Kaylie's Revenge

 

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Introduction

Kaylie is so sick of her Aunt Rita's constant barrage of thinly-veiled insults. The older woman never misses a chance to put down her niece or her mother, and this time Kaylie wasn't going to take any more of it. 

She was going to get her revenge. And she was going to get it the only way how - through her Aunt Rita's hot, younger husband.

Kaylie's Revenge is part of the collection Emilia's Revenge and Other Stories, now available on Amazon and other retailers.

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Chapter 1

"I've advised Betty against putting Kaylie in Bronson High years ago. Other than the obvious problem of that school being simply too expensive for them to afford, that uniform is not very flattering on Kaylie."

That was my Aunt Rita, of course.  Despite the fact — or maybe because — I was standing a few feet away from where she was sitting on the sofa holding court in front of her party guests, she was once again rudely voicing her opinions of me and my family.

So of course her friends all turned to me, not even bothering to do it discretely, so they could look me over and nod in agreement. I hated my Aunt's friends almost as much as my Aunt herself. While she was an evil, judgmental bitch, her friends were all kiss-ass sycophants who did nothing but flatter my Aunt so there could keep getting invited to her lavish parties. Of which there were a lot.

Embarrassed and angry, I turned my eyes down and stared at my cake. If I didn't already feel like such a dork in my school uniform surrounded by all these well-dressed older women, I felt even more miserable now. I wasn't really fat, was I? No one but my Aunt Rita even implied that I was. And who the hell looked bad in this outfit? It was the standard uniform for most private schools — short plaid skirt, white collared shirt and blazer. It was, in fact, an outfit that showed up a lot in adult films. 

Or so I heard.  

Thankfully, my mom was too far away to hear. You'd think that being the older sister of eight years , my Mom would refuse to take shit from Rita. (I sure as hell wouldn't. I didn't take shit from anybody.) But no. My Mom was the kind of person who'd always see only the best in people even when they were being blatantly rude to her. And while my Aunt Rita was never a really nice person to begin with, she got even nastier when she married Uncle Oliver, who was this millionaire heir to a real estate empire in California. Suddenly, Rita started acting like she was better than everyone, including my Mom. Even though my Mom practically raised her when my grandparents passed away when Mom was 20. My parents even took out a second mortgage just so they could send my aunt to a decent college. 

"I'm sure she means well," Mom said when I complained about how Rita was being mean to me. "She doesn't have children of her own, it's only natural she'd be concerned about you." 

I rolled my eyes at that. If "being concerned" meant constantly telling me how fat I was and how I was never as smart as she or my Mom was, then I didn't need her concern, thank you very much.

Of course I couldn't say as much to Mom. She really loved that bitch of a sister of hers. She made me promise never to talk back to Rita or act rudely towards her, no matter what. I loved my Mom, and I knew it mattered a lot to her that I acted respectfully towards her sister. 

So that was why I could only bite my tongue and smile in situations like this.

The cake was really good, though. It was some kind of fancy chocolate mousse, which I liked. If I had to suffer through Rita's parties, I could at least be assured the food would be fantastic. I took another forkful, closed my eyes, and sighed contentedly. My diet was ruined. But this was damn good cake. I could never be really skinny like the cheerleaders at school; I had so little self control. I suppose this is why Rita would always have something to say about my looks and my weight.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," someone beside me said.

I turned to see a tall, strikingly gorgeous, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties.

"Oh... Hi, Uncle Oliver," I said.  I hesitated, not sure whether I should give him a hug.

He stood beside me, both of us now with our backs to the wall, facing the the roomful of party guests. Me holding my cake, he holding a glass of wine. I figured he wasn't really expecting a hug then.

My uncle wasn't a hugging kind of guy after all. He was nice, I guess, but he wasn't warm or affectionate like my parents. And he was kind of a snob, like most rich people I knew. He and Aunt Rita were kind of a good fit that way. Even if he didn't really deserve to be married to such a horrible person, Aunt Rita was less awful when he was around. I was actually glad she was such a two-faced bitch, because that meant that I got a reprieve so long as I was around her husband.

