Mie & Aren

Mike shuddered and tried to move as people stampeded by.

"Dad, hold still," Alex said, his voice tinged with desperation as he kept his father on his back, ignoring the frightful chest wound. "You just need to-"

"Alex, listen to me," Mike breathed, lifting his head slightly to look at his only son. "Listen carefully."

Alex nodded and took his father's hand, trying to not stare at the massive red stain that was spreading across his chest. He stared into those electric blue eyes, so very like his own, but now...

"Alex," Mike grunted, straining and speaking hoarsely through clenched teeth. "You... my family... we are not special... we are of no great destiny... there is no... predestined future for you, no promise of glory..."

He took Alex's hands in both of his, looking up at his son. "But that means... your destiny... is your own, son. Yours to carve out, to make great... like I... like I w..."

"Dad..." Alex said, his voice trembling as he ignored the chaos around him.

Mike spasmed and strained, holding back something, struggling to speak. "It's up to you... to look after you mom... and Alli... and be the man I know you can be..."

Alex squeezed his eyes shut and held his father's hands tightly as Mike fought for breath. "Make something of yourself, Alex! Grab your destiny by the-"

"You two are taking paintball

way

too seriously," Karen sighed, standing over her husband and son, wearing a tight camouflage outfit, and her paintball rifle sitting on her hip. Behind her, Alexa and Andrea just looked on, unimpressed.

"Aw, but it's more fun this way, mom!" Alex protested while Mike burst out laughing.

***

Mike & Karen

Disclaimer:

All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is a prequel/sequel (sprequel?) to my other work, Alex & Alexa. As always, many thanks and gratuitous panty shots from Freja and Jeanie to my long-suffering editor and beta-reader for their assistance in polishing up and improving this work. Reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice. Enjoy!

Please Note:

There are incest themes with a secondary couple in this story. Just a forewarning.

Chapter XX- A Fashionable Science Girl

Blackwell Manor, early March...

Alexa had taken it upon herself to wander down into the various basements and begin exploring on her own. Though she'd been shown all three sub-levels before, she'd never really had the time to come and just begin looking around.

One thing she could appreciate was that the hallways were all dry and brightly lit. Even with the long lengths of metal and polymer tubes running along or near the ceilings, everything felt orderly and efficient. It appealed to the Blackwell in her.

Andrea, who was the mechanic, plumber, and electrician for the estate (with unofficial backup from the two groundskeepers, Dave and Yolatunde), kept the place in seemingly immaculate shape, even going so far as to keep dust out of the corridors when she wasn't working on a genuine project.

"Do the tough stuff first, and everything gets easier,"

Andrea had said.

"Leaves me more time for my OCD projects, if I have the boring and un-fun stuff out of the way first."

Alexa had seen examples of Andrea's OCD in one of the plumbing rooms. She'd inspected the room, ordered new pipes in various widths and gauges, and then refitted everything, so that all the pipes were literally lined up in a row along the wall, or in contained frames according to size and purpose. And while it may have been unnerving to look at, it would no doubt drastically cut down on the amount of time Andrea had to spend on finding and fixing any issues.

Alex and Mike had both approved, making references to 'modular battlemechs', whatever that meant. Alexa didn't really want to know.

But she wasn't down here to look at Andrea's OCD plumbing and wiring, sexily efficient as it might be. She'd come to check out the rooms that only four people had keys for- Mike, Karen, Alex, and herself. And these were the spaces where endless numbers of Blackwell heirlooms were kept, some of them literally centuries old.

She came to the door of one of the rooms and smirked- the door was heavy wood, and bound with iron, ridiculously out of place. Every bit as ridiculous was the large, heavy metal key she now carried on an iron ring, along with three others. She was aware of the fact that these rooms were tied to Ari's security systems, so the old-timey keys were just an indulgence they'd kept up with, because why not?

Goodness, how she loved her quirky family.

Alexa inserted the key and turned it, trying not to giggle at the loud

clank!

sound as the door unlocked. She pushed the weighty door open with a grunt, turning and waving at the small security camera in the hallway before entering. She'd been in here before with her sister, but only briefly, just getting the rundown on how things worked. Now was her time to really explore.

