Tolerance
Chapter Eight
Morgan came home two hours later, and Lauren was right about one thing—she was livid. DJ was laying in the master bed with Brittney binging Netflix, both dressed again. Brittney had picked the show; DJ was idly daydreaming of what all he hoped to accomplish during the week. His college life had been dull, certainly, but he had been relatively content. The tolerance had been fun. Back here at home, he was surrounded by unhappy memories, and the tolerance was soon to become a weapon of balancing the scales.
From the way Morgan threw open the door and immediately laid into him, she unwittingly offered herself as the next casualty of war.
She was so loud and shrill and incoherent he could barely follow what was upsetting her. His decision to move into her room, his dumping her clothes on the floor, coming home early unannounced, bringing over a hooker, whatever he’d done to upset Lauren so much, blah blah blah.
As she yammered on, he squeezed Brittney’s shoulders reassuringly to keep her from breaking into tears, and took stock of his step-mother. Even now on the eve of her forties, she was a beautiful woman. When people mistook her and Lauren for sisters, Lauren usually got credit for being a few years older while Morgan was deducted more than a decade. Part of it was raw good genes; the same naturally curly black hair that favored her daughter, a wide smile flanked by prominent cheekbones, light olive skin that seemed to belie her Irish-German heritage. Still, DJ knew it was partially from Botox and a boob job she’d gifted herself for a recent birthday (from his trust fund), but the effect worked. Her breasts, which she was now as usual show-casing with a plunging neckline, were the sort that were unmistakably fake not because they were misshapen but because they were simply too perfect, the sort usually only seen on soft core porn.
Or at least, that was DJ’s impression from having to see her prancing around the house half-dressed or lounging around in bikinis for years. Perhaps it was time he confirmed it. This bitch had been riding on his free ticket for decades now; payback was at hand.
She was still going on about something-or-other when he calmly stood up, walking over to her, and ripped her blouse off. Buttons flew everywhere. Beneath it was a disappointing boring beige mom bra, all function and no art. He looked at it, annoyed, a feeling which intensified when she covered her chest with her arms.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, young man?!” she screeched.
Instead of answering, he took her wrists and lowered them to her sides. She glared, but offered no more resistance than a posable doll. He walked around behind her, untucked the shredded blouse and stripped it off of her. After fumbling at the heavy duty clasps, her bra followed it. (Brittney politely kept her eyes on the TV.)
As she repeated her question, he walked back to the front to admire the contribution he’d unwillingly made to advance the cause of great boobs. Her hands were firmly on her hips, which was fine with him. This was better if she was angry. As for her tits… they were much as he’d imagined them. Big, fake titties, hanging unnaturally close even without a bra to hold them that way, perfectly circular nipples almost three inches across but still rightly sized for her. He lifted them and looked underneath, noting the two miniscule surgical scars; he doubted he’d have noticed them if he hadn’t been looking for them.
He patted them appreciatively, cutting her off as she’d begun yet another tirade when he’d stopped paying attention to her mouth. “These are really great boobs, Morgz. My compliments to the good doctor. Though I guess I already tipped him, didn’t I.”
“What? Your father left me in charge of money, you little shit. Now you and your little trollop here can march right out of my room while I get dressed and decide how you’re going to be punished.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll go ahead and handle the punishments myself, if it’s all the same to you, bitch.” He tugged down her pants; her panties, equally unflattering, joined the bra on the ground. She had been the recipient of a nice bikini wax, he noted, and she even had a little black heart tattooed beside her pussy. He fingered it—the tattoo, that is—and she trembled.
“What? This is my house, young man and I will not be talked to like this or touched like—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth; her eyes bulged in shock and outrage. “One more word out of you, Morgan, and I will find a ball-gag and chain it to your fucking face, you got me?” He removed his hand; she didn’t make a peep.
“Now here’s what’s going to happen. This week—and whenever I’m around—this is my room. I let you sleep in it when I’m gone. If I have girls over, that’s my business, and you’ll stay the hell out of the way. Since your job is being my care-taker, that means when I’m here, you are my servant. You’ll cook my meals, wash my clothes and my dishes, make my bed, tidy my house—and it is my house now—and obey me instantly whenever I tell you to do something.”
