Chapter 20. The Big Weird

© Bad Hobbit 2022

Arriving back home to a house that wasn’t inhabited by two cute, boisterous, hormonal, borderline-nymphomaniac teens truly sucked. I went through my mail – mostly junk – caught up with some messages from clients and would-be clients, cleaned the house and tidied up. I drank a few beers and tried to do the Netflix-and-chill thing, without much success. I ended up watching some of our best home-made porn and allowed my hand to become reacquainted with my cock in a way it hadn’t had to do for quite a while.

For the first month back, I threw myself into my work. I had several meetings with Brad and Luis, who were disappointed that Stacey and Hannah were no longer hanging out at my place. I reviewed their work, suggested some changes to the applications, and then left them to it. There were deals to be closed, invoices to chase. I hit the gym and pumped enough iron to create a railroad. I returned to the dojo, and the sensei called me out for being too aggressive.

“Bob, you need to pull some of those blows. You could end up really hurting someone.”

But the truth was, I wanted to hurt someone. I’d just left my gorgeous slut-angel, the little girl I’d loved for almost as long as she’d been alive, and her hot and delightful brown friend, to be fucked, abused and ravaged by a bunch of no-good asshole students, nearly three thousand miles away. How did I know they were no-good assholes? Obvious; anyone who wanted to fuck one of my babies had to be a no-good asshole. I wanted to be there, helping them, making them feel good, hugging them, kissing them and – yes – fucking them. Instead, all I could do was sit, moping at home, imagining all the things that some horny young men were doing to my two babies – and all of the cruel, sadistic things I wanted to do to those horny young men for having the nerve to do those things to my babies.

But just as she’d done when she was younger, Stacey called or messaged me every day. And I realized that, perhaps, she and Hannah were not, as I’d feared, offering sexual services to every horny guy on campus.

Maybe two weeks after I’d left them, Stacey said “Uncle Bob, like, I’ve fucked exactly two guys since you left. Neither of them was any good. They didn’t make me cum, and one of them even tried to fuck me without a condom! I mean, like, do I look that dumb? And Hannah, she’s had it worse than me. She had to text me to rescue her from some asshole who was treating her really bad. Thanks for leaving that baseball bat. I don’t know whether I could really have used it but, like, the asshole believed I would and he ran out real fast when I arrived.”

“Was Hannah hurt?” I was already calculating how long it would take me to fly to California and rip some would-be rapist into small pieces.

“No, but, like, he was really rough, and she kept saying no, and to be gentle, but he just kept on. So, like, most of the sex we’ve had since you left was just between us, and sometimes Amy-Beth. We know that we love each other and, like, though it’s not so good with a dildo or a strap-on, if one of us says to stop, the other one always stops. But boys! Huh!”

In a way I was pleased. OK, so two guys had managed to climb inside my sweetie, but clearly her old Uncle Bob was being missed and the new guys were not appreciated.

“So what about Sigma Epsilon Chi? Has Amy-Beth organized any parties with Kappa Omicron Kappa yet?”

“Oh, that’s so funny, Uncle Bob. So, since you took Amy-Beth’s anal cherry, she’s been trying to find someone who’s as good as you. Seems like no-one can do it like you do. She even tried it with a black guy with – she says – a huge dick. She said it hurt for a week. So no, no parties because she can’t find any guy who can do the business.”

I smiled. I didn’t want Amy-Beth to feel pain – actually, I felt quite horny when I remembered our encounter – but it was good to know that no-one on campus measured up to me in the butt-fuck stakes.

“So – so no-one’s been in your ass yet?” I kinda blurted out.

“No way! If Amy-Beth has been out looking for a butt-fucker as good as you and can’t find one, I’m gonna wait until she does. It may take some time. Meanwhile, Hannah’s getting good with the strap-on in my ass. She made me cum last night, though I had to rub my clit at the same time. I closed my eyes and thought of you.”

I felt a glow.

Then she asked “But what about you, Uncle Bob? Have you fucked anyone since you got back?”

“Stacey, baby, I wish. I’ve become intimately acquainted with my right hand, mostly while watching some excellent ‘Bob and Stacey and Hannah too’ porn, but there’s been no pussy – or ass, or even oral – for your poor old Uncle.”

“Oh, Uncle Bob! Like, why don’t you try to hook up with Barbie? She’d totally love another DP with you and Craig. Or there’s always Mom. Now she loves it up the ass, it has to be time for you to give it to her again.”

