Well That Backfired Ch 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Author's Note

I wrote and posted this story back in 2017 before I was ever an author on Literotica, so if for some reason this is familiar to you, it's probably because you read it before on another site. For all those who have not yet read this, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

LAURIE

My twin brother is shy. Shyness is endearing up to a point, but at eighteen years old, it goes from cute, to pathetic. You think he'd get out of his fucking shell by now, but nope, Tom is still the awkward, apprehensive boy he's been his entire life. He'll be heading off to college soon, and if he doesn't open up, the best years of his life are going to be spent jerking it in a dorm. He's a sweet kid, (listen to me patronizing him like he's a child), but sweetness doesn't get you very far in this world. He's not a child anymore, and he needs someone to kill the boy and uncage the man. I guess that'll have to be me.

Before your dirty little mind runs rampant with incestuous fantasies, let me tell you now, that I have no intention of fucking my brother. Would you fuck your brother? I didn't think so. That being said, I am going to get that poor bastard laid. I have a friend who needs to go to the prom. This friend had an incident earlier this year that made her quite unpopular with... everyone. Eleanor is this unfortunate moron, and ignoring the aforementioned incident, she's actually quite the catch. Let me describe her to you; she's looking away from me now, so I feel safe giving her a once-over. Don't judge me for ogling; this is for your benefit.

She has red hair that flows from the crown of her head in an even part, then bows inwardly at a sharp angled cut just below her jawline. She has pale freckled skin, apple cheeks, a pointed nose, and full luscious lips, which she keeps sheened with a layer of red lipstick. Her eyes are large, and sparkle with green irises that cement her obvious Irish ancestry. Pretty cute, huh? Well, her face could certainly be described as such, but her body requires more... adult adjectives. Her long neck and narrow shoulders give her figure a sense of elegance that is lost somewhat by the rotund protrusion of her breasts, nearly exaggerated in their size above her flat silken belly. Eleanor often brags that her best asset is her ass, and makes sure to add an affectation in the word "ass-et," just for good measure. I can't disagree with her; her ass is great. Full, thick glutes round together in supple domes that curve teasingly from her hips, and crease vulgarly into the crack between them. They seem to perch just above her thighs in a gravity-defying bulge, and when she walks, they flex in a teasing cadence of alternating lasciviousness.

Did you get a good picture? She's pretty hot, huh? Well, she certainly thought so when she decided to go streaking during the Class A semifinals, and ended up causing our starting quarterback to break his tibia. Yeah... it's a long story, but you can get why she's unpopular at the moment. Maybe unpopular enough to lower her standards to a lonely pathetic boy who needs a date to the prom.

"Psst, Ellie," I whisper to her in chemistry class, "you got a date for prom yet?"

"You know I don't," Eleanor hisses back, "and you don't need to be a cunt and rub it in."

"I can set you up with an absolute dime," I smile, "a good-looking boy who just needs a girl with a pulse to hold his arm."

"Ew," Eleanor makes a face, "you're

brother?!

I can do better."

"Don't be a bitch," I giggle, "Tom's a nice guy."

"That's exactly the problem, Laurie; what the fuck am I going to do with a nice guy?"

"Look," I whisper, catching the eyes of Professor Starling and lowering my voice, "just give him a chance. He's smart, he's polite, he's a lettered athlete-"

"He lettered in

chess-club.

This might shock you, but just because he has a dick, doesn't mean I automatically want to fuck his brains out. He's a fucking loser."

"You're a fucking loser, Ellie!" I hiss, losing my temper, "Either you go to senior prom with my brother, or you go stag; you don't have any other fucking options!"

"Ouch!" Eleanor exclaims, loud enough that the whole class turns around and looks at her. They glare at her with the same animosity they had after she ruined our school's chances of making it to the state championship. High school football is a big fucking deal in Nebraska, and her infraction would not soon be forgotten.

"Fine," she whispers to me after the class had turned their attention back to the professor, "I'll talk to him in the car ride home."

TOM

I thought finally getting my driver's license would legitimize me as one of the cool kids, but all it did was make me the chaperone of Laurie and her friends. Being the only male in a van full of the women's gymnastic team might sound like a fun time, but for me, it usually means cringing as the passengers scream out-of-tune renditions of Adelle over the blaring car stereo. At least Laurie only brought one friend home with her today, but that friend just happened to be Eleanor fucking O'Reilly. God, if there was one person in the school that could make me look like less of a loser, it was her. Sure, she was a hot piece, but... the

state championship!