She turned on the lights and there was a hum as the various overheads powered up. She gazed in awe at the rows she was meant to walk down, either side lined with heirlooms and artifacts of the Blackwell family deemed too valuable or sensitive to be kept upstairs. Walking slowly, Alexa took a look at the various items, all carefully categorized and labeled, or having brass stamps attached to their displays.

Great care had been given to the lighting, both for presentation, and also to make sure nothing was damaged by strong photonic exposure. Alexa had seen so many paintings, murals, and frescoes in Europe faded and damaged beyond repair by the effects of the sun, careless lighting, or endless camera flashes. She was glad these items were being protected.

Inside a display case sat several round cylinders and tablets made of clay, covered in cuneiform. She couldn't read what they said (she'd have Alex come and translate for her one day), but there were brief descriptions of what each one entailed.

One was a note of complaint, apparently the oldest such example known anywhere, from the Sumerian city of Ur, circa 1750 BC. One businessman griping at another. Some things never changed.

Another was identified as a hymn to the Sumerian and Assyrian goddess Ninkasi, who was apparently the goddess of spirits, such as wine and beer. She'd heard Alex and Mike talk about recreating the recipe described herein.

She came across a small glass case, and inside it sat a skull. The skull was bound in places with iron bands, and etched onto those bands was a flowing script, created in medieval Mongolia. The skull belonged to a warlord named Targetai, and had come into the family's possession during the Colonial Wars of the eighteenth century.

A Roman gladius sat on a small stand, belonging to some general of note who'd campaigned in Germany and Britain.

In a display case lay many coins made of gold and silver, all of them from the Spanish Main, from the time when her ancestors had acted as privateers against England's rivals in the Caribbean. Her family, already wealthy as businesspeople and landowners, became even wealthier when they plundered the gold and jewels from Spain's treasure fleets with Drake and other gallant adventurers...

... there she was.

Propped up against the wall, she towered over Alexa, leaning forward and fixed in place with various braces to support her considerable weight. She must have been nearly three meters long or tall, her paint job restored in glorious detail. Her keen blue eyes gazed out across the room, and her gold-leaf hair glinted in the light.

This was the figurehead of the earliest Thunderhawk, the vessel whose crew had fought the Spanish Armada at the command of Drake (who was a busy man, seemingly).

She was clearly modeled after a Blackwell woman of the period, since her face had the regal cast, and the aquiline features. Not to mention the blonde hair and blue eyes.

Alexa saw another feature and smiled.

She saw a small ladder nearby, went over and grabbed it to set it down in front of the figurehead. It was no more than five feet tall, with sturdy legs and a wide base on top. She clambered up the steps nimbly and stood on the base, now eye-level with her 'ancestor'.

With a smirk, she lifted her shirt, exposing her tits, her eyes never leaving the figurehead's.

"Mine are bigger," she said in a saucy tone. She wiggled her chest at the inanimate woman for a moment, then hopped down, pleased with herself. She returned the ladder to where she'd found it and kept exploring.

A ridiculous winged helmet, made of cheap metal. The little plaque indicated it was an original prop from Wagner's premiere of 'Die Walküre', the second opera in his Ring Cycle. She smiled to think that maybe Amalie Materna had worn this very helmet at Bayreuth in 1876. Somebody upstairs had to know.

Old medieval tablets were spaced along the wall, carved with images and Latin texts about Crusader knights, the brass plaques describing yet more of her ancestors. Over the centuries, many had belonged to the Order of St. John, her mother had told her, and they'd even quietly visited very old graveyards in continental Europe, and some of the accessible catacombs in Paris, where many of her ancestors were said to be buried.

She sighed and looked out over the vast room, with all the... stuff... that it contained, knowing there were two more just like this. And all this was just the part that Harcourt Blackwell had brought with him when he'd abandoned the family titles and moved to the colonies. There was apparently a lot more back in England too, but the eldest Blackwell had brought the treasures he esteemed most.

It was odd to think that if the eldest line had stayed in England, she and Kar would likely be titled as countesses now. The head of the Blackwell family was an earl back in the old country. When she and mom had moved to Cardiff, they'd discussed possibly revealing themselves to the family, since Hampshire wasn't

that

far away, but ultimately decided against it.

