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What My Brother Left Me Ch. 01

By: FinalStand



*You leave your life to those who come after*

(Thanks to Shawhollow for the edit)

(This starts out seemingly unbelievable but it will make sense before the end) 

(Claudia) 

I'm standing in my brother's house, trying to figure out where to start when the doorbell rings. I go to the door, open it and there is this very properly dressed woman around forty/forty-five with a decidedly unhappy look on her face which makes me wonder what I've done wrong in the fifteen minutes I've been in this neighborhood. Since I've never been in this house before it is unlikely she knows me.

"Oh," she sniffs with distain, "it's like this again." She stares at me. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," I get out of her way. She walks into my brother John's, my brother, place with a strange familiarity. My brother is a bit of a slob and casual to the core. I am sure he has a bag, or three, of weed stashed about -- alcohol is a given. I can't imagine what this lady is doing here.

When she rounds the sofa she stops and looks at me with some impatience. I walk over to her; we stand side by side for several awkward seconds until she points to the sofa. I take a clue and sit down only have her to roll her eyes and give a long-suffering sigh. The lady gingerly gets on her knees between my legs, reaches out and starts working my shorts down.

My first thought is 'I'm getting a blowjob' which is sweet because of all the shit I've been going through the past twenty-four hours. Then the realization hits me that this 'lady' lady is giving me head on my brother's sofa and I should do something. I am unsure what to do and while I try and figure it out she gets my shorts and underwear to my knees and starts stroking my dick with her hands.

"I...ummm," I get out before she starts making the circuit of my spongy head with her tongue. I reach out and run my hand through her hair. She stops and angrily regards me so I stop. The lady goes back to work, bobbing past my helmet and slobbering on my shaft. A minute and a half later I can't stop my hands from playing with her hair once more but this time she doesn't react.

The lady has excellent technique which is at odds with her elegant, church-lady attire. More to the point, she is clearly getting into the blowjob she is giving me, fondling and licking my balls as well as kissing around the base of my shaft and licking my pee-hole.

"I'd like to see your tits," I finally speak up. For a moment the lady hesitates then looks up at me. "You are very beautiful and you are making me feel so good," I try to clarify.

She keeps up her ministrations to my penis with her mouth alone, while shifting out of her jacket then unbuttoning her blouse. Her bra is far racer than I would have expected with the nature of her conservative outer wear and her breasts larger than advertised though they sag a bit. The surprises keep coming when she starts working off her skirt next while still kneeling.

She is down to light brown stockings, black garter belt, white panties and bra.

"Can you get up here and give me better access?" I request somewhat timidly. She barely misses a beat and starts bringing her knees up on the sofa. "Wait, I want to do a 'sixty-nine'," I add. She stops and, while bent at the waist, the lady wiggles out of her panties to expose a neatly trimmed but full bush.

"Damn, you're heartbreaking," I whisper. She has a slight belly but her shape is still hourglass and her bra-clad breasts look delicious. She stops pumping my cock with her hand but she doesn't look my way. I figure she isn't upset because she lets me rotate my body so I am back down on the sofa then she carefully mounts me while her blowjob continues.

The problem with the sofa is that it is a few inches too narrow. The lady can put one knee beside my head, against the back of the sofa, but the other leg has to stand on floor so that her pussy can be lowered to my face. She is remarkably quiet and her vagina is dry as I first start paying attention to her love box then, in a second, she's anything but.

She starts making 'mmph' noises in rapid succession as her juices are already dripping onto my tongue. I double then redouble my efforts until I'm making a wet sloshing sound as I tongue fuck her as deeply as I can. She explodes seconds later and I drink her up. The whole time the lady keeps up with the fellatio with barely any interruption. 

Her skill, the absence of sex in my life the past few weeks, and her erotic display push me to ejaculate.

"Lady, I'm cumming," I cry out. She pulls up to the point her lips are only controlling my cockhead and an inch of my shaft. Her tongue acts like a scoop that draws my spurting semen into her mouth.

When I finish shooting, the lady uses the suction of her lips to clean me up then kneels on the floor and opens her mouth to reveal the cum she's yet to swallow. That makes no sense to me and she doesn't look happy so I kiss her lightly on the lips.

"You didn't need to do that for me but thank you," I say hoping that changes her mood.

The lady looks at me, I look down her cleavage and my cock rebounds and slaps my stomach. Both our gazes flicker to my dick. She swallows, lowers her head, sighs and nods in resolution to some internal struggle. She stands and starts mounting me in reverse once more.

"Can we do it somewhere more comfortable?" I request. 

The lady looks over her shoulder before dismounting and waiting for me. I get up, kick my shorts and underwear free and then start following her toward what I have only recently figured out is my brother's room. What I want to ask is why this elegant, mature lady knows the way to my slovenly older brother's bedroom. Okay, my brother is - was thirty, a well-off but slovenly real estate investor. 

He was rich in some people's estimation...I mean he's rich enough to live in this exclusive community, but John, my brother liked his women younger than he was, not older. This made no sense. Of course, I hadn't seen John in the flesh since he attended my graduation a year and a half ago, but still...does a guy change preferences that much?

Without a glance toward me the lady crawls onto my bro's huge bed, stopping in the middle then goes down on her elbows, her ass sticking up in the air. I have the sinking feeling she's been in that position, on this bed, far too often. I knee-walked behind her, put my grip to her hips with my hands and stop myself.

I'm not sure that I can forgive myself for what came next which was basically me not asking what the hell was going on. Instead I slowly start pumping my rod into her wet cunt. She lets loose an 'ugh' as I enter her and several 'ah's as I steadily press deeper. She rewards me with a resounding grunt when my hips push against her buttocks.

The lady reaches out and taps my thigh so I sit still as her vaginal muscles constrict and conform to my cock. She keeps this up for a minute before she finally speaks.

"Okay," she says softly. I pull back about half way. When I get no reaction, I go delve back into her warm, wet depths once more. I'm starting to get into the zone when caution comes knocking a minute too late.

"Oh..." I was about to say 'fuck' but weirdly I don't want to curse in front of this woman, "darn, I don't have a condom." She looks back at me, caught between a rush to climax, frustration and humiliation.

"I am not allowed to use a condom," she mumbles. Here I am thinking 'latex allergy' so I leave it be and go back to fucking her.

Thirty seconds later she flexes her back and starts chewing the sheets as her orgasm grips her. Either I've gotten a whole lot better at this sex-thing or this woman highly sensitive sexually.

"Do you want me to slow down?" I inquire. She shakes her head so I keep going at it; her body is one hell of a treasure.

I start breathing heavily when the lady hits orgasm number three and it is even stronger and more violent than the first two. Shit she's good and I'm starting to wonder if she's some sort of pro who has been paid to role-play with my late brother. That idea excites me even more because my brother was always the promiscuous, successful one while I was awkward and lonely. 

"Are you getting close?" the lady pants.

"Yes," I groan.

"Stick it in my ass!" she pleads desperately. I've never been there before and I don't mean just with her. Anal sex is something I've always fantasized about but I only have teenage porn mythology to call upon.

My dick makes a sloppy wet sound as it exits her pussy. I rub the head against her anus and sort of let my body tip forward. As sexually experienced individuals can tell you, the human penis tends to bend before the female sphincter surrenders its sanctity. I make two more goes at it before the lady's long fingernails drum along my thigh once more.

"The lube is on the headboard shelf," she indicates. Not wanting to lose my arousal I move lickety-split, retrieve the lube...

"That's female lubricant," the lady mutters. I grab the larger bottle and since she doesn't stop me, I vault back to my position and began pouring it...all over her butt. Yes, I am nervous.

"Use one finger," she instructs me. I use one finger to spread out the oil.

"In my ass," she moans helplessly, "stick your finger in my ass and rotate it around. When I tell you put in a second finger." She quickly adds, "Lube up the fingers first." I've always been a good student and before fear brings about the death of my hard-on I have two fingers inside her rectum.

"Is this enough?" I whisper. She doesn't say anything because orgasm number four rampages across her body. I take that to be a 'yes'. This time I hold my dick in my hand as I push it against her bunghole and as promised, it stretches out her anus and forces the passage.

"Ah...yes...ugh...slow down, slow down damn...it," she gasps through the discomfort.

I hold back until she gives me a 'more' which I take to mean roughly a half inch further then wait. That formula works for her, and my one regret is that I'm so attentive to her acceptance of my intrusion that I forget to commit this panorama to memory. When Then I start fucking her ass, I've read that you take it in tiny steps, slowly building up to thrusting my whole length in and out.

