Date: Sat, 20 Jul 2002 10:11:00 -0700 (PDT)
From: PsychoPuppy <psychopuppy21@yahoo.com>
Subject: Tool-Men Chapter 3: Memories of Flesh

  The following is a fictional story involving fictional characters from
the television series "Home Improvement."  It is intended for the
entertainment of consenting adults in the privacy of their homes, and if
you object to or offended by descriptions of sexual acts between consenting
adults, do not read any further.  The sexual orientation and practices
depicted in this story do not in any way suggest or reflect the actions or
orientations of the characters or the actors who portray these characters.

  The phrases Home Improvement, Tooltime & Binford, and all characters are
trademarks of and copyright The Walt Disney Company, Touchstone Television
and Wind Dancer Production Group.

  I want to make something perfectly clear; this is an erotica series. I
did not write this to be a quick porn story, or any other cheap form of
entertainment. Some installations will be mostly dialogue and scene
setting, others will be filled with hot man sex. If you are not interested
in reading the actual story, then just skim ahead to the "good parts-" but
know you are missing a lot of intrigue and realistic plot lines. Well, that
is to say, I have attempted to keep the plot line relatively true to the TV
series and reality in general. Anyway... enjoy!


Tool-Men
By PsychoPuppy

Part 3:
Memories of Flesh

Jill had always clamed that Tim could sleep through World War III. Tim knew
it was a lie, but he also knew better then to argue with the Harpy-Queen
over such a trivial matter. When the boys were younger and called out in
the night, if they were sick or had a nightmare, it was he who went to
them. They called for "dad." When they were babies he would try to wake
Jill to go rock them back to sleep- "try' being the operative word. Even
knocking her in the ribs with a hard elbow sometimes didn't even do the
job. So there he was, a young man working full time, going to rock his
screaming kids back to sleep. All the while his lovely wife slept the night
away, and complained that he was always "tired and not in the mood to do
anything" the next day.

Yet now he suspected that the odd turn of sleeping habits might come to his
advantage. Tim's eyes had fluttered open a few moments earlier, still
drowsy and unfocussed in the early morning darkness, but his hearing was
sharp as ever. Then he heard the sound again, a grunt, or groan, or some
other type of noise. At first he thought one of the boys had fallen down
the stairs, but soon relaxed as the sound came again, softer this time, and
most definitely not a tone of pain or discomfort. Tim recognized that sound
as a sly smile crept across his stubble smattered face: it was the same
sound he made during especially good orgasm. And now one of his boys was
making it.

Tim was not sure exactly why, but he suddenly felt a rush of pride in that
moment. He lay in the dark and strained his ears for the sound his son's
pleasure, to hear the same deep grunt that often reverberated from his own
throat. He realized then that his boys were going to be full men soon, one
of them already capable of grunting the same mating call as his old
man. Slowly Tim got out of bed, careful not to disturb the wench laying at
his side and snoring (from both ends) in her seemingly peaceful slumber.

The hallway was as silent as a tomb while Tim stealthily padded down its
carpeted length. He wasn't quite sure why he needed to know which one of
the boys had made that sound, but something deep inside forced his hesitant
feet onward.  It felt almost primal to him, like a call from the ages when
men hunted beside wolves and there was nothing stronger then a farther and
sons bond. He stood outside Randy's door, listening intently for any sounds
which would tell him of his suspicions. There was considerable doubt that
the sound had come from Randy; the 18 year old barely had strong stubble
along his cheeks and almost none on his chin. But still, Tim paused and
waited. One minute passed, and another.  `Forget this,' he thought darkly,
`Lets see what's behind door number 1!' Carefully, and oh so very
cautiously, he opened his middle son's door just a crack and peered in. In
the darkness of the early morning, nothing but the scant outlines of
furniture were visible to the Tool-Man. Strangely, no sounds of breathing
could be heard at all... meaning Randy wasn't in his bedroom. `Maybe he
couldn't sleep and wanted to go wax the hot rod,' Tim pondered as he closed
the bedroom door with the same care he had used in opening it, 'That always
helps me sleep. Wait a minute, this is Randy. He isn't a car guy...'

