seen a ghost.

They took on all of accounting and all of the account reps, cutting roughly a third of their numbers. Though I had some evidence I was safe, you never know.

Katie had been this ever-present force in my office life. Nothing serious, nothing real, just flirting. A passing glance, a little smile, a look that lasted a second too long. We never even really spoke much but she suddenly became my best friend when the trouble started.

She would swing over to my desk when the smokers went out on their breaks. We had the bond of the clean lunged.

I had always noticed her. Tallish, a little broad shouldered and obviously originally from the Midwest. Some of those Midwest girls have a certain build; a little stocky like field hockey players – and they never lose that. She was that type, but with the poise and fashion sense of someone who had lived in Manhattan for a few years. Shoulder length chocolate brown hair that was shiny and smooth, a very expensive cut. She wore designer clothes and had a million shoes. She liked to look good and smell good.
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Fiction – The Date, Part Two

Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 1 first.

I wonder what she saw when she looked at me. I was dying of curiosity, actually. I wanted to see the look in her eyes, study her body language, pick her apart, but we both had roles here. I had to drive. I had to look forward and clench my jaw and go.

“This isn’t the way to my apartment.” She was pouting with every word.

I didn’t have to pretend when I scoffed.

When I got to my block I was trying to formulate something that wouldn’t seem that horrific to anyone who might see us, but at the same time let her know that I was serious. I parked across the street and turned off the engine. I looked at her dead in the eyes. She had her arms folded in front of her chest and she was frowning.
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Fiction – The Date, Part One

Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 2 next.

The crickets chirped as I pulled the car up to the clearing. Nothing but trees around us and stars above us. I turned off the motor but left the lights and the radio on. Out there the station was a little static-y, but the smooth sounds of an old Motown song came through.

Stacy was twenty. We met online, talked a lot, hit it off. I wasn’t sure she would go for me. I was a bit older, a little awkward. Turns out she was just as awkward. Two book nerds who found we hit it off pretty well over coffee.

She was pretty; sort of fair skinned, green eyed, very short reddish brown hair parted neatly with bangs that were swept to the side and held back with a barrette. She was that perfect (at least for me) edge of just a little chubby. The slightest little belly and a plump bottom and chubby cheeks and cupid bow lips. She wore a light blue shirt with some band name on it I’ve never heard of and a smart little denim skirt. Knee high socks and Chucks. Cute. Adorable even. Big bright eyes and lip-glossed lips.
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