Family Weekend Ch. 06: Marshmallows

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.

*****

18-year old Nel Martin opened her eyes and noticed the empty, yet still warm, depression in the mattress beside her. She looked around the Taylor cabin's main bedroom. Uncle Claude was nowhere to be seen, but she heard men's voices and clumping boots out on the deck. The clock on the mantel over the small fireplace showed 3:50. Nel reckoned she had napped about 2 hours after her frolic with Claude James, her 57-year old grandfather, who happened not only to be her mother Sally's brother, but also, the father of the 15-week old fetuses in her and Sally's wombs.

Nel rolled out of the queen-size bed, smiling wryly as she saw she still wore her Merino wool socks on her otherwise nude body. She retrieved her strewn panties, bra, Ginny pants and bulky knit sweater and quickly dressed. She shook her head and was running her fingers, like a loose comb, through her short, boxy light brown haircut when her best friend, 19-year old Megan Taylor, poked her head through the door from the kitchen.

"Hey!" Megan called, "We were hoping you would wake up soon!" She laughed lightly, "Nothing like fresh mountain air and a little exercise to put someone in the mood for a sweet nap, is there?" Megan winked broadly. "Anyway, we're pretty much all set up for a weenie roast in front of the big hearth. Come on out, OK?"

Nel remembered the huge fireplace dominating the main room when they entered the Taylor's secluded A-Frame cabin outside Nederland, CO. She also took a cue from Megan, who was braless under a gray long sleeved Thinsulate undershirt, and decided her wool sweater would be too warm if they were close enough to the hearth to roast hotdogs. Nel removed her big sweater and placed it, folded, on the rumpled bed covers. Bending over, she hauled her suitcase up beside the sweater and rummaged for something lighter. She settled on her favorite red plaid flannel shirt. It draped soft and friendly across her breasts, which, she noted, were already growing fuller, crowding her bra's C-cups. "Fuck it!" She said, under her breath, "I won't wear this." She took off her shirt and popped off her brassiere, instantly sighing with relief as her boobs rejoiced in their liberation. Her aching areolae were glad of the chance rub themselves gently on the camp shirt as Nel left the bedroom.

Megan's 42-year old dad, John, stood between the big south-facing picture window and the spiral staircase. He and Claude were sipping Coors and looking out at the deck as they conversed. Megan was just finishing putting out the condiments, buns, and Cokes, for herself and Nel, at the pine plank picnic-style table in the cozy eating area between the stairs and the master bedroom. A platter of franks lay in the center of the table beside several long wood-handled stainless steel skewers. When she saw Nel, Megan turned and laughed out loud, "I don't know about you, but I'M ready to pound down a couple of hot weiners." She licked her lips and rubbed her stomach, then called across the room, "Come on, Dad! Mr. James!"

The men looked at each other and walked toward the picnic table. "Now, Megan, I thought we agreed you should just call me 'Uncle Claude', same as Nel does... 'Mr. James' is so darned formal, and it's not like we aren't practically family." By the time he finished his sentence he had advanced to the kitchen and curled his left arm around Megan's waist, pinching her off-side love handle, out of her father's sight, and giving her a soft kiss on her right cheek, within view of John. "Am I right or am I right?"

Megan blushed at the surprising blatant contact, but recovered and nodded her head. "You're right, Uncle Claude," she acknowledged. "I remember what we said at Manitou Springs." She looked at her father, trying to gauge his reaction. "I guess I didn't want to seem too familiar in front of Dad..." she said with a softly trailing voice.

"Hell, Petunia," John said, deliberately using her pet name in front of Claude and Nel, "There's just us four up here for the weekend. There's no point in being all formal and STIFF!" He looked at Nel, eyeing her baby bump and unbound tits beneath her clinging shirt. "And YOU should call me 'Johnny' or, if you prefer, 'Uncle John' and think of me like we were family, too" His voice had a sudden husky undertone.

"OK, Uncle John," Nel, agreed quietly with a smirk, "I think I can do that."

"Great," reinforced Claude. "Let's spit the tube steaks and start cooking!"

