0 comments/ 32310 views/ 1 favorites Children of Sin Ch. 1 By: JohnnyPsycho Chapter 1: Lust This story is part one in a (hopefully) seven-part saga, exploring the classic "Seven Deadly Sins" by relating them into characters, turning each sin into a living, breathing person. It started as a simple idea for a drawing where I showed all Seven Deadly Sins as children, each one displaying not only how each character commits each sin, but how each character is victimized by it. The main character and the title sin is introduced in this chapter (as well as a key character who will appear with a future sin all his own). Please let me know what you think. It's a pretty long story, but once I get typing, it's hard for me to stop. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think. I promise to submit the newer chapters as soon as I get around to writing them. Christ, I don't know how to start these damn things out. For some reason, starting with "Once Upon a Time" doesn't feel quite right. Especially not for this type of story. So I'm just going to get straight to the point, the best way I know how... Leslie was a total slut. Oh, she was a very nice girl, a straight-A honor-roll student all through high school. She was sweet to almost a fault, having an almost child-like innocence in her green eyes with every word she spoke. She never spoke out of turn, never caused problems in class, never gossiped or had bad words about anyone. She was every teacher and parent's dream child. She was also the star of many wet-dreams among the male students and faculty at her school, and even a few female ones. She was the type of girl that you could very easily have very impure thoughts about, but at the same time feel very guilty for it because of her flawless, angelic character. She had always been rather tall, even as a child, and by the time she had become a senior, she was about 5'9" tall with long, slender legs. Her straight, light-brown hair shone as it fell almost as far as her tight, round ass that always seemed to be accentuated by the skirts that she often wore, swishing her delicious derriere back and forth as she walked down the hallway. She wasn't a total fashion-fanatic like some of the other girls in her class, but she always looked her best in whatever she wore, filling out the plainest of blouses and sweaters with her lovely, full breasts. She wasn't among the largest chests in her school, but she had to be a good B or C cup at least. She was the Homecoming Queen, and at her graduation at the end of the year, she was sure to be honored as the valedictorian. She was always the center of attention whenever she walked in the room. However, it wasn't always the type of attention that one as sweet as her would have liked. As is the case in many high schools (as I'm sure many of you may remember), people who attract attention to themselves, are among the more popular or attractive of their class, are often the victims of gossip and envy. She was no exception. However, the rumors going around about her were that she was a total prude, an "Ice Queen", and a cock-tease. Her virginal persona was so convincing, many found her unattainable and, at the same time, irresistible... and that's how she liked it. Her special talent was lust. She controlled it. It bent to her will, and she knew best of all that the most alluring prize was the one most unreachable. Unfortunately, being the object of desire for as long as she had, her special talent was starting to control her in turn. It was getting harder and harder for her to keep her instincts, her sensual desires in check. She would have loved to had any of the members of the football team bang the shit out of her until her pussy bled, or one of her teachers suck on her ever-throbbing clit, but she knew best of all how dangerous something like that would be. Almost a year ago, she had started a secret relationship with a teacher in her school, and she was so ready to give it up to him on many occasions. Mr. Busey was a very attractive man in his early thirties, and had been her geometry teacher. They would often meet in secret after school or during their lunch hour to make-out, groping each other on his desk in his classroom or sneaking off in to the steamy boiler-room. He had a thick cock, and she had enjoyed jacking him off as their tongues wrestled in each others mouths, while his strong hands worked on her pussy, getting her panties drenched with the insistent pawing. They had even managed to go down on each other a few times before the bastard chickened-out. Three weeks before the end of the school year, he sent in his letter of resignation and soon moved away to another state. "Fucking pussy," she would often say to herself as she lay in her bed after school in the late afternoon, lazily playing with her burning cunt while she remembered back to those steamy days. She was never really sure whether she was talking about Mr. Busey's cowardice or her troublesome libido. Anyway, she was in a jam. She was constantly on edge, her pussy on fire, relentlessly tormenting her, without any real release. She masturbated