He paused to give her the chance to fuck up by breaking her silence; she didn’t. “If at any time you hesitate to obey me, or show me the slightest bit of sass or defiance, I am going to… well hell, why tell you when I can show you.”
DJ opened the curtains, revealing little in the dark of evening. Still, he knew that this window was visible to half the neighborhood and anyone walking or driving by. He shoved Morgan roughly over in front of the window, then bent her over at the waist with her ass facing out. He then proceeded to spank the living shit out of her.
He’d intended to do a nice round ten swats, but he stopped counting in the teens somewhere. Morgan wailed and pleaded for him to stop, her ass burning red and knees shaking so hard that a good portion of her weight was supported by DJ’s grip on her hair. Brittney turned up the TV volume, frowning at this woman who was too stupid to do what she was told. Didn’t she know there were consequences for being a bad girl?
He let go of her and she collapsed to her hands and knees, quivering and catching her breath. “And next time, we’ll do that on the front lawn, so the whole neighborhood can see you being spanked like the bitch you are. Do it again after that… and I’ll do that to Lauren, then I’ll do it to you. Do you understand?”
Morgan rose to her knees, but no higher, eyes sullenly on the ground. “I understand.”
“I understand…?”
“I understand… sir?” she said, experimentally.
“That’s better. Now you’ve been a shitty mother, but maybe you’ll make a decent hostess. Which means if you do or say anything to upset or insult me or my guests, especially Brittney here, I will wreck your fucking life. Do I need to be more specific than that, or do you get me?”
“No sir. I understand, sir. I’m sorry, miss. It won’t happen again. Please forgive me.”
Brittney flushed with pleasure at his sticking up for her—it really was too easy—and quietly pardoned Morgan. DJ helped her to her feet, but her eyes stayed on the ground, wary of making eye contact with her step-son. “Good. Now if you have questions that pertain to me or my instructions, ask; otherwise, get dressed and get to work on dinner, bitch.”
Morgan wasted no time gathering up some of her clothes from where he’d dumped them. “Are you… are you going to have sex with me sir?” She addressed the question meekly to the floor.
“Do you want me to? You’re not ugly; you could probably talk me into it if you wanted.”
“No, sir. I… I was hoping you wouldn’t, actually.”
He laughed. “Well good. I don’t intend to—not that I’m saying I won’t put that T&A you spent so much of my money on to use for me if I need money or favors, but I got better prospects.” Brittney giggled.
“Oh. Oh God.” She tugged her pants back on. “And, um, what will we tell Lauren?”
“Tell her about what?”
“About me being your… servant. Sir.”
He shrugged. “Tell her whatever you want. You’re the mother here—act like it, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir. I’ll get right on dinner. Sir.” She hustled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
It was some hours later before Lauren came back. DJ muted the TV and eavesdropped on their conversation with a grin on his face.
“So what did you do? Did you kick out that little skank?”
“Sweetie, look… we’ve been awfully hard on DJ. He and I had a talk, and I’ve… decided to be a little nicer to him. See if maybe we can make things better between us.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? He fucked that prostitute in your bed! He… did stuff, to Brianne! And sit down, damnit, I can’t talk to you when you’re standing over me.”
“I, um, I’d just rather stand.” DJ tried to stifle his laughter at the thought of Morgan’s tender butt so it didn’t carry to the living room. “And Brittney isn’t a prostitute—she’s a very, um, nice young woman. Come on, how many times have you said DJ needs to find himself a girlfriend? Now he has one, and you want him to get rid of her.”
“There’s no way he… fine, whatever. Tell me you at least grounded him for that bullshit with your clothes.”
Morgan, who had spent much of the evening re-folding her wardrobe and putting in the weightroom (after dinner, and dishes, and drawing a warm bubble bath for Brittney), calmly explained that as part of their reconciliation, she was letting him use her room. After all, he had a guest, and the cot wouldn’t fit both of them.
After that, Lauren stalked down her room and slammed her door hard enough to shake every wall in the house.
DJ slept like a baby that night.
