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FAMILY TIES: All Juiced Up
By Uncle Mike


The Keaton kitchen was in chaos. Mounds of canvas and nylon covered the table.
Boxes; Tupperware of every size, shape and color; and a couple of red and
white coolers buried the counters, with cereal bowls and coffee cups scattered
here and there in any available niche. Steven, the father, was patiently
trying to run down a checklist while juggling little Andrew. He was holding
the child slightly away from him, hoping to keep the drool off his red plaid
shirt. Alex, their oldest son, was loudly explaining that he hated wildlife
or anything else with the word "wild" in it. Daughter Jennifer was trying to
prop her eyes open in one corner; in another, Mallory and her boyfriend, Nick,
were covertly cuddling.

It was 5 a.m. Only a faint rosy glow came through the windows, and that was
from the lights Steven had forgotten to turn off when he came back from
gassing up.

Finally getting down to the last item on the list, Steven looked up.

"Alex, quiet down. Your mother's still asleep."

"Lucky her," said Jennifer, a pert blond in her early teens.

"Now, kids, you know your Mom would love to go with us, but she has that
project to finish up, and her cold is getting worse. If she gets a little rest
she'll be fine."

"Shouldn't I stay home to take care of her?" Alex, a short young man with a
boyish grin, looked hopeful.

"Take care? You?" Mallory, the willowy daughter, uncoiled herself from Nick. A
short exchange of the usual Keaton insults followed before both sides retired
to neutral corners.

"At least Nick isn't complaining," Steven noted smugly as he began to gather
up the supplies.

"Yeah, that's right, Mr. Keaton," the scuzzy looking boy answered. Then, in a
whisper, to Mallory: "Yeah, I'm not complaining, because I'm gonna be blitzed
the whole time. You won't forget to take the juice, will you?"

"Me?" Mallory whispered back, offended. "Forget?"

"Sorry," her boyfriend said with a shrug. "But I put a whole bottle of vodka
in that OJ and it's the only thing that's gonna get me through this whole
family camping thing."

Before Mallory could answer, Jennifer dumped a box in her hands and gave Nick
a picnic basket. "Come on," the younger girl said sleepily. "The sooner we get
this stuff packed, the sooner I can go to sleep in the back seat."

The morning sun shone dimly through the clouds, casting a faint light on empty
kitchen counters when Elyse Keaton stumbled into the room later that day. She
gathered her ratty blue bathrobe closer around her as she looked out on the
gray sky, and sniffled. She pulled a Kleenex out of one pocket and wiped her
nose, then brushed a hand through her hair. Her eyes were red and her eyelids
hung low.

Elyse shuffled to the refrigerator and opened the door, smacking her lips
faintly as she stared. "Great. They took the juice," she muttered to herself
as she closed the door. "I didn't need any vitamin C, anyway. I'm perfectly
fine." She let loose a honking sneeze.

Out came a Kleenex. From another pocket she pulled a couple of bottles of cold
medicine. Squinting to read the instructions on the sides, she poured several
pills into her hand and downed them with a glass of water.

On her way back to the living room, she stopped short. Sitting on a side
counter, almost hidden by several now- empty cereal bowls, was a huge bottle
of what looked like... she opened the lid and sniffed -- nothing, too stuffed
up. She poured a small glass and downed it. Yes, it tasted like it. Orange
juice! Salvation! She gathered the jug up in her arms, clutching a plastic
tumbler in one hand, and pushed through the door.

Dropping onto the couch in the living room, she poured herself a tumblerful of
juice, switched on the TV, and started watching. As she swallowed a big gulp,
her eyes widened a bit. She held the tumbler up and examined it more closely,
then smacked her lips and filled it up to the brim again.

Skippy Handelman knocked on the Keaton's kitchen door several times and called
out. Finally he tried the handle; it opened and he walked in.