Because Alexa had not grown up in that life, and it was Miranda's conclusion that she shouldn't have to undertake it if she didn't want to. Her mom was slowly dying, and she wanted the choice to be Alexa's alone.

Alexa suspected that perhaps the thought of revealing herself to her family again after abandoning them without a word nearly twenty years earlier was just too hard for her mother to bear, and Alexa didn't blame her if that influenced her decision.

They'd never know what happened to drive Miranda away in the span of one night, but whatever it had been had scared the strongest woman Alexa had ever known (barring her older sister) enough to simply leave, and take her younger daughter without explanation. It bothered Alexa, and it hurt, but she accepted that there was something she simply did not know. It was something her mother had taken to the grave, and Alexa would respect that.

She now espied many long, wide and thin crates.

Many, many long, wide and thin crates.

Dozens of them. Dozens on them, stacked over one another on strong, low frames.

She walked over and looked down at them curiously, her hands touching the simple wood.

There seemed to be no plaques indicating what was held within. Each crate was maybe two meters (just over six feet) wide, and more than twice as long. They were around twenty centimeters (eight inches) thick. Curious. Just plain wood that one would make every day shipping crates out of.

Faded words were stamped onto the wood, in blue ink.

In German?

Alexa bit her lip as she reached for a corner of the crate before her, noticing that they were not nailed or sealed shut. With some effort, she lifted the corner enough to let the overhead lights shine down, revealing what was inside...

She promptly dropped the lid back in place, turning around and leaning against the crate, blushing. It was several seconds before she realized she'd forgotten to breathe.

She had

so

many questions for her sister and her brother-in-law.

Alexa took a deep breath and moved on.

In a long display case sat an exquisite (if somewhat corroded in places) swept-hilt military rapier. She'd seen dozens like it in museums across France, Germany and Italy. She didn't know weapons history like Alex or Mike did, but she could tell it was French in origin from its general lines and embellishment.

And there was some sort of writing engraved into the length of the blade. She leaned in closer to see if she could read it.

Dédiée au service de notre reine bien-aimée, sa majesté Anne d'Autriche.

"Dedicated in the service of our beloved Queen, Her Majesty Anne of Austria..." Alexa murmured, reading aloud to herself.

Always more questions.

Alexa sighed and decided she'd seen enough for today. She walked back to the entrance to the room and turned off the lights. She closed the heavy door and locked it with her heavy key, then turned and headed toward the end of the hall and the stairs back up to the main floor.

"Hi, Miss Blackwell," Andrea said cheerfully as she swished down the corridor, wearing the strategically tight coveralls she seemed fond of and a white tank top underneath. Her favourite habitual large wrench was resting on her shoulder. "Checkin' out the goodies?"

"I'll never understand my family, Andrea..." Alexa sighed as she walked by.

Andrea paused for a moment, considering what one of her employers had just said, and then shrugged.

"Welp, that makes two of us," she concluded before continuing down the hall to one of the electrical rooms.

***

University of Toronto, St. George Campus, March 1987...

"Ugh, I still can't believe we had to come back here after that time at your place, Kar," Lisa sighed as she walked around the dorm room in her underwear and nothing else. "Everything feels so... tiny and boring."

"I must disagree, I find the change quite invigorating," Karen replied, sitting in her comfy chair and watching her roomie mill about, fussing. She didn't know why Lisa was complaining, exactly, outside of just being Lisa. After all, she'd taken her, and Mona and Janet, to get mani-pedis and facials at a spa nearby only two days ago. Their lives were hardly tragic. "And were you not the one who referred to the place where I grew up as a... oh, what was it... a marble mausoleum?"

"Oh, c'mon, let that one go," Lisa whined, now getting onto her bed and kneeling on it, fumbling about for something. "I was

so

hung over, and you were playing that music

so

loudly."

"I forgave you before DeBourne had even carried you off to the kitchen to rid you of your affliction," Karen said easily, waving it off. She adored her roomie's quirks, with the possible exception of her snoring and lactose intolerance. "That aside, though, you know full well I am enjoying my life here on campus. It allows me liberties I would not have back in my parents' domicile."