"Hey Tom," Laurie smiles as she gets into the front seat, "how was school?"

"The same," I murmur, "what is

she

doing here?"

"

Eleanor

is staying with us tonight, and you're going to be nice."

"The state championship..."

"Be nice!" Laurie hisses as Eleanor opens the sliding door of the van.

"Hey Tom," Eleanor says, "you got a date to the prom yet?"

"I'm not going to prom," I grumble, "it's too expensive."

"It's an archaic tradition created by racists, it's a fascist construct that strips people of their individuality, it's a corporate sham that preys on the insecurities of teenagers," Laurie teases, "or it's just too damn expensive. All of those excuses are just code for 'I can't get a date.'"

"Fine," I confess, "I can't get a date."

"I bet you haven't even asked anyone." Laurie smirks.

"You know I haven't." I smile ruefully.

"And now that all your ideal fantasies are taken," Laurie says, "and your back-ups are taken, and your last-resorts are taken, you've decided to just skip it all together."

"Bingo." I sigh, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

"What if," Laurie smiles impishly, "I had someone in mind that would

love

to go to prom with you."

"I'd say you're a liar, or it's Eleanor." I smile back.

I'm not fucking stupid, Laurie; I'm just not fucking interested.

"And you think you're too good for her?" Laurie laughs, and looks back at Eleanor. I eye the beautiful redhead in the rearview mirror, and run the thought through my head. High school is almost over, and any friends I once had were now mere acquaintances at best. People would judge me for taking Eleanor, but I would never see those people again, so why should I care? She'd owe me at least one dance before she ditches me, which meant I'd get to grind my cock into the best ass in the entire school.

Hmm... you know what? I'm already a rock-bottom loser. Why the hell not?

"Hey Ellie, you go to the prom with me?"

"Fine." she grumbles.

"Enthusiasm, Ellie." Laurie glares at her friend.

"Yay," Eleanor groans, rolling her eyes, "I'm going to prom with Tommy fucking Baker."

"You could not be more of a bitch!" Laurie hisses, but I don't give a shit. Eleanor pretending she wanted to go with me would have been much worse than honesty. I knew I was her last resort, and she knew she was my last chance. I didn't expect anything but one dance of dispassionate grinding, but I was going to bump and grind into that ass like it was my last night on earth. I'd be moving away soon, and all of this high school shit would be behind me. The only thing I knew I'd regret, was that I never told Laurie how I really feel about her.

And I never would.

ELEANOR

You know, Tom's not bad looking. Lanky, tall, and a mess of curly brown hair... he's not bad looking at all. The only problem with Tom, is his mouth; he doesn't open it enough, and when he does, you wish he hadn't. Sitting with him at the kitchen table and listening to him drone on about the mods of his War Thunder gaming forum was fucking tortuous.

I don't care that the mods deleted your post, Tom, and I certainly don't care that they banned users due to off-topic conversation. Oh, thank god Laurie's here!

I thought I was going to kill myself.

"You two seem to be hitting it off." She smiles hopefully. I kill her smile with the motion of my hand, placing my forefinger to my temple and pulling an imaginary trigger.

"Or not." She frowns.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Tom chuckles at Laurie, "we both know what the situation is. Ellie, I want one dance before you ditch me."

"Fine," I say with a wave of my hand, "propriety demands it."

"Is that all?" Laurie exclaims, "Is that the best either of you are willing to do?"

"What?" Tom laughs, "Did you think this whole thing was going to turn into something? C'mon Laurie, all of us knew this was basically an arranged marriage."

"Set up by you," I smirk at Laurie, "to get your loser friend and your loser brother together, hoping that two losers would somehow find a spark in their loser-dom."

"We're like, polar-opposite losers." Tom laughs, and looks at me straight in the eye for the first time, "I'm a virgin who spends his nights in front of a computer screen, and she's the slut who ruined football."

"I am not a slut!"

"Jordan, Trey, Carver, Joe, Blake, Eric, Ryan, Carl, Alex, Ollie, Anders, Frank, both Johns and all three Maxes;" Tom smiled wryly, "but I guess you're just generous."

"Half of them were at once," I smirk, and lean forward, "so if we're going but the number of times, and not the number of dicks..."

