A Taste of His Own Medicine

I stepped through the door, letting it slam uncomfortably behind me. The ornate, carved glass window shook. I headed straight for the staircase, going up it two stairs at a time, feeling every fiber of the carpet beneath my feet as I headed straight for my room, teary-eyed.

I couldn't believe he would do that. I paced the room frustrated, feeling the anger bubble underneath my skin and leave as pathetic tears. It hissed through all my muscles and had no means of escape.

It wasn't that he remarried and left my mother and siblings. With my financial situation I was left with no choice but to rent from him in his new house, but that didn't bother me now. No, it was far worse this time. The line was more than crossed.

I clawed at my bedspread in agony for the better part of a half hour, curled up in a ball with the lights off. Eventually, the feeling started to simmer down to a light rage, and I felt that I could think again. With the room starting to darken with the shortening days, I figured it might be a good time for a post-cry snack.

I stopped by the bathroom on my way down, making sure I didn't look too puffy. The lights in the house were glowing yellow.

I snuck into the kitchen, startled a bit by the fact that the light was already on and the room was already occupied. Martin was there with a sleeve of old Girl Scout cookies.

"Hey. Want one?" He held the stack out to me, looking as if he could see under my mask of salty skin. He was my father's new wife's son, so I guess he was technically my stepbrother, now.

I accepted, grinning, feeling a little awkward, hoping the tension in the room would dissipate. The mask didn't last long, as I was forced to revert back to my anger. I figured, as he was now part of the family, that by then he should have heard about exactly what I was so pissed about. "That piece of shit...I'll fuckin-" I paced the room with my cookie.

He broke the polite veil. "I know, I-I'll..."

I grabbed another cookie. If only I were still in college, then I wouldn't have to live here with my piece-of-shit father. Martin, on the other hand, I don't know why he was even living here. I thought he was only a year or so older than I was.

"I just can't fucking stand it." I interrupted. "And I know your mom is gonna go through exactly the same shit he put my family through. I wish I could just leave. Wish I could give him a...taste of his own medicine, you know?" I finished reaching out for the cookies; it was just us in the kitchen, between the extravagant island and the sink you just touched to turn on. Well, at least that son of a bitch had enough cash stored to make it seem nice, for now.

I took a deep breath and let some of the tension fall away. "Aren't they supposed to be home right now?" I asked.

Martin put away the box of cookies, pushed up his glasses. The dull lighting illuminated his troubled face.

"Think they're out late, tonight."

"Good. I can't stand to be in the same house as him, right now."

A spark lit in his eyes, like he was repressing his feelings until now. "Guys like him think they'll always get a break, don't they?" The devilish smirk on his face grew to a look I hadn't seen on him before, even though we'd only known each other for a short while. I kind of smiled at the thought of him getting revenge on my father; he wasn't well liked in that department anyway, and him living in the house, too, was met with some criticism. Actually, to say he wasn't well like was an understatement - my father preyed on Martin like he hadn't developed beyond being a high school bully.

"You look like you have some sort of revenge plan, or something," I laughed, swaying, in the back of my mind wondering about dinner. It felt like when you were a young adult, after your parent's short courtship with a stranger, any new stepsiblings kind of felt like new roommates, or wardmates in the crazy-house that was this household. Because of this it didn't really seem like we were, as the court ruled, "related". Needless to say, I'd kind of had a crush on him for the past several weeks.

"Oh, no. Can't think of anything that would get under that bastard's skin," he replied. As I was the youngest of my father's four children, and the only girl, he wasn't wild about having another reckless and hormonal young adult in the house. It seemed Martin mainly steered clear of the general living spaces when he was around.

"He hates you," I chimed in, not meaning anything of it, it was just on the top of my head.

"I've noticed that," he scoffed.

"But like, a lot." I avoided eye contact.

"And I don't see how I'm any different than you. We're the same age."

"You're a year older than me. And you're a boy. It's a classic misogynist rule."

"Fine."

A terrible thought occurred to me, that was apparently so deviously horrible it caused a facial expression that he needed to comment on.

"What're you thinking about? Your face-" He laughed.

"Oh, um, revenge. Never mind, it was something bad." I blushed.

"How bad? Like murder?"

"No, no. It was just gross. I should really figure out dinner."

"Gross like-"

"Fuck. Gross like he hates you and hates you having anything to do with me. Gross as in his belief that daughters are supposed to be protected from wily, horny boys, when he's the one ganging up on women like that, too."

He closed the refrigerator and chuckled softly. "Are you really thinking about that? Like he would even know if that happened! He's not even here."

"He'd know." I started mumbling, staring at the kitchen counter. "I have a video camera..."

He went quiet for a second. "Well, we could do that." He said it as if he was deciding on something for dinner. "I know they're both going out to eat tonight."

"Are you kidding me?" I couldn't help but feel some excitable anger bubble up again. He then gave me an anxious look that could only translate to "meet me upstairs".

We rushed up there; I ran to my room to grab the camcorder that was shoved in my closet somewhere. This was wrong. This was so wrong. But it wasn't like we were blood related. Plus, that bastard, who we were both now related to in some way, had it coming for him.

We met halfway between our two bedrooms, but in thinking, I suggested something.

"His...bed..." I hissed, out of breath from bolting up the stairs.

"I mean, sure, if we're already in this deep..." He was blushing.

I rushed him into the master bedroom and turned on the light. I pulled the curtains closed, then locked the door. "Are you sure they won't be home soon?" It would only work if my father wasn't able to kick Martin's ass when he saw what we were about to do.

