“Who's in for another round?” Big ol' Tom, the bartender, offered.
Leaning over his half-empty pint, his glass eye immobilized while the intact one stared at big ol' Tom, the elder of the only two guests replied, “Still nuthin' goin' on tonight, huh? An' I c'mere to listen to sum good stories, just like the ol' days.”
“Well,” said big ol' Tom, “tonight's a bit of a shame, sure. But these calm nights usually do offer the best stories.” He paused. “Not this time, as it seems, though...” He turned his head to his younger guest. “And you, son? No story to tell either?”
The young lad slightly, yet reluctantly shook his head no. He pressed his lips together, his eyes looking down to his empty glass.
“So either I give you another round, my friends, or I'm afraid I'll close the tavern for tonight,” sighed big ol' Tom.
“But wasn't that the deal?” the elder man asked, “we tell ya stories an' you hand us them drinks to hammer down while we talkin'. Cuz tellin' them stories makes thirsty.”
“Sure, you're right, Marshal. But tonight's kind of an exception, I guess.” Big ol' Tom stood up. “So last round for tonight... On the house.” He kept on murmuring while walking out of the dim light of the table lamp to the bar. “Maybe I should have called it the tavern ' the dirtier, the better' instead of ' the place where stories are told'.”
“Wait, what did you just say?” intervened the younger guest. “Dirty? That kind of rings a bell.”
Both Marshal and big ol' Tom were all ears all of a sudden, staring at the young man.
He resumed talking. “There actually is a story. I was just afraid it might be a little inappropriate. But since dirty is what you want, dirty is what I can offer you.”
“Lookie there, now who's been hidin' sumthin' here? So you got a nice piece a' story? Reckon we that's what we been waitin' for, yeah? That story better be long and exciting. Ain't been excited by them last stories no more. Them last folks was just too short fo' words for good narration. They is no good in telling stories no more, nowuttamsayin?” commented Marshal all the while big ol' Tom hurried to refill three glasses with his best draft beer.
“Don't worry, old man, I'm pretty damn sure you're going to enjoy that one—that is, if you're more into the kinky stuff,” answered the young lad. “Oh man, this is really happening. I've been waiting like forever to finally get this off my chest.” He took a few deep breaths as if to make sure he wasn't fainting or simply dreaming. “Phew! Let me gather my thoughts a little.”
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I have sort of always lived in a rather chaotic family: My father, whom I often refer to as 'the asshole', had left my mother and me when I was in my early teens. Yes, I was fourteen, I think. He had found a barely legal slut during his midlife crisis and ran off with her. It only lasted a few months after all. Serves him right, but that's a totally different story.
Anyhow... Guess what? His running off was a huge problem. My mother had been running the house while the asshole had been the director of a great company; lots of cash and so on and so forth. At least, he left us our great villa that was worth a pretty deal of money. Unfortunately, we had to sell it to be able to survive, because given my mother hadn't had a proper education, she encountered serious trouble in finding an actual job. On the bright side, the money from our villa bought us some extra time to find a good source of money.
It took me ages to get over it. I was traumatized. So I just barricaded myself behind my computer and became your typical nerd; the total opposite of attractive: unpopular with girls, not athletic at all. I gained a lot of weight, which, of course, incited the guys at school to bully me. That didn't help any either, for I found solace in eating even more. Bad choice!
At least, my mother hadn't taken too much time to move in with a new boyfriend who she seemed pretty happy with. He was okay for me too. I was fine with him as my stepdad and he was okay with me as his stepson. However, he had a daughter named Lynne who was two years older than I was. A real pain in the ass, I tell you. She wouldn't miss a chance to pick on me. Not even at home did I have a break from being badgered, you see?
That was not the only problem: ever since I had realized my stepsister was a real babe, I couldn't take my eyes off her. It happened right after my sixteenth birthday. I ran into the bathroom while she was taking a shower. I liked what I was looking at—well, gawking at would be a more suitable expression, I guess—but she obviously didn't like that so much. I still do wonder why... Nonsense!
Well, she may have forgotten to lock the bathroom door that day, but surely haven't I forgotten what she yelled at me.
I remember her shouting the exact words, “Get the fuck outta here, you fat perv!!!”
Ever since that day, I'd masturbate while thinking of her. Sure, blame me, but what would you guys expect from a sixteen-year-old fatty? The more I did, the more I fell for that insupportable bitch. I even went to the gym on a regular basis to get in a healthier shape again... and maybe also a little to please her. Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted her to notice me, nothing more!
There was no way I'd ever understand that. It was bugging me over and over. What twisted kind of love had my heart gotten me into?
And what did she do? Of course, she noticed, and of course, she used it to pick on me even more. Getting caught masturbating with one of her used panties wrapped around my dick didn't help any. She had left them right behind her wide-open door, exposed to everyone's look. What did she expect I'd do with them? Wash them, hang them out to dry, fold them neatly and put them in her drawer? And know what? After that unfortunate incident, she still kept leaving them right there on the floor. Man, she practically asked me to misuse them to satisfy my hormone-driven sexual needs.
And to tease me even more, she started wandering around the house in her hottest, sluttiest lingerie. A real witch, I tell you!
Things got even worse when she started to have what looked like millions of guys over anytime we had a free run of the house. This appeared to occur quite often since we were old enough and my mother and her boyfriend loved to have some time off from their children; on weekends mostly.
Whenever this was the case, Lynne would command me to get the fuck into my room and sit in front of my computer, adding a 'fat little nerd, piggy, fatty, pervo'—you name it—at the end of her orders.
“And don't you rat me out, you hear me, fucking wanker? Tell a single word and I'll punish you and you know I will.”