"I'm going to let you think about what you just said," Tom says, resting her arms behind his head and leaning back, "until the realization strikes you."

"Well, I can tell you one thing," I say with a pursing of my lips and a raise of my brow, "one of those names will never be 'Tom.'"

"I'm not a big fan of herpes anyway."

"You must not be a fan of pussy at all," I shoot back, "or you would've gotten some by now. Are you sure you're not a closet homo? It's 2017, Tom; you can come out."

"ENOUGH!" Laurie yells, her face red with anger, "I fucking tried, OK? I tried with both of you, and all I get is this bullshit. Tom, you're never getting laid if you don't grow a sack. Ellie, people don't hate you because of the football thing, they hate you because you're an entitled bitch."

Laurie gives us each a final, disdainful look, then leaves for her room in a huff. I turn my eyes back to Tom, but Tom's not paying attention to me. No, Tom is looking right at Laurie's ass. I grin broadly. Tom, Tom, Tom; you dirty boy, you. You thought I was the depraved sexual deviant? Well, it looks like I'm not alone. Maybe we do have something in common.

"Tom," I say in my sweetest voice, "how long have you wanted to fuck your sister?"

Tom jolts up, his face flushing a deep crimson. I stare levelly into his eyes, my knowing smile taunting him. I see his mind try to concoct the retort that will magically refute my accusation, but the gears just aren't shifting right.

"You were just staring right at her ass," I giggle, "and it wasn't a passing glance either."

"N-n-no I wasn't!" Tom stammers.

"Oh Tom," I smile, and lean forward just a bit more, "you said I was a slut, and you were right. I'm not good at math, science or history, but I'm a fucking PhD in men. I know what they want just by the look in their eyes, and your eyes were practically reflecting Laurie's ass."

Tom stares dumfounded at me for a second. Then he puts his hands into his lap, and looks down at them in embarrassment.

"Please don't say anything," he mutters, "she's all I've got."

"Oh, I'm going to do more than say something," I smirk, and scooch into the chair next to him, "I'm going to help you fuck her."

Now would probably be a good time to pause the conversation and describe Laurie to you. I bet you thought I'd be the subject of this story's perversions, and I'll still play my part, but centerstage is going to be The Baker Sibling's Taboo Extravaganza. But I digress; Laurie looks a lot like Tom, if you take out the lanky awkwardness and replace it with an actual personality and a smile. Brown curly hair flows from her head in a delightful coil of bouncing strands, and a set of big blue eyes, luscious lips, high cheekbones, a cleft chin, and a cut jawline structure her face. She's about an inch taller than me, maybe five-seven, but doesn't bare the curves I have. Her neck is long and elegant, her shoulders are narrow and dainty, her arms are-yadda, yadda, yadda; let's talk about her tits and ass. Laurie has a cute set of breasts, maybe b-cups, but they fill out her chest nicely and perk like they should. Her ass is well-shaped, and perches nicely atop her thighs, but it doesn't bare the vulgar suppleness of my own (if I do say so myself). It looks good in a pair of leggings, and jiggles when she walks, but more importantly, it's proportional to the rest of her frame. Laurie wouldn't best be described as 'skinny,' more like 'athletic.' Think the body type of female soccer players, and you'll get the picture. Anyway, I believe Tom was about to yell in shock.

"What?!" Tom yells in shock.

"Be quiet, Tommy," I giggle, "or you'll ruin the whole thing."

"You're not going to tell her a fucking thing!" Tom hisses, "I'll-I'll-I'll-"

"You'll-you'll-you'll-" I stammer back mockingly, "you'll what? What are

you

going to do?"

"I'll kill you." Tom says, and grabs the steak knife from the cutlery block. He holds out the blade threateningly, and I notice that it's not shaking in the least.

"What are you going to do with that?" I smirk, and shift my body closer to him.

"Say you had a breakdown," Tom whispers, his voice dead-even, "that you made a lunge for me with the chef's knife. People would believe it; you're an ostracized whore with no friends except for Laurie; people would believe you went off the rails."

My smile widens, and I lean until our faces are just inches apart. My breasts press against his chest and my hand moves toward his wrist.

"You don't have the balls," I whisper, "you wouldn't hurt a fl-"

The cold blade presses against my neck, and Tom twists it until the point pierces the skin. I feel a drop of blood leak from the spot, and run down my cleavage. My breath stops short, and my hand ceases it's advance toward Tom's wrist. He's looking at me levelly, not a hint of doubt in his steely blue eyes. He's not fucking around; he'll actually fucking do it. And reader, it turns me on like nothing ever has.

