The Other Child Ch. 01

*When you lose your family, do you ever find another?*

(Thanks to Steve150177 for the editing which I so desperately need)

(This tale uses racial stereotypes for the sake of the story; these are not things I hold to be true)

(This is not really an incest story as there is no blood relation and little familial bond)

*

My Mother met my Dad their sophomore year in college. Mom was worldly; more a free-spirit than a hippy. My Dad was a super geek. Mom was the first woman he ever slept with and the only woman he ever slept with until he remarried my Stepmom many years later. Neither parent denied that they made a plan for their future after graduation. Mom got pregnant but persevered to finish her Botany degree. They got married. Dad went into Genetics and started blazing a trail which became the source of so much of my grief.

After graduation, they were supposed to take a year off to travel but Dad broke his promise to Mom and pursued his career. Mom soldiered on for three more years before it became one too many solo dinners and she filed for divorce. Mom only asked for a little child support for me. He received visitation for any date with 24 hours' notice. I saw him four days in the next fourteen years.

Dad earned his doctorate, founded a business, got a second doctorate then made a train-load of money. We lived in the same city but on opposite sides. I had a moderately comfortable lower middle-class existence with no real idea what Dad did or owned. Mom had to explain to me how Dad had re-married some society lady because I never got my invitation.

When I was sixteen cancer snuck up on my Mom. She struggled to keep it together as long as she could but she eventually lost the house, all her savings and finally my college fund. I later learned that she had been in constant touch with my Father for most of the ordeal. She asked him to take over my care but his new wife didn't want me around and he didn't fight all that hard for me.

Only on her deathbed did he finally show up with his new wife and daughter (from my stepmom's previous marriage). She decided then and there that I was a 'dangerous' element, but Mom made my Dad swear to see me through college no matter what and he caved in to my Mom as opposed to his wife this once. The moment I graduated high school it was off to college with a small apartment and an unspoken warning to stay away. I never even saw the inside of my Father's house.

Nothing fucked up lasts forever it appears. Late in the fall, me and two of my buddies got in my car, went out and got drunk. I was sleeping in the back when the idiots decided to get their weed stashes. Then they picked up this third asshole who decided to get his stash as well. We got pulled over and suddenly my car had a 'distribution' weight of marijuana. Since I had a history of violence in my juvenile record, I was boned.

My public defender -- Dad didn't answer my one phone call -- turned out to be pretty kind and clever. She worked out a deal that would keep me under house arrest for twenty months and I could still do my course credits on-line. The catch? I had to have parental supervision (I was still under 21 and Dad paid for my domicile). Dad still didn't return my calls but my overly ambitious public defender actually caught Dad in his driveway one morning and had him sign the paperwork. I really owe her. I also was to discover that he 'forgot' to tell my Stepmom before taking a business trip to Japan for a month.

I will forever recall my Stepmom Zuiko (she's Japanese-American), arguing like mad with my lawyer, the two sheriff's deputies and their technician about letting them on the grounds so they could establish their parameters for my ankle monitor. For the first month I'd be under tight monitoring -- 100m, then they would take it out to 500m for two months and then finally I would get 2km starting month four if I was good.

The big thing Zuiko harped about once they got inside the grounds was 'would her daughter be safe'. My lawyer kept asking if I'd made any direct threats -- we had exchanged less than twenty words at the hospital and she hadn't seen me since, but she tried to weasel around it somehow. I was definitely not wanted but according to the state and county, she was stuck with me.

Now her and her daughter being in danger from me wasn't a total pipedream. When my Mother first started feeling ill we started going to the YMCA. Mom eventually became too worn down to do more than spend a few minutes on the treadmill. She rested then went at it time and time again. She encouraged me to do my own things. I lifted weights and took a women's self-defense course -- I was the only guy but since I was a teenager they assumed I was the victim of bullying.

One girl, who was often my partner, told me she was going to take a Krav Maga class at a downtown rec center. She wanted a buddy to walk her to the car and I needed the ride (I didn't have a car until much later). She was old -- 25 -- and I was young - 17 -- so nothing happened. It wasn't until my Mother's funeral that I saw her dressed as a city cop. It also clarified that her boyfriend was her training supervisor and the reason we were taking a violent self-defense course.