"Is that a fancy way of saying that it's easier to lez out with a little Jewish redhead here on campus than it would be with mumsy and daddykins looking over your shoulder all the time?" Lisa teased, pulling a large pneumatic shoulder massager out from beneath her bed. She'd become acquainted with it recently, and quite involuntarily, after Karen had pinned her down and used it on Lisa's womanhood in order to sober her up after she'd nearly blown their ruse against the Chinese businessmen with her drunken antics.

She found she'd grown quite fond if it, in fact, in small doses and under controlled conditions. She folded one of her towels over and then laid it atop the knobs that vibrated. She wiggled around until her panty-covered pussy was resting lightly against the towel, then reached down and turned on the device on its lowest setting.

"Ohhhhhh, yeah..." she sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the ride, her hands resting on her thighs. "That's the stuff..."

"I am not sure whether I am pleased that you found someone new, or insulted that I was so easily replaced," Karen remarked, watching the show with her chin resting on the back of her fingers, an amused look on her face. "I prithee, Miss Heyman, what does she do that I cannot?"

"Nothin'," Lisa moaned, undulating her hips now, a decided wet spot developing on them. "But it only happens when I'm wantin' it, it can't pin me down and orgasm the bejeezus out of me to make me behave."

"Nice to know there are some deficiencies," said the bronze-haired goddess, smirking. "But I am beginning to think you actually

like

being dominated."

"Jus' because you can do it," panted the redhead, squirming now, the abused machine humming below her, "doesn't mean other people can... I'm feisty."

"I seem to recall DeBourne having his way with you," Karen mused. "Every which way but sexually."

"Oh, like you'd do any better," Lisa hissed, her body flushing pink now as she rode her new ersatz toy. She was grinding her hips rhythmically, pressing her pussy down harder on the padded knobs that were vibrating so delightfully. "You'd get rag-dolled like everyone else, princess."

"Very true, but I would also not misbehave in front of him in order to earn such retribution."

"You're the bi one, not me, so believe that all you want," Lisa managed to say, reaching up and squeezing her little breasts. Her body was shiny with sweat now, and she knew she wasn't far off from her destination. "Ooooooh..."

"Kno-ooock!" Janet said as she opened the door and breezed in, followed by Mona, who was carrying her sketch pads and other supplies in a bag over her shoulder. "Thought we'd come by and ask if- oh, Jesus, Heyman!"

"You know to

actually

knock, not just say the word," Lisa gasped, not slowing down at all, and not actually giving a damn that they'd come in. Mona and Janet had caught her in too many compromising positions before (usually with Karen) for her to have any embarrassment about it now. "You've been told to knock if you don't wa-

gnnnnnn!

- don't wanna see naughty things..."

"She's got you there, girl," Mona agreed, setting down her backpack and rummaging about in it long enough to pull out a small camera. "Not like we haven't been told million times over the past year and change. And how many times have we caught you spiked on DeBourne, and you didn't care? Li, don't cum yet, I wanna snap some pics that I can draw from for my course."

"Just don't... show 'em off..." Lisa warbled, arching her back and pressing down with her hips. "An' change my hair colour!"

"I'll even give you bigger tits, just to make sure nobody knows it's you," Mona said easily, squatting down and snapping shots, the flashbulb on her little camera rotating with each photo. "That's it, keep it goin', babe."

"Gnnnnnnnnn!" Lisa moaned, straining to hold on long enough for her art major friend to get whatever she needed. Lisa had never considered herself or been considered sexy before she'd met these three, so it pleased her no end that Karen found her sensual and sexually desirable, and that Mona was more than happy to use her for her erotic artwork.

"I swear, it's like I'm living in a porn studio," Karen sighed, shaking her head and eliciting giggles from both Mona and Janet. They knew she wasn't serious, that this was her commenting just for effect. Karen was, if anything, more sexually charged than all three of her friends put together. Bisexual by nature, and with a very active libido, she'd been Lisa's casual lover and go-to girlfriend almost since the day they met during move-in day in freshman year.

And none of them objected, either. Karen was incredibly elegant and dignified, yet uninhibited with her sexual desires. She was more than happy to let Mona use her in nude artwork, even those with an erotic twist when necessary for her courses or just practice. She regularly nude-modeled for the art department, much to everyone's delight, since she had a body that was to die for. With few exceptions (basically terminally straight women and gay men), she was everyone's erotic fantasy.