Megan and Nel shot each other pleased wide-eyed looks as they imagined 'spitting' and 'tube steaks' in a completely different context. The foursome moved to the two overstuffed leather loveseats positioned near the great stone fireplace. Nel and Megan split up and each took the cushion closest to the fire on different settees. John sat down beside Nel while Claude sat beside Megan. As they roasted their hotdogs over the flames and embers to their personal tastes, they laughed, bumped thighs and elbows and even had little duels in the fire with the meaty skewers. As each frank was cooked it was laid on the platter and replaced until all dozen were charred and wrinkled and ready to wrap in buns.

Back in the kitchen at the plank table, the quartet doctored their dogs, spooned commercial potato salad onto their plates, and ate with gusto, while John talked about their weekend abode. "So, right now we have good running water and electricity, to some extent, because there's a terrific deep spring well drilled practically beneath the cabin, between the chimneys on the north side. It has a combination manual and electric pump and its in the mechanical room with the Perkins, totally insulated. All year long I have water and electricity. Just have to watch the wattage... But next year, Claude, when my solar panels and battery are installed, I'll be able to have all the lights on and the refrigerator AND the hot tub and anything else without any thought."

"Sweet," Claude, complimented.

"HOT TUB?" Nel asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah," Megan answered, pointing to the window where the men had been standing earlier. "There on the deck. It's super neat..."

John interrupted his daughter. "...it has a submerged woodstove, if you can believe it... Claude and I were laying and lighting the fire earlier. It should be nice by the time the stars are out."

The group looked across the living room through the picture window and glass slider to the front deck at the westering sun, already beginning its countdown to twilight. "Yay!" exclaimed Nel, enthusiastically. She looked around at the crumbs and empty plates. "All we need until then is some marshmallows!" She rocked to her left, casually colliding with John's muscular right bicep as he pushed his last bite of hot dog into his mouth.

Across the table Megan jumped up and said, "I brought some! And I have something else, too!" The other three looked questioningly at each other as Megan scrambled upstairs and returned moments later with a bag of marshmallows and a leather tumbler. She scooted over to her former position on far loveseat, arranging the heavy coffee table between the sofas.

Claude, John and Nel joined her and sat. "That looks like a dice cup," Claude observed.

"It is," Megan confirmed, and she rolled five cubes onto the table. They were each a different color. One was white, another blue, a third red, a fourth green, and the fifth was yellow. "OK, while we toast our marshmallows, instead of singing stupid old camp songs, I propose we play Naughty Spots." Megan bubbled. Without waiting for comment, she continued, "Everyone pick up the colored die you want as your own. Dad, you go first." She commanded.

John hesitated then selected the green cube. Nel chose yellow, Claude took red and Megan picked up the blue die. "OK, hold your die while I tell you the rules," Megan said. "The game is pretty simple. We roll the dice and follow the consequences, one of which is to take some clothing off, like strip poker, right?" She looked around and ensured everyone was paying attention. "The winner is the person who has even one thing still on when everyone else is naked."

"In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is the king," intoned Claude solemnly, with sparkling eyes."

"Exactly, Uncle Claude!" Megan confirmed. "And the PENALTY for LOSING is to be the king's... OR queen's... SLAVE for a period of time."

"So, how does this work, exactly," asked Nel, impatiently, as she stabbed a marshmallow with her skewer and stuck it in the flames, torching it.

"OK... listen," Megan explained. "On any turn one person rolls all five dice out of the cup. Each player's personal die has a Vulnerability Value: Six is Immune. One is Helpless. Two through Five have relative strength with a bigger number being stronger than a smaller one." Megan paused, checking the faces for questions before continuing. "The fifth die, the white one in our game, is the Controller. Sixes and Fives require ACTS; Ones and Twos require FORFEITS; Threes and Fours are NEUTRAL. What this means is a player with a higher number may require any single other player with a lower number to follow the Controller. No player may be commanded twice in the same round and the commands proceed from highest to lowest with three special cases."

Megan fixed a marshmallow on a stick and held it close to the embers in front of the hearth. "Everyone with me?" She asked, smiling, waiting and glad to see the nods.

"It isn't rocket science, so far," John said, grinning, as he peeled the skin of a burnt marshmallow and stuck the gooey insides against his lips with a smack.

