u/trendy9op

I had been thinking about it for weeks. Every time Samuel walked past me in those loose basketball shorts, every time he hugged me goodnight with those strong arms that had somehow developed over the past year, every time he looked at me with those innocent blue eyes that had no idea what I was planning.

My little brother Samuel just turned eighteen yesterday, and I knew exactly what I wanted to give him for his birthday. Something he'd never forget. Something I'd been fantasizing about since I caught him staring at my cleavage during a family dinner three months ago.

That night, I'd seen the bulge in his pants when he thought no one was looking. I'd heard him in the shower, taking way too long, and I'd pressed my ear to the door, listening to those soft groans that made my thighs clench together. He was my brother, but he was also a man now, and I wanted to be the one to show him what that really meant.

The night before his birthday, I'd made sure to wear something particularly revealing around the house. A thin tank top with no bra, tiny shorts that rode up when I bent over. I'd watched him struggle to maintain eye contact, watched his hands shake when he passed me the salt at dinner, watched the way his eyes kept drifting down to my chest.

"You okay, Sammy?" I'd asked innocently, leaning forward so he could see everything.

"Fine," he'd croaked, his voice cracking in that endearing way it did when he was flustered. "Just tired."

I'd smiled to myself and gone to bed early, setting my alarm for 6 AM. I wanted to catch him in that delicious state between sleep and waking, when the body responded before the mind could catch up

I woke up before the alarm, my body humming with anticipation. I'd slept in nothing but a silk robe, and I untied it as I crept across the hall to his room. The house was silent, our parents away on their annual anniversary trip. We had the whole weekend to ourselves, and I planned to make the most of it.

His door was slightly ajar, and I slipped inside. The morning light filtered through his curtains, casting soft shadows across his sleeping form. He was on his back, one arm thrown over his head, the sheets tangled around his waist. His bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and I felt a rush of heat between my legs.

He looked so peaceful. So innocent.

I wanted to ruin him.

I pulled the sheet down slowly, revealing his boxers. Even in sleep, there was a definite bulge there, and I bit my lip, already imagining what it would feel like in my mouth. I'd been with other guys before, but this was different. This was forbidden. This was everything I'd been craving.

I knelt beside his bed, reaching out to trace my fingers along the waistband of his boxers. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Good. I wanted him to wake up to the feeling of my mouth on him.

I pulled his boxers down just enough to free his cock. He was already semi-hard, and I wrapped my hand around him, feeling the warmth and weight of him. He was bigger than I'd expected, thick and long, and I couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

"That's right, Sammy," I whispered, leaning down. "Your big sister's going to give you a birthday present you'll never forget."

I took him in my mouth.

He tasted like sleep and skin, and I savored the sensation as I took him deeper. My tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, and I felt him twitch, growing harder in my mouth. A low moan escaped his lips, and I knew he was starting to wake up.

"Mm... what the..." His voice was groggy, confused.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock as he registered what was happening.

"Shh," I murmured, stroking him slowly. "Happy birthday, baby brother."

"Anya, what are you—we can't—" He tried to push me away, but his body betrayed him. His hips bucked up instinctively, seeking more contact.

"Yes, we can," I said, my voice firm. "I've wanted this for so long, Sammy. I know you have too. I've seen the way you look at me. I've heard you in the shower, touching yourself thinking about me."

His face flushed crimson. "I—that's not—"

"Don't lie to me." I leaned down and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the pre-cum that had beaded there. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want this."

He was fully hard now, his cock straining toward me like it had a mind of its own. His hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles white.

"I want it," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fuck, Anya, I want it so bad. I've been dreaming about this for months."

"That's my good boy," I purred, taking him back into my mouth.

I worked him with my tongue and lips, taking him deep into my throat. He was bigger than I'd anticipated, and I had to relax my jaw to accommodate him. His hands found my hair, tangling in the strands as he gasped.

"God, Anya, your mouth is so—fuck—I'm not going to last—"

"Then don't," I said, pulling off just long enough to speak. "I want to taste you, Sammy. I want you to come down my throat."

I took him again, bobbing my head faster. My hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking in rhythm with my mouth. His hips started thrusting up, fucking my face as he lost control.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "Anya, I'm gonna—"

I moaned around him, the vibration pushing him over the edge. He came with a cry, his hands tightening in my hair as he spilled into my mouth. I swallowed every drop, looking up at him through my lashes as he watched me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Fuck," he breathed. "That was... that was incredible."

I pulled off him with a wet pop, licking my lips. "We're not done yet."

I stood up, letting my robe fall to the floor. His eyes traveled over my naked body, stopping at my breasts, then lower to the triangle of dark hair between my legs.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "I never thought—I mean, I dreamed, but I never thought it would actually—"

"Stop thinking," I said, climbing onto the bed and straddling his hips. "Just feel."

I positioned myself over him, his cock pressing against my entrance. I was already soaked, my pussy aching to be filled.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his hands gripping my hips. "Anya, once we do this, there's no going back."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." I sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch into my wet heat.

We both moaned at the sensation. He filled me perfectly, stretching me in ways I hadn't experienced before. I paused when he was fully inside me, letting us both adjust.

"So tight," he gasped. "Fuck, Anya, you're so tight."

I started moving, rocking my hips in slow circles. His hands moved from my hips to my breasts, cupping them, thumbing my nipples. I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his chest, and rode him faster.

"Look at me," I commanded, and his eyes met mine. "I want you to watch me come on your cock."

His hips bucked up, meeting my movements. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that spot deep inside me that made stars dance behind my eyes.

"Harder," I begged. "Fuck me harder, Sammy."

He flipped us over, pinning me to the mattress. He was on top of me now, his body covering mine, his cock still buried deep inside me. He started thrusting, fast and hard, and I cried out, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his face buried in my neck. "So fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted you for so long."

"Fuck me," I begged, my nails raking down his back. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

He pounded into me, his rhythm frantic and desperate. My second orgasm was building, and I could feel his cock twitching inside me.

"Come with me," I gasped. "Sammy, come with me."

"I'm going to," he groaned. "Fuck, Anya, I'm going to come so hard."

I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me as I screamed his name. My walls clenched around him, and he followed me over the edge, his hot seed spilling inside me as he cried out my name.

He collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing heavily. His cock was still inside me, softening, and I felt a surge of affection for this boy who had just become a man in my arms.

"Happy birthday," I whispered, kissing his forehead.

He laughed, burying his face in my neck. "Best birthday ever."

"Don't get too comfortable," I said, a wicked smile playing on my lips. "We have the whole weekend."

He lifted his head, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." I pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him again. "I'm not done with you yet, baby brother. Not even close."

He grinned, pulling me down for a kiss. "Then show me what else you've got."

And I did.

We spent the rest of the weekend exploring each other, learning every inch of each other's bodies. There were no regrets, no guilt, just the overwhelming rightness of being together. We knew it was forbidden, that our family would never understand, but we didn't care.

We loved each other in ways we'd never been taught were wrong.

And for the first time in our lives, we both felt truly whole.

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I've been with my boyfriend Jake for two years now. He's 24 and I'm 21, he is handsome as hell, and honestly the sweetest guy I've ever dated. But Jake inherited every single one of his good looks from his father, Michael. And Michael is 52, but God, you would never guess it looking at him.

The man is built like a Greek statue. Broad shoulders that fill out every shirt he wears, a chest that's solid and defined from years of swimming, and these arms that look like they could lift me without breaking a sweat. His face is all sharp angles with a strong jawline that's always covered in just the right amount of silver stubble. His hair is salt and pepper, perfectly groomed, and his eyes are this intense blue that seem to see right through you. When Jake introduced us two years ago, I remember thinking, "Well, now I know where Jake gets it from."

But that was it. Just an observation. Michael was always polite, always kept his distance. He'd ask about my studies, my family, make sure I was eating enough whenever I came over. The perfect gentleman. The perfect father.

Until three weeks ago, when Jake had to fly out for a work conference in Chicago. He was going to be gone for five days, and I offered to stay at his place to water the plants and keep an eye on things.

"My dad will be around," Jake told me as he was packing. "His place is still being renovated, so he's staying in the guest room. You two get along, right?"

"Yeah, of course," I said, not thinking anything of it. "He's great."

Jake kissed me goodbye, and I waved him off, already planning my weekend of Netflix and takeout. I didn't think much about Michael being there. He was always in his office or at the gym or out doing whatever retired business executives do.