He called out again as he went through the kitchen. "Anyone home? Alex?
Mallory? Mrs. Keaton?" His calls got no reply. He stopped and looked around,
then smacked his head. "That's right, the camping trip! I guess it really was
this weekend, after all. Darn."

He turned and went back to the outside door, and then stopped again. It was
unlocked, he remembered. Slowly, quietly, he crept back through the kitchen
and pushed open the door to the living room. It creaked. "Ssshhh!" he hushed
as he slipped through. On his way past the counters he had picked up a
spatula, which he now raised threateningly above his head.

A few steps into the room, though, he lowered it. Mrs. Keaton was lying flat
on the couch, one bare leg fallen out of her robe and down to the floor. Next
to her, on the coffee table, was a half-empty jug of orange juice; some
architectural renderings were scattered on the floor around her.

"Oops! Sorry, Mrs. Keaton, I -- uh..." Here, his voice fell to a whisper.
"I'll just go, now, OK? And I'll lock the door on my way out."

Before he could get through the door to the kitchen, a weak voice called out.

"Huh? Whozzat?"

He turned back to the couch. Mrs. Keaton was struggling to a sitting position,
blinking her eyes rapidly and scrunching up her face in a squint.

"Steven?" she said, her voice gaining strength. "Is that you?"

Skippy was shorter and broader than her husband, and younger and dumpier, and
he had no beard. But he was wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans.

He took a few steps toward her. "No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, Skippy. See?"

"Steven? What are you doing here?"

"No, he's gone camping..."

"That's right, you went camping. Where are the kids?"

"I told you, camping." Skippy sat down beside her on the couch, bobbing his
head in an attempt to keep it within her shaky line of sight.

"Oh, they're still camping?" There was a giggle in her voice. "So it's you and
me alone? You romantic devil, you." Mrs. Keaton fell forward, dropping into
Skippy's lap. He pushed her back up.

"No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, Skippy, remember?"

"I remember, Steven," she said. "It's only been -- uhhhh..." she glanced
around wildly to find a clock, then gave up. "Sixeven hours. Right?" She began
to topple sideways and Skippy grabbed her.

She grabbed him back, planting a wet kiss about an inch to the left of his
lips.

"Come on, don' play so hard to get," she said, grabbing his face to steady it
before kissing him deeply, her tongue pressing into the boy's mouth. The sharp
taste of alcohol almost made him swoon.

"Mrs. Keaton, I -- I think I better get out of here," he said, trying to rise
from the couch. It was tough to do with her still hanging on to him, almost a
dead weight. "I think you've had too much to drink."

"A drink? No, thanks, I'll pass," she said. "I've got that cold and I
shouldn't drink when I've taken mecidine -- menicid... mega... drugs."

As Skippy continued to struggle, Elyse tugged at his pants, finally undoing
the belt, and began to paw at the zipper. "Come on, Steven," she said, taking
an exaggerated sigh, "don't be such an old duddy-fuddy. I want you!"

The boy finally got loose and jumped to his feet. His pants stayed behind,
clutched in the older woman's hands.

He began to hop away, his pants falling to his ankles and his baggy polka-dot
boxers flapping. Mrs. Keaton released her grip and rose, shakily. Her robe
fell open, revealing her still- trim body, lush curves held in check only by a
filmy black bra and a silken pair of black panties. "Whazzamatter?" she cried,
an edge in her voice. "I'm not good enough for you?" Angrily, she tugged and
pulled at her bra, finally popping it loose. Her breasts bounced free,
drooping only slightly.

Skippy stared, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. He looked up to see
Mrs. Keaton standing over him, legs apart. She had stripped off her panties
and he was staring straight into her cunt. He began to mumble incoherently.

Struggling to stay upright herself, Elyse hauled the boy to his feet and began
to drag him to the couch. "That's it, Stevie," she said, her voice rising into
an almost hysterical giggle. "Whoo! I'm feeling a dittle lizzy! You must be
getting to me!"