"Wow," I whisper, "you really would do it, wouldn't you?"

Tom doesn't answer, he just keeps the knife pressed to my throat, and stares daggers into me. His threatening regard is seeped with a cold determination that leaves me feeling helpless and at his mercy. A shudder runs through me as I revel in my vulnerability. A vacant ache permeates from my depths, and compels my body to leak with readiness between my thighs.

"You can put the knife down," I say softly, "I won't tell her."

"I don't believe you." Tom says.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask, my voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

"I'm thinking about it." Tom responds, his voice dead and void of emotion, his hand steady and pressing threateningly. It occurs to me that Tom might be a bonafide 'Dexter Morgan' psychopath, and that I might be playing a very dangerous game right now. I just hope he wants to lose his virginity more than his murder cherry.

"Tom," I whisper, my voice dripping with need, "fuck me."

TOM

I never knew this about myself. I never knew there was a cold-blooded animal living beneath the guise of nervous adolescence. But here he was, keeping my knife steady, calming my nerves and filling me with singular focus. I could do it. I could just push the knife three inches forward, and that would be it. Eleanor is scared, but not terrified. No, she looks... excited; interesting. It's not a secret that Eleanor takes meds for some kind of disorder (God only knows what), and she certainly exhibits a dangerous level of thrill-seeking behavior. Maybe, I could just say she finally went off the rails and slit her own...

"Tom," she whispers, interrupting my train of thought; her green eyes staring, her red lips quivering, "fuck me."

The cold-blooded killer inside me meets his hot-blooded counterpart. They gauge each other, hash out terms, then decide on a course of action. I draw the knife gently down Eleanor's neck, and let the blade rest between her breasts. She shudders in excitement, her lips curl in a hungry smile, and her eyes stare with wanton lust. I bring the knife down, and cut through the pink tank top that constrains her bulging bust. The blade slices through her bra, and her pale tits burst from their prison in a jiggle. She leans forward, cautiously moving, letting the point of the knife slide down her flat abdomen to the waistband of her leggings. She slowly climbs on my lap and straddles me, and then begins delicately undoing my belt. I slice through her waistband, and she spreads her legs, tearing the cut down the crotch of her leggings until her white panties are exposed. There's a noticeable dark spot deep in her crotch, and I know that she's not faking her desire. I put the knife down on the table, and she unzips my fly. Her cool thin fingers wrap around my throbbing cock, and she sighs, and broadens her smile.

"I want you to fuck me like you want to kill me," she whispers, "don't be nice, Tommy-boy."

"I won't be."

I grab her by the throat and push her backwards on the table. She cries out in delight and spreads her legs further, tearing what's left of her leggings all the way down her crotch. Her pelvis still presses against my lap, and it forces her back into an uncomfortable concave arch. I stand up, bringing her pelvis with me, and then drive my hand under her waistband. My fingers press to the moist tender flesh of her pussy, and I slide the middle and ring inside. Her eyes flash wide open, her red lips part to yield a moan, her thighs press together and grind with need around my invading wrist. I push my thumb against her clit and curl my fingers upward inside her, rubbing my pinching digits, pressing against her inner wall, toying with her erogenous bump until she's biting her lower lip and gyrating her hips in pleasure. Moans seep from her whorish red mouth, and she stares at me with a vulnerable expression that drives me mad. She's under my control, and I can do whatever I want to her. She

wants

me to do whatever I want to her.

I take my fingers out, press my tip to her frothing slit, and push all the way in. Eleanor digs the back of her head into the table, her neck striates with tendons, and her upper-back lifts in the air. An exerted growl flows from her lips, and she flexes her vaginal muscles around me. I take a moment to savor the wet tight heat of her pussy clenching about my cock, then I grab her hips, pull out to the tip, and ram into her all the way. This time she cries out, and I press my palm roughly against her mouth to shut her the fuck up. She licks my hand in defiant lechery, and I squeeze one of her breasts in retaliation, the supple flesh protruding around my fingers, the nipple standing firm against my thumb. Her combative regard falters, and her submissive self takes over. She moans again, and guides my thumb and finger to pinch her. I twist her nipple and pull it from her body, and she squeals a muffled tone of approval.