The first two days were fine. We crossed paths in the kitchen a few times, exchanged pleasantries, ate dinner together once. He made this incredible pasta dish, and we talked about Jake, about my classes, about the weather. Nothing weird. Nothing inappropriate.

Then came the third night.

It was around nine in the evening. I was curled up on the massive leather couch in the living room, wearing nothing but one of Jake's oversized t-shirts and a pair of tiny cotton shorts that barely covered my ass. I'd just finished watching some rom-com and was scrolling through my phone, half asleep, when I heard Michael come in from his office.

He walked past the living room entrance, then stopped. Backtracked. Leaned against the doorframe and looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"You're still up," he said. His voice was deep, smooth, like expensive whiskey.

"Couldn't sleep," I replied, stretching my arms above my head. I noticed his eyes flick down to where my shirt rode up, exposing the curve of my hip. "Long day?"

"Something like that." He walked into the room and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, and even in that, he looked incredible. The shirt stretched across his chest, and I could see the outline of his abs underneath.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I could feel something shift in the air between us. It was almost electric, this tension that hadn't been there before.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Michael said, turning to face me. "But are you happy with Jake?"

The question caught me off guard. "What? Of course. Why would you ask that?"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving mine. "I just want to make sure my son is treating you right. You're a beautiful girl, Anya. Any man would be lucky to have you."

My heart started beating faster. "Michael..."

"I'm just saying," he continued, leaning closer. "If I were younger, if I hadn't been such a fool in my marriage, I would have fought for someone like you."

My mouth went dry. I should have gotten up and walked away. I should have told him to stop. But something held me in place, something dark and curious that wanted to see where this was going.

"You're drunk," I whispered, though he'd only had one glass of wine at dinner.

"I wish I was," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Then I could blame the alcohol for the thoughts I've been having. But I'm perfectly sober, Anya. And I've been watching you for two years."

His hand moved to rest on the couch cushion between us. So close to my thigh. I could feel the heat radiating from his fingers.

"What are you doing?" I breathed.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," he replied, and then he leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss was everything I never knew I wanted. His lips were soft but demanding, and his hand came up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I should have pushed him away. I should have run to my room and called Jake and told him everything. But instead, I opened my mouth to him, letting his tongue slide against mine, tasting the wine and something uniquely him.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire. "I've wanted to do that since the first time Jake brought you home. You were wearing that little sundress, and all I could think about was peeling it off you."

"Michael," I gasped, trying to find my voice. "This is wrong. You're Jake's father."

"I know what I am," he said, his hand moving to my thigh, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin. "But I also know what I want. And right now, I want you."

I should have said no. I should have stopped this before it went any further. But the truth is, I was soaked. My panties were completely drenched, and I could feel my clit throbbing with every word he said.

"Is that what you want?" I asked, my voice shaky. "To have me?"

He laughed, a low sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Anya, I want to bend you over this couch and fuck you until you forget your own name. I want to hear you scream while I'm inside you. I want to watch you come apart on my cock."

My breath hitched. "Jake—"

"Isn't here," he interrupted, his hand sliding higher up my thigh. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him. This is just between you and me. No one else has to know."

He pushed my shorts aside, his fingers finding my wet folds through my panties. I gasped as he pressed against my clit, rubbing slow circles that had me arching into his hand.

"You're so wet for me," he murmured, his lips against my ear. "So ready. Tell me you want this, Anya. I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," I gasped, the word falling from my lips before I could stop it. "I want it. I want you."

He stood up and pulled me to my feet, then bent me over the arm of the couch. My hands gripped the leather as I felt him behind me, his strong hands pushing my shirt up, exposing my ass.

"Look at that," he said, his voice rough with want. "Jake has no idea what he's got. But I'm about to find out."

He pulled my panties down to my knees, and I heard him groan as he saw me exposed. I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance, thick and hot, and I braced myself.

"This is going to be a little tight," he warned, his voice strained. "But I know you can take it."

He pushed inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust, and I cried out, the feeling of being so full overwhelming me. He was bigger than Jake, thicker, and I could feel every inch as he buried himself deep inside.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping my hips. "You're so tight. So perfect."

He started to move, slow at first, letting me adjust to his size. But then his pace quickened, each thrust harder than the last, and I was gripping the couch, moaning uncontrollably.

"Look at you," he said, his voice a growl. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. Jake has no idea what a little slut you are."

I should have been offended. Instead, I moaned louder. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Oh, I'm not stopping," he promised, his hand coming around to rub my clit. "I want to feel you come on my cock. I want to watch you fall apart."

His fingers worked magic on my clit, and combined with his deep, rhythmic thrusts, I was already close. So close.

"I'm gonna—" I gasped.

"Come for me," he commanded, his pace increasing. "Let me feel it, baby. Let me feel you squeeze my cock."

I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me as I screamed his name. My walls clamped down around him, and he groaned, pounding into me even harder.

"Fuck, yes," he growled. "That's it. That's my good girl."

He pulled out of me, and I thought it was over. But then he flipped me around, pushing me down onto the couch and spreading my legs wide. He positioned himself between them, his cock glistening with my wetness, and looked down at me with pure hunger.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, and he thrust back inside me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He leaned down, his lips finding mine as he fucked me, his rhythm steady and powerful. His hand found my breast, squeezing and kneading, his thumb rolling over my nipple.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against my lips. "So perfect. I should have done this years ago."

His pace quickened, and I could feel another orgasm building. He was hitting that spot inside me that made my toes curl, and I was moaning, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Look at me," he demanded, and I opened my eyes to meet his gaze. "I want to see your face when you come again."

He drove into me harder, faster, and I was screaming, my body shuddering as the orgasm crashed over me. He followed moments later, groaning my name as he spilled his hot seed deep inside me.

But he still wasn't done. He pulled out, then grabbed my hips, flipping me onto my stomach. He pulled my hips up, and I felt him slide back into me from behind, this time even deeper.

"One more," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want one more from you."

He fucked me like an animal, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew there would be bruises. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, mixed with my moans and his grunts.

"Fuck, you take it so well," he growled. "So deep. I can feel you everywhere."

His hand snaked around to my clit again, and I was spiraling toward another orgasm. I couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel as he fucked me senseless.

"Come for me," he commanded, and I did, screaming into the couch cushions as the orgasm ripped through me.

He came with me, his body shuddering as he filled me again. He collapsed on top of me, his weight pinning me to the couch, and I felt his breath hot against my ear.

"That was incredible," he whispered. "Better than I ever imagined."

We lay there for a long time, tangled together on the couch. Michael's arms were wrapped around me, and I could feel his heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

"Was this a one-time thing?" I finally asked, my voice quiet.

He laughed softly. "Do you want it to be?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I feel so guilty. Jake trusts me. He loves me."

"I know," Michael said, his voice serious. "And I love my son. But Anya, I can't pretend this didn't happen. I can't pretend I don't want you."

I turned to look at him, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He was struggling with the same guilt I was. But there was also hunger there. Desire. Want.

"I should go," I said, starting to get up.

"Stay," he said, his hand catching my wrist. "Just for a little while longer."

I should have gone to my room. I should have ended this right then and there. But instead, I nodded and laid back down, letting him pull me close.

The next morning, I woke up in my own bed, wondering if it had all been a dream. But the ache between my legs told me it was real. The bruises on my hips confirmed it.

Michael was in the kitchen when I came out, making coffee like nothing had happened.

"Good morning, Anya," he said, his voice perfectly casual. "Sleep well?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Jake called," he said, handing me a mug. "He'll be home tomorrow night. He sends his love."

"Thank you," I managed, taking the coffee.

His fingers brushed against mine, and I felt that familiar jolt of electricity. We exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between us.

The rest of the day was awkward. We tiptoed around each other, pretending everything was normal. But when I bent down to pick up something I'd dropped, I caught him staring at my ass, and I knew this wasn't over.

That night, I was in my room when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Michael.

"Come to the living room."

I should have ignored it. I should have turned off my phone and gone to sleep. But my body was already betraying me, already aching for him.

I crept down the stairs, and there he was, waiting for me on the same couch he'd fucked me on the night before.

"I knew you'd come," he said, his voice low and dark.

I didn't say anything. I just walked over to him, and he pulled me onto his lap, his hands immediately finding my body.

We didn't make it to the bedroom that night either. He bent me over the arm of the couch again, and I let him, because the truth is, I wanted it. I wanted him.

And when Jake came home the next day, I kissed him like nothing had happened. I hugged him, told him I missed him, made him dinner.