To repeat the obvious; this woman is phenomenal. Her colon (I know I'm not really in her colon but it makes me sound big) sends micro-vibrations up and down my cock, so on the second go-round I start ejaculating semen deep into her bowels. Of course this sends the lady off for one final ride.

Seven damn orgasms! I didn't give any of the girls I dated in college that many. Hell, I doubted I gave out a total of seven orgasms in all four years of higher education combined. She slumps flat on the bed and I lay on top of her. I feel so good that I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight as I can with my arms not actually encompassing her.

"What are you doing?" she moans.

"You are the best sex I've had in my entire life and if you are not married I'd like you to entertain my proposal," I sigh contentedly.

"Stop it," she demands. "Get off me...please," she adds the 'please' bitterly.

I roll off her, settling on my side so I can look at her and she looks exhausted and terribly pissed off. I can't figure out what I've done wrong. You would think that she liked climaxing, right?

"What's your name?" I ask. I can hear her grinding her teeth and see her body tense up.

"Claudia," she allows.

"I'm Charles, John's brother," I introduce myself. "I take it you and John were close?"

"You...you are his brother?" Claudia's eyes grow wide.

"Yes and I was sort of hoping you could help me contact some of his other friends in the area to help with his funeral arrangements," I plead.

"He's...he's dead?" Claudia's face contorts with both fear and elation. "He's really dead," she vocalizes giddily. She clutches my arm, her beautifully manicured fingernails digging into my flesh painfully. "You aren't lying to me, are you? He's really finally gone?" This is not the reaction I was expecting at all.

"Yes," I try to pull away, "his convertible flipped off the road into a canal two nights ago. The fish left him somewhat of a mess so it may be a closed casket funeral."

"But you are sure it was him," she begs.

"Yes, he had that scar on his stomach where I stabbed him with my toy sword when I was nine and the tip broke off and punctured him," I confess. "Worst Christmas my family ever had."

Claudia sits up and stares off into space. I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

"If you weren't his friend Claudia, what are you doing here...with me...having sex on his bed?" I try to understand.

"Oh my God," Claudia's hands fly to her mouth. "What have I done?" she mutters. "What have I done?"

She scoots off the bed and races out of the bedroom, her gorgeous ass covered with lube fleeing my line of vision. I pursue her but not for sex; I want answers.

"Oh God, I cheated on my husband," becomes her new mantra. Husband; where do I begin? Perhaps I should begin with the big rock on her finger with the matching gold band next to it...yes, that should have been my first clue.

In my defense, she did push her way in and start giving me a blowjob without explanation. My rational thought processes sort of jumped out the window at that point. Besides I've never been hit on by a married woman before. It is not like I have experience in adultery. Unfortunately I am sure my brother did and suddenly his flipping his car seems much more suspicious -- jealous husband and all.

Claudia's grip on sanity is definitely tenuous because after droning on about cheating on her husband -- who is, unless Claudia is a total shrew, the luckiest man in the state of Florida -- she gathers up her clothes and races for the exit. I catch her by the forearm just before she opens the door and she gives me a slap to the cheek for my courtesy.

"You need to get dressed before you go sprinting across the lawn," I caution her. Claudia returns to reality, takes a deep breath and nods. I quickly back away which is good because it allows me to slip around her to put on my underwear and shorts. Otherwise I'm only wearing socks and since technically I don't even own the house yet, getting arrested for public nudity as an outsider in this community would suck.

Twice I try to get Claudia to open up and tell me what is going on but her glares are glacial and shut me down from the get-go. I end up letting my eyes follow her stormy march down the walkway where she turns right and proceeds...to the walkway next door. Oh fuck, she's my next door neighbor. Half way to the door Claudia realizes her mistake. I'm not close enough to make out her facial expression clearly (these are some huge lots) but I doubt she's sunshine and kittens at the moment.

(One Hour Later)

I head back inside and start by stripping the bed and by the looks of it, John should have done this much more regularly because there are definitely stains on the sheets that Claudia and I didn't make. After that nightmare I check and sort the mail, crack his computer password and prepare a microwave dinner so I can spend my second night by myself. I spent my first night in Miami dealing with the police.

I'm mulling over the implications that the cops I talked to were homicide detectives and they were trying to figure out if I killed my brother for his estate. I'm a self-employed Day Trader but oddly enough I had an alibi -- I was at a wedding reception with two hundred other people. My financials are complicated but I didn't hire a hitman. My zombie-like state of grief was probably the main factor in ruling me out though. Dad was never present, Mom was a ditzy blonde but John was always there for me -- and he is suddenly gone.

My brother was the last of my close family. Our Father married late and his first son was John but his Mother died when he was four. Two years later Dad married my Mother and a year later, I joined our little group. Though we were seven years apart, John was more of a Father to me than my actual Father. I've heard others bitch about their brothers and sisters but I've never understood them.

You name the male bonding ritual and John helped me with it; first shoplifting, first act of vandalism, first school fight (private academy), and first girl (he talked his GF, Tori, at the time to do the deed with me) (Oddly enough, Tori and I met up again six months ago and really hit it off) and first Spring Break (yes, when I was fourteen) though he made me go by the name of Monkey the whole week.

Dad died when I was ten from a heart attack. Mom and her 'fitness instructor' were stung to death by jelly fish when I was nineteen. John and I stood by both their gravesides. We never fought about inheritance -- I got the Lion's share but by the time of Mom's death, John's real estate deals were making him millions. We shared the major holidays at the family home but otherwise communicated with daily texts or e-mails.

The name Claudia had never come up in our talks. On his computer, the name Claudia Nils does appear quite often; mainly in old legal documents involving all kinds of property complaints made against John and later in e-mails with him demanding...things...kinky ass things up to and including pregnancy and paternity test kits. A quick search reveals there are eight other names that pop up consistently with the same general requests leveled their way.

I don't have all the names matched with an address when there is a knock at the door. I take the screen back to the password box then pad to the door quietly and take a look out of the peephole. It's Claudia. I open the door and let her in. I can't tell if she's nervous-angry or nervous-fearful. She's probably both. 

"Take a seat on the sofa," I offer. Claudia flinches but does so. Halfway there I cut to the left and drop my butt in the Lazy-boy opposite her which gives her a tiny moment of relief.

"Well...I'm...sorry about your brother," she stammers, "but I want to know..." It is painful to watch her beat around the bush.

"Why don't you tell me what is really going on and maybe I can help?" I request. Seeing her reticence, "I've read multiple e-mails you two sent back and forth and I believe something screwed up was going on..."

"Screwed up?" she laughs bitterly. "Yes, you could say that."

"Then tell me what is going on. I have two reasons; I want what you have been going through to end. My brother has been doing something that has made you miserable. While that isn't the man I remember, my previous opinion is not what matters. I can't pretend to make it up to you but I can make it stop. Tell me what it is I need to do," I state rationally.

Claudia hops out of her seat, paces the length of the sofa then resumes her seat.

"You don't know; you really don't know...anything?" Claudia babbles. "Did he give you something -- a password, the location of a safe or a safety deposit box key?" Even as she blabs she appears to regret talking to me at all.

"Okay, I've cracked his home computer password and there are plenty of incriminating e-mails," I tell her. I neglect to tell her about the other women. "My second concern is that this may have had something to do with my brother's death...and this means giving this all to the police." Claudia's eye bore a hole in me.

"What would it cost us to keep this out of the public eye?" she says with an abysmal emptiness.

"Oh, nothing like what happened this afternoon," I pledge. "Not that you weren't unforgettable and fantastic but you hated the whole episode and I didn't figure that out until...well I guess it wasn't love-making...anyway I'm don't want to force you to have sex with me ever again."

"How much will it cost us then?" she sighs. Two things were evident to me; she really wanted this buried and she kept using the word 'us' which I took to be Claudia and her husband.


What My Brother Left Me Ch. 01



"How does your husband fit into all of this?" I want to know.

"It is that bastards fault!" she spits out with venom. "That greedy stupid bastard is the reason I have...had to sleep with...John...all those others and now you."

"Claudia that is over," I assure her. "I don't want to force you to have sex and I don't want your money. My Dad died long ago, Mom passed away three years ago and John and I have both done well so all of that wealth is now mine...I think. I can't figure out why John was even blackmailing you."

"Because I'm old?" she complicates the issue.

"Ah -- no," I say, "he normally goes for women with bra sizes bigger than their IQ, long blonde hair with the capacity to laugh at almost anything he said. I guess that's 'went for' instead of 'goes for' now."

