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Grease Monkey Brothers Ch. 5 – Take Me To Church

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Chapter 5


In the morning, Drew was standing at the foot of the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Karen muttered, covering herself with the quilt. Out of the corner of her eye, she had secretly peeked to make sure that Gunner was already gone.

“I scared him up, already,” Drew said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, poutingly, as she snatched Gunner’s pillow to snuggle.

It still smelled of his after-shave.

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Go to hell,” she grumbled.

“It’s Sunday,” he said.

“So?” she asked. “It’s half-day on Sunday. Go back to bed!”

“We go to Church the first half.”

“How nice for you,” she rolled up under the covers.

“Ma will be real disappointed if you don’t come,” he said, amused.

“Too bad for Ma,” she said.

Then he pulled the quilt off in one, solid yank, plunging her into an ocean of icy cold morning air.

“Oh – my – God! Fuck you – so much!” she swore.

“I don’t like to see Ma get disappointed.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she said.

“Figure something out,” he said. “I’m coming back up to get you in four minutes. If you’re not up, I make Gunner spill the beans about where he spent the night.”

She peeked at him over her trembling shoulder with a painful too-goddamn-early squint.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said.

“I got nothing to lose, darlin’,” he grinned. “Four minutes.”


She had a red halter-top that matched a knee-length black pencil skirt, some dark pantyhose and a pair of Kenneth Cole pumps. That was as much “Church-girl” as she could conjure. When she climbed into Drew’s Range Rover, she still raised his eyebrow and a whistle.

“Thank you, asshole. Tell me I look pretty,” she said as she pulled down the make-up mirror and rolled out a tube of red lipstick.

“No doubt about that,” he laughed.

They pulled up to the house, first, and everyone else was gone.

“Just a minute,” he said and hopped out to run inside. After a minute, he came back out with a wide, sheer scarf.

“Ma’s. In case your shoulders get cold,” he said, handing it to her.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“You’ve not been around a lot of Mormons,” he said with a grin. “Bare shoulders at Church and you might as well be walking around with your tits swaying in the breeze.”

He was still laughing as she snatched the shawl-grade scarf from his hands and wrapped it around her bare shoulders.

“Are all Mormon men as coarse as you?” she scowled at him.

“No,” he said. “Some of them are faggots.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said.

But he only laughed.

This was going to be a nightmare.


God, Mormons went to Church for forever! And Drew had not been kidding. Even with Ma’s wrap around her shoulders, Karen had turned every eye in the sanctuary from the moment that she walked in. And with it, she drew either lusty stares or hideously judgmental scowls.

Gunner had saved them a couple of places at the end of a long pew near the front of the sanctuary, which was s quiet as a Quaker’s meeting – however quiet that was.

Mr. Groesbeck sat there with his wife, a big-boned lady in a kind of prairie dress with a beautiful, warm smile. Karen smiled back and showed her the scarf with the mouthing of the word Sorry.

‘Ma’ winked and gave her the “OK” sign with her fingers. At least one woman in the building was friendly.

The sermons were long and boring and there were several of them. Karen could not believe that these people sat through, this every week.

Behind them, taking up the most of their own pew, was Seth with a wagonload of little children and a wife who was struggling to keep them all in line.

Gunner was sure happy to see her and put his arm along the back of the bench where she sat.

She saw other men in the congregation doing the same with women who – it could only be presumed – were their wives. Karen smiled at him as she sat between him and Drew.

After nearly an hour, they stood up and Karen could not feel more relieved to be getting out of the horrible place.

“I’m Dottie,” Mrs. Groesbeck introduced herself.

Karen smiled as she accepted the big hug that Dottie had offered her. Dottie got a closer look at the halter-top and beamed as brightly as she could muster.

“Well, isn’t that just a lovely color on you!” she exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Karen said, flushing red to match the dress.

“Well, you’ll come to class with me,” Dottie said.

“Class?” Karen said, as brightly as she could.

“Why, Sunday School!” Dottie said way too bubbly.

Karen’s heart sank.

It was almost a half an hour later sitting on uncomfortable steel chairs in an elbow-to-elbow classroom with Mr. Groesbeck and “Dottie” when Karen excused herself to the bathroom and immediately made her way out to the parking lot.

She needed to come up for air. She had to actually physically breathe to get her composure. As she did, she smelled something that she had not expected: smoke. Pot-smoke.