But all night long, I could feel Michael's eyes on me, and I knew this wasn't over. It was just beginning.

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I'm Anya, 21 years old, and I've been living with my dad Richard, 52, and my stepbrother Sam, 18, for the past three years since my dad remarried. Sam's mom passed away when he was young, and my mom left when I was a teenager, so we kind of became this weird blended family that actually worked pretty well. Most of the time.

But something shifted about six months ago. Sam had always been just this lanky kid I'd known since he was fifteen. Then suddenly he wasn't a kid anymore. He'd filled out, grown taller, and developed these broad shoulders that made me do double takes when he walked past me in the hallway. His voice had dropped, and he had this quiet confidence that was incredibly attractive.

I started noticing the way he looked at me too. Lingering glances across the dinner table. Finding excuses to be in the same room as me. The way his eyes would trail down my body when he thought I wasn't looking. I'd catch myself doing the same thing to him, especially when he'd walk around the house shirtless after his morning workouts, his abs glistening with sweat, his arms flexing as he stretched. I'd feel this heat pool between my legs, and I'd have to cross my thighs to ease the ache.

The tension between us was palpable, electric, building with every passing week. We'd never acted on it, but we both knew something was simmering beneath the surface. I'd catch him staring at my tits when I wore low-cut tops, and he'd catch me watching his bulge through his sweatpants. It was a game of cat and mouse, and we were both losing.

My dad Richard was oblivious, of course. He was always buried in his work, coming home late, leaving early. He trusted us completely. He had no idea that his daughter and stepson were eyeing each other with barely concealed hunger. He didn't see the way Sam's hand would brush against my ass when we passed in the hallway. He didn't notice the charged silences at the dinner table.

It was a Friday night, and my dad had texted that he'd be working late. Some big project at his law firm that couldn't wait. Sam and I were alone in the house, which wasn't unusual, but tonight felt different. The air was thick with unspoken tension, crackling like static electricity.

I was in the living room, curled up on the couch in my tiny shorts that barely covered my ass and a loose tank top with no bra underneath, scrolling through my phone. I'd just gotten out of the shower, and my hair was still damp, curling around my shoulders. I knew I looked good. I'd dressed deliberately, wanting to see if Sam would notice. My nipples were hard, poking through the thin fabric of my top, and my shorts were riding up, exposing the curve of my ass.

He walked in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, raising an eyebrow when he saw me. "Dad's not gonna be home for hours," he said, setting the glasses down on the coffee table. "Thought you might want some company."

"Sure," I said, trying to sound casual even as my heart started racing. "I could use a drink."

He sat down next to me, closer than necessary, and poured the wine. Our fingers brushed as he handed me the glass, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through my body. His touch was warm, and I could smell his cologne—something woodsy and masculine that made my head spin.

"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip. It was good wine, probably from my dad's collection. "So, what's up with you lately? You've been quiet."

He shrugged, those broad shoulders moving in a way that made my mouth go dry. His t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, and I could see the outline of his muscles. "Just thinking about stuff. School, life. You know."

"Anything specific?"

He turned to look at me, and his eyes were dark, intense. "Yeah. You."

My breath caught in my throat. "Me?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," he said, leaning closer. His knee pressed against mine, and I felt the heat of his body. "I see the way you look at me, Anya. I'm not stupid."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, but my voice was shaky.

He laughed softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind my ear. His fingers trailed down my neck, sending shivers across my skin. "Yeah, you do. You've been looking at me like you want to devour me. And I've been looking at you the same way."

"Sam, we can't—"

"Can't what?" he interrupted. "Can't acknowledge that we both want this? Because we do. I can see it in your eyes right now."

His hand cupped my face, tilting it toward him. "Just tell me you don't feel this," he whispered. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll walk away."

I couldn't say it. I couldn't lie.

Instead, I kissed him.

The kiss was explosive, desperate, months of pent-up desire finally breaking free. His lips were soft but demanding, and I moaned into his mouth as his tongue invaded mine. He tasted like wine and something sweeter, and I couldn't get enough. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I felt his hard length pressing against my thigh through his jeans. My nipples were aching, rubbing against his chest through the thin fabric of my tank top.

"Fuck, Anya," he groaned against my lips. "I've wanted this for so long."

"Me too," I admitted, my hands fisting in his t-shirt. "I've been going crazy."

He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted chest and abs. God, he was beautiful. All that youthful energy and muscle, and it was all for me. His chest was smooth with just a light dusting of hair trailing down to his waistband. His muscles flexed as he moved, and I could see the veins in his arms.

"Your turn," he said, his fingers tugging at my tank top. I lifted my arms, letting him pull it off, and he stared at my bare breasts. My nipples were hard, pebbled, and I could see the desire in his eyes. "Fuck. You're so perfect. Your tits are incredible."

His mouth found my neck, trailing hot kisses down to my collarbone. His hands were everywhere, touching, exploring, claiming. He cupped my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples, and I arched into his touch, desperate for more. I could feel my wetness soaking through my shorts, and I knew he could see the damp spot.

He unclasped my bra with surprising skill, and I laughed breathlessly. "Been practicing?"

"I've been dreaming," he admitted, his lips closing around my nipple.

I gasped, my fingers threading through his hair as he sucked and laved at my sensitive peak. His tongue flicked against the tip, and I cried out, the sensation shooting straight to my clit. His hand found my other breast, kneading and teasing until I was writhing beneath him.

"Sam, please," I begged. "I need more."

"Patience," he murmured, his hand sliding down my stomach to the button of my shorts. "I want to take my time with you."

He popped the button and slid my shorts down my legs, leaving me in just my tiny lace thong. He sat back, admiring the view, and I felt a thrill at the hunger in his eyes. The thong was soaked through, and I knew he could see my wetness.

"Look at you," he breathed. "So fucking beautiful. Your pussy is so wet for me."

His fingers traced the edge of my thong, dipping beneath the fabric to find me wet and ready. I moaned as he slid two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that made me see stars. My hips bucked against his hand, and I could feel myself dripping onto his fingers.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he said, his thumb finding my clit. "This all for me, Anya?"

"Yes," I gasped. "All for you."

He worked my clit with his thumb while his fingers pumped inside me, and I was already close, embarrassingly close. My hips bucked against his hand as the pleasure built to a breaking point. His fingers curled against that spot inside me, and I could feel myself about to explode.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice low and husky. "I want to see you come apart."

I shattered, crying out his name as my orgasm crashed through me. My body convulsed, my juices coating his fingers as I came. He watched me through hooded eyes, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched me ride out the wave.

"Beautiful," he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. "But we're not done yet."

He stood up, unfastening his jeans and letting them fall to the floor. His boxers followed, and his cock sprang free, thick and hard and absolutely perfect. It was about seven inches, with a nice girth, and I could see the head glistening with pre-cum. I licked my lips, imagining what it would feel like inside me.

"Turn around," he said, his voice brooking no argument. "On your hands and knees. I want to see that ass."

I obeyed, positioning myself on the couch, and I felt the heat of his body behind me. His hand gripped my hip, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He teased me first, rubbing the head along my wet folds, making me gasp.

"Tell me you want this," he said, his breath hot against my ear. "I need to hear you say it."

"I want it," I gasped. "I want you inside me, Sam. Please."

He thrust forward slowly, filling me inch by inch. I felt myself stretching around him, accommodating his thickness. He was deep, so deep, and I could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he slid inside. He paused halfway, letting me adjust, and I could feel the tension in his body as he held himself back.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned. "So tight. So perfect."

He started moving, slow and gentle at first. His thrusts were long and deep, each one hitting a spot inside me that made me see stars. He pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in, letting me feel every inch of him. His hands were gentle on my hips, stroking my skin as he fucked me.

"Fuck, Anya," he breathed. "I've been dreaming about this. About what it would feel like to be inside you."

I moaned, pushing back against him, wanting more. "It feels so good," I gasped. "Don't stop."

He didn't. He kept that slow, torturous pace, each thrust building the pressure inside me. His hand reached around to my clit, rubbing in slow circles that matched his rhythm. I could feel myself getting close again, the pleasure building like a wave.

"Look at you," he said, his voice strained. "Taking my cock so well. Such a good girl."

His thrusts started getting faster, rougher. The gentle fucking was over, replaced by something more primal. His grip on my hips tightened, and I could hear the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of my soaked pussy.

"You want it rough now?" he asked, his voice a growl. "Tell me what you want, Anya."