The next day, he got a text from an unknown number; it turned out to be Brianne, asking if she could borrow Brittney for the day while her parents were out of town. DJ agreed and dropped her off, instructing her to make him proud and have a good time. Brittney was pouty about it—after all, she wasn’t really even all that bi and Brianne was more or less a stranger—but he just reminded her of how proud he was of her and how he couldn’t wait to see her again that night, and she went along with it.
Yesterday’s unseasonably warm weather had lingered, so DJ opted to hang out by the pool most of the day, reading for classes and luxuriating in the pampering his step-mom was doling out. Morgan got him the occasional drink, made sure his floatie was fully inflated, and—just to make her nervous—clad in a skimpy black and white striped bikini top with hip-hugging shorts over the bottoms. It was early afternoon when Lauren showed up, and Jody was once again with her, dressed today in a white t-shirt and boring athletic shorts. (Happily, he could see through her shirt that she wore a bikini beneath it.)
“Beat it, dork,” Lauren said. “Pool’s ours for the afternoon.”
“Says who?” he said, momentarily forgetting he didn’t need to go through the charade of arguing.
“Majority rules, same as ever. Two of us, one of you, GTFO. I’m gonna go get changed, Jodes. If he tries anything, blow your rape whistle.” Jody laughed as her friend retreated back into the house.
As he paddled his floatie to the shallow end, Jody sat down on the edge and dangled her feet in. “So, before Lauren gets back… I talked to Brianne last night.” She frowned.
He drifted up alongside her, smiling confidently up at the blonde’s cherubic face. “Oh? How’s she doing?”
“Not walking right, as I hear it. Is it true?”
“Depends. She might have been exaggerating it some, ya know, bragging about her first time with a college guy.”
“Bragging about her first time with a college girl is more like it. Either way… I can’t believe she let you do that. That’s so gross.” She shuddered.
“Yeah, I bet with you guys never get tired of the front long enough to want to check out back,” he said, eyeing her chest.
“Ugh. You know, nature didn’t create those for your viewing pleasure. They make food for our young, not eye candy for horny geeks.”
“Well they seem to be doing a much better job of the second one right now, I gotta say.” And they were. Even in a bulky t-shirt, their bulge was unmistakable. Jody was short, maybe only 5′2″ or so, so those puppies covered a fairly significant portion of her total height.
“You keep this shit up and I’m going to tell your sister and your mom, you little perv.”
He just grinned. “Let me help you with that.” He whistled piercingly, and moments later Morgan scurried out, her surgically sculpted tits bobbling like crazy as she hustled towards them on the ponderous heels he’d suggested for her.
“You called… sir?” She had to fight to get the last word out. Jody arched an eyebrow.
“I was just telling Jody here what a stupendous rack she has. Would you agree?”
Morgan flushed crimson. “Oh. I, um, I don’t really, um, notice…”
“You’ve got eyes though, right? Does she or does she not have awesome boobs?”
She stuttered and stumbled until she caught him giving a meaningful look between her and the gate to the front yard. “Yes, sir,” she said finally. “She has awesome boobs.”
Jody stood upright, staring incredulously between her hostess and DJ. “What! Morgan, why are you…!”
DJ slid off the floatie and exited the pool. “We have an arrangement. Now Morgan, run along and keep Lauren busy for a while. I want some quality time with Baroness Boobage here.” Morgan curtsied—something he’d not even asked her to do, but he supposed it was a logical extension—and hurried inside.
“I don’t know what you’re using to blackmail her or whatever, but I’m getting out of here and I’m going to tell…”
He watched her think who to tell. “Who? Your mommy and daddy? The police? Lauren? Go on, I’ll let you think it over. What laws are being broken here? I just persuaded Morgan to be a better homemaker.”
“Like you persuaded Brianne to be a little butt-slut? Or like you persuaded that college slut to be your arm candy?”
“Like I’m going to persuade you to titty-fuck me, right here on the patio,” he said, advancing toward her.
She scoffed; fending off guys who were over-interested in her chest was something she had more experience in than trying to understand the sort of bizarre behavior she’d been encountering around him since his return. “Yeah right. See this?” She held out a hand knuckles-first, and he presumed he was supposed to be noticing the cheap little ring on it. “This is a purity ring, and it means you have as much of a chance of touching my breasts as I do of making the Olympic gymnastics team. Hell, my boyfriend and I have been together six months and I still haven’t let him feel them through my clothes.”
