Kyle's Home

The trio entered Kyle's modest home, Kyle sprawling on the couch. Diane, despite her beauty was starting to seem somewhat disheveled. "Lord, I would kill for a shower!" She exclaimed, exhaling. Her breasts heaved with the exhale. Tyler smiled, "Go ahead, I can take care of Kyle for a bit." Diane nodded gratefully, oblivious to Tyler's smirk as she disappeared down the hall. The sound of running water soon followed. As soon as she was gone, Tyler lunged at Kyle, grabbing him by the collar. "If you think that you can touch my mom like you did at the hospital, you're gravely mistaken."

Kyle grinned through the pain. "It looks like somebody's jealous." From inside the bathroom, Diane sighed under the warm water. "Y'know, your Mom sighed exactly like that when I grabbed her ass." Kyle sneered. Tyler shot back, "Shut up or else!"

Kyle raised an eyebrow, "Or else what?" His voice dripped mock innocence. "You'll tell Diane? Go ahead—she'll just hug you and call you 'sweetie.'" The distant shower spray intensified, muffling Diane’s off-key humming from down the hall. Tyler’s grip tightened, knuckles pressing into Kyle’s collarbone. Tyler hissed, breath hot against Kyle’s face. "Touch Mom again, and I’ll turn the inside of your mom's bra into a public space."

Kyle masked his annoyance, "At least my mom wears a bra! When I get my hands on your mom, every man in town will know exactly what her pussy looks like!" Tyler shoved him deeper into the cushions, pain lancing through Kyle's ribs. "Try it," Tyler breathed, eyes flickering toward the hallway. "I'll film Diane sucking me off while she's too dumb to even remember your name." The vulgar threat hung thick in the air, mingling with the scent of steam drifting from the bathroom.

Kyle escalated his threat, voice sharp. "I know some old war veterans that would love to fuck a dumb bimbo like Lydia." Tyler frowned, "You've gone too far," and as if he'd summoned it, Diane called from the bathroom. "Tyler, my robe has gotten wet. Could you please get me something to wear?" Tyler grinned.

He rifled through Diane’s drawers, pulling out a tiny, bleach-stained tank top and a frayed miniskirt. His smirk deepened when he found a neon green thong tangled beneath socks. Holding them up like trophies, Tyler whispered, "Your mom’s about to give me a free show." Kyle struggled to rise—ribs screaming—but Tyler shoved him back. "Stay." He sauntered down the hall, knocking softly. "Diane? I found clothes."

The bathroom door cracked open, steam billowing out. Diane’s wet fingers curled around the edge. "Oh, Tyler! You’re my hero." She reached blindly, her soap-slicked arm brushing his wrist as she took the clothes. Kyle craned his neck, catching a glimpse of her bare hip before the door clicked shut. Tyler leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes glued to the gap under the door. Kyle heard the rustle of fabric, Diane’s muffled curse as she stumbled. "Damn skirt’s too tight."

Tyler’s grin was razor-edged. "Need help?"

Tyler’s smirk widened. "Need a hand?" he offered loudly. A pause. Then, a hesitant voice: "Would you, dear?" Tyler shoved the door open before Kyle could protest. Diane stood tangled in the miniskirt, fabric bunched around her thighs. The tank top hung loose, revealing the heavy curve of her breasts beneath damp skin. Her hair dripped onto her shoulders. "It keeps sticking," she sighed, tugging futilely. "Could you... pull it up?" Tyler’s gaze lingered on the strip of neon green lace clinging low on her hips—the thong he’d chosen. Kyle watched, fists clenched, as Tyler gripped the skirt’s hem. His knuckles pressing into Diane's plentiful ass as he yanked upward. The fabric snapped into place, impossibly high. Diane gasped, wobbling. Tyler steadied her, hands sliding deliberately to her waist. "Better?" His thumb traced the dip above her hipbone. Diane giggled. "Much! You’re so strong, Ty."

Tyler positioned himself behind Diane, gripping at her undone zipper. Kyle could see his rival’s reflection in the fogged mirror—eyes fixed on Diane’s exposed back. Tyler tugged the zipper slowly, inch by inch, his fingers grazing the dimples above her ass cheeks. Each touch lingered. Diane shivered, shifting her weight. "It’s cold," she murmured, arching unconsciously as his palm flattened against the small of her back to "steady" her. Kyle saw Tyler’s fingers slip lower, brushing the top edge of her thong. Diane sighed, a soft sound Kyle knew Tyler would replay later. Tyler’s breath hitched. His knuckles pressed deeper, tracing the cleft of her ass through thin fabric as he dragged the zipper higher. Diane’s breath caught when his thumb slipped under the waistband, a fleeting, intimate contact masked by the rasping zip. "There," he whispered, voice thick. His hand rested possessively on her hip, fingers splayed across her ass. Diane turned, oblivious, her breasts straining against the tank top. "You’re a lifesaver!" she chirped.

Kyle’s ribs throbbed with every shallow breath. Tyler guided Diane toward the living room, arm draped low on her waist. Diane leaned into him, the miniskirt riding up with each step. Kyle caught flashes of neon green. Tyler paused near the couch, a casual hand sliding down to pat Diane’s ass—lingering. "Kyle needs rest," Tyler declared, steering her away. Diane nodded, swaying. Her nipples hardened against the damp fabric. She shuffled toward the kitchen, humming. Tyler watched her go, eyes locked on her ass. Then he whirled, stalking Kyle. "See that?" He jerked his chin toward Diane’s retreating silhouette. "She’s mine for the week. Every moan, every bend… recorded." Kyle dug his nails into the couch cushion. Tyler crouched, voice a venomous whisper. "Mess with my Mom again, and I’ll make sure Diane here dances nude on our lawn. For the neighbors."

Diane called from the kitchen, oblivious. "Tyler! Honey? Could you help open this pickle jar?" Tyler grinned. "Duty calls," he murmured. Kyle watched Tyler stride away, hips swaying. Rage coiled in his gut—cold, precise. He’d make Tyler **** on his smirk. Lydia was the key. Tyler’s mom. Fragile, eager… dumb enough to walk straight into a trap. Kyle imagined her tangled in silk sheets, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his. He’d make Tyler watch. Film it. ****-feed Tyler the footage bite by bite.

Painfully, the hours slipped by. Eventually, it was time for Tyler to leave. "I'll check in on Kyle tomorrow, OK?" he said, giving Diane a pat on her left breast. Diane smiled warmly, "You're such a gentleman!" Tyler grinned at Kyle as he walked out the door. Kyle waited until Tyler's car engine faded into the distance. Diane was in the kitchen washing dishes, humming softly, her miniskirt riding high as she bent over the sink. Kyle pushed himself off the couch, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. He hobbled to his room. It was time to formulate a plan.

Tomorrow, he would enact his ****.

Tyler was going to regret his life.

Lydia would be his.