For those new to this story or looking for a refresher, its protagonist is Bryan, senior editor of his high school yearbook. He programs a white noise machine to sharpen the enthusiasm of Bianca Richards, the disinterested albeit dazzling brunette appointed the yearbook's faculty advisor for the project and its editor. Meanwhile, at home Bryan's new stepmother Bree and stepsister Andrea, both striking red-heads, treat him with the disrespect they reserve for all people they label nerd. So, after his success with Bianca, Bryan gets Bree her own white noise machine. Could Andrea use one too?
Chapter 2 introduced Serena Pendergraft, state tennis champion and Andrea's rival for Queen Bitch of the high school. When a faculty member assigns them to work together on a project, Bryan, kindly volunteers to help. Meanwhile Bree, waking up horny in the middle of the night, heads for Bryan's room. Much fun is had and, spent and exhausted, the two of them slip into a deep sleep in his bed.
Which is where Chapter 3 picks up.
I thank all for the comments and favorites I received regarding the first two chapters. I want to specifically mention and thank Literotica member Fat_Rick, who sent several e-mails full of kind words and suggestions for future development. While what I have written here does not do justice to the breadth of his ideas - his e-mails contain enough for several complete stories (which I have encouraged Fat_Rick, so far unsuccessfully, to write) - I incorporated several of his suggestions into Chapter 3. Some of these are general, a tightening up of the plot, some specific, including details such as the photographs on Bianca's vanity, and some entire scenes. If you enjoy Bianca's visit to Principal Strickand or Bree and Bryan watching Malcolm and Marie with the family, thank Fat_Rick. If not, the fault is, I am sure, in my execution.
As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
Edward, looked around. Bree, his wife, was not in bed, but that was no reason to worry. She often woke up before he did. Feeling good — he'd slept well since Bryan installed the white noise machine in the bedroom - he stretched, then noticed something that wasn't there: the smell of fresh coffee. His wife made it each morning; he loved its dark rich aroma.
Putting on his robe, he headed for the kitchen. The coffee maker was ready to go; Bree had set it before going to bed. Perhaps she'd left for work early and, not wanting the coffee to grow stale before the family woke, decided to pick up a cup on the way to the office. Edward checked the driveway. Bree's SUV was in its usual spot.
Returning to the kitchen Edward poured himself a cup, added two sugar packets - Bree, who drank hers black, would wrinkle her nose whenever she saw him do that - took a sip, checked the countertop, table, and refrigerator. Bree had not left a note. Unplugging the charger from the wall he checked his phone: no text. Slipping the phone in his pocket he wandered the house's first floor, checked the garage: no Bree. Maybe she'd had trouble sleeping and concerned about disturbing him went to sleep in the guest bedroom. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, careful not to wake anyone, Edward checked. Still no Bree.
* * * * *
North of town, out in the country, Bianca was also waking up. Like Edward, she was alone, but by choice. After taking Bryan as her lover her husband Roy had continued to share the bed with her when Bryan was not there. But as the affair intensified, then when Bryan's stepmother Bree was added to the mix, Bianca more and more came to see the bed as a private sacred place. Several weeks ago, looking at her husband Roy's slumbering form next to her, she realized he'd become an intruder.
With Bryan's approval, Bianca sat down with Roy. She was going to buy a new mattress and box springs, top of the line, and he'd have to sleep somewhere else. And while Roy had agreed, Bianca sensed resentment. Unable to identify exactly what about Roy's reaction bothered her, not sure if she'd read him right, Bianca didn't mention it to Bryan until she noted passive-aggressive behaviors in Roy. Nothing major - he'd pretend he didn't hear her when she called, he'd sulk and say he wasn't - but it surprised her. During the past year, as her life had come to center on Bryan, her husband had given her no trouble, accepting his place in the periphery of her existence. Maybe she'd taken him for granted? Perhaps she should go out of her way to thank him more often?
Bianca told Bryan of her concerns, who met with Roy. The basement would be converted into his living quarters; in the meantime Roy would use the guest bedroom and bath. Since then Roy had been good, dutifully filling the role in his wife's life Bryan assigned him.
Her toned body lithe and flexible, Bianca got out of bed, stretched, and moved to the vanity. Admiring the photographs she kept there, one of Bryan - he was so handsome - and a new one of Bryan, Bree, and herself taken on their recent beach trip, she noticed her phone blinking. It was the message Bree and Bryan forwarded her in the middle of the night. Activating the attachment, she watched as Bryan deflowered his stepmother's asshole until, fingers on her clit and nipples, Bianca could take no more. She checked the clock. It would be tight, but she had time. Texting Bryan and Bree, "SO FUCKING HOT, WISH I'D BEEN THERE," she went to the dresser, selecting a favorite butt plug and vibrator from the lingerie drawer.
Downstairs Roy heard his wife get in the shower. She was running late. Putting aside the omellette he'd intended to fix her, he cleaned her Nomad Travel Mug clean. At least she'd have a fresh cup of coffee on the way to work.
* * * * *
Back in town, Edward stood before Bryan's door. He'd peeked into Andrea's room: no Bree. This was the last place in the house she could be. He went to knock, stopped, reached for the door knob, stopped again. This was silly. He should just open the door. He was Bryan's father, the patriarch, leader of the family, but he didn't feel that way, hadn't in months. While his son had always been sober mature smart, over the past months his development had accelerated while Edward struggled with a moribund sex drive and deteriorating sense of his own masculinity. Bryan was becoming the man of the house, and he wasn't the only who saw it. Bree's eyes lingered on Bryan whenever he was around, followed him when he left the room. Conversations with his wife inevitably ended up on the subject of Bryan. She asked Bryan's opinion about most everything, deferred to his judgment, sat with him, touched his arm, straightened his hair, lay a hand on his back. They ran errands, did projects, hung out with Bianca Richards. His wife couldn't get enough Bryan.
Hell, even Andrea was starting to be nice to him.
Now, feeling he had no right to invade Bryan's privacy, Edward stood frozen before his son's door until he heard a buzz - it was Bryan's phone receiving Bianca's text - and Bryan reach for his phone. Deciding Bryan was awake, Edward knocked tentatively, did it again, a bit more forcefully this time, and said in a low voice, "Son, is it okay if I come in? I can't find Bree."
Bryan looked at the door. He knew exactly where Bree was, sleeping naked next to him. They'd fucked deep into the night, then fallen asleep and overslept. What to do? Bryan could deny Bree was there, find a way to get her out of his room unseen, confect an explanation for her disappearance and reappearance, but way too many things could go wrong with that rickety plan. Best to keep it simple. If you want someone to think you've done nothing wrong, act like you've done nothing wrong.
Pulling the blanket up so it covered both their bodies, moving his naked body against his stepmother to wake her, Bryan said, "Sure Dad, come on in, she's here with me,"
Edward hesitantly came through the door. Bree, suddenly awake, turned to Bryan, panic in her eyes, but Bryan slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. He was in charge, everything was okay. In a slightly befuddled tone, as if just waking up, he said, "Hey Dad, what time is it?"
"A little after 7:00."
"Crap. I must have forgotten to set the alarm. Bree had trouble sleeping last night, so did I, and when she heard me rummaging around my room she came up to say, 'Hi.' We lay down, chatted. I guess we fell asleep."
Picking up the cover story, Bree, the lawyer, adeptly changed the subject. "I'm sorry if I worried you dear. Is that fresh coffee I smell?"
"Yeah, I put a pot on."