Did I mention she was a bitch? Do you now understand why my secret love to her—okay, not that secret, I admit—was nothing but a pain in the ass? Oh man, how I hated all of this.
The worst part of all this was that I could hear every noise, every moan through the thin walls that separated both our rooms. It was a real torture. Each time, I hoped so bad the dickhead she was using that time would go—just go, nothing more. The sooner, the better.
I bet you guys wouldn't let all of this just slide, right? Neither did I. I made up my mind. I just needed to wait for the right occasion to make her pay once and for all. Remember I said I was a nerd? Why not use it against her? Her notebook was facing her bed, so I just needed to wait until she'd forget to turn that thing off on one of these days she had one of her poor catamites over. I bet you guys have heard of that tiny little lens built-in every notebook on top of the screen called webcam, haven't you?
On that one fateful day, everything changed. It was one of these Fridays where our parents would go out the entire evening, and probably even get themselves a hotel room for the night. They were looking forward to listening to a show of some jazz pianist I had never heard of before, and they declared to be their mutual favorite, although never listening to any of his records. Parents' stuff and so on... Why make up a silly excuse to go do what so-called 'grown-ups' do? Seriously? They were really bad liars.
It was just one month after Lynne's twenty-first birthday.
“And remember, kids: Behave, and no friends over!” Mom said before leaving. Why did they still treat us like we were little kids? We had every goddamn right to do whatever the hell we wanted.
Back to the story!
The doorbell announcing Lynne's toy for that night rang so soon I wondered if that poor bastard had been hiding in the bushes in our garden. I went into my room before she could even start with her usual cascade of insults. As soon as I heard her close the bedroom door, I started my almost weekly work: check if her computer was still running—that is, try to hack into it.
And there it was: she had forgotten to turn it off! Finally, the day I could make her pay for all she had ever done to me had come. Finally, I could put my cruel little plan I had made up a few years back into execution. Through her webcam, I had a clear look at her bed. There were—as expected—two people making out, fondling, touching, undressing. I watched them with great interest. Why not? The hottest girl I knew, about to spread her legs for that poor toy she'd discard right after he had epically failed at satisfying her.
I won't go into detail here. Not much to tell there anyway. Just your typical lo-fi tape with just-a-hint-more-than-vanilla-sex on it. Nothing really exciting. The guy shooting his load way too early. Barely enough material to get a semi-boner, know what I mean?
----------------
“Where are these free drinks anyway?” asked the young storyteller, before apologizing for his rude way of expression. “Oh, I'm sorry. Got a little carried away, I guess. I still kind of hold a grudge against her. Really sorry. May I have a refill of my pint?”
“Never mind, son,” replied big ol' Tom, who did his customer the favor of refilling his empty glass.
“Gotta admit, boy. That sum good stuff—ya story. Real nice lissnin' to ya. Can't wait to hear where ya be goin' with this,” commented Marshal.
“I hope you do because now comes the exciting part, but first let me quench that thirst of mine a little.”
----------------
I just had to wait until she threw her unsatisfying lover out.
“Get out, you useless piece of shit! You're even more worthless than my fat pig of a stepbrother!” she yelled, showing that poor naked devil the door.
She slammed the door so hard the whole house vibrated. The door flung open a second time and she threw her failed lover's clothes at him. Poor boy was humiliated; his manly pride was broken—or better: crushed into a million pieces. I could see him crying. Who hadn't seen that coming? He was a true misery. Although he clearly had it coming from the very beginning—considering my stepsister's social skills—I felt a little pity for that miserable creature.
As soon as he was dressed, I led him to our door, whispering soothing words to him. He went away still sniffing and trying to recollect his far gone masculinity.
Before knocking at Lynne's door, I got my own notebook from my room and opened my newest cinematographic acquisition.
A characteristic humming noise accompanied by Lynne's moans could be clearly heard coming from her room. No doubt about what she was doing there. I knocked anyway.
The answer came with her habitual hostility, spiced up with additional frustration about the renewed interruption in her carnal activities. “What do you want, fucking pervo? You know exactly what I'm trying to do here!”
“Yes, I am,” I said while entering her room, “and know what? You forgot to turn your computer off, dear stepsister.”
“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out!!”
She took her vibrator out of her dripping cunt, and threw it at me. Since I kind of saw this coming, I dodged it with ease.
She stood up, and looked at me, hesitantly looking at the screen of my notebook. “Wait... What do you mean by I didn't turn my computer off?”
“See for yourself.”
The picture quality was just good enough to recognize it was her room, and a guy was buried in her pussy balls-deep. The caption at the lower right corner read the date and time of the record.
“How did you...? I swear, I'm going to kill you!!” She was in blank rage; hatred filled her eyes—more than usual.
“No, you're not,” I stated stoically, “'cause I'm gonna show this piece of evidence to your dad and my mom as soon as they come back. Unless...”
The expression of pure horror; no, better: of blank fear in her face—priceless! She sank on her knees, still naked.
“Please, I'll do anything, please, I beg you. Don't tell on me.”
“Anything, you say?” I paused to see her nod. “You've been a naughty girl, Lynne.” I heard the creepiness in my voice and I knew my grin was devilish. Seeing her beg like she did turned me on to no end. I really had to restrain myself from getting too carried away. “Then why don't you start by sucking that cock. And remember, you don't behave, I'll rat you out.”
Her eyes widened in shock. She wasn't used to being at someone's mercy. “No, please. Don't do that to me.”
I grinned sarcastically. “Why not? No, don't say it. You don't have to. You're free, but tell me... Would you rather have it sent to Mom by E-mail or by WhatsApp? Wait... Or should I upload it to YouPorn right away?”