everyday, as soon as she came home from school, before she went to bed, and as soon as she woke up the next morning, sometimes stopping off in the restroom during the school day. She knew what she needed was a big, fat cock in her, but she couldn't just up and jump any guy in her school. Sure, absolutely anyone of them would have given their arms for a hot fuck-session with her, but at the same time, absolutely any of them would also spill the beans as soon as they spilled their cum inside of her. She had seen a few girls, girls she knew were nice and hadn't been the least bit cruel to anyone, who ended up being practically ostracized for simply giving a guy a hand job. Jocks (the fuckin' assholes) were notorious for spreading word about their latest conquests, causing the unfortunate and unwitting to be thrown into a living hell of snickers, jeers, and further rumors. One girl had even killed herself about two years ago after a horrifying ordeal with a pig from the basketball team, spreading rumors that she had let him fuck her after only the second date. Leslie had told herself long ago that she was never going to let herself get into that position. But right now, on this particular day in the early spring of her senior year, her cunt was buzzing, torturing her in revenge for not allowing it the chance to get stuffed with cock-meat. She had a couple of toys (bought and stored discretely, of course) that used to help somewhat, but they just weren't helping anymore. She needed to feel the crushing weight of a man on top of her, his dick pouring hot cum inside her tight pussy. She wanted to feel a mouth on her pussy, chewing on her clit and drinking her sweet, pungent nectar. She was now 18 years old, and she had lost her virginity to a goddamn piece of plastic. She lay on her bed, her shirt wadded on the floor along with her panties, one hand delicately massaging her left breast through her bra, her skirt pulled up above her navel and her bare pussy being lightly and mindlessly manipulated by her other hand. She needed a plan. She needed to find a way to get herself fucked soon, without any of the nosy, cruel people at school finding out. As she occupied her mind with these thoughts, her hands worked unconsciously, bringing her closer to pleasure. Her brain soon started to fog over as the pleasures began to increase, and soon she was lost in her own caresses. She brought both hands to her chest, roughly kneading her tits, and soon was mauling them as she practically yanked them out of the cups of her lacey bra. Her exposed nipples were rock hard as she tweaked and pulled on them. The hotter she got, the harder she twisted the protruding nubs of flesh on her firm, young globes, pinching them so hard sometimes that she would literally yelp with pain, deliciously mixed with pleasure. She was often very vocal when she masturbated, but it didn't matter. Her house was almost always empty at this time of day, and her room was a fair distance away from her parents and her younger sister's, so she would moan loudly each night at bedtime without fear of anyone poking their head in to investigate the noise. None the less, she was always very careful to remember to lock her door and put a pillow over her face when she was cumming. Her parents had always respected her privacy, and her little sister was too caught up in her own junior high school dramas to care about what went on in Leslie's room anyway. A hand finally found itself at her boiling honey pot, and she was trembling with anticipation. She was so hot, and she could feel the juice coat her fingers as she stroked her inner lips. Her hips began to gyrate slowly, finding her rhythm as her fingers "licked" at her clit. Eventually, her rhythmic thrusting turned into frenzied bucking, and she jammed first one, then two fingers inside herself, churning and trying to ride as much pleasure out of her hands as she could. She ground the heel of her palm into her clit as her fingers worked in and out of her tight hole, making wet, "slucking" sounds. She loved how her pussy felt, soft and wet, the skin around her lips with only the finest covering of hair, not even hiding the pink flesh underneath. Her forehead shined with perspiration, as did her whole body as she began to tingle all over with electric pulses of sensation. Her whole body was one giant sex-organ, alive and writhing, getting jolts of pleasure as her sheets rubbed against her skin, or as droplets of sweat and pussy juice ran down her body. Her sheets were a damp mess now, but she had become used to this; normally she would have put down some towels on her bed, but as luck would have it, all of her towels were in the wash, as she was sure her sheets would be before the rest of the family came home. "Oooh ssssshhhhhhiiiiiiittttt!!" she moaned. She winced as the orgasm rumbled through her body, and her shriek would have surely brought attention if there had been anyone in her house. This was her high. This was her drug. She lived for this sensation, that warm quake that came from her very core and radiated out to her fingers and toes. Panting and