"Yes," I sobbed. "Rough. Fuck me hard."

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, and I screamed. His pace was relentless now, pounding into me with a rhythm that made the couch shake. His balls slapped against my clit with each thrust, and the sensation was overwhelming.

"Fuck, yes," he grunted. "Take it. Take my cock like the slut you are."

I was moaning, crying out, not caring who heard. His hand came down on my ass with a sharp slap, and I cried out, the sting making me even wetter. He did it again, and again, each slap punctuating his thrusts.

"You like that?" he demanded. "You like being spanked while my cock is deep inside you?"

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, Sam. Don't stop."

He grabbed my hips and pulled me back onto his cock with each thrust, meeting his movement. The angle changed, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside me with every stroke, the one that made my vision go white.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned. "I want you to come first. Come on my cock, Anya. Squeeze me."

I couldn't hold back. My orgasm crashed over me, my walls clamping down on his cock like a vice. I screamed his name as I came, my body shuddering, and that was all it took for him.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, his voice tight. "Tell me where."

"Inside," I begged. "I want to feel you come inside me. Fill me up."

He groaned, thrusting deep, and I felt his cock pulse as he spilled his seed inside me. It was hot, thick, and I could feel it filling me up. His body shuddered against mine as he came, and I milked every last drop with my spasming pussy.

He collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the couch, his cock still twitching inside me. "Fuck," he breathed. "That was incredible."

I turned my head to kiss him, tasting myself on his lips. "We're not done," I said, a wicked smile on my face.

He laughed, a low, dark sound. "What did you have in mind?"

I pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His cock was still semi-hard, but it only took a few strokes from my hand to get him fully erect again. The head was slick with my juices and his cum, and I positioned myself above him.

"This time, I'm in control," I said, sinking down onto him.

He was so deep in this position, filling me completely. I started riding him, slow at first, rocking my hips in circles. My hands were on his chest for balance, my fingers tracing the lines of his muscles.

"Fuck, Anya," he groaned, his hands finding my hips. "You feel so good. Ride me."

I picked up the pace, bouncing on his cock, my tits swaying in his face. He reached up and grabbed them, squeezing and teasing my nipples as I fucked him. I could feel myself getting wetter, my juices coating his cock and dripping down onto his balls.

I leaned forward, my hair falling around us like a curtain, and kissed him deeply. "Do you like watching me ride your cock?" I whispered against his lips.

"Fuck yes," he groaned. "You're so fucking sexy."

I sat up straight and bounced harder, my head thrown back, lost in the feeling of him inside me. His hands were on my ass, guiding me, slapping me lightly. I could feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in my belly.

"Come for me again," he demanded. "Come on my cock, Anya."

He reached between us and rubbed my clit, and that was it. I shattered, screaming his name as my second orgasm ripped through me. My walls clamped down on him, and he groaned, thrusting up into me as he came again, flooding me with his seed.

I collapsed onto his chest, panting, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. "Fuck," I breathed. "I think I died."

He laughed, kissing the top of my head. "Best death ever."

We lay there, tangled together, catching our breath. His cum was dripping out of me, and I could feel it running down my thigh. It was messy and perfect.

We were still tangled together, in the afterglow, when we heard it.

The front door opening.

My blood ran cold. I looked at Sam, and I saw the same horror reflected in his eyes. We were completely naked, still connected, with his cum leaking out of me.

"Dad," I whispered.

We scrambled, trying to get our clothes back on, but we were too late. My dad, Richard, walked into the living room and froze.

He saw everything. My thong on the floor, my bra draped over the arm of the couch, Sam's t-shirt crumpled in a ball. And us, completely naked, trying to cover ourselves. He could see the sheen of sweat on our skin, the flush on my cheeks, and I knew he could see the evidence of what we'd just done.

His face went through a range of emotions—confusion, shock, disbelief, and then something I couldn't read. Something dark and dangerous.

"Dad," Sam started, "I can explain—"

"I think the situation speaks for itself," Richard said, his voice eerily calm. "I didn't realize I was interrupting something."

I opened my mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but no words came out. I was frozen, mortified, but also—and this is the part I hate to admit—there was a part of me that was thrilling at being caught. The danger, the taboo, it was all mixing with the lingering pleasure from what we'd just done.

"We were just—" I started.

"You were just fucking," Richard interrupted, his eyes fixed on me. "In my living room. On my couch. With my son. I can see the mess you've made."

I flinched at the bluntness of his words. "Dad, please—"

"Don't," he said, holding up his hand. "I don't want to hear it."

He turned to Sam, and for a moment, I thought he was going to hit him. But instead, he just shook his head. "Go to your room," he said. "We'll discuss this later."

Sam grabbed his clothes and fled, leaving me alone with my dad.

I expected him to yell. To scream. To throw me out of the house. But instead, he just stood there, looking at me with those dark eyes that were so like Sam's.

"He's not your real son," I said, my voice small. "We're not blood-related."

"You think that makes it okay?" Richard's voice was rough. "You think because there's no blood relation, it's fine to fuck your stepbrother in the middle of the living room?"

"No," I said, tears pricking at my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Go to bed, Anya," he said, pulling back. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

I nodded, grabbing my clothes and fleeing to my room.

That was three days ago, and I still don't know what's going to happen.

And Sam? Well, Sam and I haven't been able to stop. We've been sneaking around, finding moments whenever we can, and it's only gotten better. The risk of getting caught adds something, makes it more intense. He fucks me in my room, in his room, in the bathroom. Sometimes gentle, sometimes rough. I've felt his cum on my tits, in my mouth, inside me. Every time is better than the last.

I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if my dad is going to confront us, or punish us, or something else entirely. But I do know one thing: I enjoyed my stepbrother's dick a lot.

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I never thought I'd be writing this confession, but here I am, still trembling from what happened between me and my little brother Alex. I'm Anya, 21, and he just turned 18 last month. We've always been close.

Alex was always the "good one." The religious one. He went to youth group every Wednesday, volunteered at the church food bank on Saturdays, and had a collection of cross necklaces that he rotated depending on his outfit. He'd lecture me about modesty when I wore shorts too short, and he'd pray before every meal with such earnestness that it almost made me feel guilty about my own lack of faith.

But I noticed things. The way his eyes would linger when I bent over to pick something up. The way he'd quickly look away when I caught him staring at my chest. The way his voice would crack slightly when he said "goodnight" after I'd just come out of the shower in nothing but a towel.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. There was something intoxicating about having that effect on someone so pure, someone who was supposed to be fighting against those thoughts. I'd tease him sometimes, just to see that flush creep up his neck. Nothing too obvious—just walking around in my underwear when I thought he was asleep, or "accidentally" leaving my bedroom door open when I changed.

Last week, things changed.

It was Saturday morning, and I'd just finished a brutal workout. Sweat was dripping down my back, and all I wanted was a hot shower. I heard Alex in his room, probably doing his morning Bible study, so I figured I had the bathroom to myself.

I turned the water on as hot as I could handle, stepping under the spray and letting it wash away the tension. I was just starting to relax when I heard the bathroom door creak open.

"Anya?" Alex's voice was hesitant. "I need to—I mean, I thought you were done."

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I let the steam build up around me, knowing that the foggy glass would obscure most of my body but still leave a tantalizing silhouette.

"Alex," I called out, my voice sweet and innocent. "Could you pass me my towel? I think I left it on the counter."

There was a long pause. I could practically feel his internal struggle. Finally, I heard footsteps approaching.

The shower curtain was slightly opaque, but I could see his outline through it. He was holding my towel, his hand trembling slightly.

"Here," he said, his voice strained.

Instead of reaching for the towel, I pulled the curtain back just enough to reveal my face. "Don't be shy, little brother. It's not like you haven't seen me in less."

His eyes widened. I could see him fighting to keep his gaze on my face, but his resolve was crumbling.

"Anya, I shouldn't be—"

"Shouldn't be what?" I stepped out of the shower, completely naked, water dripping down my body. "Looking at me? Touching me? Thinking about me?"

His breath caught in his throat. "How do you know what I think about?"

"Because I'm not stupid, Alex. I see the way you look at me. I hear you praying for forgiveness every night." I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "Why do you keep fighting it?"

"Because it's wrong," he whispered, but his eyes were roaming over my body now, drinking in every curve. "You're my sister. We can't—"

"We can't what?" I took his hand and placed it on my wet hip. "Touch me? Like this?"