She turned to find Seth, looking sharp in a very nice silk-fiber-lined three-piece suit, leaning against the side of a giant satellite dish, puffing on a joint. His suit was certainly a change of pace from the regular Men’s Wearhouse woolen business suits that the other men wore, including his father. Karen’s curiosity was piqued.

What’s more, she hadn’t noticed before how nicely he had cleaned up. His hair was neat and styled nicely. His suit-coat was stuffed in the crook of his elbow. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal the tattoos on his forearms. Indeed, not at all the vision of a clean-cut Mormon boy that Gunner gave off.

He looked at her with a seductive face that trapped her.

Then he turned back to where he could duck behind the satellite dish.

Karen turned to go back inside. But she couldn’t.

She approached him behind the large, antiquated satellite dish.

He looked her over from head-to-toe with an approving nod. But he said nothing.

So she said nothing.

He offered her a hit on his joint. She took it.

The flavor of the pot was subtle and the effect was strong. He obviously knew where to get the good stuff. She let the lovely smoke curl in her lungs and closed her eyes as she held it in there and then slowly let it go.

He was impressed, she could tell.

They stood wordlessly for several minutes as they smoked the joint in turns.

He checked his watch – a very pretty Breitling – and turned to go into yet another session of Church meetings. He sadly snubbed the last of the butt out with the toe of his italian leather shoe.

What a mystery!

Then he checked her out, again. It should have made her uncomfortable but it felt good. A little too good, in fact.

Dirty, dirty man, she thought.

Then he put his coat back on and walked back inside.

A mystery, indeed.


After Church was finally over, Karen was certain that she would catch a terribly infectious cold before the next Sunday rolled around. Drew drove her back to the house, which was very nearby.

“You can’t take me back to the shop?” she asked. “I’m famished. What time is it?”

“It’s one o’clock,” he said, turning the engine off.

“Can we at least go grab some food?” she asked. “Please?”

“This is Nephi,” he said. “Nothing here is open on Sundays and we would definitely be in trouble for Sabbath-breaking.”

“Jesus,” Karen laughed.

“Exactly,” he said. “Besides, Ma’s roast will be done, soon. This is what Sundays are really all about, around here.”

He wasn’t kidding, either. The house was warm and full with the scent of baking meat, carrots, onions, tomatoes, cornbread, and another smell which Karen would soon find out was a Pineapple upside-down cake made in something called a Dutch oven.

There was an actual apple pie cooling on a windowsill next to an open window! Karen had never thought that she would see that in real life, anywhere!

Children were everywhere and there was no time to learn their names or meet all of them.

Mr. Groesbeck was in a big recliner in the living room watching the highlights of what sports he had missed during Church. He was pretty much the most stereotypical example that she could imagine of a fatherly couch potato. She had not been brought up with a man around the house, so she found the whole thing rather novel, actually.

Dottie emerged out of nowhere, now wearing a red-and-white gingham apron that had walked right off of June Cleaver in an episode of Leave it To Beaver.

“Hungry, my dear?” Dottie said in a way that was so perky that it didn’t really fit a woman her size.

“Famished!” Karen confessed, reminding herself silently to not confess to Dottie that the older woman’s son had gotten her high as a kite while everyone else was getting high on Jesus. Also: to not confess that she taken both of that woman’s other sons inside her body. Yes. Those were things to keep to herself, she decided.

“Give me a hand, will you, my love?” Dottie asked.

“Of course!” Karen said.

The kitchen was a disaster of pots and pans and dirty mixing bowls. Flour hung in the air from the baking of something. Desserts were laid out on one counter and food on an enormous island. Standing at a butcher block was the woman that Seth had his own arm around at Church.

“Angie,” Dottie said, causing the other woman to turn and acknowledge Karen.

“Hi! I’m Angela,” she said with an extended hand. She was a pretty brunette, if a little homely. Baby weight had added to her cheeks and chin and boobs. She was fit enough to be attractive but definitely emitting a strong Mom vibe.

“Karen,” she said with a smile and a polite handshake. “You’re so pretty! I had no idea.”
Angela playfully stuck her tongue out, “my husband can’t see it, anymore.”

“That isn’t true,” came a bored man’s voice from behind Karen.

Seth came in and swiped a foil-wrapped baked potato from the island countertop. He set a tin of green-flecked brownies on the dessert counter and tossed the hot potato between his hands as he walked right back out, again.

