Mie & Aren

Disclaimer:

All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is a prequel/sequel (sprequel?) to my other work, Alex & Alexa. As always, many thanks and gratuitous panty shots from Freja and Jeanie to my long-suffering editor and beta-reader for their assistance in polishing up and improving this work. Reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice. Enjoy!

Please Note:

There are incest themes with a secondary couple in this story. Just a forewarning.

***

Alex opened the door and walked into the house, yawning. He'd gone to the university by himself, trying to catch up on some work in the Sino-Tibetan language category, leaving his beautiful wife to sleep. They had texted intermittently throughout the day, but mostly he'd left her alone, knowing that she might want to nap. The past few weeks had been quite stressful for her, not to mention a healthy dose of jet lag.

It was nearly nine at night now, and he knew his parents were out with the Stevensons. Alexa was probably asleep, so he'd shower and crawl into bed with her. Tomorrow was another day of living in married bliss.

He glanced into the living room and stopped dead, staring dumbly.

A yoga mat was spread on the floor. Lying on top of it, folded literally in half, Alexa was naked, with her legs under her shoulders and behind her head. Her hands were bracing her ass cheeks and she was snaking her tongue wetly around her own pussy, moaning in pleasure.

She sensed his presence and paused in licking herself to look over at him. He just blinked, not quite able to process what he was seeing.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, her blue eyes dancing with bliss and her lips and chin glistening. "You're home earlier than I expected."

Alex kept staring, not saying anything. Alexa glanced at her pussy and them back at him, pointing to it. "Y'want some? I'm never gonna finish this all by myself."

Alex's head twitched slightly and then he turned and walked down the hall, pinching his eyes.

"I ... I'm gonna go take a real cold shower."

"Okay," she said, smiling and waving. "I'll put some in a box for you!"

Once he was gone, she shrugged and looked down at her gooey pussy, inches from her face, and stirred it with a slender finger.

"Who wouldn't want one of these?" she mused before pressing her mouth to her womanhood and sliding her tongue deep inside, shivering in ecstasy.

Chapter II -- Boys Are Stupid, Throw Rocks at Them

"How does it feel to be back at work?" Karen asked, while she walked alongside her sister through the mall they were visiting for clothes.

"I hardly know, to be honest," Alexa admitted, shrugging. "Alex has been making me take it easy since I got back, citing jet lag and general emotional stress. I've been to the campus once since we got back. He showed me what he's been doing, told me his plans for how we'll proceed, and then brought me home to sleep and regain my equilibrium."

"You could always just overrule him, you know," Karen suggested.

"No, he's very firm on the matter," the younger sister giggled. "My physical, mental and emotional health come first. He says there'll still be plenty to do when I get back. His mind is made up."

"He's such a cute little Nazi," sighed the bronze-haired sister. "He comes by that honestly."

"From you or Mike?" Alexa quipped, smirking and earning her a look from Karen. "Oh, please, like you ever stand up to your husband once he's put his foot down on a matter."

"Well, it does turn me on when he exercises his tyranny," Karen allowed. "You're saying it's the same thing with my little boy?"

"Well, he's not at Mike's level of authority yet, but it's natural and honest in him. He's just being a good husband."

"I'm glad he's taking good care of you," said the older woman, smiling and taking her sister's hand, squeezing it. "Yes, he'll always be my son, but I'm rather looking forward to working out the dynamic in my head of him also being my little sister's husband. Who am I to turn down a good mental exercise?"

"Plenty of those when the DeBourne men are around," Alexa agreed, smiling and rolling her eyes. "Still, they probably think we're nuts."

"They wouldn't be wrong," Karen said. "Mom was the sane Gordon, which is saying something."

"And what was dad like before ... before he developed his issues?" Alexa asked.

Karen smiled and pulled her sister's hand up to kiss it. "I sometimes forget that you never knew him. Let's sit and have a refreshment. I'll tell you a little more."

Alexa considered and shrugged, nodding. They had plenty of time to shop. Karen led her sister to a small, elegant café, one that served adult beverages.

"Two Death In The Afternoons, please ..." she said to the bartender as they sat on their stools.

***

Alex sat at the desk in the office assigned to him and his wife, pinching his eyes while staring at the piles of paper spread before him. Why had he insisted Alexa stay home? At least she spoke Arabic.