As I said, I had some issues with my Mom dying and they caused me to lash out. I played soccer my junior and senior years. I was good but not great; I did fill out the roster in a positive manner because I could play either side of the field and my passing skills were impressive -- I sucked on the final approach though so I had no college hopes.

I had a friend who did though; he had college level talent and with some experience and growth, maybe he could go pro. Starting the last third of the season, a rich HS with a great record played on our campus and we were giving them hell. We were up by one and a win was a real possibility when one of their star players 'accidentally' put his cleats into my buddy's knee, taking him out of the game and threatening his career.

He was assessed a penalty then laughed and was patted on the back by his teammates as he went to the sidelines. What followed was the best game-play of my life. I scored for the first time that year and only my second time in High School. I was ferocious and merciless and made me just enough of a pain that when their bastard came back on the field he came gunning for me.

I wasn't in his league and I knew it so I got one of my teammates to set him up. We were charging up field, when I passed to my guy. The bastard shifted focus then my guy kicked it high and behind my target. He was only beginning to adjust when I leapt -- my cleats struck him in the face with all the force of my body behind it. I dragged my foot over his ear on the way passed him.

I stood over his body and smiled down at the ruin I'd made of his face. I was 'glad' that his rich parents could pay to repair the raw meat his right side had become. He would get most of his pretty looks once more but he'd never see out of his right eye perfectly ever again and his hearing was never 100% either. His confidence and control were shot as well.

A few of the bastard's teammates pushed me around before my side arrived to back me up. Their coach, who had idly sat back and let my poor friend get crippled, rushed off the bench and wanted to press criminal charges. My coach benched me immediately and the referees reviewed the play and decided that I'd been 'approaching the ball' so I had a penalty, but I wasn't ejected from the game or the league.

I was done though; the Coach knew what I had done and it was unsportsmanlike conduct. I would never play under him again. My buddy did heal up and played the last few games of the season and played well. He got a college scholarship and he was not too far away even then though our relationship was a bit strained. I damn near killed a guy for him but then...I damn near killed a guy. That was my only episode when my rage got away from me and I had kept it in check ever since.

So, my Mom died, I went to college, got in a fucked-up situation and now my long absent Dad had agreed to sponsor my twenty month house arrest without asking is new wife. She stuck me in the pool house, not the guest house, which was farther back on the property in a place she couldn't monitor me and speed dial the cops the moment I stepped out of line. She didn't want to deal with me; she definitely didn't want me dealing with her daughter Cybil aka Scout.

Denis La Roche (40) is my father, a freaking scientific genius but an utter failure in the social medium. Zuiko La Roche is my Stepmom, a very hot 37 year old MILF, who basically hated my very existence. She did seem to have some affection for my Father but Dad seemed to be as emotional responsive and supportive of this wife as he was with my Mom.

Then there was my Stepsister, Cybil 'Scout' La Roche who was taller than her mother, not as quite filled out, but with darker skin and more subdued, but very sexy, Japanese features. She was 18; almost as old as me. My name is Daniel but way back when, I picked up the name Duke and it stuck. For the longest time I thought it was for the school but in middle school I was introduced to John Wayne. I sort of wished my namesake knew martial arts, but he still managed to kick some serious ass and kiss some real beauties so I could forgive him that lack.

As the Sheriff's Deputies watched me move in and 'anchored' my ankle bracelet to the front door of my domicile, Cybil kept showing up. Zuiko kept driving her off, but the girl was incorrigible. With her looks I doubted I was the first guy she'd ever seen close up. Zuiko acted as if I was about to rape the girl but I hadn't a clue as to what led her to that conclusion -- maybe Dad was a snake?

Being the Convict

An advantage of our location was that not even winter was that cold and while you didn't want to go swimming at 6 am, usually you could safety jump in after 10 am. It was Saturday and I'd eaten and digested my ham and olives sandwich before diving in. What I didn't know, there in my first week, this was when Cybil and Zuiko set aside for their pool time. It was a big pool, so why should they care?