He should have pulled away. I know he wanted to. But instead, his fingers dug into my skin, and he let out a shaky breath.

"You're testing me," he said, his voice barely audible.

"I'm giving you permission," I corrected. "All those nights you've been fighting your desires? I want you to stop fighting. I want you to give in."

I don't know who moved first. One moment we were standing there, and the next his mouth was on mine, desperate and hungry, years of suppressed desire finally exploding between us.

"Anya," he groaned against my lips. "I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted you for so long."

"Show me," I demanded, pulling him into the shower with me, clothes and all. "Show me how much you want me."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands were everywhere—my breasts, my hips, my ass—groping and squeezing like he was making up for lost time. His lips found my neck, and I moaned as he sucked on the sensitive skin just below my ear.

"I've dreamed about this," he confessed between kisses. "Waking up and finding you in my bed. Bending you over the kitchen counter while you make breakfast. Fucking you right here while the water runs over us."

"Then do it," I said, reaching down to undo his jeans. His cock sprang free, already hard and aching. He was bigger than I expected, especially for someone who was supposed to be so innocent. "Fuck me, Alex. Right here. Right now."

He lifted me up against the shower wall, the cold tile a shock against my hot skin. I wrapped my legs around him, and he positioned himself at my entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and the vulnerability in his voice was almost sweet.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He pushed inside me, and I cried out, the feeling of him stretching me open making my eyes roll back. He was thick, so thick that I could feel every inch of him as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, his forehead pressing against mine. "You feel so good, Anya. Better than I ever imagined."

"Move," I begged. "Please, Alex, just move."

He started thrusting, slow at first, savoring the feeling of being inside me. But it didn't take long for his rhythm to become frantic, desperate. The water was running over us, making his skin slick against mine, and I could feel my orgasm building with each thrust.

"Look at me," he commanded, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I want to watch your face when you come."

"Alex—"

"Come for me, Anya. Come on my cock."

That was all it took. I shattered, screaming his name as the orgasm ripped through me. My walls clamped down on him, and he followed seconds later, spilling inside me with a groan that was almost reverent.

We stayed there for a long moment, both breathing heavily, the water washing away the evidence of our sin. But then he did something unexpected.

He dropped to his knees.

"Alex, what are you—"

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, and there was something almost predatory in his eyes. "I've been dreaming about this too."

He guided me to sit on the shower bench, spreading my legs wide. I was still sensitive from the orgasm, but the look on his face was so hungry that I didn't protest.

"Let me taste you," he said, and before I could respond, his mouth was on me.

His tongue found my clit immediately, circling it with a practiced precision that surprised me. For someone who was supposed to be a virgin, he certainly knew what he was doing.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I gasped, my hands fisting in his wet hair.

"Porn," he admitted between licks. "I've been watching it for years, imagining it was you. Imagining what you'd taste like."

"And?" I asked, breathless. "What do I taste like?"

"Like heaven," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Like everything I've been praying for."

He licked and sucked and nibbled until I was writhing on the shower bench, my hips bucking against his face. He slipped two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that made me see stars, while his tongue continued its assault on my clit.

"I want you to squirt for me," he said, his voice muffled against my pussy. "I want to taste all of you."

"Alex, I don't think I can—"

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "Just let go. Trust me."

He increased the pressure, his fingers and tongue working in perfect synchronization. I could feel the pressure building, that familiar sensation that usually made me hold back. But with him, I didn't want to hold back.

"I'm—I think I'm going to—"

"Do it," he encouraged. "Let go, Anya. Give it to me."

And I did.

I screamed as the wave crashed over me, my body convulsing as I squirted all over his face. He didn't pull away, didn't even flinch. Instead, he drank me in, lapping up every drop like it was the most precious thing he'd ever tasted.

When I finally came down from the high, I found him looking up at me with a smile, his face glistening with my juices. The contrast between the pious little brother I'd grown up with and the man between my legs was almost too much to process.

"Was that okay?" he asked, and the vulnerability was back.

"Okay?" I laughed, pulling him up to kiss me. I could taste myself on his lips. "That was fucking incredible."

"I love you, Anya," he said, and the words hit me harder than I expected. "I know it's wrong. I know we shouldn't feel this way. But I can't help it."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I kissed him instead, pouring all the confusion and desire and forbidden attraction into that one kiss.

"I love you too," I admitted when we finally broke apart. "And I don't care if it's wrong. I don't want to fight this anymore."

"We can't tell anyone," he said, his eyes serious. "If Mom found out—"

"She won't find out," I promised. "This stays between us."

We stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, just holding each other. And when we finally got out, drying off in silence, I knew that this wasn't a one-time thing.

This was the beginning of something new. Something sinful. Something that I had no intention of stopping.

The past few days have been... different. Every time Alex looks at me, I feel a shiver run down my spine. Every time he touches me, even accidentally, I get wet. We haven't talked about it, not directly, but the tension is still there. It's like the floodgates have opened, and neither of us knows how to close them again.

Last night, he came to my room. He didn't say anything—just crawled into my bed and wrapped his arms around me. We didn't have sex, but we didn't need to. Just being close to him, feeling his heartbeat against my back, was enough.

I don't know what this makes me. A bad sister? A terrible role model? Maybe. But I also don't care. I've spent my whole life doing what other people expected of me. For once, I'm doing what I want.

And what I want is him.

I want his hands on my body. I want his lips on my skin. I want to feel him inside me, filling me up, claiming me in a way that no one else ever has.

I know it's wrong. I know society would judge us. But when I'm with him, none of that matters. All that matters is the way he makes me feel—alive, desired, whole.

So yes, I'm confessing all of this. I'm confessing that I'm in love with my little brother. That I've had the most amazing sex of my life with him. That I want more.

And I'm not sorry for any of it.

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I'm Anya, 21, and I never thought I'd be writing this confession. But after what happened three weeks ago, I can't keep it bottled up anymore. I need to tell someone, even if it's strangers on the internet.

My little sister Emma just turned 18. She's always been the "good girl" – straight A's, head girl in high school, the one our dad Richard always bragged about to his friends. I was the wilder one, the one who got tattoos in college and came home with different boyfriends. But that night, everything flipped upside down.

It was Emma's 18th birthday celebration. Dad had gone all out – catered food, expensive champagne, the works. Mom left us when I was 16 and Emma was 13, so Dad had been both parents to us for years. He was a successful contractor, always working hard to provide, but tonight he'd let his hair down completely.

The champagne flowed freely. By 10 PM, we were all tipsy – Emma giggling uncontrollably at everything, Dad's cheeks flushed, and me feeling that warm buzz that made everything seem softer around the edges.

"What do you want for your birthday, sweetheart?" Dad asked Emma, his arm slung around her shoulder. "Anything. Name it."

Emma looked at him with those doe eyes, and I could see she was more than just tipsy. She was drunk, really drunk. "Anything?"

"Anything," he confirmed, kissing her forehead.

"I want..." she paused, and then the words came out in a rush, "I want to know what it feels like to be kissed by a man who actually loves me."

The room went silent. Dad's expression shifted from confusion to something else – something I couldn't quite read. I laughed nervously, trying to break the tension.

"Emma, you're drunk. Come on, let's get you to bed."

"No!" she pulled away from me, her eyes fixed on Dad. "I'm serious. All the boys I've dated, they just wanted one thing. But you – you actually love me. I want to know what that's like."

I expected Dad to shut it down, to send her to her room, to do the responsible parent thing. Instead, he looked at her with an expression I'd never seen before – hunger mixed with guilt, desire fighting with decency.

"Anya," he said, his voice rough. "Go to your room. Now."

"Dad –"

"I said go."

Something in his tone made me obey. I retreated to my room, but I didn't close the door all the way. I left it open just a crack, and I watched.

Dad led Emma to the living room couch, his hand on the small of her back. She was stumbling, laughing, completely unaware of the line she was about to cross.

"Emma," he said, sitting down next to her. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying," she insisted, reaching up to touch his face. "I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted YOU for so long."

He kissed her then – not a fatherly peck, but a real kiss. Deep and passionate, his hand sliding into her hair. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched my little sister melt into him, her small hands fisting in his shirt.

"Emma," he breathed against her lips. "God, I've wanted this too. I've wanted you for years. Every time you walked around in those tiny shorts, every time you hugged me goodnight, every time I heard you in the shower – I imagined this."

Her eyes widened, but not with shock – with excitement. "Then take me, Dad. I'm yours. I've always been yours."