sweating, she was riding the last aftershocks of her climax, intent on milking one more orgasm from her pleasure-racked body (she thanked God for the ability to orgasm multiple times) when suddenly, she heard the doorbell ring. "Goddamn it!" she said, out of character for her usual sweet persona. She hurried up and pulled her skirt down, pulled on a loose sweatshirt, and headed for the door (sans panties, but she hoped it wouldn't take too long). "Who is it?" she called out as the new intruder rang the bell a second time. She knew damn well it wasn't her parents or Becky, her sister, unless they forgot their keys or something. She rushed through the hallway, tidying herself up as best she could, pulling her hair back into a ponytail and using her shirt-sleeve to wipe away any residual sweat on her flushed face. As she neared the front door, she noted the time on the clock, realizing it was still too early for her parents to be back from work and her sister to be back from dance class. Peering through the spy-hole in the door, she was met with an unexpected sight of an eyeball peering right back at her. She pulled back with a start, but then looked through the hole one more time. This time, she was even more surprised. Samuel was a classmate of Leslie's, and a bit of an odd-ball in his school. He was a medium height, between 5'11" and 6', and the same age as she was. He had a slight paunch, but wasn't really overweight, and he dressed pretty slovenly, mostly loose T-shirts with some odd cartoon character or humorous saying on it, and even more loose-fitting jeans that looked like they would fall right of his ass. As it was still early spring, with a hint of winter's chill still in the air, he was wearing an old, beat-up green army jacket with a number of patches and buttons all over it, mostly with names of bands like Green Day and Metallica and KoRn on them. His hair was orange in color, which was odd only in that he was of Korean descent, so you could see the dark, jet-black roots underneath this dyed hair, which had grown to a rather shaggy length in the past few months. In fact, some of his friends used to say he looked alot like an Asian version of "Shaggy" from the Scooby Doo cartoons. He was a pretty quiet guy, who's expertise was art and English class, and he hung out with a lot of the less popular people: the geeks, the marching-band nerds, the goths, the freaks, the heavy-metal heads and hip-hop "gangsta-wannabes" alike. He was a very shy guy, but Leslie had talked to him a few times before, and he was a genuinely nice guy. His writings and artwork were always impressive, but as she was more or less a part of the "in" crowd, she didn't get a chance to socialize with him much at school. Which is why seeing him immediately prompted a "What the fuck?" response. Leslie opened the door and immediately put on her innocent persona again, acting more pleasantly surprised than she had been before opening the door for this rather scruffy looking guy. She greeted him cheerfully. "Sam Kim? What brings you here?" she chimed cordially, even though deep down she wanted him to just leave right away. Samuel fidgeted nervously, stammering a bit before answering, "Uh, h-h-hi, Leslie... I, uh, I just wanted to, uh..." "Why don't you step in?" Leslie interrupted out of polite habit, immediately wishing that she hadn't, cursing at herself in her mind. She now only hoped that he wouldn't accept. Oh please oh please, just go away... "Uh, yeah! Er, thanks..." Sam said, getting a little more flustered. He stood there. She stood there. He didn't move an inch. "What the hell is his problem?" Leslie thought. Then she realized that she was standing in his way, and he was, for some reason, very nervous about approaching her. She knew he was a shy guy, and realized he was probably using all his courage just to ring her doorbell. With a kind smile, she stepped to the side, allowing the noticeably nervous young man entry with uncertain footsteps. She shut the door behind him and started toward the living room couch before realizing that he wasn't following. Looking back, she saw him looking around the inside of the house, with the look of a scared child in his eyes. She wanted to be annoyed with his hesitancy, but she just couldn't help smiling. She finally offered him a seat next to her on the couch, adding "It's okay, I won't bite," with a little smile and wink. Samuel's face turned red immediately, but he walked over and took a seat, almost a mile away from her on the other end of the couch. After a brief, tense moment, Leslie decided to get the conversation started. "Um, so, Sam..." "Samuel," he blurted out, surprising himself almost as much as he did her, before weakly adding, "...I, uh, prefer to be called Samuel." "Okay then, 'Samuel,'" Leslie said with a soft giggle. She really did like him, even if he did disrupt her earlier activities. Besides, her dark, inner persona was relishing the power she was having over the poor guy. Again, her talent was working full tilt. "What brought you over here?" she said as she crossed her legs and leaned toward him, distributing her