I'd made my first lap in the mutated Olympic sized pond when I caught sight of Cybil moving to intercept me in the water -- she was a good swimmer and that one-piece blue suit worked for her. As she got closer it dawned on me that suit worked for her about three years and two cup sizes ago. Her puppies were trying to escape out the sides. I didn't look long because Zuiko was glaring at me.

"Hey Daniel," Cybil smiled as she treaded water facing me.

"Hey Cybil, please call me Duke; all my friends do," I grinned. I was definitely keeping steady eye contact.

"Then call me Scout," Cybil snickered for no good reason. "I'm -- umm -- sorry I haven't stopped by before now. I've been busy with school stuff."

"It is not a problem Scout," I sighed, "Your Mom doesn't want you to hang out with me -- I'm a bad influence or so she believes." It wasn't like I had to eat all my meals alone or why?? I couldn't go into the main house at all.

"I usually have a vanilla-mango smoothie when I'm sunbathing," Cybil swam closer, "want one?"

"How about a plain old-fashioned chocolate milkshake?" I proposed.

"We can do that," she floated up to my face, her legs constantly brushing mine. "I've never had a brother before."

I pulled back and noticed Zuiko blazing beams of hate through my Occipital lobe.

"We are not Brother and Sister, Scout," I informed her. "If you were my sister -- umm -- well I would have to think about something else than what's going through my mind now."

"What is that?" she asked with innocent eyes.

"We are not going to go there," I smiled warmly, "Your Mother wants me gone and I'm not going to do anything to make her hate me more."

"Oh, Mom doesn't hate you; she's only worried that you won't be happy here," Scout answered honestly. That meant Mom was lying to her too. Screw that; I was going to get a milkshake.

I realized that I'd left my towel on my side of the pool so I darted back across then did a one armed lap back to the broad steps at their end. I was still holding my rolled up towel at shoulder height when I come out of the water. In hindsight, I probably should not have worn a swimsuit I had last worn two and a half years ago considering I was now bigger in all kinds of ways.

The lining had fallen out -- I had worn these as 'around the house' shorts for some time -- and that left the faded khaki suit virtually translucent. Lastly, Scout had a cute round face with lips made for -- things not appropriate for family discussion -- sucking some of those college and high school boys raw.

Her boobs had been on the edge of escape and her nice round ass had been presented to me as she paddled away. My mast was riding high and proud as I walked up those stairs and turned to follow Scout. Scout had looked over her shoulder with a smile on her face but her words never came -- she was staring -- down there.

I glanced quickly at Zuiko and she was mesmerized as well. Okay now, I know I'm big but I had always assumed that I came by it fairly from my Dad -- I was wrong. I was ten inches and pretty thick and before you congratulate me as a stud-muffin sex god, think about how your average proportioned, five foot six inch tall, one-hundred ten pound girls feel when they see this coming at their lips, vagina, or lord help us all, their anus.

On a good day they start praying to whatever God or Goddess they think can help then relax as much as possible. On a fantastic day, they squeal for joy -- that's happened twice in my nineteen years. More often it is 'Want a hand job?' or 'can we work up to this?' (I get sex but it takes up to an hour). Finally, there were the various degrees of rejections. I have had one girl scream hysterically and act as if 'it' was trying to get her; no lie.

For you guys with your six inch cocks, as wide as three fingers; be happy and proud. You have all the tool you should ever need. If some guy steps up, whips out his foot long trouser python as thick as a 'Coke' can and tells you he is going to take your girl away and she goes for it, you have two options:

You let your former girl get her John Person's freak on and count yourself lucky you found out about that then. For the love of god don't take her back once he's worn a trail through that vagina because it will never get back into anything close to normal shape and any jackass whipping out his dick to steal another man's woman isn't going to stay with the tramp long -- there is tons of tight pussy out there for him to get his jollies in after all.

Or, you become comfortable with the concept of 'fisting' and knowing the contemptible assholes that lead off their romantic conquests by smacking your girl's face with their precum-dripping cockhead could come back at any time. Sure your girl is wide open but she's still yours and that's reason enough to take her from you whenever he wants.