Karen was set to work making a potato salad, which she did with glee. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she could handle potato salad. Angela and Dottie talked about the Sunday School lesson and asked Karen how she liked it. Karen was still buzzing a little from the hits she had taken on Seth’s joint, earlier, so she gave short answers and excused herself by saying that she didn’t grow up in a “Churchy family”.

“That’s too bad,” Dottie said and – much to Karen’s surprise – she wrapped her flabby arm around Karen’s shoulders and said: “you’re welcome in ours, dear.”

That made Karen feel wonderful. But not half as nice as when Angela, armed with three service bowls, leaned in to her.

“I just love your top!” Angela whispered.

Karen believed her and smiled warmly as she picked up the potato salad.

“Oh my God! Thank you for saying something,” she whispered with a relieved laugh. “I was worried I’d start sweating like a whore in Church!”

Angela laughed out loud at that.

Finally, they sat at the Dining Room table: Mr. Groesbeck at one end and Dottie on the other.

Across from Karen sat Seth and next to him sat Angela. Drew snaked the chair next to Karen before Gunner had his chance with it, which earned him a hard punch on the arm.

Gunner sat by his Mom.

They said a blessing that seemed to take forever and then Ma finally spoke the magic words.
“Let’s eat!”

The meal was a feast. The roast was perfectly seasoned and juicy. The vegetables were just fresh enough to be chewable and crunchy and the corn on the cob was already buttered to perfection.

By the time that the pineapple upside-down cake was coming around, everyone was excited.

It was justified. Karen had no sooner put the first bite of it in her mouth before she had demanded that someone pass her a bigger piece before it was all gone.

Mr. Groesbeck beamed with pride as he bragged that the Dutch oven cake was the best thing that he had learned in the Boy Scouts “many moons ago” and his cheeks glowed when Karen touched his arm and generously assured him that she was sure that it couldn’t be “that many moons”.

Still buzzing a little, Karen’s munchies impressed Mr. Groesbeck, who laughed more than once with a boisterous laugh at how much such a tiny thing could eat!

“Oh God!” Karen said, covering her mouth. “You must think I’m such a pig!”

“Nonsense!” Dottie called out. “Gerald! You’re being rude!”

“Alright!” he said with his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry!”

“Karen! You have to try Seth and Angie’s brownies!’ Dottie invited Karen.

Angie shook her head, “no, you really don’t. It’s a travesty that I am going to eat so many of them, myself.”

“I’d love to try one!” Karen said, picking a small square of the green-flecked fudge treats out of the tin.

Karen sank her teeth into the brownie and the flavor was just okay. The mint was strong enough to fill her nose before she had it in her mouth and as she sank her teeth in, she couldn’t help but notice that it felt very thick.

“Mmmm!” she lied. “I’ll have to control myself!”

The conversation swirled around her as she found herself increasingly interested in her little dessert. The second bite was much better. But it seemed to be thicker. Even a little more chocolatey. She could almost sense a river of chocolate goodness that filled her soul with light-heartedness. God, those brownies were remarkable, on second thought.

Drew started doing celebrity impressions and they were a riot. During his Robin Williams “Mork and Mindy” impersonation, Karen’s ribs actually ached from laughing.

Everyone else was just as hysterical. Dottie couldn’t get up, she was laughing so hard and Mr. Groesbeck just went to sleep right in his chair and had to be helped to his recliner by three of the grandkids.

“I don’t – know – why you need to go – anywhere – Miss Daisy…” Drew impersonated Christopher Walken as cast in Morgan Freeman’s part in Driving Miss Daisy.

Karen suddenly slouched in her chair, her shoulders heaving as she laughed red-facedly.

“Miss Daisy, you’re trying to seduce me,” he said, impersonating Dustin Hoffman, this time.

The impersonations weren’t that good, but that just made them funnier.

Karen couldn’t believe how close the floor was. She had no sooner leaned back against the back of her chair with breathless laughter than her knuckles scraped the Persian rug of the dining room.

She took another bite of a brownie, but couldn’t remember if it was her first or her second.

“My God, Angela,” Karen said, covering her mouth so that the chocolate on her teeth didn’t show, “these brownies are amazing and I don’t usually like mint brownies!”