Then her legs gave way and she fell backward onto the couch, pulling Skippy
down with her. The springs groaned as they plunged to the cushions.

Stunned at first, Skippy quickly tried to get back up, but succeeded only in
rubbing his crotch against Mrs. Keaton's while trying to get out of her
entangling arms.

"Not so fast, Steven," she cried. "I need a little foreplay, lover!"

In the struggle, Skippy's rapidly stiffening cock began to poke out of the top
of his boxers. Mrs. Keaton's hand brushed against it and would have moved on,
but Skippy moaned and alerted her. She fumbled a bit but finally got a grip
and began to rub his shaft briskly while reaching up with a flailing foot to
try to tug down his shorts.

"Mrs. Keaton! Mrs. Keaton!" Skippy shouted. His struggles were made more
difficult because he pulled back whenever he found himself touching her naked
body. "Please, Mrs. Keaton! It's me, Skippy! Don't do this!"

He continued struggling for several minutes, arms flapping, before he realized
she had given up. He looked down: her eyes were closed and she was snoring
softly.

Skippy began to rise, supporting himself on his hands. As he did, his shorts
fell to his knees and his cock sprang free, bobbing stiffly. He stopped
halfway up.

The struggle had popped several of the buttons on his shirt, which now hung
crookedly down, one pocket slightly torn. One tail of the shirt hung over Mrs.
Keaton's crotch. He flipped it aside.

The older woman was naked beneath him, her legs spread wide, opening up her
pink, wet pussy. Her flat stomach and enticing tits were heaving slightly with
each breath. The ratty bathrobe was draped beneath her, the sleeves ridden up
her arms. Her round, soft face was back, mouth slightly open.

Skippy held himself up for about a minute and then began to move. Down.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself back onto Mrs. Keaton. His stiff cock
dropped on top of her slit, and he rubbed it back and forth while nuzzling her
tits.

She didn't move, and made no sound except the quiet snores.

Tentatively, Skippy reached down and took his cock in his hand, guiding it
into her opening. It took several tries before he could get the placement
right, and she was still slightly dry so at first it hurt a bit. Then her
juices and his pre-cum began to flow, lubricating her entrance.

At last he slid his cock into the older woman's tunnel, slowly at first and
then driving it all the way in, in one abrupt lunge. Then he stopped, holding
his breath. Still Mrs. Keaton was unmoving.

"You have a great body, Mrs. Keaton," Skippy said, beginning to stroke his
cock inside her. "And a really good cunt. I sure do like fucking you." He
giggled a bit at his own boldness. "Do you like fucking me? I think you do."
He kept up the tempo, sliding his rigid member into her up to the hilt and
then slowly pulling out.

"I'm gonna fuck you good," Skippy said in a whisper, his pace increasing. Then
all at once his body stiffened and a surge of cum shot out of him and splashed
into Mrs. Keaton's cunt. "Ohhh, that was good, Mrs. -- Elyse," he sighed,
collapsing onto her body as his muscles became limp.

He had been lying there only a minute when he sensed movement. His eyes were
only inches from Mrs. Keaton's when her eyelids begin to part, and then flew
open as she sputtered, "Skippy! What are you doing!"

She looked down, down at their naked bodies, Skippy's deflated cock still
resting in her cunt. "Oh, my God! Skippy, what have you done?"

"But, Mrs. Keaton, you asked me to! I mean, you asked Mr. Keaton, because you
though he was me, I mean I was he, I mean him, and you..."

Elyse's eyes grew even wider. "What are you talking about? Skippy, you can't
do this! Get off me!"

"OK," he said, and he did begin to rise. But his cock had begun to stiffen
again, growing longer and thicker and pressing against the walls of the older
woman's pussy.

"What -- what are you -- stop that!"

"I can't," Skippy moaned, and even as he rose up on his hands his hips started
bucking, driving his cock into Mrs. Keaton's slippery wet tunnel.