What happened next was like watching a dam break. He tore at her clothes – the cute little birthday dress she'd bought specifically for the occasion – and she helped him, desperate to be naked underneath him. Her moans filled the living room, echoing off the walls.

"You're so beautiful," he groaned, his mouth moving down her neck. "So fucking perfect. I should have done this the day you turned 18. I've been counting down the days."

She arched her back as he took her nipple into his mouth, his hand sliding between her legs. "Oh God, Dad... I've never felt this way. No one else has ever made me feel like this."

"Because no one else loves you like I do," he said, positioning himself between her thighs. "No one else deserves you like I do."

I watched, frozen, as he pushed inside her. Emma cried out – whether from pain or pleasure, I couldn't tell – and he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her sounds. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"Take it, baby," he grunted, thrusting into her. "Take all of me. You're so tight, so perfect. This is all for you, baby girl. I've been saving this for you."

They moved together in a rhythm that seemed practiced, like they'd done this a hundred times before. Emma's nails raked down his back, leaving red marks, and he groaned in response, pounding into her harder.

"Yes, Daddy!" she screamed, and I realized she meant it literally. "Yes, fuck me! I love you so much! I love your cock inside me!"

He came with a roar, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her. They lay there for a moment, both breathing heavily, and I thought it was over.

I was wrong.

"Anya," Dad called out, his voice hoarse. "I know you're watching. Get out here."

My blood ran cold. But I couldn't disobey – something in his voice demanded obedience. I walked out of my room, my legs trembling, and stood in front of them.

Emma was still naked beneath him, a satisfied smile on her face. She looked at me, and for a moment, I saw something like triumph in her eyes.

"She's been watching the whole time, Dad," Emma said, her voice sweet and poisonous. "Maybe she wants a turn too."

Dad looked at me, and the hunger in his eyes was even more intense than before. He pulled out of Emma, his cock still hard and glistening with her wetness.

"Is that true, Anya? Do you want a turn?"

I should have said no. I should have run to my room and locked the door. Instead, I nodded.

"Please," I whispered.

He smiled – a dark, predatory smile that made my stomach flip with anticipation. "Then come here, baby girl. Daddy's got enough for both of his girls."

I walked forward on shaking legs, and he grabbed me, pulling me down onto the couch next to Emma. His hands were all over me – ripping at my clothes, cupping my breasts, squeezing my thighs.

"You've been so naughty, Anya," he murmured, his lips against my ear. "Always walking around in those tight jeans, bending over in front of me, teasing me with that perfect body. Did you think I didn't notice?"

"I – I didn't mean to –"

"Shh," he silenced me with a kiss. "Don't lie to me. You wanted this. You've always wanted this. You just didn't know how to ask."

His hand found my center, and I moaned as his fingers slipped inside me. I was already soaking wet, my body betraying me completely.

"Look at her, Emma," Dad said, showing me to his daughter. "Look how wet she is. She's been watching us fuck, getting off on it. She's just as dirty as we are."

Emma laughed, reaching out to touch my face. "Look at you, big sister. Such a slut for Daddy."

"Emma –"

"Don't pretend," she interrupted. "You've been watching us this whole time. You're just as bad as we are."

Dad pushed me onto my back, positioning himself between my legs the same way he'd done with Emma. "She's right, baby. You're just as bad. And I'm going to punish you for it."

He thrust inside me without warning, and I screamed – a mix of pain and pleasure that I'd never felt before. He was so deep, so thick, filling me completely.

"Fuck, you feel even better than your sister," he groaned, starting a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. "So tight, so perfect. Daddy's little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes!" I sobbed. "Yes, I'm your slut! I'm your dirty little whore!"

"That's right," he grunted, thrusting harder. "This is what you needed, isn't it? You needed Daddy to put you in your place."

His hand found my clit, rubbing circles that matched his rhythm, and I felt myself climbing toward an orgasm faster than I'd ever experienced. Emma watched, her eyes wide, her hand between her own legs as she touched herself to the sight of her father fucking her sister.

"Come for me, Anya," Dad commanded. "Come on Daddy's cock like a good little girl."

I shattered, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me. I screamed his name – not "Dad" but "Richard" – and he groaned, spilling his seed inside me for the second time that night.

But he wasn't done with me.

He pulled out of me, and I felt his cum dripping down my thighs. But then he pushed my legs apart, positioning himself between them, and I realized what he was about to do.

"Wait –"

"Shh," he shushed me. "Daddy's not finished with you yet. I told you I was going to punish you."

And then his mouth was on my pussy, his tongue lapping at the mess he'd made. I gasped, my hands flying to his hair, as he ate me out like I was his last meal.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned against my clit. "So sweet. I could eat this pussy forever."

He licked and sucked, alternating between my clit and my entrance, cleaning up his own cum from my folds. The sensation was overwhelming – I was still sensitive from my orgasm, and every touch sent sparks through my body.

Emma watched, her breathing ragged, as Dad devoured me. She crawled closer, her eyes glazed with lust.

"Can I taste?" she asked, her voice desperate.

Dad pulled away from me, his chin glistening. "Yes, baby. Come taste your sister."

Emma lowered her mouth to my pussy, and I cried out as her tongue joined her father's. They took turns licking me, kissing me, sucking my clit between their lips.

"Oh God, oh fuck –" I couldn't form words as the second orgasm built inside me.

"Look at you," Dad murmured against my thigh. "So responsive. So perfect. You're going to come for me again, aren't you? You're going to come all over Daddy's tongue."

"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, please, please!"

And I did – I came harder than I ever had in my life, my body convulsing as they both drank from me. Emma's fingers joined the mix, sliding inside me as Dad focused on my clit, and the combination sent me over the edge again and again.

When I finally collapsed, completely spent, Dad pulled me into his arms. Emma pressed against my other side, her head on my shoulder.

"I love both of you," Dad said, his voice thick. "I've always loved you. This doesn't change that."

"It changes everything," I whispered.

"Good," he said, kissing my forehead. "It should."

We fell asleep on the couch, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets. When I woke up the next morning, I expected to feel ashamed, guilty, disgusted with myself.

Instead, I felt... free.

Emma was already awake, staring at me with wide eyes. "Anya –"

"I know," I interrupted. "We don't have to talk about it."

"But –"

"It happened," I said, sitting up. "And I don't regret it."

Dad stirred behind me, and I felt his arm tighten around my waist. "Neither do I," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Neither do I."

We haven't stopped since that night. Every weekend, after Emma comes home from her college classes, we have our "family time." Sometimes it's just me and Dad. Sometimes it's just Emma. But most of the time, it's all three of us, fucking each other until we can't remember our own names.

I know it's wrong. I know society would never accept this. But I don't care anymore. The pleasure I feel, the connection, the love – it's all worth it.

And the best part? Emma's finally stopped being such a "good girl." She's become just as wild as I am – maybe even wilder. Last week, she told me she wants to try something new with Dad, something we haven't done yet.

I can't wait to see what she comes up with.

My name is Anya, and I've been fucking my father and my little sister for three weeks now. And I've never been happier.

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I never expected to come home early that Thursday. My afternoon sociology lecture had been canceled, and instead of hanging out with friends like I normally would, I decided to head straight back to the apartment I shared with my stepbrother Danny. We'd been living together for almost a year now, ever since our parents got married and decided to take an extended "second honeymoon" trip around Europe.

Danny was twenty-three, a devout seminary student who spent most of his time studying scripture, attending church services, and trying to "save my soul" with his endless lectures about modesty and virtue. He was the golden boy of our family—always praying before meals, volunteering at the youth center, and quoting Bible verses like they were going out of style. Me? I was eighteen, a college freshman who'd spent her teenage years being the rebellious one. I'd toned it down since starting university, but I still had my moments. The irony of being constantly judged by someone who'd probably never even kissed a girl wasn't lost on me.

I pushed open the front door, kicking off my sneakers and dropping my backpack by the entrance. The apartment was quiet, which was unusual since Danny was supposed to be home studying for his theology exam. I padded down the hallway toward my room, passing his closed door on the way.

That's when I heard it. A soft, rhythmic sound coming from behind his door. It almost sounded like he was crying, but there was something else beneath it—something guttural and desperate.

I should have kept walking. I should have gone to my room and pretended I hadn't heard anything. Instead, curiosity got the better of me. I crept closer, pressing my ear against the wood, and my heart nearly stopped.

"Fuck... yes... so fucking good..."