"The look of a man at the end of his tether," mused a baritone voice from the doorway. Alex looked up to see his father, standing at the entrance to the office, head tilted so he didn't brain himself. "Need a hand, or just a break?"

"I'll settle for a break," Alex sighed, pushing himself away from the desk while tossing the papers he'd been holding back onto the pile. They'd be there when he got back. "Should've brought Alexa."

Mike chuckled as he stepped into the office. "Arabic?"

"Yeah," replied his son, rubbing his face. "Feel like I'm scratching at a mountainside with a rusty spoon, trying to make progress."

"For what it's worth, the department faculty thinks you two are lifesavers," his father pointed out, towering over his son. "You've made enormous headway in their eyes, saved those eggheads countless hours of drear and drudgery."

"Damned if I see it," Alex admitted.

"I felt the same way when Ping, Gergo, Indur and I were doing the crap math for our profs concerning Ricci Flat metrics on a Kahler Manifold," Mike said. "We felt like we were getting nowhere, but apparently saved them over ten thousand hours. Then they got all the credit."

"Well, you're head of the Theoretical department now," his son remarked, stretching as he stood. "I assume you have the decency to at least give your number crunchers credit for their help?"

"Not many of 'em were up to it last year," Mike sighed. "Your mom's math wizardry have always been our department's best ally."

"Really? Mom?" Alexa queried. "Not enough nerks to keep checking your own work?"

"Technically, but the Theoretical department needs Mathemetical, they keep us honest. They check our work and make sure we're not just spewing crazy shit everywhere. Your mom's not necessarily better at math than I am, but she's quicker in getting to the solution. I'm the lateral thinker and the intuitive one."

"So, if science is a religion, you'd be the visionary and mystic, and mom'd be the Pope who translated what you were saying to the masses," Alex mused.

"That's as good an analogy as any," laughed his father, clapping him on the shoulder and nearly sending him through the floor. "C'mon, it's Guinness time. We'll find a pub and I'll tell you more ..."

***

September 1986: Toronto ...

Karen elongated her spine as she reached backward over her head, her right foot resting on the bar attached to the wall. While she may have preferred to do these exercises naked, no one would allow her to indulge in that pleasure using the campus' dance studios. She smiled as she felt her silken, bronze hair caress her cheek as it fell to point at the floor.

She always wondered how people could be so out of touch with the innate sensuality of their bodies. The human form was meant to bring pleasure to itself, so long as one understood it -- from the simple mechanics of the orgasm, to the delicious feeling of muscles stretching or the brush of hair across the cheek or neck. She was convinced more people would take better care of their hair and skin if they experienced what she did.

Her spine arched until her fingers touched the floor and the tips of her bobbed hair grazed the sprung wood. She smiled to herself as she felt the pull of her core muscles, from her womanhood up to her obliques and laterals. She hadn't stretched for two days, just to allow herself this sensation, and it tingled. Her pointed toe touched the mirror, her Achilles' tendon still resting on the bar.

"Jesus, look at you," Mona remarked as she walked the studio and saw her friend. "Seriously, girl, why don't you join the ballet performance group? They'd love to have you and you keep saying no."

"Because I haven't got time," Karen said simply, still accordioned over herself, deepening the arc of her spine. "If I joined them, I'd have to drop something else, probably socializing Tuesday nights with you ladies, amongst other things. And that doesn't suit me."

"Don't tell me you've developed a karaoke fetish ..." the black girl mused, smirking as she dropped her little gym bag on the floor and stripped out of her sweats to reveal her leotard. She sat and strapped on her pointe shoes.

"Of all the activities, shenanigans and hijinks we get up to, I am reasonably sure that singing karaoke is rather far down the list of preferences."

"Well, maybe you just go for the view, then," Mona posited.

Without altering her position, Karen's head swiveled on her neck to look upside down at Mona, who squirmed rather uncomfortably at the unnatural movement.

"Ugh, creepy how you can do that," she almost whined. "I take it back, you're not looking at anything or anyone when we go to karaoke."

"That's good to hear," Karen replied, pivoting herself up with the mechanical grace and precision of a pendulum until she was vertical. The same movement saw her lean off to the side, her arm stretched out in one direction, her leg in the other. "I would hate to think you were implying anything."

