Weird sisters execute a diabolical plan

I guess that it’s hypocritical of me to criticize the family relationship of others when my family life growing up was bizarre, but the Jenkins sisters were, and still are, just plain weird. Before I explain about the Jenkins sisters let me (Scott Davis) relate my situation with my peculiar family.

I was too young to realize that my parents were swingers until my tenth birthday party. Jim and Pam Johnson, who lived three houses down on the same block, were friends of my parents and they had a son Jeremy my age. I didn’t really care much for Jeremy but I was forced to include him when I had other kids over and my parents were around, therefore he was at my party – along with Jim and Pam.

All the kids were playing in the backyard doing various party things, supervised by my 15 year old sister Jen and Sue, her friend of like age, who were the greatest girls that I and my friends had ever met. Jen was my favorite person in the world, all of my friends had little boy crushes on her, and I had a little boy crush on Sue. At the same time my parents, Jim, and Pam were in the house getting lunch, cake, and ice cream ready. I ducked into the kitchen for a glass of juice when I saw Jim standing behind my mother kissing her neck and with his hands massaging her boobs while she giggled. I may have only been ten, but I knew that that wasn’t right. Shocked all I could think of was to tell my dad.

Without being seen by mom I ducked into the living room looking for my dad. I saw him – in profile – kissing Pam on the lips while their arms were interlocked. Shocked once more, I stumbled back into the yard and tried to act normal while participating in games. My sister Jen could tell that something was wrong, but didn’t ask what was up in front of the other kids.

My birthday was ruined. I was on autopilot the rest of the afternoon. I tried to gin up some enthusiasm when my guests sang Happy Birthday to me, and when I opened my presents, but I’m sure that I gave a poor performance of a happy birthday boy.

Even before the last guest left I went to my room and cried. I was so confused, angry, hurt, and shocked it was like my emotions were on a roller coaster that was also going around in circles at sixty rpm.

Jen came into my room just as I was getting my emotions somewhat back under control and had wiped what I hoped would be the last tear from my cheeks. “What’s wrong Scott?” she tenderly asked. “It’s supposed to be a fun day for you – not one for crying.”

I told her what I saw. Unfortunately no surprise registered on her face. “I’m sorry that you had to see that,” she genuinely replied. “I guess that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. Mom and dad are swingers.”

I had no fucking clue what “swingers” were – I never saw them on any playground equipment – so seeing my blank stare Jen explained it to me the best that she could considering my age and naivety. When she was done I didn’t feel one iota better – perhaps even worse. While Jen didn’t like it she had come to accept it; I could not, and after that day my relationships with both of my parents was strained.

There is some question whether people are born with a certain moral compass or whether they develop one growing up. I can answer that question for myself. What my parents did so offended me in later years I realized that I was simply “born” different than they were, and for a time questioned whether or not I was adopted especially since I ultimately grew to be six feet four inches tall and 220 pounds even though both my parents were of slight build and much shorter. My dad was five ten, 160 pounds, and my mother five feet five, 115. When I was fourteen I did find my birth certificate when I rifled through my mom’s papers when she was out, and it looked legit. Also my facial features and coloring were similar to both my parents so I concluded that I was their biological child, just a mutation when it came to both size and moral compass.

According to one supposedly scientific study – at least the one most recognized by psychologists – the divorce rate among swingers is over 90%. My parents were no exception; they apparently made it work until I was twelve when I heard the yelling in their bedroom in the middle of the night that my father wanted out of that lifestyle and my mother wouldn’t agree. Shortly after that, when I was twelve and Jen seventeen, they divorced. I would have preferred to live with my father in view of his changed position, but I had no say in it. I stayed away from the house as much as possible, playing sports, learning martial arts, or studying at a library. That turned out well for me because I became an excellent baseball player, a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and made the high honor roll in High School.

In the state that I lived in, when a child turned fourteen years old he/she could ask the court to have the custodial parent changed. Shortly after my fourteenth birthday when I caught my mother with the third different guy coming out of her bedroom when I came home from school I called her a slut and a whore. Her lover tried to be a big man and intervene. By that time I already weighed 180 pounds – about the same that he did – but he didn’t have my anger or knowledge of jiu-jitsu. After he pushed me he ended up needing my mother’s help to get to his car. When she returned she reamed me out but I didn’t back down at all. The mother of one of my friends was a well-known attorney and I went to see her that same evening. By the end of the next week I was living with my father and had little contact with my mother after that.

My father and I got along OK. When I was sixteen we had a heart-to-heart talk where I told him how disgusted I had been by his morals. We had an uneasy truce after that until I graduated High School and left town three days after that.


So, now about the Jenkins sisters.

I met Brenda Jenkins when we were both eighteen. By that time she was an avid drinker and partier. Brenda’s father Jack and stepmother Michele had apparently either given up trying to discipline her, or never even tried. Michele was only six years older than Brenda was. Brenda’s mother had died when she was eight and her father remarried when she was fourteen (yeah, he married Michele when she was only twenty years old); Michele had a meek personality and was more like a friend to Brenda and her younger sister Brie than a parent; Jack just didn’t seem to care.