It wasn't too unpleasant being around Uncle Oliver either. I mean , he was pretty old (about 35), but he was nevertheless ... well, hot. He had the most amazing cheekbones and really gorgeous hazel eyes. Plus I've seen him by their swimming pool a bunch of times, and the guy was in really great shape. Like, ripped abs and everything.

We weren't close. I think he just barely tolerated me and my parents because we were his wife's family. Even now, I was struggling with something to say to him to end the silence between us that was getting increasingly awkward.

"So, Uncle Olie. What are you getting me for my birthday?"

"Birthday?"

"Yeah, you know. Birthday. The day you were born. Everyone gets one once a year. There's cake. Usually."

"Oh. Of course. It's your birthday soon?"

"Last Wednesday, actually." I grinned. "I was hoping you'd have a present for your favorite niece."

"You're my only niece."

"Exactly."

I was kidding, of course. I didn't really expect Oliver to give me a present. He'd never once given me a present my whole life.

"Well, I suppose I could set you up with something. What are you now — fifteen? Sixteen?"

I laughed. Of course he had no idea how old I was. "I'm eighteen, Uncle Olie."

He turned to look at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. "Oh. Of course. Well, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

He turned back to look at the crowd, and took a sip of his wine. 

I took that opportunity to observe his profile. Damn, Uncle Olie was hot. I may have in fact had one or two fantasies about him since I turned fifteen. Except in my lust-filled imagination, Oliver wasn't terribly snooty. And he smiled a lot more. Also, he bought me a car. A Tesla. 

Okay, so that may have also been a fantasy about owning a really nice car. 

I turned back to watch the crowd as per my role of the official wallflower of my Aunt's party.  However, I couldn't help but be aware of the man standing next to me. Not just in the sense that I knew he was there. I was conscious of his legs right next to mine. And his torso, with those amazing abs underneath that dark suit. His hand holding his wine glass, his mouth drinking from that glass.

What was Oliver even doing there? Was he as bored as I was?

Without moving my head, I turned my eyes to glance at him. And found him staring downwards. Looking at my legs.

I looked away quickly before he noticed.

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Chapter 2

My Uncle was checking me out.

It felt weird. Actually, no. It felt weird that it didn’t feel weird. It felt nice. If he weren’t married to my Aunt, and he was just some random guy at a party checking me out, I’d be totally into it.

I was totally into it now.

I wondered how long he’d been staring at my legs. If he was still looking now. If he had been checking out any other part of me while I was busy thinking up things to say.

What happened next I attribute mostly to a sudden flash of naughtiness, and also because I had been thinking of doing something really bad to Rita and for some reason, this opportunity fell on my lap, so to speak. 

I dropped my fork.

When I bent over to pick it up (slowly), I was fully aware of the hem of my short skirt rising up to just below my butt. 

Oliver caught his breath.  

Inwardly, I smirked. I had him.

I straightened up, looked him in the eye and and said, “Oops.”

He swallowed. Hard.

I gave my fork to a passing catering staff, who gave me a fresh one. It was time to finish my lovely cake. 

Slowly, I forked bits of mousse into my mouth, taking great care to lick the tines of my fork each time. I ran my tongue over my lips much, much more than I needed to. 

In the corner of my eye, I could see Oliver just standing there, motionless. Watching me. 

I could hear his heavy breathing.

Great. Now what?

At that moment, Aunt Rita finally looked up from chatting with her group of fawning minions to notice her husband was standing on a corner next to her niece. “Oliver, darling,” she called out. “Come say hi to my friends.”

I glanced at him, and gave him a little smile. He nodded at me before going over to sit with Aunt Rita.

Mom came over with a glass of soda for me. “Are you having fun, dear?” she asked.

“Mom, this is Aunt Rita’s best party yet,” I said. “I’m so glad we came.”

“That’s great, sweetie. Did you say hi to your Uncle Oliver?”

“Oh yes, Mom. We had a lovely chat.”

 

***

 

I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what my game plan was. 

Seducing my Uncle Oliver wasn’t something I’d actually thought about. Sure, I had fantasized him a few time. Okay, I’d fantasized about him a lot. But I’d never really thought I’d do anything close to what I’d just done a while back. And now I was dying to know if there was any way in hell I’d actually pull off what was basically the most terrible thing a niece could do to her aunt.