“What, you mean like this?” He took another step forward and reached out and grasped one, squeezing it firmly. It was so much softer than any he’d felt so far. Brittney’s were the second biggest, he thought, and she was a D cup; he couldn’t imagine the letter on Jody’s. They gave under the slightest pressure, like some sort of bag of pudding.
“Stop that. You don’t have my consent.”
Instead, he grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted it off. She was wearing the same yellow floral-patterned bikini she’d worn yesterday, a heavy-duty affair that was clasped behind her neck—poor thing had its work cut out for it. It probably wasn’t new—she was bulging out of it, the frame digging in to the blonde’s smoothly tanned skin. Once it was exposed, he resumed fondling, deciding that “bag of pudding” wasn’t quite right, but still, they were uniquely squishy compared to any other tits before hers.
“I said stop.” She put her hands on her hips and eyed him imperiously.
He undid the clasp, and he could almost hear those jugs of hers sighing with relief as they surged downward, practically throwing off the suffocation of her bikini. They were too large not to hang low, but they didn’t seem saggy; rather they just looked to be in their natural position, right where God ordained for them to be as he’d had one of his great ideas. Her areolas were already protruding slightly on wide, brown nipples set against the copper of her skin. (She tanned topless evidently; oh, that lucky tanning bed!) DJ wasted not an instant before lifting one to his mouth and sucking on it, hefting the other in his spare hand.
She inhaled sharply. “Holy shit! But…” she took a few deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts through the first stimulation of what turned out to be immensely sensitive nipples. “But you have to stop.”
He shifted to the other nipple, sucking with abandon. Though he had to bend down due to her height, he lifted them as much as he could; they had to weigh a good five pounds apiece.
“Oh God,” she panted after he nibbled gently, her toes curling. “That feels so fucking… but… oh shit… you… you have to GOD DAMNIT… you have to stop, DJ…”
He stood back up and kissed her; she tolerated it but no more, right up until he took a nipple between each thumb and forefinger and pinched down hard. She made a noise that was half-squeal and half-scream, and then was kissing him back with a fervor. Her hands clamped down over his, holding them against her tits.
“God damnit,” she said between moans of arousal as she drifted back to lean on one of the posts on the patio for support, no longer trusting her legs to hold her up. “Why the fuck didn’t my boyfriend ever just fucking grab them like this, this is goddamn amazing.”
“Because he’s a pussy,” DJ said as he sucked as mashed her titties together, licking both nipples at the same time.
“That’s, oh shit, that’s a fucking sexist… mmmmm GOD, thing to saaaaaAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!” The word didn’t really end, just transmuting into a scream of pleasure as the first orgasm of her life hit her like a freight train. DJ kept it going as long as he could, though even when it was over, his hands never left her chest.
“That was… that was…” she tried to think of a word amazing enough to cover it.
“You got some sensitive fucking tits, Jody. I’ve never seen a girl cum just from having her titties sucked before.”
She made a sour face. “They’re ‘breasts,’ not ‘tits’ or ‘titties.’ Don’t be such a pig.”
“Whatever. I believe it’s my turn now…?” He lowered his own trunks to reveal his cock, not quite erect but showing signs of life.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“Stop running your mouth off and put it to good use.”
She looked around her. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to blow you right here in your backyard.”
“What? Between the trees and the privacy fence I don’t think anyone’ll see.”
She pointed to the patio door. “Oh? And what about Lauren?”
“I told Morgan to keep her busy. Quit making excuses.”
She looked down at it, his caressing of her breasts still making her smile in spite of herself. “Well, it’s just I’ve… I’ve never done it. It’s demeaning to women.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t demeaning for me to get you off.”
“Fuck you. You liked sucking on my tits—err, breasts—as much as I enjoyed it. That was reciprocal. Sucking a guy’s cock is a totally one-way street.”
“Maybe you’ll like it.”
“It’s gross. I won’t.”
“How will you know…” DJ grasped the back of her head. “… until you try?” And he pushed down until she had no choice but to wrap her lips around him.