Brenda was well known for using guys to go to parties with or get her booze, and then dumping them as quickly as she met them. Her favorite pastime seemed to be skinny-dipping during any party at a nearby lake, or even at backyard pools. There were even stories – with enough backup information so that I believed them – that two guys even falsely admitted to petty theft and joy riding that Brenda had actually perpetrated so as to endear themselves to her. She probably thanked each of them with a blow job – not proven but believed – and then dumped them – that part true. She was probably able to get away with her antics only because she was a fox – and physically mature for her age. She was most hetero teenage guys’ wet dream.

For some reason Brenda took a liking to me. I actually think that it was because I came across her and one of her dates – both drunk – on a side street in town one evening. From their yelling it appears that after she had emotionally abused the guy he started to get rough with her. I’m normally the type to mind my own business, but when I saw him push her to the ground and then raise his fist I had to intervene. The guy was supposedly some big man on campus football player who outweighed me by forty pounds but given the fact that he was drunk and I had a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu he really, really, got the worst of it. I called Brenda’s stepmom Michele and related the situation to her. That was the first time I met Michele – when she came to pick Brenda up while she was still in a drunken stupor. Stepmom Michele was apologetic and very grateful. I called 911 to have someone pick up the unconscious football player, but smartly left the scene before anyone arrived.

I honestly thought that Brenda’s stepmom Michele was her older sister; she was cute, although somewhat overweight and without the best skin tone or musculature.

After a victorious home baseball game the next weekend – where I had my best day ever at the plate, going three for five with two doubles and a triple – Brenda came up to me in the parking lot. “You’re Scott Davis, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah,” I deadpanned.

“I guess you know that I’m Brenda Jenkins since you called Michele to pick me up last weekend; I never got a chance to thank you for saving me from that cretin. Can I treat you to a beer?”

“Sorry, Brenda, but I don’t drink, smoke weed, joyride, commit petty theft, go to wild parties, skinny-dip, or do any of the things that rumor has it you like to do, but thanks anyway,” I replied with a smile as I lugged my bat bag into the trunk of my car.

Brenda chased after me. It was apparent that she had never been turned down by a guy before for anything. “Ok – so you’re a straight arrow; I can still thank you, can’t I? How about a milkshake at Thompson’s ice cream shop?”

Did I mention that Brenda was any teenage guy’s wet dream? That was when she was dressed in a skirt and blouse without makeup. In the short-shorts and tank top that she had on that day, and the perfectly applied lipstick and eye-liner, she was whatever there is beyond a wet dream – maybe a siren.

“Uh…OK,” I replied, hoping that I hadn’t pitched a pup tent. “Shall I meet you there?”

“Can I ride with you, and maybe you can take me home afterward?” she said/asked.

I had nothing better to do, so I agreed.

Against my better judgment – actually I don’t think that judgment was involved, just hormones -I started dating Brenda Jenkins. There is no roller coaster in the world with as many ups and downs, or thrills and terrors, as that relationship was; nor is there a word strong enough to describe how volatile her personality was. I dumped her three times for cause over the next year, but each time she somehow finagled her way back into my life, including by promising – and delivering on her promise – blow jobs, titty fucks, and finger fucks. I never buried my hog in her sweet pussy although I had the opportunity on several occasions; what held me back was the knowledge that she was such a succubus that she might find a way to intentionally get knocked up.

I graduated High School when both Brenda and I were nineteen. I found out much later that for whatever reason she was expecting a long term relationship with me, probably because each time I dumped her she was able to worm her way back into my life. By then, however, I was thinking with my brain instead of my dick and I wanted nothing more to do with her and her mercurial personality. I had enlisted in the Army for three years. I was off to basic training three days after graduation without telling her, having either sold or put in storage everything that I owned. I heard that Brenda was one pissed-off viper when she found out.


Surprisingly, in the Army they sometimes place people in positions that they are well suited for – I know that’s shocking (it certainly was to me), but in my case true. I had taken a number of tests – every time that I took one it seemed that after it was graded I was given another test. Based upon my test scores apparently someone in authority recognized that I had a real aptitude for technology so after basic training they assigned me to the Corps of Engineers. They wanted me to extend my enlistment another year for that purpose, but even when I refused they stationed me with the Corps anyway.

After a year doing projects in Iraq my Corps outfit was transferred back to the States. I learned a ton working for the Corps, and when back in the States I was even able to take online engineering courses. By the time that my enlistment was up I was a pseudo-expert in devising hurricane and storm damage reduction infrastructure, and with the credits from the online courses I had taken when in the Corps after two years at a University I got my B. S. in Civil Engineering.

I had only been out of college, and in my new job in the city where I grew up, for about three months when at a backyard pool party I met Brie Jenkins, Brenda’s younger sister. At that time I was 24 years old, she was 21. She seemed more level-headed than Brenda, and just as good looking. I immediately recognized a major difference when as the party was breaking up she was still sober and fully clothed – Brenda would have been drunk and skinny-dipping. Brie had come to the party with some female friends so I offered her a ride home. By the time that I dropped Brie off I had a date with her for the next Saturday.

I dated Brie exclusively for the next several months. I heard from friends that she had been as wild as Brenda in her teens, but it seemed that she truly had matured. However, I found out that while she was definitely more “normal” than Brenda, she also was weird in her own way. She was weird in what she bought, what things she liked, and what things she did.