Claudia is rendered speechless for some time.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I break the silence. "For some freaky reason John has some wines and champagne along with his normal bourbons, whiskeys and beers." She shakes her head as she tries to concentrate.

"Does he have anything for a martini?" she finally manages.

"I have never made a martini in my entire life but I think that is vermouth and vodka, right? He's got those," I inform her.

"Point the way," she commands as she stands up. I walk her to the 'Man Cave' and use my brother's -- I guess it is mine now -- remote and trigger the bar to swing open from the wall. I remember him sending me daily photo updates while he built this thing; it was a labor of love.

"This place is filthy," Claudia notes. She's right.

"I think he cancelled the maid service months ago," I joke and for the first time Claudia shows a tinges of mirth; a moment when she isn't furious with existence. She walks over to the bar and starts working up a vodka martini. I step up and look over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she becomes all frosty again.

"I've never seen a martini made before. I thought I could learn something," I confess.

"Oh...you are not like your brother," Claudia relates as she measures out her version of what this alcoholic beverage should be.

"He was my step-brother; different mothers and I was seven years younger," I inform her. "He was always nice, watching out for me -- more of a Dad than my actual Dad."

"Well, he was an utter bastard here," Claudia is getting snooty. "He had loud parties at all hours; he built additions to the house without clearing it with the Homeowners' Association, and had always presented a low-class image." I have to think about that.

"You mean his cars?" I wonder.

"Yes, those junk piles," Claudia clarifies.

"John restored vintage cars, Claudia," I enlighten her. "He probably brought them by before he could get garage space to work on them. He was always doing things like that -- picking up wrecks and rebuilding them."

"That is no reason to dirty up the neighborhood," she insists.

"I agree; he was insensitive -- he could be like that from time to time," I concur mainly to keep things calm. She finishes the martini and pours one for each of us.

"Here you go," she hands me a cocktail glass. I wisely watch her take the first sip as I have no idea if you sip, drink, or chug the thing.

"How is it?" she politely inquires. I have the sudden desire to discuss who will take the regatta this year, municipal tax bonds and floral patterns. Claudia has that kind of aura draped around her.

"I have nothing to compare it to, but I like it," I say. "Thank you...for the drink and showing me how to make a martini next time a lady requests one."

"You are welcome, but I hope you will keep the partying to a minimum. What are you going to do when you find the...information?" she sneaks into the conversation.

"I'll erase and over-write the hard drive, burn any CD's, DVD's, and tapes, and shred any papers or photos," I explain. "I could give it to you to destroy if you prefer."

"How do we know you won't keep copies," Claudia grills me.

"You don't," I shrug. "I'm telling you I won't and I don't have a reason to keep copies but it is up to you to decide whether you can trust a guy you've known only two hours."

"Aren't you worried I killed your brother?" she questions.

"What does your husband do for a living?" I counter. Claudia hesitates for thirty seconds which lets me know that this is a significant sliver of information.

"He's lead accountant at a Fortune 500 company," she admits. I infer he's an embezzler. I don't say that but that's the key. That's why it is an 'us' and not 'me' or 'him' when she talks about what's gone wrong. Her standard of living comes from her husband's wrong-doings.

I am in finance after all and I know if you are not careful your accountant can rob you blind. Criminal charges have a short statute of limitations but corporations can come after you until the end of time with civil litigation.

"Was your husband involved with John?" I blurt out. Claudia looks shocked then bitter.

"Not in that way, if that's what you mean," she sneers. As far as I know my brother wasn't gay or even bi-sexual but then I didn't know he was blackmailing housewives either. "He made Edgar do...other things. Things like..." she mutters.

"This is the point where I stop asking," I interrupt. "I'm sorry I asked this much; so please let's not talk about what happened anymore." 

Now Claudia softens enough to look wickedly amused with my discomfort.

"When can I expect this information?" she revisits the question.

"I have a few places I can start looking and when I get John's keys and Death Certificate I can go to the bank and see what gems he left for me there," I tell her. "In have no idea how long that will take."

She doesn't seem pleased so,

"You could help me with the legal difficulties as they come up," I offer.

"To get me over to your house?" she becomes very defensive.

"Hello...phone, e-mails, I could hand you over papers to your door, if you like," I point out.

"People would see," Claudia snaps. "You wouldn't know who was home when, and I can't have a strange young man loitering on my stoop."

"Fine," I shake my head, "Claudia, stay at home; do what you normally do and I'll contact you when I know something. I feel bad about what happened this afternoon and I've tried being civil. You want to be pissed at me, so be it. I'll be in touch."

Claudia looks ferociously angry but my memory tracks back to an earlier mood.

"The sex was mind-blowing," I swear. "My only regret is that I didn't start out explaining when you first came in. I took you under false pretenses and I hate that."

"As you should," she grumbles. "I'm still sore."

"I would like to say I'm sorry but," I gulp, "you were and are beautiful. I can't say I regret seeing..."

"Seeing me naked?" she accuses me. "That was a moment you never should have experienced."

"Yes, I know I will go to my grave never getting to see you like that again," I bow my head.

Claudia doesn't say anything for the longest time. She drains her martini and pours herself another one which she downs equally quickquickly. I look up at her. The third martini goes down the hatch.

"Of course you will never be gifted with that view again," she sniffs.

"Does it improve my chances if I buy a blindfold?" I say intently. Claudia spews her fourth martini all over the place.

"You are incorrigible," she snorts. "You are worse than your brother," and then she sneaks a smile my way. "You will get me every bit of evidence, right?"

"Absolutely," I promise. We put down our glasses and I take her to the door. "If you try to blackmail us, there will be hell to pay." Right before we get to the door she adds, "Don't bother my husband with this. I'll handle everything."

"Of course," I agree.

(Marisol)

My hand is inches from the doorknob when the doorbell rings. Claudia tenses up but I am unschooled in the arts of blackmail and deception...or even high society. I open the door and am gifted with the view of a gorgeous, vivacious woman I am to learn is of Cuban descent. She's holding a bottle of red wine and possessing a wicked smile.

"Marisol?" my current visitor gasps.

"Claudia?" the lady on the stoop replies.

"What are you doing here?" they simultaneously volley.

"I came over to greet John's brother who arrived only today," Claudia recovers first. Marisol blinks.

"So am I...here to greet John's friend who I now know is his cuter, younger brother," Marisol recovers quickly as well.

"I'll leave you to your business, Mr. Greene," Claudia directs to me. Greene is my family name. Claudia slips pass us both and, with chin held high, she saunters down the walkway.

"Ms. Riviera, I'm Charles and you are right; I'm his kid brother," I step aside and allow Marisol to enter. I'm thinking an early fortyish woman, with a nice, lush ass, plush hips, full waist and an expansive bust-line with a smooth neck line, no crow's feet, rich lips and flowing black locks that cascade down to the afore mentioned ass. This has to be M. Rivera on my brother's e-mail 'Most Wanted' list too since there is only one 'M'.

"Call me Marisol, please," she beams with a smile that must have put at least one of the dentist's children through college. Her hips beat out their own sultry rhythm as she makes her way to the kitchen. At the refrigerator, she makes an overtly seductive display of opening the door, bending over and looking for a place to stick the wine despite there being plenty of room. I'm definitely thinking of sticking something somewhere too...but that would be bad.

"How about we just drink it?" I offer.

"You are being awful bashful," she smiles down the length of her torso at me. "But you have nothing to be bashful about," her eyes focus on my crotch where my penis isn't pitching a tent; its aiming for Big Top status. Marisol salivating doesn't help my self-control one bit.

"We need to talk," I express as I backpedal for distance. If she bounces that ass or breasts off me, it is straight to sex on the hardwood kitchen floors and a mountain of regrets afterwards.

"Oh, that's never good," she sighs. "Is this why John isn't here?"

"Let's go to the living room," I suggest.

"We could always go to the bedroom," she grins.

"I stripped the bed but haven't put fresh sheets on yet," I explain.

"Man Cave," is her next suggestion.

"Deal," I huff happily. There are pieces of furniture I can put between us in case she gets furious and seeks vengeance. With that in mind, I retrieve a corkscrew; I might need it.

"I'll get the glasses," Marisol says. She hooks two wide-bodies wine glasses with practiced ease and sashays pass me. They could be Sherry glasses or Brandy Sniffers, but I've never seen either identified -- I am not from the Hamptons; I'm from Western Pennsylvania. We don't do garden parties, we shoot quail, turkey and deer.