"Perish the thought," muttered Mona, always unnerved by her friend's rather inhuman flexibility. The heads of the ballet department had asked her to try to convince, cajole and wheedle Karen into joining them, but she had always declined. She took some classes, but mostly she just seemed to be using them to stay in shape. She had never offered to perform, no matter how good she was. It was the same with the Jazz and Tap programs. "Any word on your parents and their impending royal visit?"

"Nothing new since we last discussed it," said the patrician beauty, swiveling down to touch her palms to the floor while her leg pointed straight up in the air. "They'll be arriving on Friday, staying at the Royal York and then visiting me here on campus, with my father occasionally breaking off to see someone about a business arrangement and my mother attending some action committee meetings and rallies."

"I still don't know what the big to-do is, honestly," Mona sighed as she stood and walked up close to Karen. She took hold of the bar and began her warm-up

pliées. She didn't begrudge Karen her natural talent, but she was a little jealous of it, especially since she had been working her ass off for the program for nearly two years now and was nowhere near as good. "I mean, they live on the Bridle Path, basically a forty-five-minute drive away. Why are they staying at the Royal York? Couldn't you just go home for the weekend?"

Karen smiled at the notion. "Speaking of imperial visits ... if I go home, I constantly think that the vast mausoleum I was raised in is my parents' domicile, and those of my father's ancestors before him; I was merely squatting there for my childhood. Were I to head there, I'd feel like a guest, darling. No, I'd prefer they come to me. At least I belong here."

"That sounds sad," Mona said. "Like it wasn't a loving home, I'm sorry to say."

"Oh, my parents love me, don't get me wrong, and expressed it regularly, especially my mother," Karen assured her, standing up straight now and turning to face her. She began doing pliées in time with Mona, mirroring her and smiling gently. "But the Blackwells are very patrician, and this visit is to make sure they raised me right. My father's Protestant work ethic is exacerbated by a relentless genetic drive toward perfection and personal success. He may despise her, but Ayn Rand would be proud, damn her niggardly soul."

Mona snickered at the phrasing. Her mother was black, and her father had been

Italian

, meaning she looked rather exotic, with lots of long, kinky dark hair. It had taken her nearly an entire semester to get used to Karen's use of uncommon but perfectly acceptable words. Like niggardly.

"I think Freckles is petrified about meeting them," she mentioned at the bottom of the deep-knee bend. "Even more than Janet or me."

"I don't know why she would be," Karen answered, shrugging. "She's just my roomie, at least as far as my parents are concerned. They don't know or need to know that we're casual lovers."

"Maybe, but Lisa feels like she's gonna be under a microscope," Mona explained. "Can't say as I blame her, from the sounds of it. Didn't your dad insist he meet her? Scary."

"That's my father for you," Karen agreed. "He's so damned imperious."

"Well, at least you come by it honestly, then," teased Mona, earning her a withering look and a pinch on her nipple from Karen. She squeaked and giggled again before they sat and did side-stretches, feet touching as they faced each another. "Think it'll be okay?"

"As okay as anything ever gets when a Blackwell is involved," sighed Karen, the pleasure of her earlier stretches forgotten.

***

"You are within charging distance of the four Drow warriors that you can identify," Bram said from behind his Dungeon Master's screen, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his players. "You're not sure because of the echoing nature of these subterranean tunnels, but there's a distinct possibility that you hear more shouts from behind you, meaning others could be on the way."

He left the statement hanging, gazing around the table. Ping fidgeted with his pencil while he looked at the ersatz map in the middle of the table and then back at his character sheet. He was an Elf magic-user, but he'd burned up most of his offensive spells in the battle earlier against the last of the Kuo-Toa. He glanced over at Ken, then at Al, Ray and finally Mike. "What do we do?" he asked.

Al, the person playing the fighter, bit his lip. "I dunno."

Ken and Ray were suitably little help as well, leaving Mike shaking his head and sighing. "Fine. We're a little too close for me to use my Mac-Fuirmidh Cittern to fire off a spell, so Amberley draws her longsword and prepares to charge."

Bram nodded. "Are the rest of you going to charge with the bard? The noises behind you are getting closer, and the only path to escape is in front of you."