weight on one arm. The sinking of the sofa cushion seemed to draw Samuel closer still. Samuel stammered a bit more, but was finally able to blurt out, "I, uh, just wanted to know if it's true that you don't have a date to the prom..." Leslie was pretty surprised by this. She hadn't thought Samuel would have the guts enough to ask her out. It was a nice surprise indeed, even if she knew that, more than likely, she would have to turn him down. "Samuel Kim, are you asking me out?" she replied with a broad, disarming smile that immediately shook him. "Um, well, I know that we don't know each other too well, and have only talked to each other like a few times and all..." "Oh Samuel, that's so sweet... but I don't know..." "Don't bother," Samuel suddenly interrupted, the look of defeat already on his face. "I know you'd never go out with a, well, geek like me, but I just had to, you know, find out for myself, just once. Jeezus, what was I thinking?" he said, seemingly more to himself than to her. Leslie was really impressed and at the same time disappointed by his sudden change in attitude. She felt really sorry for hurting him like that, but she knew damn well what would happen if she decided to date him. As much as she didn't want to care so much about what other people thought about her, it was because of her dark secret that she became so sensitive to others' opinions. "No, don't be like that. I didn't mean to say it like that." she apologized. "Look, just... just don't, okay?" Samuel said, getting up. "This was a stupid idea anyway" "C'mon, Samuel. I didn't..." "I was just, I dunno, hoping that..." "Samuel," Leslie finally interrupted, getting Sam's full attention. "What I was going to say was I didn't say 'no' just yet. But I also haven't made up my mind about the prom just yet either." She was starting to get a little testy, and even though her heart went out to him, she was getting tired of his pessimism and self-defeatist attitude. Sam was obviously shocked by this. He didn't know what to say, except for a weak, "I'm sorry..." "It's okay, Samuel. But, please... why ask me? I mean, I'm sure you've got a few other girls in mind to ask, right?" "No..."Samuel muttered, "I'm not really good with... girls. I've never really had too much luck in that department." Leslie was surprised by this, because, for all intensive purposes, Samuel was an attractive guy. "Besides," he added, "I just felt something in you that, I dunno, sort of intrigued me, I guess." "I intrigue you?" Leslie thought out-loud, not really sure how to respond. If anything, it was turning out to be the other way around now. "I've read some of your poetry from English Lit, and I've seen the way you act when you don't think anyone's looking," Samuel started. "I think you've been trying to hide something from everyone, and that just got my curiosity." Leslie was shocked. She knew Samuel was an intuitive person, but how the hell did he figure her out like this? It was Leslie's turn to get flustered. "W-what makes you think I've got something to hide?" "Your writing. It has a passion to it. Your writing shows hidden desires. That and I've seen your face get red sometimes in class, often while you're looking at some other guy or something, and how by the end of the day, you look as though you're ready to explode and reveal your secrets to the world. You're always smiling, but I can see that you're not happy. I can see that in your eyes, and in your face when you don't think anyone's paying attention." Leslie started to feel the warmth slip away from her body. She had never felt so afraid before. Her secret, her dreaded, damn secret was out, and there was nothing she could do about it. Again, her mind was thinking, "How the hell does he know this?" as she became paralyzed on the spot, her mouth trying to squeak out something, but no words or sounds coming out of it at all. She was absolutely dumbfounded. Samuel continued, "I saw all of these qualities in you, and I was intrigued by it. I thought I saw someone I could relate to, because sometimes I feel the same way. Sometimes I just want to show the world who I really am, and feel free from the glares of the snooty popular kids. I saw something that I hoped we shared in common, and I needed to find out for sure. I've never been so entirely aroused by curiosity for anyone like this before, and that's exactly what attracted me to you. That and the fact that you're so fucking hot..." Immediately, Sam slapped his hand over his mouth realizing that he had said that last part out loud. Children of Sin Ch. 4 Alright, here it is, the long-awaited fourth installment of my story. I know it seems like forever since I've submitted a new chapter to the story, but I'm a lazy bastard, and I admit to being guilty of the sin Sloth myself. I've gotten some great encouragement as well as constructive criticism, and hopefully this chapter won't disappoint. I'm trying to shorten up my chapters a bit, but this one will still probably be a bit long, so make sure you're in a comfortable chair and give your eyes a rest here and there. You might not go blind just