To be fair, I’d tried to contact Barbie and Craig. Craig was really friendly and said he would gladly like to hook up again, Stacey or no Stacey, but he and his Playboy-Plus partner were in Georgia for a few weeks, trying to make arrangements to open his first out-of-state gym. Barbie had finally stopped working at the sex shop – surely if anyone was made for a job, that was Barbie’s niche – and was now acting as his assistant. I could see how this would help. One look at Barbie and any guy would begin thinking with his dick rather than his brain and sign up straight away for a lifetime membership.

Dolores hadn’t been returning my calls. Her office said that she was away for a few days, but I’d left a couple of messages – I didn’t want to sound as desperate as I was – and there was no response.

So for another Sunday I visited Rocky’s, sat in with the band and prayed for Janine or another hot babe to play groupie to my rock god. It didn’t happen.

Then, a week later, I got another call from Stacey. “Hey, Uncle Bob. I’ve just been talking to Chelsea. Remember her? We went to her wedding.”

“Chelsea, as in Michael’s wife, Chelsea?”

“Yeah. See, I’ve been calling her most weeks to see how she is. I was like, worried that she didn’t seem too happy. And Uncle Bob, she isn’t.”

“Why should she be? She married my asshole brother, your dad.”

“Oh, don’t be so mean Uncle Bob. She’s, like, having a tough time right now.”

I was about to say ‘well, what do you expect when she married pond slime?’ when Stacey said “She needs help, Uncle Bob.”

“What kind of help? Michael has a lot more money than I do.”

“It’s not money she needs – at least, not yet. She needs somewhere to stay for a few nights. She wants to get away from Dad and get her head straight. I told her she could stay at yours.”

“I didn’t know you were a rental agent, Stacey. How much commission do you charge?”

“Uncle Bob, please be serious for once! I know that’s kinda hard for you – your brain is wired in this weird way – but poor Chelsea isn’t in a good place right now.”

“And you think my house is a good place?”

“It’s gotta be better than staying with my dad. She says he’s really mean to her.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like my brother at all.”

“Uncle Bob, please shut the fuck up and listen, will you? I know you and Dad don’t get on, so I thought you’d be happy to give poor Chelsea a place to stay while she thinks about what she wants to do next.”

“Next? For fuck’s sake, Stacey, they’ve been married – what – three months?” I adopted a wistful, romantic tone of voice. “And they said it wouldn’t last…”

“UNCLE BOB! Chelsea is seriously frightened and fucked up right now. Dad put in place this shitty pre-nup, so if she leaves him or files for divorce, she’ll have nothing. And she says he treats her like she’s a brainless bimbo and gives her no respect.”

I was about to say that she looked like a brainless bimbo, but I wondered better of it.

“OK, Stacey, I guess she can crash in what was your room before you moved into my bed. And if it gets Michael seriously pissed, that’s fine by me.”

“Uncle Bob, I never realized you were so mean.”

“Sorry, baby. I just don’t want to get any more involved with my brother than I need to. But sure, I know how you love to take care of vulnerable creatures, so if Chelsea wants to stay here for a few days while she tries to sort her life out, that’s cool.”

Chelsea called the next day, almost sobbing with gratitude that I was prepared to offer her somewhere to stay. She arrived late afternoon in her open-top Audi – that Michael had no doubt bought her – and unloaded three Louis Vuitton suitcases. She wasn’t endearing herself to me.

I showed her to what had been Stacey’s room. Sure, the girl had hardly slept there since not long after she’d turned eighteen, for reasons I was unwilling to discuss. I think that Chelsea was a little disappointed in the size of the room – I guess a little smaller than the sort of stateroom she was used to – but I let it pass. I went down to the kitchen and prepared us some dinner.

Surprisingly, Chelsea seemed to like the mushroom risotto that I’d rustled-up. She also drank a lot of the Italian red that I’d opened. Looking across the dinner table, I could see why Michael had married her. The big lips, the big fake tits, the full make-up, the whole package screamed ‘Michael’s fuck-doll’ at me. Most guys would’ve been drooling, but I preferred my slut-princess and her sweet brown friend to a creature like Chelsea any day.

By the time I’d opened a second bottle, Chelsea seemed more relaxed. I could see a little of the vulnerability beneath the glossy façade that I’d noticed at the wedding. Until then, we’d barely spoken except for her to thank me for the food and accommodation and say how good the wine was.

“So Chelsea, do you want to talk about the problem? Remember, I’m no fan of Michael’s. If it wasn’t kinda illegal, I swear I’d have ripped his head off and spat down his neck by now. Is there anything you’d like to share with me?”