The fighter, the assassin and the cleric all drew their weapons, while the magic user scrounged for a spell, making ready to --

***

"Whoah, hold up, time out," Alex said, putting down his pint of Guinness he had been about to take a drink from. The two of them had retired from campus to a pub nearby, letting Alex drink away his weariness. "Did your bard just charge a group of Drow?"

Mike shrugged and nodded. "Back in the Seventies and Eighties, bards actually kicked serious ass. Their spell options were awesome, and they could actually handle themselves in a fight. My character, Amberley Bloodstar, wore +3 chainmail and carried a +2 longsword that was +3 vs Evil creatures. She could charm a copper dragon out of his treasure, and the pants off a stone golem."

"So, what, she wasn't just about buffing the other players and making them look good?" Alex queried.

"Nope. Bards were a lot different back then. Worth playing."

"Okay, I get that," Alex allowed. "But what's this got to do with meeting mom?"

"Nothing," Mike said simply. "I was just gonna tell you about how Amberley saved the party from Lolth when we reached the Drow City."

"Maybe next time, pops," Alex said dryly. "For now, stick to the facts about getting to know mom."

"This is why your characters are always dying ..." Mike muttered.

***

"Y'don't need to help me clean up, y'know," Bram said, watching Mike move about the room, picking up debris now that the game was concluded for the evening. There were orange Cheeto prints on everything.

"Sure I do," replied the towering blond man, gathering up a small collection of empty chip bags, the heady aroma of salt, vinegar, artificial cheese flavour and dill pickles tickling his nostrils. "It's not exactly fair of the other guys to just bail instantly and leave you to clean up. Where's the bag of holding?"

"If you're referring to the garbage, I've got one over there in the corner," Bram sighed, pointing. "You physics nerks sure love to keep in character, even when you're not playing."

"Like that's a bad thing," Mike said cheerfully. "I appreciate you switching the game night so that I can see my folks when they come into town."

"Happy to do it, because without you, these guys'd be dying before their characters finished rolling. And we're not even playing Traveller," Bram muttered. "You really are the linchpin, y'know. You're the only one keeping the game intact."

"Oh, c'mon, they're not that bad," Mike insisted.

"Don't try to con a Dungeon Master, Amberley," Bram chided. "It's the least I could do. I hope you enjoy your family's visit."

"We'll see, they get pretty worked up and awestruck when they come to the big city," Mike admitted. "They don't turn into hillbillies or anything, but they're excitable, and they probably think I'm already best friends with the Premier."

"If you are, can you get him to ease up on tuition costs?" Bram asked. "Not all of us are here on full scholarships, y'know."

"Anything for my Dungeon Master!" Mike laughed.

***

Lisa whimpered and trembled, leaning forward, her hands against the wall of their dorm room. She squirmed her hips around, thrilling to the feel of Karen's fingers deep inside her pussy. Her lover stood beside her, her free hand fondling Lisa's small breasts while she kissed her neck.

"Really, I don't know why you're so nervous," Karen murmured as she pressed her lips around the redhead's pale skin. "They're going to like you just fine, darling. Unless you crack and suddenly blurt out that we're having sex constantly, there is no reason whatsoever for them to take issue with you."

"Gnnnnn, are you kidding, princess?" Lisa gasped, her arms shaking. "They only saw me out the window of their car last year as they drove away, and the look your dad gave me made me pee myself."

"It bothers me that I'm not the only Blackwell who can make you pee yourself," Karen quipped, her fingers digging farther inside Lisa and massaging her inner wall mercilessly, making her whimper again and bite one of her knuckles.

"Ah! But it least it's not from fright when you make me do it. Usually ..." panted Karen's beloved roommate. "Ohhhhhh, thank you for doing this, Kar! It'll calm me down, I promise."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure this is all about calming you down to meet my folks," mused Karen, smirking. "Nothing whatsoever to do with your addiction to my fingers playing peek-a-boo with Mister Graftenburg."

"Oh, shut up and make me cum, Beverly!" keened Lisa, clenching her teeth and grinding on the fingers deep inside her. Karen responded by turning Lisa around, pressing her upper back against the wall but her hips tilted forward. She knelt between Lisa's legs and held her by her inner thighs while pushing her tongue inside her friend's slick, warm pussy. Lisa shuddered and almost cried in response, her own hands now in Karen's silken bronze hair.