from playing with yourself, but eye-strain from reading too much erotica is serious business. Okay, enough of this "Surgeon General's Warning" moment. If you haven't already read the first three chapters of Children of Sin, I would suggest going back and reading them. Just a suggestion. Now, on with the story. * * * * * Grant was an opportunistic jerk. It's no wonder, being the son of a rather disreputable but moderately successful defense lawyer. He learned from the best. But that's only a shallow view of this young man. Truthfully, this 18 year old had gone through quite a bit in his life, including the death of his mother, and as such was really much more down-to-earth than one would first guess. Despite his rather posh upbringing, Grant Avery Stewart tended to dislike the politics of some of the popular crowd at his highschool. He was given a brand new Mustang GT Convertible on his 16th birthday, instantly being known as the guy with the nicest car in school, but he wasn't one to rev his engine or speed into the lot as he came into school each morning, unlike many of the other jar-heads at his school. His clothing was always well in style, but he rarely cared to notice if his shirt was un-tucked or if his shoes were scuffed. He was an attractive young man, his dark brown hair just long enough to give a bit of a wild look while framing a handsome face. The corners of his lips always seemed to be on the edge of a sly grin. His pale, hazel eyes always with a cool, almost calculating quality to them. He kept himself in good shape, playing for the basketball team at school as well as playing tennis during the spring and summer, but he wasn't really much of a jock. He was always invited to the weekend parties, to which he would attend only about half, and only to drink about two beers and maybe to pick up a nice piece of tail. In reality, he was somewhat more aloof among the more popular group of kids at his school, but that seemed to matter very little to many people. As far as anyone cared, he was a nice, good-looking guy, and there was very little he could do to fuck that up. Of course, Grant was too smart to take his high spot among the pecking order for granted. He kept his nose in books and in newspapers for a reason. This year, he got his SAT scores back and got a near perfect 760 in Math and 780 in Verbal, and already was being "courted" by a number of good schools along the East coast. He was determined to become successful; what he was going to be successful in was a different question. Like many his age, he wasn't entirely sure what career he would be pursuing in college, but he was damn sure that he wouldn't be following his father's footsteps. He might get into law, but definitely not the type of law dad was into. Grant's father was constantly in the newspapers. It seemed whenever someone was wrongfully terminated from their job, injured in the workplace, or became the victim of some sort of malpractice or white-collar crime, his father was right there on the front page, proclaiming the innocence of his clients. He remembered the story his father gave him one day when he was young, about what he did for a living. "I make sure that innocent people aren't sent to jail or made to suffer when bad things happen," the elder Stewart said to the wide-eyed eight-year-old on his lap. Even then, Grant knew a bullshit story when he heard it. Reading the papers about corporate executives running off with hundreds of thousands of dollars, or about the slick doctor being accused of driving while intoxicated and causing severe, permanent injuries to a young newlywed couple, or even the sleaze-ball systems analyst that was caught with child pornography on his computer, Grant often laughed at his father's vain attempts at keeping his clients looking like the real victims in the case. Of course, his dad was often successful. After all, he didn't buy this large house with the hill-top view of the town below by losing his cases, and he probably wouldn't have any of his nice cars, or possibly even his new wife. Grant stood in front of his mirror, brushing the hair off of his face with his fingers, giving it that wild, not-too-sloppy look. It was still a little damp from the shower, and smelled of the expensive conditioner his step-mother had bought him. He smiled, realizing that, for the past two years, she had been paying much more attention to him, commenting him from time to time about his clothes and how handsome he was, etc. She even gave him the occasional wink when she saw him walking around the house in the mornings, wearing only his boxers, his nicely toned body showing off to all the world. Heck, he had started to wonder why he had ignored her for so long, realizing that she really was quite a nice looking woman herself. This was probably the only time he had ever envied his father for having such impeccable taste in women. He shook these thoughts from his head as he pulled on his leather jacket and checked himself in the mirror one last time. He smiled, mostly to practice that disarming smile that had become his trademark, and also to make sure his toothbrush hadn't missed some remnant from his dinner. Once he was sure he was ready, he checked the clock. 