She squealed indignantly around his dick, and tried to say something—probably more bullshit about how undignified it was to have a dick shoved into her feminist mouth—but he heard nothing. She was right about one thing—she was not experienced at it. She just sort of pursed her lips and moved up and down mechanically. There was no tongue, and worse, there was no art, no passion.
He considered giving her some pointers, but really, this was just to get him ready for the main event. “You should get on your knees, Jodes. I wanna be able to see your tits so I at least have something to look at while you try to learn what the hell you’re doing.”
She grumbled again around him, not appreciating the irony that the best part of her blowjob was the vibrations from her efforts at speaking. When she hesitated, he reached down and pinched the hell out of both nipples, at which she cried out in pain and pleasure, then slumped down to her knees. She probably even thought the way she glared at him as she kept sucking his cock was off-putting.
It wasn’t long before DJ’s cock was good and hard, Jody’s little mouth straining to keep sucking it without letting her teeth touch it. (She at least knew that much about blowjobs, thank God.) He put a stop to it with a hand on her forehead, and she let him slip out with a pop. “So what do you think? Do you like sucking cock?”
“No!” she retorted bitterly. “Did I, um, do a good job? You didn’t…”
“You were fine,” he lied, amused at how she looked relieved. “But now it’s time to fuck your tits.”
She folded her arms across her chest defiantly, a self-defeating act considering how it pressed her boobs together helpfully, and the fact that she was kneeling in front of him. “No fucking way.”
DJ frowned at her. “Damn you’re selfish. I get you off, and this is how you’re gonna be. C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll play with your nipples while I do it—you like that, don’t ya Jodes?” His tone was plainly condescending, but she didn’t resist as he lowered her onto her back, her pendulous titties doubling her effective height. “Besides, I got a surprise for you.”
“Surprise? What kind of surprise?” she asked nervously as he retrieved something from under one of the pool chairs and came back with his hands behind his back.
There was a sudden buzzing sound as he activated Morgan’s egg vibrator, followed by a squeal of surprised delight as he slid it into Jody (who, for all her grousing, was plenty wet to accept it). Her eyes closed and she chewed at her lower lip happily, barely even aware as DJ straddled her stomach. He squirted a healthy dollop of suntan oil, which he’d retrieved when he got the vibrator, and slathered her up, especially the central valley, then took her hands and placed them on either side of her tits, then had her push them together.
A moment later, he was fucking Jody’s tits.
She didn’t speak another word of complaint. True to his word, he continued playing with her nipples while he worked, and she responded like they were a second and third clit. DJ couldn’t tell whether each burst of screeching and moaning was an orgasm or if she was just being dramatic; he suspected the former. She was noisier titty-fucking than Brianne had been with her ass stuffed full of cock. They took turns teasing her nipples while the other held her tits together, but he never relented. Objectively, DJ supposed it didn’t feel quite as good as a nice wet pussy, but still… it was the tits he’d been dreaming about for years. He didn’t fantasize about how amazing a girl’s pussy would be; you found out what it felt like as soon as you were in it and not a moment before; a set of amazing titties, however… those were the stuff that dreams were made of.
“I’m getting close,” he warned her, not really knowing why.
“Do it—cum for me, DJ, fucking cum,” she moaned, twisting hard on her oil-slicked nipples.
Lauren opened the patio door just in time to see her loser step-brother roaring in triumph as he painted Jody’s face and tits with what looked like a solid pint of cum. Morgan was right behind her, still trying to insist to her that she was hearing things and hold her back. She joined her daughter in gaping at the sight of Jody quaking with a violent orgasm as a final spurt hit her right in her open mouth, dribbling on down her throat.
His body obstructed her view of them; oblivious to her new audience, she smiled up at him as they caught their breath. “Wow… that was actually… I can’t believe that was so fucking good.”
He stood up, and her smile of gratitude turned into a look of utter dismay as she caught sight of her best friend and her best friend’s mom looking at her. DJ offered a hand, and she took it hurriedly, then used an arm to cover up her bare chest. DJ kissed Jody on her forehead, avoiding the splotch of jizz on it. “All righty, Lauren, pool area’s all yours.” He walked past her into the house, pausing to tell Morgan to get Jody something to clean up with.