I make a near fatal error in judgment; I decide that if Marisol walks in front of me I'm going to grab her ass; I just couldn't stop myself, so I go first. Marisol wraps her hand holding the two glass stems around my waist and rubs my very hard hard-on. I cough. I would cough and wiggle away but I don't want the glasses smashing to the floor. I'm still wearing socks after all.

"Whoever called you the 'little' brother was lying," she purrs into my ear, followed by her breath on my neck, her boobs pressing into my back and her teeth and tongue tantalizing my left ear.

"For the love of God, woman, give me two minutes and I guarantee you will want to leave," I squeak.

"If you insist," she mutters darkly. We enter the Man Cave, I go for the love seat and she goes for the sofa. Before I can speak, Marisol pats the seat next to her but I shake my head. She pats again; I refuse again so she gets up and comes over to me. She flows down to her knees like a gymnast with her legs spread wide.

Oh Hell No! I've been down this road just two hours before. My legs slam shut; no blowjob for me. I'd feel better in my moral victory if Marisol wasn't looking at me like a cat regarding a mouse-flavored treat.

"Fuck it..." I groan.

"That's been my desire for the past two nights since your brother stood me up," Marisol purrs.

"Wait Marisol," I fend her off, "John died in a car wreck two nights ago." Marisol may have been why he was speeding home -- shit. I'd have used a damn supped-up De Lorean with a time machine in back if I knew she was waiting on me and I was afraid I'd be late.

"Seriously?" she studies me. "This isn't some stupid stunt of his trying to blow me off?"

"No, he's dead alright, I swear to God," I plead.

"Well damn," she pouts as her treasured posterior comes to rest on her heels.

"You don't have to come over here anymore," I explain with some relief.

"You don't find me attractive?" she now seems curious and a little hurt.

"You are freaking gorgeous but I want you to know that you are not going to be blackmailed anymore," I cautiously smile. "The nightmare is over."

"Huh?" she's truly confused. "Wait, you think John was blackmailing me for sex?"

Oh blow me -- fuck a duck; what in the hell have I done?

"Isn't he? I mean, wasn't he?" I babble. She gives me a penetrating stare then laughs.

"He wasn't blackmailing me," she chuckles.

"He wasn't?" I blink. Oh thank God.

"No," she giggles at my distress. "He was blackmailing my husband. See, my husband is gay."

"That's a damn waste," I groan. She is leaning over and up; so I meet her lips half way.

"Thank you for that," she smiles. "I was beginning to think I was losing my appeal."

"What the hell is going on?" I mutter.

"My husband's family runs the largest alcohol distributorship in South Florida but the Cuban-American community isn't big on homosexuality. His brothers would force him out of the business if they found out, so he married me as camouflage. My problem is that while homosexuality is worse, being a cuckold is not much better," Marisol explains.

"A few years into the marriage he got tired of even pretending to sleep with me and a few years later toys became insufficient," she sighs. "It got so bad I was going to college swim meets just to get a glimpse of stiff man-meat." I am smart enough to not laugh. The corkscrew drops from my hand because I'm not likely to need it now; at least not for self-defense.

"Oh...in that case, if you missed it, I would really like to spend the night exploring your body in every possible manner," I relate.

"I'll make a deal with you," Marisol shuffles closer as my legs part and she rest her glorious orbs on my thighs while she looks up all innocent-like. "I'll let you fuck me each and every way you like if you agree to fuck me each and every which way I like; deal?"

"Ummm...wow...ummm...yes," I nod my head vigorously. "How about: Hell Yes!"

"Good," she growls hungrily. "I'll miss your brother but you look far more delicious."

"I should warn you I've only been with ten women my entire life," I confess.

"I've only been with two men; you'll be the third," she grins.

"How in the hell did that happen?" I gasp. "I'm inordinately proud that I haven't torn off you clothes in the five minutes I've known you." Marisol loses it. She falls back on the floor; she is laughing so uproariously; her mountainous breasts gripped by a steady body-quake.

"My Father and brothers are kinda/sorta part of organized crime down here," she adds to the mix.

"They aren't likely to feed my me legs-first into a wood chipper are they?" I inquire as I come out of the chair and lay my being on top of hers.

"No," Marisol grins with sexual triumph, "they place you in a wooden crate and dump poisonous snakes in with you -- it's their trademark."

"Promise me two things," I gasp between kisses. "After you answer my next request the conversation ends, the sex begins; I get to see you in a Catholic School Girl outfit before I die." She responded with arms around my waist and working off my shirt while her lips and tongue worked a Latin rhythm all over my lips, chin and neck.

 (to be immediately continued) 



What My Brother Left Me Ch. 02



(Thanks to Shawhollow for the edit)

*Loneliness is a disease of the mind and the heart*

*

(Right where we left off)

"Mmmm...bedroom," I mumble between Marisol's displays of affection as we roll all over the Man Cave's carpeted floor.

"Sofa," she moans because I've finally maneuvered off her flimsy shirt and won the war with her bra and its frightening capacity to keep her mammary mammaries contained, allowing a stiff nipple the size of the first digit on my pinky into my mouth. "It folds out."

"I don't have condoms on me," I warn her.

"That's okay; I want to get pregnant," she murmurs. In almost any other situation that would flat-line my cock but I swear I could screw this babe naked on a glacier I'm so hot for her.

"Damn," she moans in sympathy to my urges, "you really are raring to go."

"Sorry," I mumble as I work my tongue down her belly and push her tight-ass jeans down. I swear she must paint these things on.

"Not complaining," she muses happily. "It is wonderful to have a young man wanting me this much. It has been so long." What; was my brother blind, deaf, numb and dumb? As an afterthought I give the swell of her belly beneath her navel a good lick -- she tastes fine too.

She is more than content to let me sniff, lick and touch her body while she gives out passive encouragement. She brings out my aggression and eats it up with sensual sighs and giggles that inspire me further. I smother her right leg with kisses all the way down to the top of her foot and then suck on each toe which brings out murmurs of arousal I have only read about before now. 

I expand upon what little 'game' I have and remember my brother bragging about some of the babes he's 'banged' over the years to piece together my own burgeoning style. I push Marisol's right leg up, starting my kisses at the heel and working back down her calf to her knee. I have stumbled upon something that drives her wild. Watching her react is like being front row - center seat at the birth of a hurricane.

I take several tantalizing licks along the back of Marisol's knee and she rewards me with her back painfully arched, her breasts expanding and jiggling around with a glistening sheen of sweat acting like icing on the cake. I push her leg farther back as I work toward the buttocks. Marisol is proving to be exceptionally flexible yet again; she takes her ankle and pulls it even with her ear while teasing me with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Pound me baby, pound me," she taunts me as her chest heaves. Primal sexual instincts dispel this ruse, focusing my desire on burning her up with foreplay before finishing her off with penetrations. She's not Claudia who is constant and continuous reward. Marisol is going to be a struggle to propel her to every orgasm. This would be a daunting task if she didn't have so many wonderful facets to energize.

"Yeah baby...I'm ready; do it," she moans louder. I take a bite of her thigh right above the curve of her ass. "Ieee!" she yelps. "That hurts," Marisol moans again. I spank her for good measure.

"Bad Girl," I tease her back, "Don't make Papi angry." That was a joke but Marisol's reaction is anything but; she squeals and squirts a small stream of fluid. 

I've got something here; now if I can only remember what Papi means...Father...the guy who tosses snitches and men who touch his daughters into a crate with snakes. Marisol has a Daddy fetish; apparently in a big way. I want to kiss her right butt cheek then take a clue from the book of Claudia and probe her anus with my tongue.

Right off the bat I can tell a serious difference; Marisol's region feels oily smooth and tastes a bit soapy and cleansed. I wrack my mind for what this means. While I'm working that through, Marisol hooks up her left leg and places it in symmetry with the right; pinned back with her hands holding her ankles to her ears. A Plus-sized super gymnast; there are so many questions I want to ask but I'm busy right now.

I move my tongue to the base of her cunt and...hmmm...tastes like cane sugar with a hint of coco-butter -- very exotic and worth diving straight into. I put a finger to her sphincter and it slips in without much resistance so I pull back and insert a second finger along with the first. That's a snugger fit and she appreciates my invasion by rotating her ass playfully.

"Ooohhh...play with me Papi," Marisol moans, "play with La Niña." Kinky; a bit weird for me, at twenty-two, to be going through with a forty year old woman but I'm thinking taboo fantasy, not incest. I take aim and spank her left buttocks hard enough to cause tremors across her butt and thigh.