A strange thought pounced from a dark, hidden corner of Tim's mind and
exposed itself to his conscious thoughts. With a shaking step, Tim crept
further down the hall to Brad's room and closed his eyes, focusing ever
ounce of concentration to his hearing. There was breathing behind the
door. Heavy breathing. Very heavy breathing. And unless Tim totally missed
his guess, there was the distinct sound of two people behind the door, not
one. Which could only mean...

Tim placed a trembling hand on the brass doorknob and took firm
hold. Drawing a now shuddered breath, he paused for a moment, stealing
himself to what might be discovered. He was their father, it was his right
to know.... `Wait! To know what?' But the question was left to linger on
the edge of his mind as the doorknob twisted fully around in his strong
grip, and the door slid open a crack with not a single sound. Tim leaned
forward and peered in, the dim light of the rising sun casting the
blackness from the room and replacing it with an inky gray. The scent of
man sweat and sex hit him in the face like a brick, its odor
unmistakable. He could clearly see the outlines of the objects which filled
his eldest son's room... and the two bodies on the bed.

A bulge began to inflate Tim's boxers, but he was beyond the point of
noticing.

*

Randy sat up and looked down at Brad, his older brother still experiencing
the occasional shiver of pleasure in the afterglow of his incredible
orgasm. Peeking southward, however, Randy remembered that he was still far
from finished with the night's fun, despite that dawn was quick
approaching. His nearly-6" prick jutted from the thick mat of sweaty pubes
which graced its base while a slow stream of precum dribbled down the
shaft, coating his low hanging balls.

Brad opened one eye, then the other, beaming a smile at the coolest little
brother in the whole fucking world. "Hey." He whispered as a final tiny
shudder of joy raced from his now deflated prick to his brain.

"Hey." Randy responded, leaning forward to rest fully on his big brothers
chest, his head dropping over Brad's left shoulder. Brad instinctively
reached around and gave Randy a solid hug, pressing him close, and noticing
the burning hard-on that still throbbed between the younger boy's legs.

"Dude, you are an animal! So soon?" Brad half chuckled.

"No dufus!" Randy chided, "I still haven't got off. You selfish bastard."

In response Brad punched him squarely in the arm, while guiding his hips to
a kneeling position just above his own crotch.  Randy knelt on all four's
above his brother and closed his eyes, giving in to what was to come.

Brad ran his fingertips along Randy's chest and belly, finally grasping the
steel cock which pointed up at his face. Randy moaned softly as Brad's
already lubed hand easily manipulated his slimy prick, working the shiny
head around in slow circles, and then quickly pumping the shaft. With his
other hand Brad held on to Randy's shoulder, moving the boy in time with
his strokes. Ragged breathing soon followed this hot course of action, as
the heat from Brads whole body pressed up to greet Randy's sweaty
flesh. The bigger boy had also begun to move his own legs slowly up and
down Randy's inner thighs, lightly brushing his balls and tickling him with
the stout blonde hair which marked his maturity. Physical maturity, at any
rate.

"Soon?" Brad barely whispered as he opened his eyes and saw Randy's face;
it was all scrunched up, his mouth opening and closing in gasps and muted
moans like some bizarre fish out of water. The lads head lulled back and
forth, as if in a trance. Brad ran his strong hand across Randy's shoulder
and up the side of his neck, nuzzling the full side of his face and running
the ball of his thumb across his brother's lips. A loud gasp escaped those
same lips almost immediately, followed by vigorous fucking of the hand
which held the boys strong cock. "B... Brad..." Randy whispered
unconsciously, something he never normally did.

`Wow,' thought Brad in a far distant place of his mind, `Randy has never
been this hot before, what turned his crank?'  Just as the lusty thought
ran its course, his brother tensed and collapsed to his elbows, hips
dancing to and fro as a thick river of cum exploded from his screaming
dick. Low grunts and groans wracked Randy's body as Brad's hand continued
to milk his brother's seed all over his lightly furred chest and belly. The
hand which had been caressing Randy's face was quickly needed, however, to
silence the younger boy from moaning too loudly.