Angela nodded, giddily chewing a bite of her own, and covered her own mouth to say “I can’t take any credit! Seth makes them from scratch. He makes the best brownies.”

Karen smiled at Seth, who smiled in a kind of…wicked way. He locked eyes with her and took another bite of brownie, himself.

Karen’s eyes grew wide. Oh, shit! She thought.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“May I be excused to the little girl’s room?” she said, suddenly very worried.

Seth stood up with his mouth still full and said, “I’m going that way, myself. Come on.”

On the way to the bathroom, her worry blossomed into full-blown panic.

They walked past a room that looked like a bathroom and Seth looked over his shoulder before taking her by the hand and pulling her up a flight of stairs. And then another. The first stairs had a carpet, but she marvelled that the other set of stairs, were made of wood. That set of stairs, ascending from the second floor of the house to another floor, Seth had pulled down out of the ceiling.

That concept of the ceiling-stairs seemed familiar to her but she couldn’t quite place how, at the moment.

It was an attic. A big, spacious attic filled with lifetimes of memories. No sooner were they inside than the staircase that was in the ceiling downstairs magically drew up into the floor of the attic upstairs and Karen couldn’t help but marvel that it was the most amazing feat of engineering that she had ever seen.

God, she was high!

“Are you crazy!” she whispered at him.

Then, Seth kissed her. His lips were firm and his breath was sweet and the pores of his skin were just –

“Whoa!” she said, pushing him away.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “They’re having a blast. No one will suspect a thing. I make those brownies all the time.”

He grabbed her around the waist with his rope-muscled, tattooed arms and kissed her again, tasting her lips as if he could drink the softness out of them.

She pushed him away, again.

“Nuh-uh. No, sir. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t be a prude,” he said.

She held her hands up between them and stumbled to where she could lean against something big that she thought was a bureau or a beam or a…

It was made of wood, whatever it was…

It was a dead tree. A tree that was separated from its family forever and that made her feel sad…

“Fuck!” she spit out, grabbing onto her swimming head. “I’m high but not high enough for that, Mister. Back off.”

He chuckled and stepped away.

For a long moment – too long a moment, they stood apart.

“I want you,” he confessed.


“Because you’re beautiful,” he said.

“Your wife is beautiful,” she answered.

“And boring,” he said.

Her jaw dropped open.

“Am I a monster for-” he began.

“Yes!” she said.

THen it was awkward again for a long moment. But before she knew it, she was in his arms.

He reached the back of her halter-top and it instantly floated away. Then her boobs were cold. She looked down to see that they had come out to play.

He leaned down and suckled one of her nipples like a baby.

“Your wife is going to come in any second,” Karen protested.

“She doesn’t care where I am,” Seth said, kissing her neck and gently massaging her breast.

“Stop it,” Karen insisted. But her face tipped against his in spite of her feeble attempt to push him away.

“I’m high,” she said, losing her balance.

He helped her to sit down onto a trunk of some kind and then kissed her again.

“I’m high, too,” he answered.

“I’m not a homewrecker,” she whispered, insistently.

“Then don’t tell anyone,” he said, tipping her softly back off of the trunk onto a soft pile of moth-ruined blankets.

“How do you get the -” she mumbled, losing track of her question as she laid down on a pillowy cloud of homey blankets.

He shrugged. “How do I get good weed? I’m a drug dealer.”

That gave her a cross expression on her face that felt like a million years of bitter angriness that melted from the top of her head down to her chin and then down to her exposed breasts.

“A what?”

He rolled his eyes. “I just modified a few trucks for this guy in Arizona who does a run through the State on his way to the Midwest. It’s no big deal. I make a little dough, I get a little of the good stuff. No one is any the wiser.”

“How?” Karen grumbled, rubbing her forehead in dismay. “How do I always end up attracting men like you?”

He frowned. “Sexy men, you mean?” he asked.

She hit his shoulder but it didn’t seem to hurt him, at all.

“Yes,” she answered in a melancholy way.

He smiled. “You like me.”

She shook her head wide like a fussy toddler.

“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”

Then he stood up.

“How can you stand if you’re as high as me?” she said.

“I’ve been working high for years. I have built a high tolerance,” he said.

He unbuckled his suit trousers and fished out an anaconda that blurred Karen’s vision.

“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen,” Karen stared in wonder.

“You’re high. It’s not quite as big as Drew’s,” he said.