An aunt who hated her. A really vile human being who humiliated her and her mother any chance she got.

I made my decision.

I went over to my Mom, who was talking to a young couple on the other side of the room.  As I walked over, I swear I could feel Oliver’s eyes on me. So I glanced his way. He was sitting next to Aunt Rita, not paying any attention to the conversation around him. 

Our eyes met.

I held his gaze for a while. I had to make sure he knew what I was knew. What I was thinking.

Then I looked away, a secret smile playing on my lips.

“Mom, do you mind if I stay in the den for a bit?” I asked. “Jenny was home sick today, I promised her I’d go over today’s Physics lecture with her over Skype.”

“Of course, dear. Did you leave your backpack in the den?”

I nodded. “We’re not leaving anytime soon, are we?” 

“Maybe in a couple of hours,” she said. “Around ten, maybe?”

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

I made sure I walked past Oliver again on my way to the hall. I glanced at him briefly and found him looking at me again.

When I got to the door that went out into the hallway, I paused and glanced back at him again. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze for several seconds before I turned and left.

I hadn’t spent that much time in my Aunt Rita’s house, for obvious reasons. It was a large house, with around ten bedrooms. I didn’t know my way around so well, but I did remember that there was a library on the second floor.  Whenever I couldn’t stand being around my Aunt, I’d go there to hide. I liked books, so I was never bored there. It was my sanctuary.

I was going there now.

As I was halfway up the grand staircase, I looked down to see if Oliver had gotten the hint. 

He was at the base of the stairs looking up at me.

 

***

 

I could feel, rather than see Oliver following me the rest of the way to the library.  He kept his distance, keeping a good ten feet between us.  It was a long walk to the library, as it was at the very end of the hallway. 

I was half afraid he could hear my heartbeat hammering through my chest. At first I thought I was simply nervous, then I realized that wasn’t why my pulse was racing.

I was excited.

I’d never been more excited in my whole life. 

I should have been afraid. Or scared. But I wasn’t, not one bit. I knew I wanted to do this. I desperately wanted to do this. 

When I opened the library door, I felt like I was opening a Christmas present. I went inside and shut the door.

A minute after, Oliver came.

I was sitting on top of a desk that was facing the door, watching him as he came inside.

He didn’t say a word as he closed the door. 

I heard a lock click.

“What are you doing here, Kaylie?” he asked.

“I got bored,” I said.

He didn’t make a move towards me.

“What about you?” I asked him.

“I came to see what you were up to. Do you mind that I followed you?”

“Well, it’s you’re house,” I said. “You can do whatever you want.” I put as much meaning as I could in those last words.

You can do whatever you want.

Oliver began to fiddle with his cufflinks. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, not looking at me. “You know, Kaylie, that desk isn’t for sitting.”

“I’m sorry. Will you help me down, Uncle Oliver?”

He looked up from his cufflinks in time to see me spread my legs apart, and rest my hands on the table, between my thighs.

He walked toward me slowly. As I expected, he seemed nervous, but the way he was breathing heavily told me he was excited too. 

 As I was.

Oliver laid his hands gently on my thighs, pushing up my skirt a little.

“Do you always show such little respect for furniture, Kaylie?” he asked, his voice thick. His hands started moving slowly up and down my thighs.

God his hands felt so good. They were big and strong, and I could feel their strength and power as he stroked my thighs. “Sometimes,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling the unbearable need I was feeling. “Is it so wrong?”

Oliver moved his mouth close to my ear. "Yes," he whispered. "So wrong. Very wrong." His hands had moved higher up my thighs. I could feel his thumbs slip under my panties with every upward stroke.

I lifted my hands to give him more room to touch me. I put my arms behind me, my hands resting on the desk for support.

“Will you punish me, Uncle Olie?” I asked, breathing heavily. I wanted to beg him to touch me ... more. I wanted his fingers deeper inside my panties.

"Stop it. Stop making me ... do this."

For a brief moment, I almost pitied the poor man. Very few men could refuse the young, nubile flesh I was offering up to him.

But I was so horny, I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to.

____________________

To be continued.

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