“I – I guess it’s all a little – er, intimate,” she replied. I saw tears forming in her eyes again. “I mean, I feel like I can share things with Stacey because she’s a woman and understands – understands what I’ve been going through.”

“But has he been violent? Has he hit you?”

“Well, not hit me as such. But – but he says nasty things. And he wants to do things to me that – that I don’t want to do. And he won’t take no for an answer.”

“Do you want to tell me what kind of things? Stacey and me, we don’t have secrets. And if I can help, I will.”

“I’m sorry, Bob. I’m not comfortable talking about them with a man. But it’s hard to know what to do. If I don’t agree to what he wants, he’ll probably divorce me and I’ll end up on the streets with nothing.” She started crying.

I reflected that if Chelsea was on the streets, she could earn a very good living. With a body like hers – and a mouth like that – she’d make a lot of money, mostly on her knees or on her back. But that wasn’t something to say to someone who was clearly in distress.

“Chelsea, if you want a good divorce lawyer, I know an excellent one who would be only too happy to rip Michael to shreds in court.” I felt sure that if I offered the case to Dolores, she would be delighted to take it on a pro-bono basis, purely for the pleasure of making Michael squirm.

“Thank you, Bob. But now – now I think I need to lie down.”

I helped Chelsea to Stacey’s room, and as I said my goodnights, she kissed me. On the lips. It felt like more than I guessed she intended, so I said goodnight again and left her to sleep. It was barely nine thirty and I had to go jerk off to some Bob’n’Stacey porn before I was ready for bed.

Chelsea emerged around ten the following day. I’d already been up for three hours, and Brad and I were meeting in my office to discuss some customer-requested enhancements to the app. We’d launched a week earlier, and take-up had been very good, but initial feedback had indicated we needed to tweak a couple of features.

I showed Chelsea where I kept the juices, cereals, milk and fruit, and Brad and I finally joined her for coffee and croissants. I introduced them and, judging from Brad’s expression, he’d stopped thinking about work for a while. Chelsea seemed to be inviting the attention she was clearly getting from my friend, or maybe that was just how she normally behaved around men, and they chatted quite amiably while I mostly zoned-out and wondered about my slut-princess. After we’d finished eating, Chelsea thanked me again for providing her with a place to stay, and then went upstairs, changed into a bikini and headed out to my pool deck.

So OK, Chelsea looks pretty spectacular in a bikini – especially a micro- one. Her tits are quite awesome, and the tiny thong bottoms showed off her perfect, smooth, rounded ass. But I was missing my slut-princess, who could give me a boner if she was dressed in a plastic sack, so I tried to ignore this and get on with my work. Brad was clearly finding that more difficult.

“Fuck, Bob! Do you spend your entire life surrounded by hot women? What’s your secret? Do you have a twelve-inch dick, or a tongue that lets you lick your own eyebrows?”

“Brad, my friend, I just try to be nice to people. Chelsea’s here because her husband, my brother, has been absorbed by an alien life form in the shape of giant asshole, and now has taken on its appearance and behavior. Stacey remembers how I looked after her when her parents were divorcing, and how I welcomed her friend Hannah – and I mean, who wouldn’t? – so she asked me to help Chelsea escape the clutches of my asshole brother for a few days.”

“Well if you get bored with her and she needs somewhere else to stay, I have this neat place near the beach. And, y’know, I can be nice to people too. Especially if they look like Chelsea.”

“Well, technically she’s still married to the asshole; I guess you could call that a wedding ring. But I’ll let her know that the offer’s open if she needs somewhere.”

I made a chicken Caesar for lunch, and watched Chelsea’s magnificent rack as she ate it – and sucked the dressing off her fingers in a very suggestive manner. Brad seemed somehow transfixed. It was something of a relief to have a sex-starved guy around, because he could make conversation with her. I was finding it difficult.

Later that afternoon, Brad and I finished our meeting, having agreed on milestones for the next stage, and then he left, having said his goodbyes to a still-minimally-clad Chelsea by the pool. She got up to say goodbye. I’ve seen less sexually-charged moves in porn movies. She smiled at him in what I felt was an inappropriate way and kissed him on the cheek. I had real difficulty in persuading him that our meeting was really over and he needed to get back to his office.

Later that afternoon, Chelsea announced that, to save me having to cook again, she’d ordered take-out of a Thai green curry with shrimp for that night – her treat. I was happy with that, as I needed to finish updating the specification for Brad and his team. Dinner arrived around seven, she plated everything up and called me after about another ten minutes.