Some of the weird items that were part of her possessions were: She often wore “Ta-Ta Towels” as tops; they’re provocative; you need at least a C cup to wear them, and they turn heads. She usually sleeps on her side and to prevent one boob from smashing the other she uses a specially designed “boob pillow.” Despite the fact that barefoot she’s five feet nine inches tall she almost always wears high heels and typically with “heel condoms” of different colors as a fashion statement. She has limited patience so she uses a “lipstick helper” mask to properly apply her lipstick quickly.

Things that she likes that I can never understand: Having me paint her toenails. Requiring me to watch, but not touch, as she braids her pubic hair (she doesn’t have a jungle bush but it is significant and she is opposed to shaving). Constantly sniffing my neck and hair. Insisting that I give her oral only after we fuck (or make love, as the case may be), not beforehand.

Things that she does that are weird are: Constantly changing her hairstyle and color; in the first six months we were dating she changed the style and/or color at least a dozen times. Taking butt selfies all of the time. Climbing trees, and if fruit or nut trees laughingly throwing projectiles at me when she’s up there. Using a device called a “Kegelmaster” to do Kegel exercisers and talking about that for a half hour if you let her. She loves to exercise and has a few normal routines, like jogging and light weight lifting, but her favorites are weird: naked yoga (THAT I don’t mind), Jukari (utilizing a trapeze-like apparatus that allows participants to swing, fly, spin, jump and, most importantly, tone the body), and water-walking (utilizing a human sized transparent hamster ball to motor across relatively calm bodies of water).

In addition to all of the weirdness described above, her and my relationships with Brenda are also bizarre. By the time that I met Brie, Brenda was married to Tom Postema (though Brenda kept her maiden name). Brie didn’t tell Brenda about her relationship with me until we had been dating about three months because “Brenda still hates you for dumping her and enlisting in the Army to get away from her.” Therefore it was with some apprehension that I showed for a family get-together at the Jenkins household when I knew that Brenda and Tom would be there.

When I got to the Jenkins party Brie introduced me to Tom; “Scott, this is Brenda’s husband Tom; Tom, my boyfriend Scott.” We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Tom was good looking, but with a preppy non-athletic appearance. “And of course you know Brenda,” Brie said, pointing to her sister who had her arms crossed; Brenda looked just as good as she had when I enlisted in the Army, in fact better because she was more mature. “Hi Brenda,” I said with a smile.

“You know that you’re an asshole, don’t you Scott?” she rhetorically asked. “The least you could have done is fuck me before you took off,” she sneered, right in front of Tom.

What do you say to that? I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled.

“But now I can fuck you vicariously through Brie, so I forgive you,” she snickered. Then she planted a vigorous kiss on my lips, trying to insert her tongue into my mouth, which I resisted.

Then we started talking about other subjects, just like her last statements and actions had never happened.

I saw Michelle again that night. It appeared that Michelle was still meek, and not treated well by Jack, and not particularly respected by her step daughters. She had also gained about ten pounds since I last saw her, but I still considered her attractive. I talked with Michelle quite a bit that night as Brie and Brenda were catching up with their cousins, aunts, and uncles. I even helped Michelle serve dinner, and clean up afterwards.

For reasons not entirely clear to me from that night continuing onward I made a point of interacting with Michelle every chance that I got and I talked her into doing things for herself, including taking fitness classes and joining my health club. By the time that I had been dating Brie for ten months – and was almost ready to ask her to marry me – Brie, Michelle, and I worked out together an average of twice a week, and Michelle was looking, and feeling, better than at any time that I had known her and had more self-confidence. Brie did Jakuri on her own on Saturday mornings, and I went with her – sometimes including Michelle – once a month for water walking. I never tried it myself – I was too big for the transparent ball – but Michelle did and liked it.

When I was ready to ask Brie to marry me I resolved to have a heart-to-heart talk ahead of time. I suspected that Brenda and Tom might be swingers and I needed to set the record straight with Brie that I never even wanted to hear about anything like swinging or swapping if we did marry.

I took Brie to a four star resort for a weekend. Sunday morning – after we had fucked each other’s brains out Saturday – after brunch we sat on the shore of the beautiful little lake the resort was on. As I cuddled her I started out with some questions, and then subtly initiated a discussion.

“Brie – how to you feel about marriage?”

“I have nothing against the concept – why are you thinking of marrying someone Scott?” she replied with an impish grin.

“Well there’s this exciting, sexy, smart, beautiful woman that I know who I might want to ask, but I really need her to know a few things that are deal-breakers in married life before I ask her. Do you think I should have a heart-to-heart talk before I propose?”

“I think you really should – if it was me, I’d want that talk.”

“You see, I never talk about it, although you know that I have essentially no relationship with my mother and a strained one with my father, but I need to tell this wonderful woman why I don’t and how that affects me going forward.”

“Well pretend that I’m this wonderful woman and try it out on me,” Brie responded with an even more diabolical grin.

I related the situation with my family for a good five minutes. Then I said “I hate swinging and swapping with a passion, I would never even put up with discussing them if I were married, and I suspect that Brenda and Tom may be swingers which concerns me. I absolutely require monogamy if I marry, and I’d want the woman I asked to marry me to understand and agree to it.”

Brie paused for a long while and then said “I understand your position, and if anyone ever was interested in marrying me I’d want the same thing and tell them so.” This time her expression was pensive; I was the one with the diabolical smile.