That was Danny's voice. My religious, holier-than-thou stepbrother was moaning like a porn star.

The door was cracked open just an inch, and I couldn't resist peeking through. What I saw made my blood run hot and cold at the same time. Danny was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked from the waist down, his hand wrapped around his thick cock as he stroked himself furiously. That alone would have been shocking enough, but it wasn't the most shocking part.

In his other hand, he was holding my panties. Specifically, the lacy black thong I'd worn two days ago and tossed in the laundry hamper. The same hamper that sat in the corner of the bathroom we shared.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, and let out a shuddering groan. "Anya... fuck, you smell so sweet... like heaven and sin all mixed together..."

I should have backed away. I should have made my presence known and given him a chance to save face. Instead, I stood frozen, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. A strange heat was pooling between my legs, and I pressed my thighs together instinctively, trying to ignore the ache that was growing there.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, his voice husky and reverent. "Every time you bend over in those tiny shorts. Every time you laugh at my jokes. Every time you walk around in nothing but a towel after your shower..." His hand moved faster, and I watched the muscles in his lean back flex with each stroke. "You don't even know what you do to me, do you? That perfect little pussy... I'd give anything to taste it. To feel it wrapped around my cock..."

His thumb swiped over the tip, spreading a bead of pre-cum, and he groaned again. "The smell of you drives me insane. I can practically taste you on this fabric. When I'm at church, trying to focus on the sermon, all I can think about is how badly I want to bend you over the pew and fuck you senseless."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. The ache between my legs had become unbearable, and I could feel myself getting wet—my clean panties now damp with arousal. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of me.

"Those little moans you make when you stretch in the morning," he continued, his rhythm increasing. "The way your nipples get hard when you're cold. The way you bit your lip when you're concentrating. I notice everything, Anya. Every single thing."

His breathing became ragged, and I knew he was close. I should have walked away. I should have stormed in there and demanded an explanation. Instead, I was rubbing my thighs together, my hand unconsciously moving toward my own aching pussy.

Suddenly, his hand stopped. His head turned slightly, and in the reflection of his desk mirror, I saw his eyes lock onto mine.

"Fuck," he breathed, scrambling to cover himself. His pants were tangled around his ankles, and in his panic, he nearly fell off the bed. "Anya, I—this isn't what it looks like—"

He grabbed his jeans, trying to pull them up, but his erection was so prominent that it was impossible to hide. The whole situation was absurdly comedic, but neither of us was laughing.

"What the hell, Danny?" I finally managed, my voice coming out as a breathless whisper. "Those are my—you're—we're—"

"I'm so sorry," he blurted out, his face crimson. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just... I've been struggling with these impure thoughts, and I didn't know how else to—"

"Impure thoughts?" I laughed, though it came out hollow and bitter. "You're a seminary student! You're supposed to be the one lecturing me about sin, and here you are—"

"I know what I'm supposed to be!" His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked so vulnerable that something twisted in my chest. "But I can't help it, Anya. Do you have any idea what it's like to live with someone like you? Someone who's so... so..."

"So what?" I demanded, stepping fully into his room.

"So perfect," he finished, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "So beautiful. I see you walking around in those tiny clothes, and I pray for deliverance. I pray and I pray, but God doesn't answer. Or maybe He does, and the answer is that I need to face this head-on."

I should have been disgusted. I should have marched out and called our parents immediately. But I was still wet from watching him, and there was something about the way he looked at me—like I was both his greatest sin and his only salvation—that made me feel powerful.

"You've been stealing my underwear," I said slowly, stepping closer. "How long?"

His jaw tightened. "A few months. Since after the first summer we lived together."

"And you do this? Sniff them like some kind of pervert?"

"I'm not a pervert," he said defensively. "I'm just... human. Flawed. Sinful."

"Spoken like a true Catholic," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Something flickered in his gaze—maybe anger, maybe passion. "You have no idea what it's like. To want something so badly and know you can never have it. To have it walking around your home, wearing nothing but a towel, laughing and living and being so effortlessly... you."

I was standing right in front of him now. Close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the unmistakable scent of his arousal. Close enough to see the war raging behind his eyes—the battle between his conditioning and his desires.

"And what," I whispered, my voice low and deliberate, "would you do if I said you could have it?"

His eyes widened. "What?"

"I said," I repeated, reaching out to touch his chest. My fingers traced the outline of his pectoral muscle through his shirt. "What would you do, Danny? If I gave you what you clearly want?"

"Anya, we can't—God will punish—"

"God?" I laughed, and it came out darker than I intended. "Where was God when you were sniffing my panties? Where was God when you were jerking off to the thought of your stepsister? You already committed the sin. The only question now is whether you'll see it through."

He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're testing me. You want to see if I'll break."

"I want to see if you'll be honest with yourself for once."

Something snapped behind his eyes. The pious seminary student vanished, replaced by something primal and hungry. He pulled me closer, his body flush against mine, and I could feel his erection pressing against my hip.

"Honest?" he breathed, his lips inches from mine. "You want honest? Fine. I've been dreaming about bending you over this bed since the day our parents got married. I've been touching myself to the thought of your lips around my cock, of fucking you so deep you forget your own name. I've been praying for forgiveness and sinning in the same breath because I can't stop. I can't stop wanting you."

Before I could respond, his mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was raw, desperate, and tasted like months of suppressed desire. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I moaned, my hands fisting in his shirt. He walked me backward, out of his room and into the living room, until my legs hit the edge of the couch.

"Anya," he murmured against my lips, his voice ragged. "If we do this, there's no going back."

"I know." My voice was steadier than I felt. "I want this. I want you."

He pushed me down onto the couch, and I fell onto the cushions, looking up at him with a mix of anticipation and hunger. He hovered over me, his eyes dark with lust, and I could see the conflict in them—the last remnants of his religious guilt fighting against his overwhelming desire.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his hand tracing the curve of my hip. "I don't deserve this."

"Stop talking," I pulled him down for another kiss. "Just fuck me."

He laughed against my lips, a dark, throaty sound. "Such a dirty mouth for such a pretty girl. I should have known you'd be like this."

His hands found the hem of my shirt, pushing it up over my head. My bra followed, and then he was staring at my breasts like they were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, and I cried out, my back arching off the couch.

"Fuck, Danny—"

"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "I want to hear you. I want to hear everything."

His hand slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my jeans, and I gasped when his fingers found my soaked panties. "Jesus, Anya," he groaned. "You're so wet. All this time watching me, you were getting wet for me?"

"Shut up," I gasped as he slipped a finger inside me. "Just—fuck—"

"Such a mouth," he said, adding a second finger and curling them in a way that made me see stars. "But I'll forgive you for it. I'll forgive all your sins if you just let me inside you."

I came on his fingers, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me. He watched my face intently, like he was memorizing every expression, every sound I made.

"That's it, baby," he whispered. "That's it. I want to see you come undone. I want to be the one who makes you feel this way."

Before I could fully recover, he had my jeans and panties off, tossing them onto the floor. He positioned himself between my legs, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He was thick and hard, and I suddenly wondered if I could actually take him.

Then he thrust inside me, and all coherent thought vanished.

I screamed—actually screamed—as he filled me completely. He paused, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "So tight. So perfect. I've dreamed about this, Anya. Every single night."

"Move," I demanded, digging my nails into his back. "Please, Danny, move."

He obliged, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in. The sensation was overwhelming—he was so deep, stretching me in ways I'd never experienced. His rhythm was fast and hard, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body.

"Look at me," he commanded, and I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me with an intensity that took my breath away. "I want to see your face when you come. I want to remember this moment forever."

His hand found my clit, rubbing in circles that matched his rhythm. I was already close—embarrassingly close—and the combination of his cock pounding into me and his fingers on my most sensitive spot was too much.

"I'm going to—"

"Come for me, baby," he urged. "Let go. I've got you."

I shattered, crying out as the orgasm ripped through me. My walls clenched around him, and he groaned, thrusting harder as he chased his own release.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, his voice strained. "Anya, I'm so close—"

"Inside," I gasped, not caring about the consequences. "I want to feel you."

That was all the permission he needed. With a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling into me as he groaned my name like a prayer. His body shuddered, and he collapsed on top of me, his face buried in my neck.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing heavily. The weight of what we'd done started to sink in, and I felt a pang of guilt mixed with satisfaction.

"Anya," he finally said, his voice muffled against my skin. "I—"

"If you say you're sorry, I'll punch you," I interrupted. "I'm not sorry. I wanted it. I wanted you."