"Right!" Megan agreed. "So, the three special cases are these: First, someone rolling Six, immune to anyone's command, may choose, instead of requiring another player to follow the Controller, to PUT ON a piece of clothing that has been removed. Second, someone rolling One, helpless to anyone's command, MUST ALSO remove a piece of clothing of their own choosing, before following another player's command. In other words, a One could be subject to a double penalty in the same turn. Third, any player rolling the same number as another player is barred from commanding any player to follow the Controller. In other words, a tie is a washout, except that Sixes may still put clothes on and Ones must still take clothes off." Megan looked again at her dad, Claude and Nel. "Everyone still on board?"

Nel furrowed her brow. "So, if I roll a three and so does Uncle Claude, then if you rolled a four you could tell one of us to do something, but, even if Uncle John rolled a two, neither Uncle Claude nor I could command him that turn. Is that right?"

Megan clapped. "You got it. Washouts are benefits for the other players by reducing their risk of having to lose clothes."

"What about the Control values?" John inquired. "What's an 'act,' for instance?"

"Right, Dad," Megan said, "Just getting to that. An act is just about anything. A kiss, a song, a poem, anything EXCEPT taking off an article of clothing. A forfeit is ONLY stripping, and the piece removed must be a visible top layer. For instance, if I'm wearing one shoe and both socks, I may be directed to remove the shoe, or the sock on the shoeless foot."

Claude interrupted to ask, "What's neutral? No act or forfeit?"

"No, Uncle Claude," Megan answered, shaking her head. "There is always a consequence. 'Neutral' simply means the commanding player may choose whether the consequence is an 'act' or a 'forfeit.' So a four or a three can be the same as a six, five, two or one, depending on who's demanding the loser to follow the Controller."

Everyone around the fire was showing their understanding of the rules and reflecting on the strategies they would employ in various scenarios when Megan intruded with a post-script. "Oh, one other thing! If the consequence is an act which normally occurs over a period of time... say, for instance, a backrub, then the interval must be specified and ten seconds or less. If the consequence is normally painful, say a pinch or paddling, then the number of pinches or paddles must be three or fewer. Also, these must be performed manually on bare skin, so, obviously no player may be spanked until AFTER the underwear has already been removed and no whips, switches or implements are allowed." Megan let out a concluding whoosh and said, "I think that's it. Anybody have more questions? Do we want to play? It should be a perfect lead up to the HOT TUB, don't you think?"

"It all sounds like great fun, Megan," Claude said, "But, even in the guidelines given and among friends and family, I think there should be an escape, in case one of us is less intrepid than the commander's ingenuity. In other words, what if someone tells me to do something and I don't want to comply. Can I refuse without ruining the game?"

John saw wisdom in the older man's words and supported him. "Claude has a point, Petunia. Fun is only fun if it's FUN."

Megan screwed her face up, squinting into the gathering darkness, as dusk overtook the outside world and the shadows in the house lengthened with the lowering daylight. "Why would someone refuse?" She asked naively.

Claude put his arm around her shoulders and said, "There could be a lot of private reasons to refuse and 'Why' isn't the important question... We should think, for everyone's happiness, about 'HOW'..." he rubbed her neck softly.

"Here's a suggestion: If any player wants to refuse a command, they can, but the consequence is immediate and total forfeit of all remaining clothes with no options to rejoin the field. In other words, they would automatically put themselves out of the game and sit as a naked spectator until the ultimate King or Queen is crowned." He removed his hand from Megan's nape and opened his palms to the group. "What do you think about that?" He asked.

Nel and John looked at each other and back at Claude, nodding assent. Megan's face cleared and she smiled. "Yeah, I think that would be OK... so, shall we start?" She asked, holding out the empty leather cup and dropping in the white and blue cubes. She rattled them while Claude, John and Nel added their respective red, green and yellow dice. With a final shake she overturned the cup and popped its leather rim hard onto the polished wood table. With a magical stir she revealed the first roll:

White - 6; Red - 5; Green - 3; Yellow - 3; Blue - 2. "An ACT," Megan announced. "Dad and Nel are washouts and cannot command. Me either, because I'm low. Uncle Claude, one of us is yours to command!" She laughed, already wiggling her bottom on the loveseat in anticipation of the game.

Claude stroked his chin thoughtfully. "OK," he said, touching Megan's backbone and giving a little nudge. "Megan, give Nel a French kiss."