I pulled Brie up so that she was standing, got down on one knee, pulled out a ring that I had gone shopping for with Michelle who assured me that Brie would love it, and asked her to marry me. She did love the ring, she did say “yes,” and then she insisted on showing me how the Kegelmaster made her pc muscles so strong that she could fuck me to orgasm without me moving at all. When twenty minutes later she had me ejaculating into her pussy without me having done anything but groan in pleasure, I was looking forward to a happy married life.

We wasted no time in getting married; Jack and I split the cost of a small but agreeable affair with my sister Jen as my “best man” and Brenda as the matron of honor and who for the first time that I had seen her in a crowd not trying to be the center of attention. Both of my parents were there at the periphery and I had polite conversations with both of them.

Married life was great for four years. While I didn’t interact with my parents much – although we did see Jen, her husband, and two kids often and enjoyed our time with them – we seemed to do a lot with the Jenkins family. I really liked Michelle, I actually somewhat liked Brenda especially since she never got pissed when I put her in her place, and I learned to tolerate Tom and Jack. They were never going to be my friends, but they rarely irritated me. We actually went on a vacation with the Jenkins clan after Brie and I had been married two years, and then a second time after about four years and three months of wedded bliss. The second trip with the Jenkins clan was to an adult resort with a topless-optional pool and beach. Of course Brenda enthusiastically went topless and talked Brie into it the first two days; Michele was too shy to go topless (damn it!).


I have no idea why Brie was so into me exercising hard the third day of the second vacation with the Jenkins clan when I would have preferred to just take it easy. She and her sister Brenda, their stepmother Michelle, and Brenda’s husband Tom, challenged me to multiple events – one at a time so that I was exercising four times as hard as any one of them. The events included swimming races, runs, beach volleyball, obstacle courses, and weight sessions; in each case they demanded some sort of handicap. I did give the three women a handicap, but not Tom. I admit that I enjoyed looking at the three women’s tight bodies in the exercise clothes that they wore, and that is probably the only thing that kept me going. By the end of the day I was exhausted and wondered why while on vacation I had agreed to their contests.

Despite my fatigue I was sexually charged when we were getting ready for dinner. I was grossly disappointed when Brie playfully, but firmly, refused a shower fuck before dinner. “We can’t have a ‘just fucked look’ at the dinner table with my family,” she tittered. She did flash me her recently shaved pussy however, before locking herself in the bathroom to change into smart casual clothes for dinner. Her having shaved her pussy was out of character, but I was probably too tired to think much about it.

Dinner turned out to be somewhat of a disaster. I was not very verbal, and I could see all of Brie, Brenda, Tom, Michelle, and even Jack, chuckling as my eyes got heavy. I almost fell into my plate halfway through dinner, and I excused myself before dessert and cordials. I barely got my clothes – all of them – off before I collapsed into bed, and it wasn’t long before I was in dreamland.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when my naked wife’s body wiggled its way into bed with me. As earlier indicated despite my fatigue I was sexually charged and during a very vivid REM sleep dream I was fucking the brains out of someone I knew, but didn’t want to admit to myself I was lusting after. Then Brie’s naked body coming into contact with me woke me up, but did nothing to dampen my sexual desire. The naked body had stroked my cock, and gently squeezed my balls, only once before I turned into a tiger.

I planted my lips on the closest tit and started sucking it like a starving infant. At the same time I moved my hand down to her pussy. At first I was startled that it was completely smooth – but before panicking remembered that Brie had shaved herself completely the day before. Being hairless it sure felt different than the last time we fucked, but I liked it – or at least my cock did because it went from 95% hard to 100% as soon as I remembered that Brie had shaved.

Not only was the pussy hairless, but it was soaking wet. Apparently Brie was just as sexually charged up as I was.

Brie had apparently modified her technique in conformance with her being shaved because when I buried myself in one stroke instead of aggressively squeezing her pussy muscles she started vigorously bouncing her pelvis up and down while I energetically reciprocated my cock in her pussy. While there was less pc muscle squeezing by her than normal, something about her movements more than made up for it. I continued to suck the tit my mouth had latched onto as I mercilessly pounded her tight active pussy. I hoped that I wasn’t leaving a mark on her left tit, but from past experience I was afraid that I would be; hopefully that meant that she would not go topless the rest of the vacation since I didn’t like Tom or other resort males ogling her.

My ejaculation was epic; I can’t remember ever having cum so hard and so long. Brie seemed to have an all-time orgasm in sympathy with mine as she buried her face in my arm as she screamed and quivered like she was having a seizure.

When my ejaculation finally dissipated and Brie was no longer trembling in orgasm I instinctively rolled off of her. I would have fallen back to sleep almost immediately except that I kept getting orgasmic after-shocks – some almost as intense as some fucks we had had in the past – some aftershocks simultaneously with Brie’s, some at different times. The last thing that I remember that night was Brie’s head on my right shoulder and her right hand on my testicles as I apparently passed out into a post-coital stupor.

When I awoke with the sun peeking through the supposedly light-tight shade on the East-facing window of my hotel room I was in a big spoon position with Brie. I kissed her neck; there was a mark near her left ear that I hadn’t remembered inflicting upon her, but given the intensity of last night’s fuck and my fatigue-altered state of mind that meant nothing. Brie awoke in response to my nuzzling of her neck. I turned her to face me. “God, you were awesome last night” I said with a smile and in a sanguine voice. “With the exceptions of the weekend I proposed, our honeymoon, and our trip to Hawaii, that was the best orgasm of my life,” I crowed.