*

Brad's strong hand slipped over his mouth just as another wave of pleasure
sent Randy's body into sock, as if he had been fucked by a live wire. Randy
was beyond any point of conscious thought as his spasms began to come
harder and faster, and he could smell the full load of sperm which coated
Brad's toned chest and crotch. But then a sudden movement, an action his
rational mind might have dismissed, caught his primal attention. In the
mirror beside Brad's bed there was something odd... Randy's mind half
snapped back into place as he realized what he had just seen. His father
was watching from the doorway.  Randy squeezed his eyes shut hard as
another spasm of pleasure swam from his cock to every square inch of his
stout body, invading his brain.

*

`FUCK!' Tim cursed silently as he hurried to firmly, yet quietly, close
Brad's bedroom door. His prick was as hard as the slab of garnet he had
dropped on Al's foot yesterday, and eagerly pointed the way back to his own
bedroom. The man rushed with cat-like grace through the darkened hallway,
emerging in his bedroom and slipping into the washroom before he had even
taken two full breaths. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he closed the
door behind, and locked it without thought.  The toilet made a disapproving
creak as he all but collapsed backward on it, both legs no longer enough to
support his wavering weight. Thoughts and feeling, half buried emotions and
fragments of dreams spun dizzily though the Tool-Man's head. Drawing deep,
yet uneven breaths, Tim leaned forward to rest his head in both hands.

`What have I just seen?!' Tim asked himself as droplets of sweat slid down
his face and back, shimmering in the dull morning light like beads of
oil. `Brad and Randy were just... oh no... oh nonono. They were
just... with each other. How?' His thought pattern went on like this for
quite some time. Every emotion was just as confused as his rational mind;
one minute causing the man to feel aroused beyond his wildest dreams, while
at another he was nauseous as a virgin sailor.

"Its just not fare." He finally sighed.

`Oh, but it is fare. Isn't it, Tool-Man?' A small voice in the back of
Tim's brain mocked him, hiding within the deepest shadows. `It's perfectly
fare. You had fun with Marty, and now Brand and Randy continue the Wheel of
Lust. You should be happy they love each other so much. Some brothers
_hate_ one another.'

`Like how Marty probably hates me?!!!' Tim shrieked back at the voice, his
face turning red even as tears stung his eyes, `Like how Marty and I cared
for each other so much when we were younger, but now barely ever talk?! Is
that the legacy my sons will have, then? A pitiful relationship for the
price of a few nights of...' But anger and shame had overtaken him by
this point, and Tim was beyond finishing the sentence. Even if he had
wanted to. Only three tears fell from the mans rugged face that night as he
sat on the toilet seat, further contemplating what he had seen. And then,
slowly, unconsciously, he stopped contemplating and just started
remembering. Reminiscing. Recalling the sounds, and the smells of Brad's
bedroom. Randy's grunts, and... Marty.

All feelings of guilt fled from the Tool-Man as his boxers hit the tiled
floor, its crotch fully dampened by the flow of man juice which dripped
even now from the life-giving slit in his prick. His tool was hot to the
touch, beyond hot, it was like grasping the tail pipe of a formula one race
car. The clear wet juice flowed freely, thick and slick, lubricating the
shaft and moistening his balls to a soft shine. Tim's right hand flowed
over his jerking prick in short, smooth strokes while his head rolled from
side to side, eyes lightly closed. His left hand moved forcefully up and
down his chest and belly, the fingers massaging the sensitive skin normally
protected by coarse dark hair. Suddenly those strong fingers dug into his
wet pubes and brought the scent of his own sex to fill his lungs. Bombarded
by the stench of his pits and crotch, Tim could not help but notice how
similar it was to that of his sons. His sons. His boys lying on Brad's bed,
getting each other off. Sharing their most sacred fluid. Giving each other
pleasure beyond anything they had ever imagined. Marty's legs wrapped
around his hips as Tim bucked his concrete rod in and out of the younger
mans tight asshole. Marty's tight, smooth little asshole. It had been a
raging furnace, its heat enough to flash fry any mortal flesh. But Tim's
penis was no weak mortal flesh. It was the Tool-Man's Tool: an instrument
perfected for fucking and ... RRRrrrrgh RRRRRrrrrrrrrrgh
RRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggghhh!!! Tim grunted as deeply and loudly as he
dared, heart pounding in his chest as ragged gasps of air flooded his lungs
with the pungent odor of his own fuck frenzy. His boys fucking. Marty
wanting it. Needing it, oh god, *begging* for it.

