SIERRA
“This is a stupid plan!” I hiss at Eleanor as we scoot into the booth of the coffee shop.
“You’re just being a pussy,” Eleanor hisses back, “it will go fine unless you chicken-out.”
“How do I look?” I ask, nervously adjusting my clothing.
“Like a dime, Sierra,” Eleanor smiles warmly, and places a comforting hand on my thigh, “he doesn’t stand a chance.”
“What if he doesn’t come?” I ask, feeling the panic rising in my chest, “What if he just goes straight to work?”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that.” Eleanor chuckles, and gestures to the opening front door. My ex-husband walks through the glass coffee shop door, looking older than I last saw him, but still every bit the man I once loved, and still do. I shrink in the booth, but Eleanor tightens her grip on my thigh, prompting me to jolt upright.
“Confidence, Sierra,” she whispers, “you’re still the hottest piece he ever had, Audrie be damned. Now, look at me and act like we’re having a conversation, and stop staring at him.”
I force myself to look at Eleanor, and we talk about nothing as Bradley goes to the counter. From the corner of my eye, I see him glance at me, and I force myself to keep my attention diverted toward the redhead in my booth. He looks away, and then does a sudden double-take. Showtime, Sierra.
“He’s walking over here,” Eleanor says, still nodding and smiling like we’re in the midst of gossip, “do not look, and do not initiate; make him make the first move.”
I can hear his footsteps approaching, and it takes every inch of my will not to turn around and look. Finally, the footsteps stop. Eleanor continues talking about nothing, and I continue to pretend to listen to her babble.
“Sierra?” Bradley’s voice says from behind me, “Sierra Townsend?”
I slowly turn my head over my shoulder, and I see him. A few more lines on his face, and a bald spot on the top of his head, but still him. Still my Bradley.
“Bradley?” I ask no longer having to feign my reaction, “Holy shit, Bradley?!”
“Oh my god!” Bradley exclaims, throwing his arms out to his side and nearly spilling his coffee, “Sierra, how the hell have you been?”
I practically leap from the booth and run into his arms. He embraces me like an old friend, and I have to resist embracing him like a lover. I hug him tightly, and then pull away after the appropriate amount of contact has been made.
“Goddamn,” Bradley exclaims as he looks me over, “the years have been much kinder to you then they’ve been to me!”
“You look great,” I smile, “a little less hair, but a little more muscle.” I squeeze his arm playfully, and he blushes a little.
“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, feeling the top of his head, “I tried Rogaine, but after a while, I just figured there’s no fighting father time. Unless you’re Sierra Townsend, I guess,” he laughs, gesturing broadly to me, “the ageless wonder!”
“It’s still Sierra Baker,” I chuckle, “and liberal amounts of makeup can hide many things.”
“You kept my name?” Bradley says, astounded.
“I’m a traditionalist,” I laugh, and then gesture to Eleanor, “except in some regards, I guess. Bradley, this is Eleanor O’Reilly, my fiancé.”
“Your fiancé…” Bradley trails off, looking wide-eyed at the teenage bombshell grinning in the booth, “you’re…”
“…a lesbian,” Eleanor giggles from her seated position, “yes, Mr. Baker.”
“Call me Bradley.” Bradley says, still baffled at what he’s looking at. Eleanor extends a hand to him, and he shakes himself from his stupor, and grasps it, “Nice to meet you.”
“Care to sit down?” I ask him, gesturing to the booth, “Or are we holding you up?”
“I’ve got work in fifteen minutes, but those bastards owe me weeks of vacation time,” Bradley says, finally regaining his smile, “we got some catching up to do, don’t we?”
“We certainly do.” I laugh, and sit down next to my ‘fiancé.’ Bradley scoots into the booth, keeping a respectful distance from the two of us. He gives Eleanor a studious once-over, and then smiles the same easy smile his children wear.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Miss,” Bradley says in a joking tone, “can I see your drivers license? You don’t look old enough to be in this establishment.”
“Bradley!” I laugh in mock embarrassment.
“We get that all the time,” Eleanor chuckles to Bradley, “I am old enough to marry, but a year shy of ordering my own beer.”
“Holy hell,” Bradley says, “good for you, Sierra.”
“Thank you, Bradley,” I smile widely, and then gesture to the ring on his finger, “I see you’ve found someone too.”
“Yeah,” Bradley says, unconsciously twisting the ring, “I can’t really fault you for marrying a younger woman, seeing as I did the exact same thing with Audrie. You know,” Bradley says, his smile disappearing as he looks at me, “it makes a lot of sense now.”
“What?” I ask, feeling my smile fade.
“How we ended up,” Bradley says, and then nods to Eleanor, “and who you really are; it makes sense. You should’ve told me, Sierra, I would have understood.”
“We don’t need to dig up the past,” I say, and entwine my fingers with Eleanor’s, “just leave it buried; we’re both better off for it.”
Bradley looks long and hard at me, years of words flowing from his eyes. His expression softens, and he slaps the table in conciliation.