Brie smiled – but I know her smiles, and this was not a happy smile. It was a fake happy smile. “It was great, wasn’t it,” she cooed, trying to sound serious.

That early in the morning my mind was not able to comprehend what was going on with her fake smile. I kissed Brie and then she started talking about going to breakfast, what we would be doing that day, etc. We got out of bed, had a decent – but not earth-shattering like last night’s was – shower fuck with me behind her as she clawed the tile of the shower stall, then we got dressed and moseyed to breakfast.

At breakfast Brenda and Tom looked particularly cheerful, with alternating big smiles, or smirks, on their faces. “Must have had a hot sex session last night,” I thought to myself, “but not as fantastic as mine,” my thought continued as I smiled inwardly. Michelle and Jack seemed normal while Brie seemed out-of-sorts and was not making eye contact with Brenda or Tom. I was still on a high from last night’s super-fuck, but was also somewhat mystified, not just by Brie’s demeanor but also by something else that I couldn’t put my finger on.

That morning we went on a sight-seeing boat ride. Brenda was unusually flirty, and Brie was unusually somber, but aside from that family inter-actions were pretty normal. After lunch we went to the resort pool – the adult part. Brie quickly got topless despite my mild protestations, while surprisingly Brenda kept her top on. “Just not feeling it today,” she announced to no one in particular. “What, Miss Skinny-Dip is prudish today?” I chuckled, getting no verbal response but just a wicked smile.

Brie unsuccessfully tried again to get Michelle to remove her top, including by telling her “You’ve got a really nice rack, Michelle – don’t hide it.”

Michelle blushed, but declined. I was actually disappointed. Since she started her consistent exercise regime now almost five years ago Michelle had become a fox, and I wouldn’t have minded getting a look at her puppies – out of the corner of my eye, with sunglasses on, of course.

We had light conversation, and I mostly just vegetated, still a little sore from yesterday’s intense physical workout. Michelle, Jack, and I took several dips in the pool when we got hot, but that was about the extent of my physical activity. About three o’clock I got everybody their drink of choice from the poolside bar, and as I handed Brie her drink – while she exposed the left side of her neck and beasts to me for the first time at the pool – I looked hard at her left tit.

Brie’s left tit had no indication whatsoever that it had been vigorously chewed on last night.

Suddenly my mind started working overtime; it was almost like I was trying to solve a civil engineering problem. The information I had was:

-I was totally out of it last night, despite my high libido, and wouldn’t have noticed things I might have otherwise.

-Brie and Brenda – with Michelle’s encouragement – were primarily responsible for my fatigue and being out-of-it.

-Brie had just shaved her crotch, something I didn’t ask her to do and didn’t necessarily want, and something she never indicated any desire to do in the past.

-My hotel room had light-tight shades on the windows, and it was pitch black inside it the previous night.

-There were a few things about my fuck the night before that were a little unusual. I was so overcome with passion that at the time I didn’t focus on those differences. Now, with new information ricocheting around in my brain, I became cognizant of them.

-Brie had an unexplained mark on her neck near her left ear that I noticed that morning and was now larger, and I was now sure it wasn’t there yesterday and that I didn’t give it to her.

-Brie’s left tit showed no sign of being robustly sucked last night.

-Brenda – who was so anxious and pleased to be able to shed her bikini top the last two days (or at almost any other time since I knew her) – was keeping it on today.

Apparently Brie and Brenda noticed me staring at Brie’s neck while handing her a drink, but not letting go of it. I must have been zoned out for a long time because I suddenly recognized Brie pulling at her drink plastic cup and saying “Let go Scott – what’s wrong with you.”

I did let go and then turned to Brenda who was staring at me. “Take your top off Brenda,” I barked.

“I will not – what’s gotten into you,” Brenda snapped back.

“You had no trouble showing your tits yesterday or at almost any other time when there were pool or lake parties; now take it off, just for a couple of seconds,” I sternly replied.

“I will not…” she started to say before I countered “Before I rip it off.”

“Listen, asshole…” Tom said as he started to stand up.

I pushed him back into his lounge chair and staring him in the eye said “Sit down and shut the fuck up or you’ll be spending the evening in a hospital.” He complied since he knew that I could kick his ass one-handed.

I turned back to Brenda and said “Now!”

She looked around and seeing that no one was going to physically intervene even though Brie was offering verbal protests and Michelle was staring at us (Jack was oblivious and probably asleep) she quickly removed her top and then put it back on.

“Satisfied?” she snarled.

“Yes, I am,” I replied. I had seen what I wanted to. Her left tit was marked up, just like I would expect it to be if someone had intensely sucked on it for fifteen or twenty minutes, like I had last night.

I took my drink, poured it over Brie’s head, and then swiftly left the pool area on the way to my room.

I had put on travel clothes and was almost done packing when Brie and Brenda – both wide-eyed – came into the room.

“Scott – what’s wrong?” Brie timidly asked, in a voice so riddled with guilt that she couldn’t have fooled anyone.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I snarled as I continued packing. “Despite what a great fuck your sister was last night I did not agree to swinging or swapping and I want no part of the Jenkins sisters’ sexually perverted behavior anymore.”

