========
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Mike28 Family Ties mF
From: fr582@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Max S. Wojtylak)
Date: 5 Jul 1996 20:12:10 GMT



FAMILY TIES: All Juiced Up

By Uncle Mike


     The Keaton kitchen was in chaos. Mounds of canvas and 
nylon covered the table. Boxes; Tupperware of every size, 
shape and color; and a couple of red and white coolers buried 
the counters, with cereal bowls and coffee cups scattered 
here and there in any available niche. Steven, the father, was 
patiently trying to run down a checklist while juggling little 
Andrew. He was holding the child slightly away from him, 
hoping to keep the drool off his red plaid shirt.  Alex, their 
oldest son, was loudly explaining that he hated wildlife or 
anything else with the word "wild" in it. Daughter Jennifer 
was trying to prop her eyes open in one corner; in another, 
Mallory and her boyfriend, Nick, were covertly cuddling.

     It was 5 a.m. Only a faint rosy glow came through the 
windows, and that was from the lights Steven had forgotten 
to turn off when he came back from gassing up.

     Finally getting down to the last item on the list, Steven 
looked up.

     "Alex, quiet down. Your mother's still asleep."

     "Lucky her," said Jennifer, a pert blond in her early teens.

     "Now, kids, you know your Mom would love to go with us, 
but she has that project to finish up, and her cold is getting 
worse. If she gets a little rest she'll be fine."

     "Shouldn't I stay home to take care of her?" Alex, a short 
young man with a boyish grin, looked hopeful.

     "Take care? You?" Mallory, the willowy daughter, uncoiled 
herself from Nick. A short exchange of the usual Keaton 
insults followed before both sides retired to neutral corners.

     "At least Nick isn't complaining," Steven noted smugly as 
he began to gather up the supplies.

     "Yeah, that's right, Mr. Keaton," the scuzzy looking boy 
answered. Then, in a whisper, to Mallory: "Yeah, I'm not 
complaining, because I'm gonna be blitzed the whole time. You 
won't forget to take the juice, will you?"

     "Me?" Mallory whispered back, offended. "Forget?"

     "Sorry," her boyfriend said with a shrug. "But I put a whole 
bottle of vodka in that OJ and it's the only thing that's gonna 
get me through this whole family camping thing."

     Before Mallory could answer, Jennifer dumped a box in her 
hands and gave Nick a picnic basket. "Come on," the younger 
girl said sleepily. "The sooner we get this stuff packed, the 
sooner I can go to sleep in the back seat."

   ===   ===   ===   ===

     The morning sun shone dimly through the clouds, casting a 
faint light on empty kitchen counters when Elyse Keaton 
stumbled into the room later that day. She gathered her ratty 
blue bathrobe closer around her as she looked out on the gray 
sky, and sniffled. She pulled a Kleenex out of one pocket and 
wiped her nose, then brushed a hand through her hair. Her eyes 
were red and her eyelids hung low. 

     Elyse shuffled to the refrigerator and opened the door, 
smacking her lips faintly as she stared. "Great. They took the 
juice," she muttered to herself as she closed the door. "I 
didn't need any vitamin C, anyway. I'm perfectly fine." She let 
loose a honking sneeze.

     Out came a Kleenex. From another pocket she pulled a 
couple of bottles of cold medicine. Squinting to read the 
instructions on the sides, she poured several pills into her 
hand and downed them with a glass of water.

     On her way back to the living room, she stopped short. 
Sitting on a side counter, almost hidden by several now-
empty cereal bowls, was a huge bottle of what looked like ... 
she opened the lid and sniffed -- nothing, too stuffed up. She 
poured a small glass and downed it. Yes, it tasted like it. 
Orange juice! Salvation! She gathered the jug up in her arms, 
clutching a plastic tumbler in one hand, and pushed through 
the door.

     Dropping onto the couch in the living room, she poured 
herself a tumblerful of juice, switched on the TV, and started 
watching. As she swallowed a big gulp, her eyes widened a 
bit. She held the tumbler up and examined it more closely, 
then smacked her lips and filled it up to the brim again.

   ===   ===   ===   ===

     Skippy Handelman knocked on the Keaton's kitchen door 
several times and called out. Finally he tried the handle; it 
opened and he walked in.