Karen looked up with paranoid worry.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t care. I know it’s me that you have wanted from the moment that you saw me.”

He knelt down in front of her and pulled her skirt above her hips. He had her knees apart, effortlessly and then he grabbed the crotch of her pantyhose and ripped it.

“You filthy Groesbeck boys are mean to underwear,” Karen complained with a frown.

Then he licked his fingers to lubricate his dick and went to town.

He fit inside of her like a key fits into a lock, his shape pressing the tumblers inside her pussy into just the right pattern to unlock the mysteries of her most wanton desire.

“You’re such a bad boy,” she breathed heavily.

He leaned forward and began fucking her, missionary-style.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders like he was a big, friendly, big-dicked teddy bear.

“You like a bad boy,” he whispered hotly into her ear as he stuffed his cock deep inside of her.

“No, I don’t,” she whispered. “You’re the ones who like me.”

“Then tell me why you aren’t crying for help,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers and thrusting viciously.

“Because I don’t want to break your wife’s heart,” she spat at him.

“Bullshit,” he said through grit teeth and grabbed her face. “Try again.”

She was stunned.

“Tell me the fucking truth, Karen,” he said. “Just once in your life, tell someone the truth.”

She looked into his deep blue eyes, entirely disarmed and with tears in her eyes and rouge naturally blooming in her cheeks, she confessed: “Because – because – you’re the hottest man who has ever been inside me.”

He fucked her hard. She wrapped her knees against his ribs as he drove his cock deep inside of her.

Every sensation was like a circus inside of her body. Her nipples sang with excitement like trapeze artists flinging back and forth. Her heart roared like a lion that he tamed before her very eyes with a crack of his bullwhip.

His cock was like a cannon that launched little men through the fiery ring of her swollen and hot and tight pussy. And it fired and fired and fired.

“I love it,” she confessed. “God, I’m sick!”

Then she came. It was deep, it was hot, it was dark and it was so very twisted. She cried, again, like she had with Gunner. It was humiliating. It was comforting. With the acceleration of the pot, it was beyond anything that she had ever experienced.

“I’m – the – worst – person – alive,” she cried softly as he made her cum, again.

“No,” he panted between grunts, “I am.”

She shook her head and touched his face. He stopped for a moment and locked eyes with her.

Before she could stop herself, she said “I only wish that I could find a man half as good as you.”

To her dismay, he pulled out, unfinished. His cock, still hard, reached upward toward his belly-button, slick with her pussy-juices but his head cocked to one side.

“What did you say?” he asked, sincerely.

She covered her face in her hands, “Oh my God.”

He looked around. It was awkward.

“I need to cum,” he finally said.

She nodded. “You can cum in my pussy if you like,” she offered.

“I want to cum in your mouth,” he said.

She kneeled in front of him and guided his hips toward her mouth. The floorboards of the attic were surprisingly soft. Even so, she grabbed one of the holey quilts and put it under her knees.

Then she took him in her mouth. Her pussy juices rolled down her throat, at first, sweet and womanly. Then his flavor was all-man.

To her surprise, he reached behind and plopped a finger in his own asshole. She had never seen a guy do that. It aroused her in a way that she could not have anticipated. She immediately touched her clitoris, spreading herself until it was exposed. It was still wet with the sexy blend of his pre-cum with her love-juice.

“Gawwwww,” he groaned as he neared completion.

Her jaw hurt but she could not bring herself to care. The closer he came, the more furiously she flicked her love-bean between her thighs. Her wetness was so thorough that her pussy-play became sloppy and noisy. Warmth seeped through her fingers as she teased her whole mound, tenderly squeezing her clitoris in her fingertips and jerking herself off while taking his cock deeper in her throat.

Then she began to fingerfuck herself as his flavor changed and she knew that he would cum.

“Swallow me, baby,” he said.

She broke off of him and muttered, “I don’t like to swallow.”

“Do it, anyway,” he insisted.

“Okay,” she agreed and took him back into her mouth.

His semen tasted like pineapple upside-down cake. She gagged as he burst into her mouth and straight down her throat.

They lay in a crumpled pile and she stared upward to the sloped roof of the attic.

“Why?” she asked.

But he was fast asleep as the world turned and turned and overtook her.

Fuck thisIt's ok.I've had better.Fuck yeah!OMG ORGASMIC! (1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

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