"Mala Niña," I say gruffly with my best Spanish accent. I hope I'm saying 'bad little girl' but Spanish was a language requirement, not a vocation. It does the job for Marisol though; she's wiggling and undulating all over the place while I go back to delving into her cunt and probing two fingers into anus.

"No Papi estará bien," she pants heavily. She releases her ankles but the legs stay in place which allows her to start squeezing and twisting her engorged nipples. I think she said 'no daddy' but I forget what the rest means. Marisol finds the role-play to be erotic and that's good enough for me. In both ways, Marisol is looser than Claudia -- those must be some toys she's been playing with.

I push a third finger into her butthole (that earns me a squeal) and start off with two fingers into her twat (which elicits a guttural utterance I've never heard a human make before). She still isn't swirling toward a climax so I search for another point of stimulation and it bumps me in the nose; her clitoris. It is somewhat understated within the folds of her labia but once I find it, I make it my bitch, my victim, the source of all my aggression. Bingo!

Marisol sings out in a voluminous litany of Spanish prayers, curses or both. It is beautiful to hear and carries on for some time. Her legs rise to the full vertical but don't fall down on me as I keep working her over -- no; I'm having no mercy on her right now.

"Work it Carlos," she purrs down at me, "Keep it up Lover. You are -- oh -- yessss - very attentive."

"Yum, you are very delicious," I respond. She giggles then rocks her upper body forward, grabbing her buttocks in each hand and opening them wide.

I take that to be a visual invitation to fuck either hole at this point, bypassing the normal verbal request. I get up on my hands and knees and rush over her until we can kiss and my cock dips down to her welcoming cunt. I lower and spread my legs as my cock parts Marisol's labia and is propelled into her depths.

Marisol exhales deeply as her vaginal walls are stimulated by the pulsating veins on my shaft as it penetrates deep. I'm no expert but Marisol's pussy feels like a sexual partner that can go all night long and welcome you back for before, during and after breakfast -- smooth, silky and unquenchably wet. Our hands start to play across each other's bodies once I become comfortable letting Marisol carry my entire weight; she is that strong.

My slow gently gentle strokes aren't enough for Marisol; she starts biting my shoulders and pulling me in harder and faster with her arms around my hips and her legs pressing down on my ass. Even then there is no thunderous orgasm. I'm not in sucky shape but I'm not a marathon runner either and I'd have to be one to break Marisol's sexual barriers down.

Thankfully, Marisol is used to this problem. As my torso and face flush red, and my breathing becomes labored and erratic, Marisol flips me over and begins riding me with celerity in a fluid, low-impact style.

"Phenomenal," I pant.

"What?" she smiles down at me. She is totally feeling superior and pleased with herself.

"I said you are phenomenal and..." I search for something to add, "If you don't agree to do this with me again I'm chaining you to my bed and keeping you as my sex slave." And I probably went way too kinky-far with that one.

Marisol blushes furiously, drops her torso down until her nipples are burning tracks of pleasure across my chest.

"I promise we'll do it again and again until you become bored with me, Señor Verde," she moans pathetically. "I'll do whatever, and I mean WHATEVER, you want. Please don't chain me down and use me over and over again as your sex slave."

By the time we finish that little interplay Marisol is starting to go off. I snake a hand around to her ass cleft, probe for her bunghole and ram three fingers in with as much force and speed as I can leverage. She screams out to Heaven, all the Saints and more than a few fallen Angels -- all in Spanish yet again. Her vagina feels like it is petting my cock in a totally pleasing and unexpected manner.

I begin fountaining my seed, splashing it all over her womb and expanding the crescendo of Marisol's proclamation of ecstasy by a good thirty seconds. She doesn't crash boneless onto me; this is not her way. Her climax leaves her at a lower energy level but in full control of her resources. She languidly settles down on my chest.

I have a variety of things to blame for my resurrection and none have to do with my relative youth. Her boobs pancaking out like semi-squashed melons on either side of my chest could be to blame, as could the streaks of sweat on her temples, forehead, and neck that are nectar for the tasting, the sheer intoxicating aroma of her sex, the smell of wine upon her breath which makes me wonder how drunk she was when she came over, that dazzling white smile, or the warmth of the caress my hands feel on her backside.

I grip her scrumptious posterior tightly to my desperately rebounding cock. Three ejaculations in three hours...I couldn't do that when I was eighteen and right now I can only do it with a resounding amount of pain.

"Not already bored with me?" Marisol pouts/gloats because I know she's ready to go this very moment.

I release each butt cheek but only to haul off and smack them hard and then grip tighter.

"No way in hell am I bored with you," I reply through heaving breath, "but I'm asking for a fifteen minute break so that I don't have a heart attack and die beneath you...happy as I might be."

"You make me feel so very good Carlos Verde," Marisol murmurs. "I think...maybe you appreciate me."

"John didn't?" I know I must sound confused.

"John was fun but then John was here for John," Marisol smiles at me. "I come over, we fuck and I go home. He didn't even drink the damn wine I bought over."

"We didn't drink the wine...yet," I point out.

"Are you going to send me home?" she muses.

"Yes...when does your husband get home?" I inquire.

"Sunday night; he's on a business trip to Argentina until then," Marisol arches an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am sending you home Sunday afternoon then," I wink. It is Tuesday night and I'm being ambitious and burying my grief for my brother at the same time.

"You think you will still be alive by then?" she teases me.

"If not, lock up when you leave," I grin and she kisses me passionately.

"Can I ask for one more favor?" I whisper. Marisol nods. "Whenever we are together, can I cop a feel as long as I'm discreet? You know; a little ass grab, pat or fondle -- rubbing the side of the breast or plucking a nipple -- a kiss or three...that kind of stuff."

"My breasts; aren't they fat and saggy?" Marisol holds one up and licks the nipple. I shake my head in the negative. 

"These lips; shouldn't I use collagen to make them fresher and plumper?" she smiles. I kiss her in response. "You like my body? My husband hates it when I wear a bikini; he says I look like a 'salchicha de cerdo regordete'." 'Pudgy pork sausage' is what I think that means -- my Spanish is coming back to me. I dramatically wipe the drool from my lips and cheeks.

"Oh the hell he says. You can wear a bikini on my deck, in my pool or Jacuzzi any time you like. I'd offer to take you sailing but I don't sail, or to a public beach but I don't think I can act gay enough around you not to cause a stir," I confess. "But; bikini -- yes!" She graces me with a sexy giggle.

"He says my butt is massive, chunky and pitted. He hates my thongs," she looks terrible hurt and sad. I slip out from under her, keeping Marisol on her stomach. I rub my hands over her bare cheeks even parting her cleft deftly.

"I think I would have to take part of a USGS study on this matter," I state with mock-seriousness.

"Hey!" she squawks, "Are you saying my ass is as big as a plot of land?"

"Well, it is a government survey and it would take seven to ten years to finish and I would have to do a whole lot of drilling, constantly mapping the slopes and valleys plus tons of hands-on work," I nod studiously.

"Drilling?" she smirks. "Hands-on work...mapping the slopes and valleys," she sighs happily. "Seven to ten years...mmm...longer if you consider protests, legal obstructions and any other matters I can think of." I set myself up on all fours and crawled over Marisol, my knees inside her thighs and my palms resting beyond her shoulders. I let my body float down on top of Marisol's.

"That will require even more drilling," I murmur as my cock comes to rest between her buttocks. Marisol presses her ass upwards. I give way and she keeps at it until her breasts, ass and knees form a compressed triangle.

"Drill me," Marisol moans. Sure my cock hurts but I might die in the next five hundred years and I know I'll regret passing up this opportunity every day for the rest of my life if I don't partake of this fantastic posterior the way she is offering it up to me at this moment in time.

"Ooohhh," she groans as my bulbous head passes her relaxed sphincter and makes steady progress leading my shaft in exploring her rectum. "Ugh, you are very thick," she exhales.

"Yours is the best ass made by God or Man," I whisper in her ear, "and I really, really want you to like this -- what my cock is doing inside of you right now."

"Ah - ah, I'll let you know -- ah - if you do -- ah - something I -- am -- ah - unhappy with," she gasps. Her ass really has some give and cushioning. It is a totally different feel from Claudia; Claudia is steady and consistent while Marisol is different on every stroke, depending on how hard I push and how tight her glutei flex. Both are wonderful but different.