The orgasm hit like a 16-wheeler, knocking the wind out of Tim's quivering
lungs as the first shot of hot cum sprayed up into the air and landed on
his face, coating his lips. The second followed closely behind the first,
and the third anointed his hairy chest with the seed which had formed the
objects of his sexual fantasy. The fourth and fifth shot, each respectable,
came as a surprise to Tim who had not blasted that many in quite some time.

Tim's hand squeezed and milked his dwindling hard-on as he licked the sperm
from his lips, and massaged the rest into his chest and belly, before
finally collapsing back on the toilet. "Oh my god." He whispered after a
short time.  `Where're the feelings of guilt? Where's the mental scolding?'
He wondered blankly as his unfocussed eyes stared at the ceiling... and
beyond.

*

When Randy opened his eyes the shadow of his father had vanished from the
doorway, which was now closed tight. `Did I imagine that?' He wondered to
himself, looking back down at Brad who was beaming a triumphant smile up at
his kid bro.  `But if I imagined it... then why would I think of dad
watching us gettin' off? Why would I think of dad...' Randy's thoughts
suddenly stopped as something in his sharp little mind clicked into place.

*

"Randy?" Brad whispered as his younger brother lay down atop his strong
form, "Hey, you okay? Ya look all shook up."

"N-no, I'm... um... I'm alright Butt-head." Randy sassed back to the
concerned look his bro was insulting him with. "Hell, I'm better then
alright." Randy nestled down close to Brad and hugged him tight. Brad
returned the gesture whole heartedly.

"Randy, I'm sorry." Brand whispered after a long time of simply basking in
the afterglow of their mutually mind-blowing orgasms.

"For what?" Randy replied, propping himself onto his elbows and looking
down at the face of his older brother only inches from his own.

"I should've told you, er, I mean...." Brad was never very good with
words, and after he and Randy had `played' he always felt shy around the
younger boy, "I mean, I should've let you know when I was goin'a...
y'know... loose it."

Randy returned the statement with a blank expression for a long minute,
then his eyes widened in recognition of what Brad was trying to say. "Oh!
Hey, its okay, I need the protein if I'm goin'a get as big as you!" This
was obviously a joke, because at nearly the same age, Randy was well under
a foot shorter then his older sibling. He was short period, really.  Even
his younger brother was taller by far. But still, the slender frame he had
been fated to wear was cute in its own way, compact and delicate. But still
a man's growing body, and tough enough to give what it could take.

"Did you, um, manage to..." Brad finished his question in a blur of
words, leaving Randy to replay the sentence a few times in his mind before
understanding it, "DidYouMagageToSpitItAllOut?"

Randy hesitated. He wasn't sure how to tell Brad that he had swallowed the
vast majority of his fraternal spunk. Randy had sucked Brad more then a few
times, and his generous brother had returned the favor more then a few
himself, but they had always been careful not to go "over the line." But
now Randy was not only over the line... he had crossed it, then backed
up, crossed it again, then turned around and kicked it to death.

"Randy." Brad's voice was very quiet. It was not so much a question, nor a
reminder that he was waiting, but just a single statement. He knew.

"I'm sorry Brad, it's just that I was so fucking hot and you were so into
it, I..."

"Another line we crossed together." Brad whispered simply.

"Ya."


To be continued...

If you enjoyed this first installment of "Tool-Men," or have any
suggestions, please e-mail me (PsychoPuppy21@yahoo.com) and let me know! If
you want to send flames or insults, those are welcome too... I always enjoy
a good laugh.