Both Brie and Brenda continued to talk but I almost completely tuned them out. I do know that they asked me where I was going and what I was doing, and there was a lot of happy horseshit and sobbing, but I really didn’t focus on anything that they had to say. Within three minutes of their arrival I was carrying my suitcase out of the door with sobs and screams providing background noise.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator I ran down the stairs to the concierge’s desk. Fortunately no one else was there. Within five minutes she had me booked on a flight home, leaving in about two and a half hours, and told me that I could get my boarding pass at the airport check-in machines using my credit card.

I didn’t know how long it would be before the bitch sisters got back home – I didn’t think that they would leave early and forfeit the money that they had already paid for the next four days at our vacation resort – but I didn’t want to take a chance.

I slept in our apartment that night, but by 5:00 p. m. the next day I had moved my stuff into storage and I was at an extended stay hotel. By the end of the following day I had signed a contract on a new efficiency apartment that I could move into at the beginning of the next month and had removed my name from any joint accounts that we had, of whatever type, and had put half of our jointly held cash and stocks into new accounts in my name alone.

I finally got around to checking the messages on my cellphone – which had been turned off most of the last three days – after I signed the contract for my new apartment. There were at least a dozen messages from Brie, three from Brenda, and even one from Jack. I listened to them until they got to the point that they were repeating themselves and/or sobbing. None of them had any detail; all talked mostly about a “misunderstanding.” I deleted them and went into work with theoretically three days remaining on my “vacation.”

My boss and co-workers sensed my unpleasant deportment and didn’t ask any poignant questions. I did leave instructions with the guards at the entrance of the secure facility that I worked at that they were not to allow anyone looking for me into the building without checking with me first. I also had my group’s receptionist only take messages and not pass calls onto me unless they were from a male whose last name wasn’t Jenkins or Postema.

Within a week I had hired a divorce attorney and Brie was served at the apartment I used to share with her three days after she got back from her marriage-ending vacation.


I didn’t think that anyone from the Jenkins family, or their proxies, could find me since my apartment was a little out-of-the-way and I had leased it using a dormant LLC that I had set up several years ago. That is the LLC was dormant until I infused it with cash a day before I signed the lease as president of the LLC. I knew that eventually I would have to face Brie, but according to my attorney that wouldn’t be for at least six weeks.

Imagine my surprise when at about 8:30 on a Friday night a mere fifteen days after Brie was served there was a knock at my door. I was sure that it must be a solicitor, but looked through the peephole anyway. I was shocked to see Michelle standing there with a fraught look on her face. I almost didn’t open the door – I certainly never would have to anyone else in the extended Jenkins family – but I had a soft spot for Michelle, so I did.

“Hi Scott,” she meekly said, clutching her purse.

“Hi Michelle,” I pleasantly replied.

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” I replied, moving out of the way and with a flourishing hand gesture beckoning her in.

We exchanged a few pleasantries, I offered her a seat on my sleeper couch, which was in couch configuration, and I got her a glass of wine.

“So, why are you here?” I asked after she chugged half of her glass.

“I’m here to beg you to talk to Brie and to reconsider the divorce,” she said, glancing first at the glass in her hands, then making brief eye contact, and then staring at the floor. “My silly step children have gotten the message loud and clear, and they won’t be attempting a stunt anything like that again.”

“What ‘stunt’ are you talking about?” I seemingly innocently replied.

“That husband-switching thing,” she mumbled.

“Before we go on, I first need to find out if you had any culpability. You seemed to enthusiastically support them when planning to wipe me out physically the day of the swap, probably to insure that I wasn’t with it enough to recognize Brenda when she came into my bed while Brie was fucking Tom. You had to know what they were trying to do.

“I honestly didn’t know what they were up to. I did help them but it was only because Brie told me that you got really sexually charged after exercise and she wanted an intense night with you. While I couldn’t understand why Brie and Brenda seemed to be giggling to themselves several times during the day I swear that I didn’t know what they had planned. If I had I would have stopped them.”

We continued on that topic for the next five or six minutes; she finally convinced me that she didn’t know anything about the swap. Michelle is an honest person and has tells if she makes any attempt at deception.

“OK; I believe you. Now why are you trying to save Brie’s marriage?”

“Brie was blackmailed into it by Tom and Brenda.”

“How’s that?”

“Well…and Brie has told me I could tell you this since she’s desperate not to lose you – at Nancy’s bachelorette party in Vegas about three months ago Brie got really drunk. Although Brenda won’t admit to it I believe that she kept feeding Brie doubles and then pushed her into a room with a male stripper. Brenda took photos of the stripper fucking Brie doggy style. During Brie’s hangover the next morning she had little recollection of what happened and was aghast when Brenda showed her the photos. Brie demanded that Brenda delete them from her phone but Brenda smugly replied ‘I already sent them to Tom.'”

“Not sounding credible – but go on,” I interjected.

Michelle sighed and then continued. “You probably know that Brenda has always been pissed that you hooked up with Brie after you got back from the Army and has always wanted a shot at you. Apparently Tom has always wanted to fuck Brie too. Brenda could never convince Brie to go along with a swap – mostly because Brie knew that you would never agree and it would cause a rift between you – so Brenda came up with this plan. Apparently Brie reluctantly agreed.”

“Reluctantly, huh,” I snickered. “Then how come they were giggling about it during the day?”