Megan stood. She looked at the other players and said, "First, I think we should move the seats and table back from the fireplace. It looks like me might need more room!" John and Claude rose and pulled the sofas back five feet toward the window wall while Nel drug the table. After the move, while everyone was still standing, Megan darted in, turned Nel by her shoulders and planted her lips firmly on her friend's mouth, driving her tongue tip deep, running it rapidly across the textured surface of Nel's tongue before withdrawing with an audible smack. She turned to Claude. "How was that, Master?" She grinned.

"Looked good from here, Megan," Claude praised her. He sat down and gathered the dice into the cup. "Am I next roller?" He popped the cup on the table without waiting for an answer.

White - 4; Red - 3; Green - 6; Yellow - 1; Blue - 4. "NEUTRAL," he declared. John's immune but Nel's helpless. Megan's second in command followed by me." Looking expectantly at his granddaughter, he asked, "Well, kiddo, what are you going to take off?"

Nel unlaced a Keen hiking boot and pulled it from her foot. "Shoes first, I guess," she answered with a philosophical shrug.

John wagged his head back and forth on his shoulders. "I don't have anything to put back on, so my only choice is who is going to do what. I think Nel should take off her other boot." He decided he was going to pick on Nel as often as fate allowed and he hoped others would too. He was already imaging tasks for her.

Claude pursed his lips in the flickering firelight as he realized John had pre-empted his only available target. Had he selected Megan, Megan could have demanded upon Claude, as she must do now, anyway, but Nel would still have been vulnerable to Claude's direction. As it was, John's choice allowed his daughter a consequence-free turn. "Is that his game plan?" Claude wondered, as he heard Megan tell him to remove his Pendleton shirt.

*

Late in the game, and well after dark, John lit a Coleman lantern to augment the light from the hearth. The player's bodies shone red and gold as the shadows played on the furniture and beams. The brilliant gaslight mantle added a surreal aura to the main room as he reached up an hung it from a beam hook over the seating area. Nel held his hips steady while he stood, in socks and Jockeys on the coffee table. "Good, Uncle John," she said, "Now you may sit down." She had just exercised her 'ACT' command to improve the visibility of the nearly naked group. Claude and Megan applauded her sacrificial decision.

Claude turned to Megan, who was down to her panties and her Thinsulate undershirt. He, himself had only his boxers and a single sock. "I better roll a six soon or John may end up King," he mused to himself, acknowledging his niece was apt to be first out, since she was wearing only her flannel shirt and gave up her own six for the lantern's sake. "Megan, parity requires me to require you to part with those cute little pink Hello Kitty bikini panties," He ordered aloud. Megan giggled as she wiggled her round butt and rolled the undies over her sturdy thighs and past her muscular calves. Her plump pussy winked beneath her trimmed black mustache as she stepped her feet out of the leg holes. She hooked the panties with her left foot and kicked them accurately at Claude who caught them inches from his nose. He inhaled deeply and studied their damp crotch before passing them to John as he stepped down from the table. "There's a nice little Italian dressing on these babies," he said with a laugh. John pulled them to his face, bunched like a bouquet and sniffed loudly.

"OK OK, guys," Megan said, "Yuk it up! It's my roll now." She popped the cup and turned out: White - 6; Red - 5; Green - 6; Yellow - 1; Blue - 1.

"Oh Fuck!" Megan blurted out.

John laughed and said, "Now, Petunia, you know you can't give anyone that command... you got a ONE!"

"Yeah, I get it... Oh, well, I have company." She looked at Nel as she finished the roll's verdict. "Controller 5, ACT; Dad's immune; Uncle Claude is second to command." She spoke in an unenthused monotone as she peeled her undershirt up over her 38DD tits and stood starkers before the men.

Nel had been resignedly unbuttoning her shirt while the interchange was taking place. She opened its front and shrugged it off her shoulders. Her bouncing boobs, in the dancing light, looked huge. Her burgeoning belly had a horizon, beyond which her light translucent fuzz traced a path to her small thin pussy lips, beaded with her moisture.

John eyed the girls, compared his and Claude's relative dishabille, then announced, "I think I can afford to command an act." He sat down, centering himself on loveseat he had been sharing with Nel. "Turn around, Nel and lay across my lap. I'm going to paddle your pregnant ass three times." Nel could have refused, but that seemed unsporting and surrendered any comeback chances she might gain from a string of sixes while the men had bad rolls. She turned, tousled John's hair with her right hand and sweetly complied.