"Fuck -- fuck - fuck," I groan. I want to shoot but my balls aren't cooperating. If they could talk they would remind me this whole '4th round' scheme is not their idea. They've done their job for my genetic future. It is not my testes fault their first two efforts went down a throat and into a rectum after all; such body parts are clearly differentiated by touch alone.

"Ay Papi," Marisol cries out. "Spank me Carlos, spank me!" My rhythm is going so fast and strong by this time I release both hips and start smacking alternating ass cheeks. I have a flashback to one of those old films showing that prick beating the drums while the slaves row their hearts out on the galley. From Marisol's howls she wants to go to straight to ramming speed (funny how that works).

"¿Qué fue lo que confesar hoy niña?" I say and pray I get it right. I think I'm going on about confession; when she doesn't laugh at me I think I am close. I switch up with my hands, using my right to grab my shoulder and deepen my anal plunging. Then with my left, I reach out and start spanking her left breast and nipple. We have a winner! Or more likely a winning combination.

Marisol becomes on one-woman chorus of Iberian feminine carnality. I have to wonder if this house is soundproof. On second thought, the cops aren't beating down the door, so it must be because Marisol is vocal as hell. She also must do palates ten hours a day because I'm about to fall over and she's perfectly poised for yet another round, her ass wantonly presented for my further plundering.

"Hi," I rasp hoarsely. "I'm going to die now. It has been a pleasure getting to know you," then I politely fall over. She appears over me but is anything but mocking; she is blissfully happy.

"Wow," she breathes softly. "I feel like a million bucks. How do I rate against the other ten women?"

I raise a lone finger; not my middle finger. On second thought, I switch up and giver the 'fuck you' finger. She gives me a seductive little eyebrow arches then slowly and deliberately purses her lips and engulfs my finger down to the last knuckle. If this wasn't one of the sexiest yet simple things I've ever seen I'd be crying because my cock really is cramping.

Oh, it really wants to stand tall and proud and my middle finger is lying to my dick, telling that troublesome lump of muscle that a real penis could rise to the occasion one more time.

"Let me get you some wine," Marisol smiles at me once she's let my finger go. She's kind enough to wag her butt in my face as she saunters over on her knees, retrieves the wine bottle, glasses and that thing you open wine with...it has the word 'screw' in it and I'm avoiding anything associated with screwing like the plague at the moment.

Marisol is kind and nurturing with me, helping me to sit up and serving me a little bit of wine. She even waits for my 'approval' of the wine before filling my glass then hers. We sit there, on the floor and backs to the sofa; she nestles up against me, perfectly content and comfortable.

"Okay...what's wrong with you?" I request to know. "Everything about you is perfect, so am I missing something or have I died and gone to heaven?"

"You are a bit sappy but also very romantic," Marisol sighs. She kisses my neck then jawline. A cool glass of wine to my nipple informs me she wants my attention. I look her way and everything indicates she's waiting for a kiss, which I deliver with passion.

"I've occasionally been called temperamental," she concedes.

"Is there any truth to that rumor?" I inquire between deep, rich kisses.

"Well," Marisol demurs, "I once put a sister through a plate glass window in church. Does that count?"

"Did she have it coming and was it worth it?" seems the natural thing to ask. Marisol blinks, lets her smirk grow into a laugh before she hugs and kisses me.

"You are the first person to ever ask me that," she beams happily. "Yes and yes. The Whore was being all touchy-feely with her 'cousin' in the vestment chamber so I grabbed the bitch by the hair, dragged her down the hall and tossed her into the garden - through the window - the one with the plate glass St. Martin in it."

"Martin - which one is he?" I wonder.

"Martin de Tours; among other things, he's the patron saint of soldiers," she giggles. "As for 'was it worth it'; yes because while he turned out to really be her cousin, they ran off together two years later." 

"My second brother, Hernando, is still keeping an eye out for them in case they come back to town. He has a girlfriend now and a one year old son so I don't think he's getting a divorce and I don't think he's going to let her turn his infant son or the boy's mother out in the street..." Marisol explains.

"Why doesn't he simply adopt his son?" I question after a minute of drinking wine and basking in her company.

"Such things are not done," Marisol mopes. "He is a man whose wife ran away -- adoption is not an option."

"Why don't you adopt his son?" I suggest next. "That way he would legally be part of the family." She doesn't get upset or excited but appears more in thought.

"How would that work? I'm not sure my husband would go for it and right now mother and son live with my brother. I'm not sure he would want them out here in the suburbs with me," she points out.

"What if I gave you money - say you were in John's will - and you do the adoption and buy them a house close to your brother," I postulate. 

"He maintains his old home but 'watches over' 'your' house with his girlfriend and son. I think legally he can take your maiden name so he gets his father's last name as well," I add.




What My Brother Left Me Ch. 02



Marisol doesn't get all bubbly; that isn't her style either; she really is a Mafia Don's daughter. No, she flows into my lap, straddling me, her warm wet cunt trapping my cock against my stomach. One hand holds her wine while the other grabs the back of my head and pulls me into a lip-lock that goes on forever.

"I miss John, I really do," she informs me, "but not nearly as much as I should and with nothing close to the passion I now embrace you with, Carlos Verde. I am going to make love to you for a long, long time...I think seven to ten years was mentioned with the option to extend indefinitely."

"Have I helped you out?" I am somewhat shocked.

"John and I exchanged words but we never talked," Marisol imparts to me. "If you do this thing - or, should I say 'help me do this thing' my family will be very grateful. I'm stunned we didn't think of it ourselves."

"Perhaps your family is a teensy bit too much revenge oriented?" I timidly offer.

"Very possibly," Marisol shrugs. "For right now, I'm going to get dressed," which I respond with a deep longing for her, "go home and get some things but I'll be right back and we can work things out all night long." By the way she says 'work things out' I know she means sex, which would delay me dealing with my brother's death but John's life is turning out to be one big mess and I need time to figure out what to do.

"What would you do if I locked the door?" I tease her before she can start dressing. She thinks it over for a few seconds.

"I have a shotgun and automatic pistol for home defense Carlos," she smirks. "In my family's experience shotguns trump most locks."

"The door will be unlocked, I promise," I laugh.

"You light up the Jacuzzi, get something ready for dinner and take one of your brother's Viagra," Marisol gives me quick instructions and a quicker kiss. "Put on a robe and nothing else; I'll be back very soon."

As Marisol starts to wiggle into her jeans, I catch her off-guard and tip her on her side. She gives an annoyed huff which turns into a happy gasp when I put a thumb into her ass and two fingers into her pussy. Smooth as silk...

"Marisol, why is your...back passage so...smooth?" I cautiously question.

"I had an enema before coming over," she laughs. "That is the best way to have anal sex."

"How did you know we would have anal sex?" I wonder. She laughs again.

"With a butt like mine; if you happened to be gay you would still fuck my ass, even if you had to close your eyes and think of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert while you did it," she answers smugly.

Seeing Marisol out isn't exactly easy and I definitely get the impression she loves me chasing her around the Man Cave as she tries to get dressed and put her shoes on. I'd be a total liar if claimed I hate bending her over the recliner, or the sofa, or the sofa in the living room, or spreading her open on the love seat and pressing her - hands trapped over her head - against five different sections of wall, or that one last make-out session at the door.

Five seconds after I get her out of the house I am still catching my breath with my back to the door when the doorbell rings. Could it be a husband with a gun already? I peek through the spyhole and swing the door open. Marisol jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my upper thighs while kissing me all over the face.

"I'm naked," kiss, kiss, kiss, "in my doorway," I get out.

"Okay, okay," she sounds so miserable. She gives me one more gentle kiss then dismounts and tries to not look too harried as she heads back to her house. I shut the door, scurry to the Jacuzzi naked and then race for the shower. I get half way there before doubling back to unlock the door. I race through my shower and snatch one of John's robes; it is a bit big on me but in my rush down from Pennsylvania I only brought my lone winter robe which is both ratty as hell and very warm.

It takes me a minute of looking at my brother's medicine cabinet to realize that he didn't suffer hair loss and certainly not to a degree he needed a 100 tablet bottle. I'm not sure how anyone gets a prescription for that many little blue pills - or why they - oh; the black market, duh. I pop only one pill because at the last minute taking two seems unwise. 

The lesson is that you take Viagra a half-pill at a time. I'm about to have a boner that lasts nine agonizing hours. All I can claim is that it is a lesson I won't soon forget...and I'm about to make Marisol very happy, sorta. See, there is a knock at the door. I beat feet there and swing it wide open; I'm very happy I have a robe on because I'm looking at the two homicide detectives handling my brother's case.