11:27. Shit, he was really late, to the point of being beyond "fashionably late". Everyone was probably half drunk already, which meant all the girls were getting drunk. Normally, that wouldn't be that bad a thing to Grant, but he really didn't feel like trying to talk to some giggly, sloshed girl into jumping in the sack with him, and he especially didn't feel like having to deal with a sick, hung-over girl the next morning either. Besides, there would probably be about ten other guys there trying to work their own way into the same drunk girl's pants, and they would all probably be just as drunk themselves. There's nothing worse than having to fight off some pissed off, shit-faced football player because you started "macking on his girl." He opened the door and wasn't surprised to be hearing Sum 41 blaring out of his step-sister's room. It was pretty ingenious how the walls between their rooms were so well insulated from sound, but if you left your door open, like his sister was doing now, you couldn't miss the blaring music at all. Figuring she'd be in her room for the night, he headed toward the kitchen to grab a pop from the fridge and his car keys. He entered the kitchen and was only half-surprised to see his sister standing in front of the fridge wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of panties. She was bent over a bit, surveying the contents of the fridge, giving Grant an excellent view of her nice ass. Ericka was almost the exact age as Grant, only about 7 months younger than he was, and in the same grade in school. When his father married her mother, it was decided that Grant and his father would move into the same town as Ericka and her mother, mostly because "mom" had a career in a local real-estate agency. His dad bought up a very large house down the end of a rather secluded drive, in the middle of a large, thickly wooded lot. "I got an inside deal with my real-estate connections," dad would joke, getting little more than a pair of rolled eyes from his much more cynical son. Grant remembered moving into the house, thinking that with all the large windows he'd feel like he was living in a tree-house or something. He was rather relieved that his bedroom had a better view of the town below than most of the other rooms in the house. He was also lucky to be right next door to his hot new sister. Ericka, still standing in front of the open refrigerator door, suddenly realized a presence in the room and turned around quickly, spotting her step-brother. "Oh, hey! I thought you already went to Greg Parish's party," she said, casually bringing the carton of orange-juice to her lips with one hand and adjusting her glasses with the other. "Christ, do you gotta keep doing that?" Grant huffed with mild disdain. In actuality, he was trying to cover-up the sudden butterflies in his stomach. "Oh, geez, don't you start up on that too! Mom yells at me all the time for this. Don't worry, it's not like I have leprosy or something," she said, gulping down a couple swallows of juice before returning it to the fridge and closing the door. Ericka definitely got her looks from her busty, red-haired mom. Even at the age of 12, when Grant had first moved in with her, Ericka had been quite a cutie, and it seemed that she had gotten more and more attractive as the years rolled by. Her hair was a deep, dark red, almost having a purple tint to it, but unlike a lot of redheads he knew, she wasn't deathly pale with a myriad of freckles all over her face. In fact, her smooth, rosy skin hardly seemed to have one spot on it; not even the smallest pimple or mole. And you can bet Grant had made sure to get as many glimpses of her body as possible as they grew up together. As it turned out, it wasn't very hard for him, considering that, over the years, she had become so accustomed to living with him that she took up the habit of waltzing around the house in hardly more than panties and a tight-fitting sports-bra. He was able to witness first-hand how she "blossomed into womanhood" ("Good Lord, that's so cliché," Grant would probably think to himself), noticing how the material of her bras or T-shirts began to fill and tighten more and more. "So... you're staying in for the night, I suppose," he nearly stuttered. She nodded, and he shook his head and gave a chuckle. Same old Ericka. She never went out and barely dated. She was a real home-body, even a little nerdy. Of course, the way she was presenting herself tonight, he was almost tempted to stay home himself. "Hey, just because I don't like to go get drunk and screw every weekend doesn't mean you can make fun of me," she laughed back, flashing her smile and pulling some of her hair behind her ear. Grant had noticed the recent change in Ericka's hair style. Her hair was long and naturally wavy, sometimes getting pretty curly, but lately she had started straightening it a lot more. She reminded him of Alicia Witt, from that horribly un-scary movie "Urban Legend", though he wasn't sure if that was the