     He called out again as he went through the kitchen. 
"Anyone home? Alex? Mallory? Mrs. Keaton?" His calls got no 
reply. He stopped and looked around, then smacked his head. 
"That's right, the camping trip! I guess it really was this 
weekend, after all. Darn."

     He turned and went back to the outside door, and then 
stopped again. It was unlocked, he remembered. Slowly, 
quietly, he crept back through the kitchen and pushed open the 
door to the living room. It creaked. "Ssshhh!" he hushed as he 
slipped through. On his way past the counters he had picked up 
a spatula, which he now raised threateningly above his head.

     A few steps into the room, though, he lowered it. Mrs. 
Keaton was lying flat on the couch, one bare leg fallen out of 
her robe and down to the floor. Next to her, on the coffee 
table, was a half-empty jug of orange juice; some 
architectural renderings were scattered on the floor around 
her.

     "Oops! Sorry, Mrs. Keaton, I -- uh ..." Here, his voice fell to 
a whisper. "I'll just go, now, OK? And I'll lock the door on my 
way out."

     Before he could get through the door to the kitchen, a weak 
voice called out.

     "Huh? Whozzat?"

     He turned back to the couch. Mrs. Keaton was struggling to 
a sitting position, blinking her eyes rapidly and scrunching up 
her face in a squint.

     "Steven?" she said, her voice gaining strength. "Is that 
you?"

     Skippy was shorter and broader than her husband, and 
younger and dumpier, and he had no beard. But he was wearing 
a red plaid shirt and jeans.

     He took a few steps toward her. "No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, 
Skippy. See?"

     "Steven? What are you doing here?"

     "No, he's gone camping ..."

     "That's right, you went camping. Where are the kids?"

     "I told you, camping." Skippy sat down beside her on the 
couch, bobbing his head in an attempt to keep it within her 
shaky line of sight.

     "Oh, they're still camping?" There was a giggle in her 
voice. "So it's you and me alone? You romantic devil, you." Mrs. 
Keaton fell forward, dropping into Skippy's lap. He pushed her 
back up.

     "No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, Skippy, remember?"

     "I remember, Steven," she said. "It's only been -- uhhhh ..." 
she glanced around wildly to find a clock, then gave up. 
"Sixeven hours. Right?" She began to topple sideways and 
Skippy grabbed her.

     She grabbed him back, planting a wet kiss about an inch to 
the left of his lips.

     "Come on, don' play so hard to get," she said, grabbing his 
face to steady it before kissing him deeply, her tongue 
pressing into the boy's mouth. The sharp taste of alcohol 
almost made him swoon.

     "Mrs. Keaton, I -- I think I better get out of here," he said, 
trying to rise from the couch. It was tough to do with her 
still hanging on to him, almost a dead weight. "I think you've 
had too much to drink."

     "A drink? No, thanks, I'll pass," she said. "I've got that cold 
and I shouldn't drink when I've taken mecidine -- menicid ... 
mega ... drugs."

     As Skippy continued to struggle, Elyse tugged at his pants, 
finally undoing the belt, and began to paw at the zipper. 
"Come on, Steven," she said, taking an exaggerated sigh, "don't 
be such an old duddy-fuddy. I want you!"

     The boy finally got loose and jumped to his feet. His pants 
stayed behind, clutched in the older woman's hands.

     He began to hop away, his pants falling to his ankles and 
his baggy polka-dot boxers flapping. Mrs. Keaton released her 
grip and rose, shakily. Her robe fell open, revealing her still-
trim body, lush curves held in check only by a filmy black bra 
and a silken pair of black panties. "Whazzamatter?" she cried, 
an edge in her voice. "I'm not good enough for you?" Angrily, 
she tugged and pulled at her bra, finally popping it loose. Her 
breasts bounced free, drooping only slightly.

     Skippy stared, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. 
He looked up to see Mrs. Keaton standing over him, legs apart. 
She had stripped off her panties and he was staring straight 
into her cunt. He began to mumble incoherently.

     Struggling to stay upright herself, Elyse hauled the boy to 
his feet and began to drag him to the couch. "That's it, 
Stevie," she said, her voice rising into an almost hysterical 
giggle. "Whoo! I'm feeling a dittle lizzy! You must be getting 
to me!"