Michelle looked down at her hands, then back at me. “I can’t answer that. Maybe she did want to go along – I’m just telling you what she said. I know that she regrets it mightily.”

“Sure – she got caught,” I sneered.

“Uh…not just for that reason. She said that sex with Tom was the worst ever, and she was pissed that you and Brenda had such a good time and that Brenda kept rubbing it in,”

“Not my problem,” I snapped.

“I know it’s not. But I have known Brie ever since she was a young teen and I am convinced that she is truly remorseful and wants the chance to make it up to you,” Michelle plead. Thereafter Michelle tried for the next ten minutes to convince me to give Brie another chance. Eventually I stopped her.

“I understand what you’re saying, although I’m far from convinced. What I’m confused about is why they sent you to see me,” I smiled.

“They think that you like me…a lot…and that you’d be more receptive to me talking to you than Brenda or Brie. Plus I told them that I’d do anything to help them,” Michelle responded.

When she said that I got an evil grin on my face; I sat thinking and grinning for the next minute or so then I stood up, walked over to the door to my apartment, and put the security chain and manual door lock on.

“Wha…wha…what are you doing?” Michelle queried.

“You said that you’d do anything to help Brie and Brenda. I’m testing that. You may not have admitted it to yourself but you’ve known that I’ve had a thing for you almost since I met you; even when you were a little overweight and without much self-confidence. In the last four-plus years you’ve become hotter than a Roman candle,” I replied as I removed my shirt, then my pants and socks.

When I started removing my boxers a wide-eyed Michelle said “We can’t…I’m married, and so are you…this isn’t right.”

I had a hard time getting my boxers off since my dick was sticking straight out and was as hard as a piece of iron.

I slowly approached dumbfounded Michelle. When I got right in front of her and started unbuttoning her blouse she tried to push me away mumbling “No Scott…we can’t.”

It seemed that her protests, and the strength of her push, got quieter or weaker as each button was undone. Soon I had her top off; next came her bra. At my first look at her delightful rack I said “No wonder at the pool Brie told you that you had a great rack – it’s fabulous.”

After I lightly kissed each nipple I got down on my knees and started working on the zipper to her skirt. “Please no, Scott; this is so wrong; you can’t do this to me,” she continued to mumble as she gently tried to push my head away. That is she tried to push my head away until I had removed her skirt, pulled down her panties, and buried my tongue in her gushing pussy. After that there still were some “Nos” interspersed with moans and other signs of delight. While still sitting on the couch and in her high heels Michelle orgasmed from my tongue’s work on her labia and clit while my hands firmly grasped the globes of her supreme ass; she almost collapsed. I held onto her until her orgasm started dissipating and then stood up and lifted her naked body into my arms.

I laid Michelle on the couch cushions and then straddled her. She kept on mumbling “Please don’t Scott” until I penetrated her with my impossibly hard dick. After that there were no more protests. She turned from passive to a human dynamo. By the time that I had deposited a mega-load in her restless pussy we were both glistening with sweat and almost wiped out by our zealousness. Our virtually simultaneous orgasms were apocalyptic! The feeling that I had was ineffable.

I’m not exactly sure how it happened but somehow we eventually pulled out the bed from the couch and started working on each other’s sex organs with a passion. We took a shower about midnight and replaced the sweaty and cum-stained sheets, and then went back at each other. From the time I first ejaculated into her we probably didn’t say more than fifty words to each other the entire night (“Oh God Yes!” doesn’t count) but we didn’t need to. It was apparent to both of us that we had a deep-seated connection to each other that had been suppressed a long time. Just like uncapping a volcano once that passion was released there was no stopping it or turning back.

When we awoke the next morning entirely drained; face-to-face we simultaneously chuckled. “I think that I had more orgasms last night than in any five years of my life,” Michelle chirped.

“I felt more love last night than I did in any ten years of my life,” I replied. “I wasn’t just fucking or sucking you; I was making mad passion love like I never have before.”

“Not even with Brie?” she giggled.

“Not even with Brie,” I shot back.

“Not even with Brenda?” she mischievously asked.

As I tickled her I said “I never made love to Brenda – I just unknowingly fucked her and while I’m not going to pretend that it wasn’t great, it didn’t compare to what I had with you last night.”

“Right answer,” she snickered, and then bit my nose. “You know that this might be the end of my marriage; I didn’t call Jack last night. He doesn’t know where I was.”

“Just tell him that you were in the arms of your soulmate,” I replied.

“Yeah, that will work,” she chuckled.

We ate breakfast together naked, then we showered again. Our male and female parts were too abused to fuck, suck, or make love, so we had to content ourselves with delicately washing off each other’s bodies.

As Michelle was getting ready to leave she asked “What should I tell Brie?”

“Tell her that you convinced me to talk to her and possibly re-evaluate the situation but don’t give her any expectation that we’ll reconcile. Now; how about us?”

Michelle turned serious. “Last night was the best night of my life – but are we ready for the fallout if we try for a relationship?”

“I happen to think that you’re worth any fallout,” I grinned.

“Let me think about it,” she replied in a solemn tone.

“The ball’s in your court,” I concluded with a kiss on her forehead. I liked the look of her svelte body as she walked down the hallway to the stairwell, her firm ass bouncing back-and-forth.