look she was going for or not. She had also started wearing some of those colored head-bands that he normally only saw younger girls wear. He liked to tease her about looking like "Alice in Wonderland" or something, but really she looked just as nice with her hair pulled back as she did with it in her face. Many afternoons after school, the two teenagers would be left alone in the house for a few hours before their parents came home from work. Ericka would almost instantly slip into something more comfortable (usually meaning she got somewhat undressed) and settle-down on the sofa, watching some TV, while Grant would feign reading a newspaper or book, stealing glimpses of her from the big over-stuffed La-Z-Boy. He would always sit in such a way that he could easily hide the arousal tenting the front of his pants. His father would usually scold Ericka for walking around the house "practically nude," but Grant noticed the way his father leered at her when he thought no one was looking. "Dirty old pervert," Grant would say to himself, but he knew that no sane man could avoid looking at this stunning girl without some lustful thoughts creeping up somewhere in the back of his mind. Hell, isn't that exactly what he was doing? Maybe it was because of the fact that the senior Stewart was now her father that it made Grant uncomfortable, because it all came back to the unsettling fact that Grant himself was now, at least by terms of marriage, her brother. Maybe that was why he looked at his father with such disdain. He would never admit it, but Grant sometimes saw an older version of himself reflected in his father, just as he was sure "dear old dad" saw a younger version of himself in Grant. Both were goal-driven individuals. Both were men of the "image is everything" philosophy. Both secretly lusted after the same young woman they lived with. Knowing his father, he was not only scolding his step-daughter's attire because of his own guilty desires, but also because he knew full well of his son's attentions as well. Sneaky old bastard. "So, how do I look?" he said, shaking these last thoughts from his head and making mock poses like some sort of model in a fashion catalogue. "Very nice," she giggled, applauding and whistling at the little fashion show she was getting. She really was a delightful person to be around, but Grant knew he shouldn't be standing around. He had a party to get to... Suddenly, she gave him an odd look, immediately issuing a "What?" from him. "You've got something on your shirt," she said, staring intently at him. "What? Where?" he said, searching in vain on the front of his olive green sweatshirt for whatever it was she had spotted. The last thing he needed was some sort of stain or something on his clothes. "Look, want me to get it for you?" Ericka began to laugh at the spectacle he was making of himself. She quickly approached him and freely picked off the little bit of fuzz that had been clinging around his collar. "Oh, typical... right where I couldn't see it," Grant laughed. Ericka just smiled warmly, and she began to brush off the front of his shirt. This was more than likely just to smooth out the material or to make sure he didn't have any more lint on himself, but Grant couldn't help but feel as though she let her warm hands linger on his chest just a little longer than necessary. In that moment, he could deeply inhale her lavender-scented perfume, a fragrance that she had just recently started to wear. She stood maybe a good five or six inches shorter than his 5 foot 11 inches, and he looked into her soft, red hair, realizing that even her hair had that lovely scent on it. He could feel her proximity to him, and could feel the butterflies start in his stomach and his cock stir in his shorts. Clearing his throat, Grant muttered, "Hey, I'm already late for the party." She chimed in cheerily, "Okay, Mr. Stud. I guess it's okay for you to go to your party. Just don't come back drunk and cursing out your dad all night again." He laughed. Even though he didn't remember doing it, according to Ericka he had come home one night so intoxicated that he began to scream obscenities at his father, despite the fact that his father wasn't home that night. He added, "Well shit, the parents aren't going to be home till Tuesday anyway, so what should they care?" "I care because I have to put up with your silly drunk ass, that's why," she said, giving him a fake frown, before adding, "And don't bring home any girls either." "Jeezus, you really are turning into your mom, aren't you?" he said with a chuckle. Then he realized she wasn't laughing with him anymore. "No, it's just..." she began, pausing for a moment before shaking her head, as if brushing off whatever she was about to say. "Just don't wake me up if you get here after two, okay?" she finally added with a bit of a huff. "Okay, fine," he said with a quizzical smile, wondering what she was about to say before that. He bid her one last goodbye for the night before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. Once in his car, he was able to finally shrug off the last bid of weirdness