     Then her legs gave way and she fell backward onto the 
couch, pulling Skippy down with her. The springs groaned as 
they plunged to the cushions.

     Stunned at first, Skippy quickly tried to get back up, but 
succeeded only in rubbing his crotch against Mrs. Keaton's 
while trying to get out of her entangling arms.

     "Not so fast, Steven," she cried. "I need a little foreplay, 
lover!"

     In the struggle, Skippy's rapidly stiffening cock began to 
poke out of the top of his boxers. Mrs. Keaton's hand brushed 
against it and would have moved on, but Skippy moaned and 
alerted her. She fumbled a bit but finally got a grip and began 
to rub his shaft briskly while reaching up with a flailing foot 
to try to tug down his shorts.

     "Mrs. Keaton! Mrs. Keaton!" Skippy shouted. His struggles 
were made more difficult because he pulled back whenever he 
found himself touching her naked body. "Please, Mrs. Keaton! 
It's me, Skippy! Don't do this!"

     He continued struggling for several minutes, arms 
flapping, before he realized she had given up. He looked down: 
her eyes were closed and she was snoring softly.

     Skippy began to rise, supporting himself on his hands. As 
he did, his shorts fell to his knees and his cock sprang free, 
bobbing stiffly. He stopped halfway up.

     The struggle had popped several of the buttons on his 
shirt, which now hung crookedly down, one pocket slightly 
torn. One tail of the shirt hung over Mrs. Keaton's crotch. He 
flipped it aside.

     The older woman was naked beneath him, her legs spread 
wide, opening up her pink, wet pussy. Her flat stomach and 
enticing tits were heaving slightly with each breath. The 
ratty bathrobe was draped beneath her, the sleeves ridden up 
her arms. Her round, soft face was back, mouth slightly open.

     Skippy held himself up for about a minute and then began 
to move. Down.

     Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself back onto Mrs. 
Keaton. His stiff cock dropped on top of her slit, and he 
rubbed it back and forth while nuzzling her tits.

     She didn't move, and made no sound except the quiet 
snores.

     Tentatively, Skippy reached down and took his cock in his 
hand, guiding it into her opening.  It took several tries before 
he could get the placement right, and she was still slightly 
dry so at first it hurt a bit. Then her juices and his pre-cum 
began to flow, lubricating her entrance.

     At last he slid his cock into the older woman's tunnel, 
slowly at first and then driving it all the way in, in one 
abrupt lunge. Then he stopped, holding his breath. Still Mrs. 
Keaton was unmoving.

     "You have a great body, Mrs. Keaton," Skippy said, beginning 
to stroke his cock inside her. "And a really good cunt. I sure 
do like fucking you." He giggled a bit at his own boldness. "Do 
you like fucking me? I think you do." He kept up the tempo, 
sliding his rigid member into her up to the hilt and then 
slowly pulling out.

     "I'm gonna fuck you good," Skippy said in a whisper, his 
pace increasing. Then all at once his body stiffened and a 
surge of cum shot out of him and splashed into Mrs. Keaton's 
cunt. "Ohhh, that was good, Mrs. -- Elyse," he sighed, 
collapsing onto her body as his muscles became limp.

     He had been lying there only a minute when he sensed 
movement. His eyes were only inches from Mrs. Keaton's when 
her eyelids begin to part, and then flew open as she 
sputtered, "Skippy! What are you doing!"

     She looked down, down at their naked bodies, Skippy's 
deflated cock still resting in her cunt. "Oh, my God! Skippy, 
what have you done?"

     "But, Mrs. Keaton, you asked me to! I mean, you asked Mr. 
Keaton, because you though he was me, I mean I was he, I 
mean him, and you ..."

     Elyse's eyes grew even wider. "What are you talking about? 
Skippy, you can't do this! Get off me!"

     "OK," he said, and he did begin to rise. But his cock had 
begun to stiffen again, growing longer and thicker and 
pressing against the walls of the older woman's pussy.

     "What -- what are you -- stop that!"

     "I can't," Skippy moaned, and even as he rose up on his 
hands his hips started bucking, driving his cock into Mrs. 
Keaton's slippery wet tunnel.