Michelle called me that afternoon – I only answered the phone because I recognized her number. “Just a few things to report” she opened in a sing-song voice.

“Can’t wait to hear,” I chuckled.

“I dodged a bullet with Jack. He had gone out with an old college buddy, got drunk, and he and his buddy were both passed out in the living room when I got home so he didn’t even know that I was gone. I wouldn’t have lied to him if he asked me where I was, but I see no reason to volunteer the information since he thinks that I was home last night.”

I chuckled again.

“Next, I told Brie that I convinced you to re-evaluate, but didn’t give her any expectations. She really wants to talk to you; as a favor to me could you?”

“After last night I would probably do anything you asked me to – except reconcile with her. I will talk to her; now, what about us?”

“I have to get over the euphoria of last night and think logically about it. Give me some time, and while I’m thinking about it you should reconsider whether you want to be with a woman six years older than your twenty nine, and if you’d get bored with my bland personality.”

This time I out-and-out laughed. “I’ve always liked you and it will be impossible to be bored with you. I’m ready to jettison the ‘excitement’ provided by the Jenkins sisters. As I said last night, the ball’s in your court.”

Then we mutually terminated the call.


As I promised Michelle I would, I did meet with Brie. All she had to share was happy horseshit and trite excuses. I demanded that she show me the photos that Brenda allegedly took of her and the male stripper; from her body language and stuttering I knew that the blackmail story was horseshit. I continued with the divorce action and even expedited it.

I talked with Michelle on the phone at least every other day; some of the conversations were long and revealing – to both of us. We didn’t meet in person because we knew what would happen – namely a repeat of the best night of my life, and I guess neither of us was ready for that at that particular time.

Things progressed at work and I got a promotion with a significant bump in salary – which my company was happy to withhold until my divorce was final.

The worst thing during this period – I had no sexual encounters, except with my own hand. I really was interested in only one person, and I wasn’t going to “cheat” on her unless she made a decision not to get together. Brenda actually showed up one night with only a trench coat on – I laughed at her while closing the door in her face, but was embarrassed when I beat my meat after she left.

Roughly six weeks after my sexual encounter with Michelle she called at 8:00 a. m. and got right to the point. “We need to meet in person; someplace public but where you can’t ravage me if your libido gets too high.”

I was a little taken back. “How about at Grant Park; near the carousel?” I replied.

“When??” was her retort.

“Today at noon?”

“Make it 12:30 and I’ll see you there,” she responded, then terminated the call.

I was perplexed; maybe she had come to a decision and it wasn’t a favorable one. I tried to put it out of my mind and work on my most recent project.

When I got to the park she was sitting at a bench near the carousel. I bent over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. She eschewed any small talk.

“There’s something that I need to tell you, Scott; I’m pregnant.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “Bu…bu…but you told me you couldn’t have kids.”

“That’s what I thought because Jack had fathered two children and since that proved that he was potent I assumed that I couldn’t when we tried and failed.”

“Is it Jack’s” I asked.

“No; once I found out that I was pregnant I looked through all his medical papers and found out that the asshole had a vasectomy before we married and never told me about it. I hate him for that. There is no doubt that the kid is yours; however my doctor says that we can confirm parentage after nine weeks with a simple blood test. She also told me that I’m six weeks pregnant which conforms exactly to the night you deposited a liter of seminal fluid into me.”

We sat looking at each other without saying anything for a few minutes. Then I smiled broadly, got down on one knee, removed her wedding and engagement rings, and held her engagement ring near her finger and asked “Michelle Jenkins nee Randle, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

After a delay with words choking in her voice she replied “You don’t have to do this.”

I responded “No, I don’t; but I want to more than anything else in the world.”

“I’ll need help with my divorce,” she retorted.

“I’ll give you whatever you need.”

She started lightly sobbing and then said “Yes,” and I slipped the engagement ring back on her finger, but not the wedding ring.

We both called into work and told them we wouldn’t be back that afternoon and then in the most loving experience of our lives for the next three hours we consummated our engagement in a Four Seasons Hotel next to Grant Park.


Michelle and I made very careful plans, knowing the shit that was going to fly from the Jenkins family. I bought a small house a week after my proposal to her and bought her an engagement ring from me. She started wearing it instead of the engagement ring from Jack and her wedding ring – Jack never even noticed. Of course the blood test at nine weeks of her pregnancy confirmed that the little boy she was carrying was mine.

As soon as my divorce from Brie was final – Michelle had just started to show – she moved out of the Jenkins house into the house that I had purchased. Once she was settled in I called Jack, Brie, and Brenda and gave them the “good news.” They were all furious and called me every bad name they could think of. I simply let them vent – and that probably pissed them off even more since they eventually hung up on me, not vice-versa.

Faced with his failure to advise Michelle of his vasectomy, the fact that Michelle was pregnant with my kid, and the fact that Michelle and I weren’t seeking anything except her personal possessions and $10,000, Jack actually cooperated in expediting his divorce from Michelle. Michelle was divorced, and we had married, before little Kevin was born.

Living with Michelle my love grew every day. By the time that our second child, little Tiffany, was born I considered myself the luckiest man alive.


By the way – the Jenkins sisters are still as weird as possible. They actually have remained friends with Michelle and often ask her – twice in my presence – if she’d like to arrange a swap with me and their husbands (Brie is remarried and is now a swinger).

Michelle politely declines.

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