he had gotten from the scene in his kitchen. Damn, lately he'd been getting a lot of those weird sort of moments with Ericka. As well as they got along with each other, he figured he shouldn't feel so strange being alone with her. It was almost a miracle that two step-siblings, forced into living with each other, would get along so well, especially after almost six years of co-habitation. Sometimes Grant felt as though they got along a little too well. She seemed to enjoy teasing him a little too much sometimes. He doubted she even realized the sort of situation she'd created for him. He turned out of the driveway and down the secluded road as his aroused state finally died-down. Grant never did anything to act upon his attraction toward Ericka. There was way too much risk if something went wrong, and Grant was smarter than that, even if he did sometimes detect something in her smile, or in the way she bounced around the house when they were alone, that made him begin to suspect she might feel the same way about him. He remembered how, for the first year or two that they lived together, she used to surprise him by suddenly running up behind him in the hallway at school and cover his eyes with her delicate hands, or cling onto his arm. "W-what are you doing?" he used to say, usually quite embarrassed by her antics. "What? I've never had a big brother before!" she'd reply with a broad grin. This almost always brought a blush to his face. He rememberd just how cute she was back then. She was only seven months younger than he was, but he couldn't deny that he liked having a "little sister" to look over. He instantly began an older brother relationship with her from that point on, but even then he was certain he could feel something a little more in the hugs she would give him, or the side-long glances he sometimes would catch from her in class. Her public displays of affection for her new brother didn't totally stop when they went on to highschool, but they certainly did start to come less frequently. Sometimes he would turn to see her staring at him at odd moments during the day, and her face would instantly turn crimson and she would divert her eyes. Then again, maybe he was just imagining it all. Whatever. Despite the odd relationship he had with his step-sister, Grant did lead a normal romantic life in highschool. In fact, he was usually quite busy with any number of dates every week. Grant was well known for being a regular casanova in his school. Like many other guys his age, a busy dating life also meant a burgeoning sex life, and Grant had a little over a year's experience with that. Despite his silver-tongued skills at getting a girl's favor, he was never one to mince words. He let women know exactly what he wanted, though he was usually careful enough with his speech not to insult them. Usually he was able to get what he wanted. He developed ways of getting past a girl's defenses, making her feel exceptional and wanted, and it was usually enough to let the panties slip off. He was no cad, but he also knew better than to stick around too long, lest a girl develop "unhealthy ideas" about their relationship. In his dating career, Grant's longest relationship had probably lasted three months, and afterwards she had been quite devastated by their break-up. He was a real heart-breaker, but that didn't seem to deter many of the girls who were so eager to go out with him. His history did little to keep the girls from jumping in bed with him. He rarely felt guilty for hurting a girl's feelings. "She knew what she was getting herself into," he would often say in his own defense, and it was mostly true. Women knew he was wrong for them, but that didn't stop them from willfully coming to him. Driving down a hill-side road under the glow of a full moon, Grant's mind drifted with the Smashing Pumpkins strumming on his CD player. His heartbeat calmed, and soon he could feel himself psyching up. It was a beautiful, clear Saturday night, the spring air just cool enough for a light jacket, but warm enough to crack open his window a bit and enjoy the smell of the night air. He couldn't wait for the summer to come so that he could put the top down and just cruise, but it was still a little too early in the season to be doing that tonight. Despite having a powerfully fast car, he was taking his time getting across town to the Parish house, enjoying the few minutes of solace before what he expected would be a noisy environment at the party. As it turned out, the Parish family lived a little outside of town down a rather deserted stretch of dirt road, and he could see at least a dozen parked cars lining both sides of the road. He drove a little further, hoping to find a parking spot a little closer to the house, and lucked-out as he saw someone pull out almost right next to the driveway. After parking and shutting off the engine, he sat quietly as he listened to his CD player finish the song he had been listening to. When the last chord finally drifted off, he turned off his stereo, took one final inspection of his hair in the rear-view mirror, and headed out.