     "No! No!" She tried to push him off, but couldn't move his 
greater weight. The boy's cock pistoned into her soaking wet 
cunt, making squishing noises as it hit bottom and their pubic 
patches ground together.

     "Oh, God, nooooo," Elyse began to sob, beating her fists 
weakly against Skippy's chest.

     "Mrs. Keaton, I'm sorry, I can't stop now, it feels too good," 
the boy moaned, bending down to lick at her erect nipples.

     Her writhings to get away only excited him more and he 
drove himself into her harder and harder. Beads of sweat 
appeared on his back and began to trickle down. His breathing 
grew harsh as he pounded his dick home. "It's so good, it's so 
darn good, oh, Mrs. Keaton, fuck me! Fuck me!"

     "No, Skippy, please," she begged, wincing each time his 
hard shaft lifted out and drove down again into her. 

     "I can't!" he shouted. "I can't stop. Mrs. Keaton, I love you! I 
want to fuck you! I want to put it all in you and fill you with 
my cum! Take it all! Take it all!"

     "Oh, please, stop, stop, sto ... aaaah ... aaaaaaahhhh ... 
aaaAAAAAAHHHHHHH MY GOD!" Her slim body began to shake 
and tremble beneath him. "I'm cummminnngg! AAAAAHHHHH!"

     Her movements sent shivers through Skippy's own body, 
but his cock remained hard and he continued to drive it into 
her cunt even as her pussy muscles rippled around it.

     Elyse gasped for her breath. "No! No! No more! 
NoooooooohhhhhhAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Again her body quaked as a 
second orgasm shot through her like lightning, and another. As 
the last subsided Skippy's tempo suddenly increased and he 
began to cry out. "Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! I'm gonna cum!" His 
goo jetted into the older woman's sodden cunt and oozed out 
around his shaft as Skippy made a few, final lunges.

     He lay atop her for several minutes while his cock 
shriveled. Finally he rose, feeling suddenly chilled as the cool 
air of the room hit his wet, sloppy crotch. 

     "I'm sorry, Mrs. Keaton, I really am," he said, but when he 
looked down at her Elyse was passed out again. Gently he 
pulled her robe back around her and covered her with a quilt. 
Looking around, he found her bra and panties on the floor and 
tucked them next to her under the quilt before putting on his 
own clothes and going out into the kitchen.

     Just as he swung open the door from the living room, the 
outside door opened and the rest of the Keaton household, plus 
Nick, shuffled in. Their hair was plastered to their heads, 
their clothes hung in droopy folds, streams of water pouring 
off them and puddling on the floor.

     "Hi, Keatons," Skippy said brightly. "You're back early, 
aren't you?"

     Steven looked at darkly. "It's raining."

     Alex chimed in. "And the tent fell apart."

     "Because Alex put the pegs in wrong," said Jennifer.

     "And Dad locked us out of the car," Mallory explained.

     "With the keys inside," Nick noted.

     "Yes, and we wouldn't even be back here if Nick didn't have 
an unusual ability to open locked car doors," Mr. Keaton said 
sharply, looking back at his daughter's boyfriend.

     "Sounds like you had a great time," Skippy said, backing 
his way around them carefully to avoid the water. "Mrs. 
Keaton's in the living room. I think she needs her rest. This 
cold must have her really woozy; she was saying some crazy 
things. Bye!" He lunged out the door, grabbing his jacket from 
the counter where he'd dropped it on the way in.

     Mr. Keaton tossed aside his sodden coat and hat and made 
his way to the living room, trailing pools of water.

     "How are you feeling, honey?" he said as he came up to the 
couch.

     "Huh? Is that you, Skippy? Oh, no, please, I can't take any 
more," she mumbled weakly.

     Mr. Keaton stared down at her, confused. "You look like you 
could use some more juice," he said, pouring her a glass. "A 
little vitamin C will do you good."

     As he lifted the tumbler to her lips, Nick came through the 
door. "Mr. Keaton!" he called out when he saw the jug. As 
Steven turned around, Nick took a step closer and saw that 
the jug was now empty. He stopped.

"Well," Steven said, testily, "what is it?"

"Uh, nothing," Nick said, stalling. "I mean ... uh ... thanks for 
the trip," he mumbled, backing out the door.