“You’re right,” he says, his smile back on his lips, “it’s buried. So, how have the kids been?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me yourself,” I say, raising an eyebrow, “seeing as how I dropped them off at your house, and someone let them in.”
“You did?!” Bradley exclaims, and then pulls out his phone, “I didn’t get any messages from Audrie about it.”
“They wanted to surprise you,” I smile ruefully, “and it looks like I ruined it.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Sierra!” Bradley nearly shouts, “I haven’t seen them in ten years, and you just drop them off?!”
“There’s no bad blood,” I say, grasping his hand in a consoling nature, “they understand things just didn’t work out, and now that they’re old enough to make their own decisions, they decided they wanted to reconnect with you.”
Bradley’s panicked expression stays on his face a moment longer, and then relaxes into a crestfallen frown.
“You sure they don’t hate me?” Bradley asks, his words barely a mumble.
“Of course not!” I laugh, and squeeze his hand, “I made sure they got your presents every Christmas, and I made sure to tell them you loved them more than anything.”
“I don’t even know them,” Bradley mutters, still grasping my hand, “my own children are strangers to me.”
“Well,” I say, and place my other hand on top of his, “why don’t you fix that?”
Bradley stares at the table for a while, deep in thought. His jaw muscles work like they always do when he’s thinking, and his brow furrows in the same contemplative manner. Suddenly, his eyes light up, and a broad grin stretches across his face.
“You know what?” he says, squeezing my hand a final time before pulling it away, “Let’s go!”
“All of us?” I ask with false alarm in my voice, “Bradley, surely you can’t-”
“All of us!” Bradley says firmly, and slaps the table again, “You’ll love Audrie, Sierra,” and then his smile grows wicked, “you just keep your hands off her, OK?”
“Bradley!” I exclaim in mock embarrassment, and pull Eleanor close to me.
“You keep your eyes on this one, Ellie,” Bradley grins as he stands up, gesturing to me, “I don’t care which way she swings, Sierra is a hard one to tie down.”
“Really?” Eleanor smirks at Bradley, and then runs a possessive hand up my thigh, “Because I found her quite easy to… tie down.”
“Ellie,” I giggle, tracing a thumb along her red lips, “you’re embarrassing me.”
“C’mon, lovebirds,” Bradley laughs jovially, “we better get home fast; I don’t trust Audrie alone with my kids for a second. She’s probably got them high as a kite and campaigning for Bernie Sanders already!”
“Sure, they are,” Ellie giggles, and then shows me a picture sent from Laurie, “what crazy kids.”
Displayed in crystal-clear detail on Eleanor’s iPhone, is Audrie Baker: her breasts squished together and pulled from the ripped neckline of her UCLA shirt, her own panties stuffed in her mouth, and my son’s cock seven inches up her perfect, tan ass. I share a grin with Eleanor, and feel the anticipatory wetness between my legs. I cannot wait for this family reunion.
TOM
I can tell by the way Audrie is looking at me, that she wants it; she wants it bad. Not only does she want it, she wants it like Laurie’s getting it. Audrie lies on the other arm of the couch, her black leggings pulled past her knees, her thick, tan thighs splayed open for me, and her fingers defiling her sanctity in both holes. She’s moaning, stretching wantonly, and staring her grey irises from the tops of her half-lidded eyes. Three fingers from each hand glisten with her juices inside her impossibly tight slit, while her pinkies push deeply into her taught, pink rim. I growl, and push Laurie’s head forward, forcing her to watch as I ravage her. She’s writhing on top of me, desperately trying to break her hands from her binds, while still reveling in the nature of her captivity. She manages to spit the panties from her mouth, and her unrelenting ecstasy carries from her voice and echoes through the house.
“Oh god,” she screeches, her voice tearful in shaking pleasure, “Tom, I’m coming!”
“Come for me, Laurie,” Audrie moans, her knuckles whitening as she presses her fingers deeper, “come like the little anal slut you are.”
I release Laurie from her headlock, and her back springs into a violent arch of concavity. I grip her by the supple fat of her ass as she grinds her hips into my pelvis, fucking herself as I pound mercilessly into her. She screams wanton pleasure and twists on me; her rectum rotating about my cock as she clenches with every muscle inside her. She’s spasming and convulsing on the inside, and her inner pleasure is reflected by the lithe motion of her toned back. Her legs shoot to the side, pivot on the cushions, and drive heel-first as her entire bodies stiffens. Her bound hands press hard into my chest, her neck striates with tension, and her mouth echoes a final, pleading tone of euphoria. She comes like a fountain; showering the couch and Audrie in the nectar of her lust. She continues to drive onto my cock, and her clenching anus almost makes me lose it, but I manage to hold fast. I pound the last of myself into her, and her shrill tones subside to panting, breathy whimpers. She collapses on me; her warm body slick against mine, her disheveled hair tickling my face, and her dainty form shivering in the echoes of her pleasure. The weak, nearly mournful sounds of her satisfaction leak into my ear, and almost quell the animal inside me. Almost. I reach behind her, undo her binds, and whisper lovingly into my sister’s ear.
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