The one time it happened in high school, this basketball player from a different school took one of my teammate's girl with the whole 'BBC' thing. Two weeks later, I did the same thing to him and one of his buddies, 'out-cocking' their pathetic meat (okay, not too pathetic), took back my teammate's girl and the girl of one of his Bros.

The ex-GF and the new girl joined me and the ex-BF on a ride. The ex-BF had a righteous break-up screaming match then we dumped her cheating ass in the middle of fucking nowhere. The black girl with us was scared but I told her straight that this had been the ex-BF's revenge and I had nothing against her. We went out to eat, I talked her up and we screwed (non-sexually) around most of the night.

She even sent a video message to her BF and his buddies and told them all what a small prick he had and what a huge one I had and how she'd never walk the right way again and she said it with a straight face, bursting out with laughter the moment we were done. For the rest of the year, that HS didn't screw around with our ladies. Thus ends the rant on penis size.

So we are back to my uptight 'wants me gone' Stepmother Zuiko staring at my aroused package from a not-safe distance of eight feet. Her mouth opened but she didn't become slack-jawed but did salivate slightly and started licking her lips -- that was a look I knew. It was Scout who broke the spell.

"OH MY GOD!" she gasped loudly. "You are huge!" Even the housekeeper scampered out of the kitchen (part of it opened with French doors onto the poolside).

"¡Oh, Dios mío," the mature Hispanic lady ogled, "Y su padre es tan pequeña."

"Really?" I looked at her disbelieving.

"Sí, su pene es como una termita's," she confirmed. Apparently Dad did not give me my cock size; he was hung like a termite - whoa.

"Maria -- back in the kitchen," Zuiko said, trying to command the situation. "Cybil go to your room; he is your brother for Pity's sake!"

"Mom, we were about to have shakes and smoothies," Cybil protested.

"That's what I'm worried about," Zuiko snapped. "And you, Daniel, what is the meaning of dressing like this?"

"This is the only swimsuit I own," I growled back. "I haven't lived a millionaire's lifestyle, Zuiko, so I don't have ten of everything."

"Well you can't come out dressed like this," she demanded.

"What am I supposed to do?" I pleaded. "I don't have cable which is okay because I don't have a TV, or a phone line because I don't have a phone or mobile, and I don't have a wireless connection so my computer's an expensive typewriter. I've read every book in there, so what's next?"

"That's not my problem," she got all snooty in my face, or would if she wasn't ten inches shorter than me. Instead she thrust herself forward time and time again as she degraded me about, my criminal background, the grief I'd caused her, my father, and the shame my sister must then go through with a criminal relative living in the house.

"I don't live in the house," I pointed out, "You've seen to that. I know what you are doing and it pisses me off, but I'm not going to break either. I'm going to show you, you evil..." I stopped myself from calling her a bitch. Instead I kept my mouth shut.

I got back to my shack, dried off and power-upped the old computer. I couldn't reach out anywhere, but I could look up things on my hard drive and that included my Dad's deal to take custody of me for my confinement and an hour later I found it -- Areas of the Premises Restricted from Detainee: None. I had free reign of the house, but to make sure, I needed to make it real.

"Maria," I asked the housekeeper when she brought me dinner, "I'm going to need codes for all the rooms of the house."

"Are you sure about that, Mr. Duke?" she inquired cautiously. I turned and showed her the papers then I hit the Translate to Spanish button to ease her reading.

"This is nice," she nodded, "is this program that does this cheap?"

"Maria, it is part of the basic system package," I explained. "It costs nothing."

"Oh," she mused. "Oh, I like that; no one has done that for me before. My English is just fine but I know some others who would find documents translated to Spanish to be very useful."

"No problem Maria," I smiled. "Most documents sent out are on-line too and you can demand they send you a copy. Translating it to Spanish is free and you are ready to go. I'll show you where to go in your directory so you can show others."

"You are white," Maria smirked, "so why do you do this?"

"Maria, the college my Dad sent me to was one step above a community college, there were a lot of us poor kids there and sadly a large number of poor kids are bi-lingual with better Spanish than English," I shrugged.

"I will get you your own code," Maria nodded. "If she tries to cancel your code...nah, I'll just set you up with a Master Code to avoid all that."