She was still wearing the mini-bikini as we ate dinner. The top, as I’d noticed earlier, covered little more than her nipples. The bottom showed a clear camel-toe cleft at the front, with a tiny strap between her ass cheeks at the back. Yes, she was seriously hot property, but despite my weeks of enforced celibacy, I really didn’t want to take the bait. For one thing, she was still my brother’s wife, and making any kind of play for her would be distasteful and potentially dangerous – at least for her, even if I might enjoy the prospect of boning Michael’s fuck-doll. If Brad wanted to make a play, that was his company. And really, she wasn’t my type. I was still yearning for Stacey and Hannah.

“So have you thought any more about what you want to happen next?” I asked, trying to ignore the pokies I could clearly see behind the skimpy bikini top.

“I really don’t know. I want to stay with Michael. He’s the guy I married. I’m sure he wants to look after me. But – but I just wish he wouldn’t be so cruel.”

She finished her third glass of Sauvignon and poured herself a fourth, draining the bottle.

“Cruel how? You said he hasn’t hit you. What has he done to make you want to run away like this?”

“I – well, I talked about it with Stacey, but – but it’s different explaining it to a guy.”

“Look, Chelsea, Stacey and me, we have no secrets. You can tell me anything you like and I’ll never discuss it with anyone but Stacey.”

“It’s – it’s just that it’s – not – not nice.”

“Well, I guessed as much. C’mon, what’s the issue?”

She drained her fourth glass. I retrieved a new bottle from the fridge, opened it and poured her another. She seemed intent on drinking my entire wine cellar.

“Look, when I said he doesn’t hit me, I mean, he does. But it’s, like, in the bedroom. He likes to – oh, this is so hard… He like to tie me up and spank me. And that’s OK when it’s with his hand, and he’s got me all juiced up. I quite like playing those sub-and-daddy games. But he’s started using this paddle, and I keep telling him it hurts and I don’t like it, but he says it’s meant to hurt, and it’s part of the game.”

“Yeah, my brother can be a sadistic asshole sometimes, but then I guess he’s not too bad when he’s asleep. How long does he do this to you?”

“Oh, until I’m begging him to fuck me, which I do to stop it hurting. But if I do that too soon, he just keeps on hitting me until he’s ready. And then my butt is still smarting from the paddle and it hurts when he – when he gets on top of me.”

“Have you tried explaining to him that the pain is a turn-off for you?”

“Well, kinda, but he doesn’t like anyone to say no to him. He has to be totally in control.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Maybe you just need to suggest an alternative. Something where he can do his power-play shit without hurting you.”

“Well yes, I do. I mean… Oh, look, I can’t tell you all this. It’s too personal.”

“Chelsea, you can tell me whatever you like, or hold back anything you don’t want to talk about. I won’t tell anyone. Well, actually, as I said, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to discuss your problems with Stacey, because she has some influence over Michael and she can also suggest a female dimension. But you can just treat this as Bob’s free therapy session if you like. I won’t judge you. Shit, I’d like to judge my brother. I’d put him in an orange jumpsuit in Guantanamo before you can say ‘entitled asshole’.”

She smiled at me. “Thanks, Bob, I appreciate it. It really does help to have someone to talk to. I feel kinda isolated at home.”

She took another big swig of the wine.

“And, like, there’s more,” she said after a moment. “He likes to humiliate me. He uses nasty words.”

“Nasty words? You mean he likes to talk dirty to you? I’d have thought you’d be OK with that.”

“He calls me names. He says I’m a slut and a whore, and he – he likes to say things like ‘I’m gonna stick this right up your – your cunt.’ I don’t like it.”

“But didn’t you used to – I mean…”

She gave me a look that showed a little resignation, and turned her head away in embarrassment.

“So Stacey told you that I used to be a stripper? I thought I could trust her.”

“Hey, Chelsea,” I said, leaning in and taking her hand. “Look, you have to understand that Stacey and I have no secrets from each other, but we keep those secrets to ourselves. I know all about her sex life, and she knows all about mine.” Of course we do; it’s mostly a shared experience. “Now you may think that’s strange between an uncle and his teen niece, but we’ve always been a very close team, Stacey and me. When Michael and Dolores were divorcing, I was her rock, and she’s always been my princess. Just having her around got me through some tough times. So sure, I may tell Stacey about what you’ve told me, and she told me about how you and Michael met.”