I'm hoisted on my brother's petard, or on his un-luck, depending on your point of view.

"Detectives Stevens and Felipe; please come in," I wave two of Miami/Dade's finest inside. Amanda Stevens is a woman my brother would have loved -- long blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a firm, tall and well-sculpted physique. Even with her low heels she's eye-level with my five-foot eleven form. I starting to suspect he would have appreciated her familiarity with handcuffs as well. I'm also starting to think I hardly knew the guy.

George Felipe looks to be your classic go-getter, slightly shorter than me, with a military hairstyle and light brown complexion. He is slender and possesses a nervous energy which carries through into his conversations.

"Expecting someone?" Det. Stevens looks at me while Det. Felipe strategically looks around farther in the house.

"Yes," I nod. "I met some neighbors when I showed up today and one of them is coming back over in a few minutes."

"That was very nice of them," she eyes me both sexually and quizzically.

"Not too much; they were two women my brother was blackmailing for sex and I'm still trying to figure out if either of them had a hand in my brother's death."

That brings both detectives up short.

"What?" Det. Felipe snaps. "Why didn't you inform the department the moment you found out about this?"

"You weren't planning to take up where your brother left off, so what's your intention?" Stevens asks. Since I don't appear high, or a totally idiot, the good assumption is on my not continuing the blackmail; it's true.

"I want to -" I'm saying as Marisol comes through the door with two bottles of wine. Maybe my brother died of liver failure.

"Hello," she greets everyone cheerfully. "I'll let the wine chill." It takes me a second to adjust; she saw the drab sedan with the county government tags, probably the non-flashing lights on the dashboard and she already knew my brother died suspiciously...still, she came in.

"Marisol, this is Det. Stevens and Det. Felipe," I make introductions. "They're investigating my brother's death." Ping! "Also, the lasagna is done. Does anyone care to join me?"

"We are on duty," Det. Felipe informs me firmly, but he's not being a dick about it.

"How about I let you go over my brother's records, if you take a seat at the dining table? You are Night Shift Homicide detectives, so where else are you going to eat?" I add.

"What could we look at?" Stevens inquires. Felipe doesn't seem pleased with this turn of events.

"I've synched his home system with my laptop so you both can go through it while you eat," I say. "I'll go back to the bedroom and crack his safe -- that shouldn't take five minutes, and I should be able to give you most of that too."

"This lasagna could hardly be considered a bribe," Marisol comments as she comes from the kitchen. Apparently John's taste in microwave food doesn't rise to her standards - then I realize she's in a bikini top, not a bra, which has been made easier to detect by the simple expedient of her removing her shirt.

It is safe to say that if Bigfoot jumped through the window right now, we would all blithely buy his Girl Scout cookies and send him on his way; Marisol is eating up the attention.

"You um - you um - you ah crack safes?" Felipe mumbles to me.

"My brother wasn't a complicated guy," I slobber. I shake my head and display the 'background babe' on John's computer. "Who is this girl?"

The group scans it.

"Katherine Heigl," Marisol identifies her.

"What are her measurements?" I ask.

"34D-25-34," Felipe blurts out. Both women look his way; Stevens smirks while he's embarrassed.

"I'll be right back," I hail as I race to the bedroom. My brother is pretty constant about both his capacity to recall a woman's measurements and his lust for the hottest chick in the room. I find all kinds of crap so I have to be careful. "Gun," I call out and "weed". I bare the two items back to the dining room, held in handkerchiefs. The two cops are standing 'cautiously'.

"The bag of marijuana isn't mine, nor is the gun but I think I saw a few permits in there," I tell them. "I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," Stevens announces.

"So will I," Marisol volunteers suspiciously. 

In the safe in my brother's bedroom we find all kinds of other documents. I'm pulling them out and showing them to Stevens while Marisol hovers around.

"Let's go back to Detective Felipe," I suggest.

"Carlos, you and I could stay and make the bed?" Marisol offers.

"Marisol, that lasagna is probably dreadful, but I think that it only gets worse when you are eating it cold," I point out.

"We could order take-out instead," she smiles.

"I've been here three hours," I moan. "Before that I was packing, flying down here, or dealing with the police. I haven't slept well in forty-eight hours so I just want to eat and go to bed."

As I round the hall into the dining room; "But I took that Viagra so I don't think sleep is possible."

"You took 'A' Viagra?" Stevens queries.

"Mr. Green," Felipe sighs warning me of dreadful news to come, "you take Viagra in half-pill doses. If you take a whole pill you get a painful erection that lasts 6 to 10 hours. Didn't you read the instructions?"

"A whole pill," Marisol purrs, "6 to 10 hours," she starts salivating then she shimmies out of her pants to reveal her bikini thong bottoms. Felipe is trying terribly hard not to stare, but he's clearly uncomfortable.

"So Marisol, what does your husband do?" Stevens gets all police-lady like.

"It is Marisol Rivera, Detective Stevens, and he puts people in crates filled with snakes -- no wait, that's my Father and Brothers; my Husband is partners in the largest alcohol distributorships in Southern Florida," Marisol challenges Stevens. "So could one of them have killed John Green; my answer is 'yes' but I knew of no such plot. Besides, my husband has been in Argentina for over a week and won't be back until Sunday night."

"What is your husband's reaction going to be when he finds out you are here tonight...wearing that?" Stevens persists.

"By Sunday Night it won't matter what he thinks," Marisol grins vindictively.

"What does that mean?" Stevens counters.

"It means I'm not going to tell you," Marisol snips.

"Are you really associated with the Coronado crime family?" Felipe interjects.

"No...I mean my Father is Estefan Coronado, but I have never been a 'member' of the family," she instructs him.

"Lady, what do you think your Father would have done when he found out you were sleeping with John Greene?" Felipe stood. "And why in the hell are you sticking it to his brother?"

"No," I jump up too, "I'm sticking it to her but only after I let her know that John was dead and the blackmail scheme was over -- end of story." Everyone looks at me. "Listen, in the past three hours all I've learned is that my brother may very well have been overcome with sexual exhaustion, lost control of his car while fleeing Miami and welcomed Death as a release."

"I've had more sex since I walked into this house than I've had in a year," I confess. "Seriously, I get jumped answering the door and then it is seven orgasm to my two before I catch a break -- and no, I don't think she or her husband have the stones or the knowledge to mess with John's car plus they don't seem to know where the blackmail material is hidden."

"Marisol here was kind enough to talk to me at least before the sex started," I continue rambling, "but with her, sex was even better and I didn't think that was possible."

"That story is not remotely believable," Felipe glares at me.

"If you think I'm lying, take me to a hospital and sedate me," I tell him, "because part of me agrees with you -- I've lost my mind and I'm really huddled in a corner making incoherent mutterings."

"That's okay Carlos," Marisol pouts, "I'll help you." She comes over, yanks my chair half way around and then straddles my lap. As her legs lower her torso down slowly, she pulls her bikini thong aside with one hand while opening my robe with the other. Flawlessly, she slides my pole into her warm, moist folds and rides me all the way down before kissing me so forcefully that my head nearly rolls over my back.

She wiggles her pussy around my cock.

"How does that feel?" she showers me with compassion.

"Are we," and by that I believe Det. Stevens means her and Det. Felipe, "keeping you from something important?"

"Erotically charged but dampened by a muscle cramp," I put words to my confusing sensations. "No, Det. Stevens, this is not what I intended when I invited you two in."

"No, you are good," Marisol abruptly hops up and fixes her thong. "You are not crazy."

"George, eyes on target," cautions his partner. "You are married with children."

"Do you have a husband and children, Det. Stevens?" Marisol asks.

"No and no," Stevens sounds annoyed.

"Do you want children?" Marisol persists.

"Not that this is any of your business but 'no'; I don't have a man and I don't want any kids," Stevens growls.

"Well, I want children and if the two of you would bolt, maybe I'll get my wish," Marisol curls her lips viciously as she tries to stare down Stevens.

"You are not bi-sexual are you Det. Stevens?" sort of blasts through my consciousness and slips out my mouth in a totally unfounded and inappropriate utterance.

"Listen you!" Felipe shoots up and snaps at me. This is his partner after all.

"Did I actually say that...?" I groan. "Hell, did even think that? What is wrong with me?" I put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. 

"Cool down George," Stevens advises her partner. "He's been through a lot and he's been ruled out as a suspect. He is cooperating -- somewhat."

"How did Carlos get ruled out so quickly?" Marisol is intrigued. Stevens is clearly uncertain about how much to reveal.