"No! No!" She tried to push him off, but couldn't move his greater weight. The
boy's cock pistoned into her soaking wet cunt, making squishing noises as it
hit bottom and their pubic patches ground together.

"Oh, God, nooooo," Elyse began to sob, beating her fists weakly against
Skippy's chest.

"Mrs. Keaton, I'm sorry, I can't stop now, it feels too good," the boy moaned,
bending down to lick at her erect nipples.

Her writhings to get away only excited him more and he drove himself into her
harder and harder. Beads of sweat appeared on his back and began to trickle
down. His breathing grew harsh as he pounded his dick home. "It's so good,
it's so darn good, oh, Mrs. Keaton, fuck me! Fuck me!"

"No, Skippy, please," she begged, wincing each time his hard shaft lifted out
and drove down again into her.

"I can't!" he shouted. "I can't stop. Mrs. Keaton, I love you! I want to fuck
you! I want to put it all in you and fill you with my cum! Take it all! Take
it all!"

"Oh, please, stop, stop, sto... aaaah... aaaaaaahhhh... aaaAAAAAAHHHHHHH MY
GOD!" Her slim body began to shake and tremble beneath him. "I'm cummminnngg!
AAAAAHHHHH!"

Her movements sent shivers through Skippy's own body, but his cock remained
hard and he continued to drive it into her cunt even as her pussy muscles
rippled around it.

Elyse gasped for her breath. "No! No! No more! NoooooooohhhhhhAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Again her body quaked as a second orgasm shot through her like lightning, and
another. As the last subsided Skippy's tempo suddenly increased and he began
to cry out. "Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! I'm gonna cum!" His goo jetted into the
older woman's sodden cunt and oozed out around his shaft as Skippy made a few,
final lunges.

He lay atop her for several minutes while his cock shriveled. Finally he rose,
feeling suddenly chilled as the cool air of the room hit his wet, sloppy
crotch.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Keaton, I really am," he said, but when he looked down at her
Elyse was passed out again. Gently he pulled her robe back around her and
covered her with a quilt. Looking around, he found her bra and panties on the
floor and tucked them next to her under the quilt before putting on his own
clothes and going out into the kitchen.

Just as he swung open the door from the living room, the outside door opened
and the rest of the Keaton household, plus Nick, shuffled in. Their hair was
plastered to their heads, their clothes hung in droopy folds, streams of water
pouring off them and puddling on the floor.

"Hi, Keatons," Skippy said brightly. "You're back early, aren't you?"

Steven looked at darkly. "It's raining."

Alex chimed in. "And the tent fell apart."

"Because Alex put the pegs in wrong," said Jennifer.

"And Dad locked us out of the car," Mallory explained.

"With the keys inside," Nick noted.

"Yes, and we wouldn't even be back here if Nick didn't have an unusual ability
to open locked car doors," Mr. Keaton said sharply, looking back at his
daughter's boyfriend.

"Sounds like you had a great time," Skippy said, backing his way around them
carefully to avoid the water. "Mrs. Keaton's in the living room. I think she
needs her rest. This cold must have her really woozy; she was saying some
crazy things. Bye!" He lunged out the door, grabbing his jacket from the
counter where he'd dropped it on the way in.

Mr. Keaton tossed aside his sodden coat and hat and made his way to the living
room, trailing pools of water.

"How are you feeling, honey?" he said as he came up to the couch.

"Huh? Is that you, Skippy? Oh, no, please, I can't take any more," she mumbled
weakly.

Mr. Keaton stared down at her, confused. "You look like you could use some
more juice," he said, pouring her a glass. "A little vitamin C will do you
good."

As he lifted the tumbler to her lips, Nick came through the door. "Mr.
Keaton!" he called out when he saw the jug. As Steven turned around, Nick took
a step closer and saw that the jug was now empty. He stopped.

"Well," Steven said, testily, "what is it?"

"Uh, nothing," Nick said, stalling. "I mean... uh... thanks for the trip," he
mumbled, backing out the door.

    

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