He fidgeted with his hands. "I'm sure. My mom said they were going to some nice place, a couple of towns over. Are you sure you want to do this? I mean-" he lowered his voice. "we're step-siblings..." If anyone had heard, I was sure they would have just thought this nice, new house at the end of the street was just the town's newest incest porn studio.

"As long as you have a condom."

He grabbed the camera out of my hands. I had almost forgotten about it. I was hoping he would know how the piece of equipment better than I did. Our parents' bed wasn't even made from that morning, but it wasn't like that was gonna stop us, now. He pressed a few buttons and placed it on the dresser perpendicular to the bed.

"Do you... have a-" I asked, heart racing. He ran over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and threw a handful of condoms onto the bed next to me.

"The camera's ready when you are."

I didn't really know how sex tapes worked, especially those created in revenge. I figured I might as well take off my pants. "How does this work? Do I flip off the camera or something?"

"What? Just make it natural." His wide eyes led me to believe that maybe he'd been thinking about this moment for longer than I had. I thumbed through the collection of prophylactics on the sheets urgently. Some of them were kind of bizarre. It was a little disgusting.

"Oh, so I don't say 'screwing my stepbrother in my father's bed, take one'?"

He grinned, stifling a laugh, his dark blond hair leaning towards orange in the awkward lighting.

"Are you ready?"

"Fuck, sure."

He pressed a button and a little red light went on the camera. He rushed over to the bed, which I had sat down on. Good thing my pants were already off. I wasn't sure how much room this tape had left.

"Ok, I, um, can I talk?" I whispered as he pulled at my underwear among the sea of extra-fancy blankets.

"Say whatever you want. It's not like he's gonna be paying any attention to you're saying."

I laid back on the bed, staring at the golden ceiling, and placed in his hand the one condom that wasn't marketed towards fragile masculinity. It had become increasingly sweaty in my palm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the recording lens, remembered what it was there for, then gave it a little smirk. He jumped over to my side and came in for a really desperate kiss. Something told me he must have not been very popular in high school. I wasn't totally convinced this porno was in need of any romance, but after a few seconds I found that I just couldn't pull myself away from his lips. I softly reminded him that this tape might not last that long, going at this rate.

"God, fuck me." I said just loud enough for the microphone to register, but not loud enough that the neighbors would complain tomorrow. I tugged at his t-shirt, but realized that in the event there'd be unexpected visitors tonight, I might want some sort of protection. I could work around clothes. Anyway, I was under the impression this was meant to be a quickie. He looked at me quizzically after my raucous comment as if he hadn't expected dialogue like that.

I spoke quieter this time. "Please?"

Once he'd gotten the condom on, I made a point to act a little sluttier than I usually would in the situation. I pulled him closer with my legs, and he blushed.

"Just think about what that motherfucker did. Think about the look on his face when he sees this."

He looked intrigued, in a "motivated to create a sex tape" kind of way.

"God damn it."

I felt him slide inside me, watching his lengthened gaze. But mentally, I was beginning to fast forward to however the hell this videotape would ever be watched.

"Closer," I whined, his hips grinding against mine. "Make it look like you fuckin' mean it." As if he was doing this halfheartedly.

"Sorry," he whispered, running his hand up my side, under my shirt, probably strategizing how to take it off while I was on my back, "I'm just thinking about how much more your dad is gonna hate me now."

"Don't call him that." I wiggled off my shirt, and popped off my bra effortlessly, grabbing his right hand and guiding it towards my breast. "Make him regret everything. Make it dirty." He thrusted a couple more times, trying to make a better effort.

"Make him regret being born?"

"Fuck, well I wouldn't necessarily say that." I laughed. "What are you thinking about?" He licked up my chest and it tickled a bit.

"Flip over?"

It took a second to register. "Lube?"

He got up to rummage in that godawful nightstand again while I flipped over onto my hands and knees and prepared for impact.

"Oh, god," he stopped rummaging. "this is specifically for anal..."

"Okay, well we can come to terms with parental trauma later."

He came back over and laid kisses on my neck.

"Try some fingers in there first. Give him a real run for his money." Luckily his fingers weren't cold, but the lube was. It was surprisingly viscous. "Make sure you refuse to break eye contact with the camera, too." I grinned.

"Okay. Are you ready now?"

"Go ahead." The fact he still hadn't lost his shirt led me to believe he didn't believe a single word our parents had said about what time they'd be back, either.

It was kind of a tight fit, but I don't know what I was thinking. I was a little worked up from the whole situation.

"Woo hoo, sodomy," I whispered, thrilled. He laughed. "Disappoint my father, Martin, disappoint him more."

He reached between my legs to rub me, maybe thinking that mutual sexual satisfaction might provide maximum disappointment to my father. The combination of stimulation was working for me. I started to forget where I was and who I was with.

"Ah, fuck it, harder." I groaned, feeling the sweat of our bodies in contrast with the creaking of the mattress.

"You almost there?" He pulled my hair out of my face, sighing.

"Yes, but the more you talk, the more I am reminded of it."

"Shit, sorry."

His fingers brought my a special kind of ecstasy, and I clenched at the bedspread so hard my fingers hurt when they finally relaxed. He grasped at my side and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like he was biting his lip and I barely heard what he said. I slumped forward into the sheets, face brushing the silk as he lay down next to me. The light on that camera was still glaring; I wasn't yet ready to turn it off.