Of course, no one had been excited for it—tolerated was nowhere near the same as legitimate popularity—but Lauren had enough pull to convince the girls (at his urging) to come, and invite friends. When he got back out of the locker room, he found Brittney waiting for him looking to be practicing a little tolerance of her own towards the swarm of horny high school boys who had surrounded her in his absence. As DJ slipped an arm around her waist and extricated her, he told her admirers if they wanted more Brittney, to swing by Morgan’s address.
In the parking lot, he was distracted by the long legs and short skirts of the away team’s own squad; on impulse, he hopped aboard their bus before it departed and, with a little nudging, commandeered it. The morale of the sweaty, demoralized cheerleaders and football players seemed buoyed a bit by his promises of an epic party ahead.
As the bus made its way towards his house, he had the driver swing by the liquor store, where he and a few sturdy linemen made off with a couple thousand dollars in booze, courtesy of the newly-tolerant staff. With his largesse flowing down the gullets and aisles of the bus, they made their way home.
There were already more than a hundred people there, from Lauren and her squadmates, Jody and Brianne and their friends, and myriad boyfriends and hopefuls; his bus doubled it, and it continued growing through the evening. DJ was beyond buzzed by the time he arrived and the encouragement of grateful cheerleaders had him good and hammered soon after that.
What he remembered came in flashes, largely courtesy of Morgan, whom he half-recalled appointing as his official photographer of the evening. She went through the footage with him over breakfast as she nursed him through his hangover.
There was a picture of him holding Jody up by her ass in the pool, her legs wrapped around him and her bikini pulled to the side with his faced buried in the endless cleavage. It was unclear if he was fucking her due to the water blurring their lower halves.
A shot of an equally innebriated Lauren leading Taylor Strehan around the party with a leash clipped around her captain’s neck. Taylor wore nothing but a g-string. The word “bad bitch” was drawn on her back, and in the shot, red handprints on her ass made it clear that her trainer took her job seriously.
Another picture gave evidence of a best-breast competition DJ had thought he’d only dreamed; more than a dozen girls were standing side-by-side in the backyard, all topless, most with scores written on their tummies. In the foreground there were DJ, Brittney, and three guys from the away football team who’d apparently made a good impression on him, serving as judges. He didn’t recognize any of the contestants.
A series of images taken from the foyer aimed at the front door. A police officer and her partner were standing just inside the door; DJ was wearing the male officer’s gun belt as he watched his partner finish unbuttoning her uniform. Each image showed more of the woman’s skin until her small breasts were completely exposed. The second-to-last image was of him doing a body shot off of her; the final one was him kicking the male officer in the butt as they walked out.
(DJ presently had no idea what happened to the gun-belt; it didn’t seem to be anywhere in the house in the morning.)
There was a shot of DJ somehow up on the roof, fucking some girl he thought looked like Brittney from the thighs splayed out to either side of him but he couldn’t be sure. Brittney didn’t remember either. Him crowd-surfing on a group of people kind enough to catch him when he’d fallen (or jumped?) down. A somewhat blurry one of him fucking Taylor’s mouth; it was unclear whether there was a tear leaking out or if it was just a spot of the glitter decorating her naked body. A selfie of him motorboating a topless Morgan, and another of him doing the same to Lauren, a third where he knelt grinning maniacally in front of both half-naked women. A shot of him staring wide-eyed and startled from behind the wheel of the bus where he’d crashed it into a neighbor’s tree two houses down.
The bus was still there in the morning, but he had no idea where the driver had gone.
He’d woken up that morning in Morgan’s bed surrounded by scattered tits and ass. Brittney, Brianne and Jody were all in bed with him. Making his way down the hall, he found Morgan in the spare room passed out with a football player, and Lauren in her own bedroom with Taylor—still on her leash—curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed.
He released the poor cheer squad captain first. Her clothes were lost somewhere in the night, and while DJ would’ve been fine letting her borrow something of his step-sister’s, Lauren had no such inclination toward mercy for a girl who’d been a thorn in her side all through high school. Taylor wound up staggering out of the house in an ill-fitting cheerleading uniform from the rival school left behind somehow, barefoot and without the accompanying panties.
Jody and Brianne soon headed out with Lauren to hit their favorite coffee shop and nurse hangovers of their own; evidently things were now mended between them now that Lauren had succumbed to DJ’s charmless wiles as well. Morgan was the only one in the house not hung over, but with the house and yard looking like it had been struck by a hurricane, she had several days’ work ahead of her in undoing the damage. She made breakfast for everyone once they were all up by noon or so, showed DJ the photos he hadn’t remembered ordering her to take. (He took leave of his self-pity long enough to wonder at how it must have felt for her to stand idly by as hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars of property damage was done to her home. Then the jackhammer in his skull robbed him of his spare fucks to give.)
Sleeping and hydrating was the way of the day for him and Brittney, who was feeling minimally better. By evening, the two were feeling well enough to make the trek back to school. But first, he had to say his goodbyes, beginning with a text to Lauren, instructing her to come back home to send him off.
He approached Morgan, who was shuffling along doggedly sweeping up broken glass from countless shattered bottles in the back yard. She’d made good progress; several dozen square feet were already clear, and only a few hundred more remained. As DJ hadn’t set a wardrobe for her, she was clad in her mom-jeans and a hoodie. It was strange, seeing her dressed like her normal self and not some sexed-up parody of a maid.
He had a momentary instinct to punish her for it just for fun, but shrugged it off. She’d been through enough to satisfy him for now. Enough that he even pitied her. A little.
“We’re heading out pretty soon, Morgan. Just wanted to let you know. You can have your bed back, put your stuff back in your drawers.”
A flush of relief painted her features. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can knock it off with the ‘sir’ stuff, now. No more threat hanging over your head, either.”
“Very well, s—DJ.”
“And all that stuff I said before, about being mad about financial stuff and all… don’t worry about it. Spend your money however you wanna spend it. I can take care of myself now. Do what’s best for you and Lauren. And have some fun. And for God’s sake, hire some professionals to clean all this shit up or you’ll break your back doing it.”
She laughed, but it sounded forced; DJ hugged her anyway. Before this past week, they’d seldom (if ever) engaged in tender physical contact, but now, riding high from the greatest week of his life, the neglected step-son wanted to leave on the best terms possible. “Sorry I pushed you so hard. I guess I was just…” Angry? Bitter? Vengeful? Power-mad? “Well, whatever I was. Sorry.”
She didn’t respond at first. With her warm curves in his arms, he considered he’d not have a chance to touch this again for a while, and slid his hands down into the back of her jeans and fondled her ass, then strained against the tightness of the fabric to briefly tease her pussy. “Apology accepted, sir,” she squeaked as he slid in a finger.