"You are sure he was murdered?" I mutter. News about my brother is kick-starting my brain.

"Yes," Stevens avoids Marisol by answering me. "Your brother was poisoned."

"Twice," Felipe adds. "Low doses of Arsenic indicate a long term -- maybe six month dosing soon to be fatal; plus a fluoride-based synthetic that was in lethal quantities. It would have killed him in a few hours -- had he lived long enough."

"Then he was stabbed, got in his car and fled the scene of his attack, but then he was shot in the car, most likely while he was driving, though that wasn't what actually killed him," Stevens notes. "He would have bled to death without hospitalization from either wound."

"So he was poisoned -- twice, stabbed, shot then passed out and crashed?" I shake away my cobwebs.

"He didn't crash; his car was sabotaged," Felipe informs me. "His brakes had a mechanical failure and if he hadn't been run off the road, he would have eventually crashed. As it was, the pursuing car pushed him off the highway. Your brother tried to swim away under water -- we discovered multiple 9mm and .45 casings at the bridge, so we assume he was being shot at by multiple parties. Technically, your brother got caught up in some submerged branches and drowned in the canal."

I cannot imagine what my expression looks like because I've never had people look at me with such levels of concern and nervous caution before.

"For the love of God," I shudder. "What the hell did he do? Who did he piss off? Why are you telling me this...isn't this classified or something?"

"Our working theory that brought us to your door was that your brother was a covert importer for one drug gang, who were fighting another, and he betrayed one or both parties," George says.

"Thanks to your efforts Charles, we now are working with a whole new theory that he was a serial blackmailer. We need to develop a list of possible suspects," Stevens continues.

All that hate and John was killed by Mother Nature...what a bitch," I shudder.

"Wait...is Carlos in danger?" Marisol seems suspicious. "That's why you two are really here, isn't it? You want to see who comes by to kill my Carlos."

Wait...I am owned by somebody? I've never even put a ring on a girl's finger. I tried once and she responded by saying 'we should see other people'. I have to do something.

"Marisol, you need to get dressed and go home," I stand. "If it isn't safe here, I can't have you putting your life in danger."

"Oh," she muses, "you are right." That was surprisingly easy. "I need to go and get my guns; I'll be right back." Maybe not so easy; I open my mouth to say something and she stabs a lone finger my way. I try to say something again and the finger jabs menacingly.

No one speaks until she dresses and heads for the door.

"That must have been some sex," Stevens whispers.

"We can't let her brings gun over here," George warns Stevens. I really need to get my head on straight.

"Hold on...I need both of yours assessment on the likelihood that Marisol or any of her relations were involved," I grind out. They look at each other.

"Don't lie to us," Felipe shakes me lightly; "do you have any idea where the blackmail material is?" I am thinking over every tidbit of advice John gave me.

"It wouldn't be in his home, or in a bank," I piece together. "Dad advised us to never put all our eggs in one basket -- more to the point, never put all our resources in one bank. John was also a strong believer of never leaving evidence of a crime lying around -- never shoplift and flaunt what you stole," I clarify.

"What does that mean?" Stevens quizzes me.

"I'm not sure but if the key to this is monetary, he would keep it at, or close to, something he felt represents an economic success," I work out; "something to do with work."

"What do you know about your brother's business?" Stevens asks. "I've been down this round two dozen times already. Now it is two-dozen and one."

"Nothing really; he sent me some pics of three golf courses he'd been a financial partner in, the Platinum Yacht Club project and about half a dozen planned communities and -- um - eight or nine houses in Miami proper and South Beach," I recite yet again.

"Were you aware that your brother mortgaged your house in Pennsylvania?" Felipe prods me.

"No way!" I deny it. "He would have told me." I think clearly for a second, not as a baby brother but as a financial guy. We shared it and, while I'd never signed anything, he could have signed...I graduated from college...I signed some stuff...fuck. When did this happen?"

"Nineteen months ago," George tells me.

"We closed out some of my college accounts," I inform them, "and settled some of the old property -- John said it was stuff from Dad's Will that had come our way after the trouble we had with his old company; Green Financial."

Marisol, a monster handbag over her shoulder and a hunting rifle sleeve over her other shoulder, quickly re-enters my place. My heart and head tumble into conflict once more. Am I the luckiest guy alive, or has Marisol had a hand in murdering my brother and is she getting ready to remove me as a lose end.

"Hey Beautiful," I greet her. She strides up to me and I can tell that Stevens is fighting a terrible mental battle to restrain herself from tackling Marisol and pinning the sultry Cuban to the ground. My dick hurts -- a lot -- as my mind takes in a female fight scenario born from the legacy of Quentin Tarantino and every other catfight with guns scene ever put on the silver screen -- except Marisol's boob's must bounce in 3D...




What My Brother Left Me Ch. 02



Marisol hugs me with her free arm and kisses my forehead in a protective manner.

"It will be okay, Carlos," she assures me. "Let's do take-out. That lasagna smells wretched. It is an insult to every aspect of Mediterranean cuisine."

"What do you have?" Det. Stevens inquires.

"Two .380's, a .22 Target pistol and a Bernardelli Mega .20 gauge, plus a few boxes of ammunition and a hunting knife," Marisol listed off. Well, a .20 is a 'girl's gun but even then I'm impressed.

"What are you expecting," George criticizes, "a family of rabid black bears?"

"Oh crap," I pop up and let my robe fly open. I cover myself then run into the Man Cave and check the various hard liquor bottles there. "Three things; get your crappy sedan into the garage before the Home Owner's Association gets pissy. It wasn't Claudia because she was stunned in such a manner that I know she didn't know he was dead -- she almost ran outside naked."

"I'll concur that is way beyond her normal behavior," Marisol agreed.

"It isn't Marisol either poisoner because John never drank her wines and all his liquor has stamps so it was sold in stores while Marisol's wines don't because she gets the from her husband's warehouse," I explain.

"She isn't the shooter because she has a shotgun. Why is she using a pistol if she has shotgun which is far more untraceable and trust me, as someone who was once a sixteen year old in a rural area, you can fire a shotgun from a moving car," I cringed slightly at my admission to illegally discharging a firearm -- in another state.

"John drank bottled water bought from Wal-Mart and I've drunk some already," I tell them. "He never drinks tap water since a freaky incident a few years back in Atlantic City."

"We are checking all the water coolers in his two offices," George ruminates. I'm racking my mind, I look to Marisol, she is concentrating but catches my look and smiles at me and her nipples come out to say 'Hi' and --

"Ice!" Marisol and I state simultaneously. She must be smart because I was inspired by the desire to rub ice cubes over her nipples when it dawned on me that my brother put ice in many of his drinks.

"I'll go take a look at the ice maker," George stands and looks around.

"There is one in the refrigerator door and one at the bar," Marisol directs him.

"Why are we hiding the car?" Stevens jumps in.

"There is no picture of me in this house, so no one knows who I am except Claudia, who isn't going to tell anyone anything about this whole affair, and Marisol, who is here with us," I explain.

That is enough for Stevens. She knows that we are approaching this situation from reverse. If someone killed John for the blackmail they are going to assume that I am John's 'partner' and that things aren't settled yet. Yes, I am a target. She snaps up the garage remote and heads up.

"What do you want me to do?" Marisol looks impressed at my phantom assumption of authority.

"Bedroom -- Ass Up -- Now!" I command sharply. Marisol gives me a shy smile then laughs compassionately.

"If I do not feed you I will lose you," she teases. "I have never buried a lover under the New Moon and I will not start with you."

"Do you have any of those Hot Wings places? You know; where the girls wear cropped sleeveless t-shirts, white hot pants and move around on roller skates?" I list off.

"You would like me to serve you dressed like that?" her eyes twinkled.

"Do I get to lick off any of the hot sauce that drips?" I perk up.

"Absolutely," she concedes.

"Yes -- yes ma'am I would like to see you dressed like that," I smile.

"I will order us a few dozen- dozen hot wings and you concentrate on your brother's murder," she reminds me.

"I'm sorry; you are right," I feel chastised. "I am my Brother's final advocate."

"Oh," she winks, "I was thinking more of getting these cops out of here so we could screw on every piece of furniture in this house."

"Oh, I've always wanted to buy a house-full of furniture," I muse.

"You think we will be that rough," Marisol licks her lips.

"Oh -- perhaps," I return the wink. "I only thought doing it once wasn't enough." She smacks my butt before turning tightly and pulling out her phone.

Undertows of lust and rage are tearing at me. They devoured John and, quite frankly, I'm adrift.