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It was early April during my junior year of high school when my life was turned up-side-down. My father had met a lovely lady his age by the name of Linda a few weeks prior and they had decided to take off for the weekend and go to Vegas. I was glad to see them go. I had the house to myself. My father gave me last minute instructions including instructions to not have any wild parties. He knew as well as I did that there was no chance for that. I wasn't the most popular guy in school by any means -- skinny 5'7, 115 pounds, and just plain to look at. But I spent the weekend jacking off to action movies and pro wrestling videos. Party or no party, I had a great weekend.
When I got home from school on Monday, however, I found my father and Linda on the couch making out. I stood for a moment, hoping to make them feel awkward when I noticed my father's left hand moving towards her breast. As soon as my eye caught a glimpse of the gold band on his ring finger I immediately lost control.
"OH MY GOD! You got married" I squealed in a high pitched voice. Their make out session ended abruptly and as Linda moved her hand from behind his back her finger confirmed my fears.
"Son, calm down. I started to call you but I didn't want to tell you over the phone." Linda rose from the couch and came to me patting me on the back.
"Everything's going to be fine, Doug. I promise not to be an overbearing stepmother." She smiled, and I did feel somewhat better. Linda was a pretty woman. All I could figure that she saw in my Dad was a big bank account, though. Dad was a nerd just like me -- I guess he worked hard all his life and now could afford to be attractive at least financially to a woman like Linda.
Linda turned out to be a pretty good addition to our household. The next few weeks we all had a great time watching movies, laughing, and dining together. Linda was a great cook too, which certainly was an improvement to the meals I'd been having since Mom passed 10 years prior. It was during one of those meals, however, that another bomb was dropped on me. While enjoying a spectacular lasagna Linda looked at me, smiled, and proceeded with her news. "Doug, I haven't mentioned this yet, but my Son called me and decided to come stay with us for the summer. At first he was going to his father's, but things didn't work out. I'm sure you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind." I did mind. I minded a lot. Our condo was only two bedrooms, so she didn't have to explain that I was going to be sharing a bedroom with this guy. I had never had to share anything my whole life -- much less living space. And I didn't even know this guy -- a complete stranger living with me.
The middle of May came quickly and the day approached that Brock would be arriving. I got home from school exhausted. We were in the middle of exams and I wanted just to crash. Forgetting all about Brock's arrival I went straight to my bedroom, walked in and dove onto my bed. As if I had jumped onto a spring I went soaring off of the bed and landed with a "thud" and a lot of pain on the floor. "What the fuck, dude! What kind of a faggot are you jumping in bed with me."
Collecting myself I looked up to get my first glimpse of Brock. He was huge -- towering over me at least 6 feet 5 inches tall. In his fury his pecs heaved through the white tank he wore. Placing right fist in his left hand as if he was about to destroy me, my eyes drifted to his flexing biceps. They were easily 20 inches. This blond muscle god was my new step brother -- and I didn't know whether I was happy about it or if my world had just come to an end.
"I'm sorry. You must be Brock. I didn't see you. I just was so tired I went straight for my bed." In an instant Brock lifted me by my armpits into the air.
"Whose bed?" I didn't know how to answer. I just stared at his wide eyed. He was so big -- powerful. He was every man I was every turned on by and afraid of at the same time. "For the next three months, this bed and this room are mine. There's no way I'm sleeping on a pull out bed while some pimple faced faggot nerd sleeps comfortably. U got the floor fag. I got the bed." With that I dropped once again with a thud to the floor, while Brock retired to what used to be my bed. With his eyes closed I felt free to explore his body with my eyes. Even with the tank top on, the definition of his abs was unconcealable. His legs came forth from his tighty whity briefs like tree trunks down to his huge powerful feet. I jolted to the adjoining bathroom where I shot the biggest load of my life, then tried to figure out how I could conceal my excitement while living with this man for three months.
I saw Brock again at dinner. Linda and Dad had gotten home by now and Linda had brought Chinese food home with her for dinner. "You meet your step brother yet?" Dad asked.
"Uh, yeah Dad." I stuttered
"Good, hope you boys get along well this summer." He smiled at me, but his smile quickly turned to a look of utter amazement as he got his first glimpse at his new step-son. Brock walked out of his new room wearing shorts and still in his tank. He stood 6 inches taller than Dad and walked past him without acknowledging him. "Uh, Hi Brock. I'm Bob. Uh, nice to meet you." He held out his hand for Brock to shake it. There was an awkward silence for a moment -- Brock deciding how to respond.
"Nice to meet you Bob," he responded reaching forth to shake Dad's hand. The handshake lasted longer than normal and I quickly realized that Brock's handshake was hurting Dad a lot. He smirked as he finally let go to my Dad's obviously hurting hand. I felt sorry for Dad, but I had to retreat back to the bathroom to jack off before I could begin eating.
I had never seen someone eat the way that Brock did. Apparently Linda was used to this, because she bought what I thought was way more food than needed. It wasn't. We ate normally. Brock finished the rest. Dad tried to make conversation with Brock, but he was either ignored or given short, to the point answers. I conversed with Dad and Linda about exams for a while, and then noticed Linda nudging me to make conversation with Brock. "So, Brock, do you play football?" Surely the answer would be yes.
"Do you assume that every big muscular guy plays football? No, I don't. I have an academic scholarship, so I don't need to play. I also don't appreciate your assumption that I could only get into college through football. Don't assume I'm dumb. Yes, I have a body that you'll never have, but I also have brains you'll never have."
Linda didn't try to correct him for his bluntness. We just continued our meal in silence. Afterwards, I studied for my history exam the next day. This would be my final exam and school would be over. When I could hardly keep my eyes open I went to my former bedroom and lay on the floor to sleep. A smaller bed did pull out from my bed, but I decided it was best to just take the floor. As I was beginning to doze off, my eyes opened to see Brock about two feet away from me doing pushups. Again I was hard -- very hard. With every pushup, every time he counted "75, 76, 77...." my erection got more pronounced. I wasn't prepared for what would happen next. "Hold my feet, fag, I gotta do sit-ups."
I couldn't do this. I have known I've had a foot fetish since I've been able to get hard. There was no way I could hide my excitement and hold down this muscle god's feet at the same time. His look, however, offered no options to me and I scurried over to him. As soon as my hands touched his skin my cock began to literally jump in my pajamas. Looking up at him, sweat dripping down his huge muscled frame, his arms behind his head -- 20 inch biceps flexing, it was more than I could stand. "I have to go to the bathroom Brock!" I jumped up and tried to make my way to the door, but I felt a two hands grasp me, one hand under my left armpit and the other between my legs. Brock lifted me into the air with ease squeezing my hard cock with his powerful hand.
"Listen, fag, you're gonna let me finish my workout, then you're gonna tell me what you want me to do to you, okay...."
To be continued
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