He pulled back to look at me, and there was something different in his eyes now. Less guilt. More resolve.

"Then I'm not sorry either," he said. "I've wanted you for so long. I think I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you."

I didn't know what to say to that. "That's... dramatic."

"I'm serious." He traced my cheek with his thumb. "And I don't care what anyone thinks. I want to be with you. For real."

"What about God?" I teased.

"What about Him?" Danny shrugged, and there was something almost rebellious in the gesture. "Maybe He brought us together for a reason. Maybe this isn't a sin. Maybe it's... something else."

I laughed. "You're really good at rationalizing."

"I learned from the best." He kissed me softly, and for the first time, there was tenderness in the gesture. "Stay with me tonight."

I should have said no. I should have gotten up, taken a shower, and pretended this never happened. Instead, I nodded.

"Okay."

As we settled into the couch, his arm wrapped around me, I realized that I'd just committed the ultimate sin with my religious stepbrother. And I felt absolutely no desire to repent.

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I still remember the way my stomach dropped when I saw the Victoria's Secret bag sitting on the kitchen counter that morning. Mom had already left for her shift at the hospital, and I was nursing my coffee, still half-asleep in my oversized t-shirt and nothing else underneath.

Mark, my stepdad of three years, came downstairs in his usual work attire—slacks and a crisp button-down that he always wore slightly unbuttoned at the collar. He was forty-two, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper stubble that made him look distinguished in a way that had always made me feel weirdly flustered. But this morning, something was different.

"That's for your mom," he said, nodding toward the bag, his voice low and gravelly. "Anniversary's coming up, you know."

I peered inside, my fingers brushing against black lace and silk. A matching set—bra, panties, and a sheer robe that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My face flushed as I imagined my mother in it. But then Mark chuckled behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Your mother's not exactly... adventurous," he said, his hand landing on my shoulder, squeezing just a little too firmly. "I've been thinking maybe I picked the wrong kind of gift."

His thumb traced small circles against my bare skin, and I should have pulled away. I should have gone upstairs and gotten dressed. But there I stood, frozen, as his other hand reached into the bag and pulled out the black lace panties.

"These would look so much better on someone younger," he murmured, almost to himself. "Someone with a body that actually appreciates silk against it."

My breath caught in my throat. "Mark..."

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed the way I look at you," he cut me off, stepping closer until his chest pressed against my back. I could feel everything—the hard planes of his body, the thickness of his erection already straining against his slacks. "Three years I've watched you grow into this stunning creature. Three years I've held myself back."

His hand slid down my shoulder, tracing the curve of my side, coming to rest on my bare thigh just below the hem of my shirt. I was trembling, but I wasn't scared. I was wet. So embarrassingly, painfully wet that I could feel moisture seeping from me, betraying every proper thought I should have been having.

"I'm eighteen," I whispered, my voice cracking. "You know I'm eighteen now."

"I know exactly how old you are," he growled, his lips brushing against my ear. "I've been counting down the days. And now you're legal, and your mother's gone for another eight hours, and I have these pretty little things that deserve to be worn by a real woman."

His hand slid higher, pushing my shirt up, fingers grazing my aching cunt through my soaked panties. I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily against his hand.

"Fuck, you're so wet already," he groaned, his fingers pressing harder against my clit through the damp fabric. "Is this what you've been hiding from me? This hungry little pussy just waiting for a real man to fill it?"

I couldn't speak. All I could do was moan as he pushed my panties aside and slid one thick finger inside me. I was so tight, so ready, that I clenched around him immediately.

"I've thought about this so many times," he confessed, pumping his finger in and out of me, adding a second when I whimpered. "Watching you bend over in those little shorts. Hearing you moan in your sleep when you left your door cracked. I'd jerk off thinking about ruining this innocent little pussy."

"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was asking for.

"Please what, baby girl?" He withdrew his fingers, making me cry out at the loss. Then he spun me around, crashing his lips against mine. It wasn't gentle—it was consuming. His tongue invaded my mouth as his hands tore at my shirt, pulling it over my head and leaving me completely naked before him.

His eyes raked over my body like he was starving. My small breasts with their pink nipples already pebbled and aching, my flat stomach, the patch of dark curls between my thighs that glistened with my arousal.

"Fucking perfection," he breathed. "Now let's see if those panties fit."

He dropped to his knees in front of me, and I'd never felt so powerful and so vulnerable at the same time. He held the lace panties open, guiding my feet through one leg at a time, pulling them up my calves, my thighs, settling them against my hips. Then he leaned forward and bit the waistband, pulling them down just enough to expose my clit before his mouth latched onto me.

I screamed. I couldn't help it. His tongue was relentless, circling my sensitive nub while his fingers plunged back inside me. I grabbed his hair, grinding against his face, watching my stepfather eat my pussy like it was the finest meal he'd ever tasted.

"That's it, ride my face," he encouraged between licks. "Show me how badly you want it."

I came apart on his tongue, my orgasm ripping through me with brutal intensity. My thighs clamped around his head, but he didn't stop, lapping up every drop of my release until I was dizzy and shaking.

Then he stood, unzipping his pants, and I saw it for the first time. His cock was magnificent—thick and long, with a vein running along the side that I immediately wanted to trace with my tongue. The head was flushed purple, already leaking precum.

"Get on the counter," he ordered, and I scrambled to obey.

He lifted the lace panties again, this time just pushing them aside. Then he positioned himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me.

"Look at me," he demanded. "I want to see your face when I take your virginity."

The pressure built as he pushed inside me. It was too much, stretching me in ways I'd never imagined, burning with every inch. I cried out, digging my nails into his shoulders, but he didn't stop until he was fully seated, his balls resting against my ass.

"Oh, baby," he moaned, his forehead pressed to mine. "You feel like heaven. So fucking tight for me."

He started to move, slow at first, letting me adjust to his size. I clung to him, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

"You're so big," I whimpered. "Mark... it's so much..."

"That's right, take it all," he grunted, picking up the pace. "This is what you needed, isn't it? A real man to fill you up. Not those little boys your age who don't know what to do with a woman."

He was right. I'd never felt anything like this. Every thrust hit a spot inside me that made me see stars. The counter beneath me was cold, but his body was scorching hot, and the contrast made me feel like I was burning alive.

He grabbed my legs, pushing them back until my knees were practically touching my shoulders, angling himself even deeper. The new position had him hitting my cervix, making me sob with pleasure.

"That's my good girl," he praised, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. "Taking daddy's cock like such a fucking champ."

The word "daddy" should have thrown me, but it only made me clench harder around him. He felt it, groaning as he fucked me harder, faster, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing through the kitchen.

"Come on," he urged, reaching between us to circle my clit with his thumb. "I want to feel you come again. Milk my cock with that tight little pussy."

I did. My second orgasm was even more powerful than the first, and I screamed his name as I shattered around him. The clenching of my walls sent him over the edge, and he pulled out just in time, spraying his hot cum across my stomach and the lingerie still clinging to my hips.

He collapsed against me, both of us breathing heavily, my body still trembling with aftershocks. But when he pulled back, his eyes were dark with hunger—not satiation.

"We're not done yet, baby girl," he said, scooping me off the counter like I weighed nothing. "I have eight hours to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to."

He carried me upstairs, my legs still weak, my body still humming with pleasure. He laid me on the bed, removing the ruined panties and cleaning me up with his tongue.

"You'll wear the rest for me," he commanded. "The bra and the robe. I want to see you in them when I take you from behind."

I shivered, already spreading my legs for him, ready to be used over and over until I couldn't remember my own name. This wasn't just sex—it was possession. And God help me, I wanted nothing more than to be completely and utterly his.

The afternoon stretched into evening, and hour after hour, he taught me everything my body was capable of. We tried every position I could imagine and some I never dreamed of. He had me bent over the bed, my face pressed into the mattress, taking him from behind. I rode him until my thighs burned, watching his face twist with pleasure. He worshipped my breasts, my neck, every inch of my skin until I felt like I'd been remade.

We were in the shower when we heard the garage door open—Mom was home. We scrambled apart, but I caught his eye as we dried off, and I knew this wasn't a one-time thing. This was just the beginning of something forbidden that neither of us wanted to stop.

When my mother came upstairs, I was sitting on my bed in pajamas, Mark was in the living room watching TV, and no one suspected anything except for the secret smile we shared over dinner.

The lingerie was ruined, but Mark bought more. We never threw it away. That black lace set stayed in his nightstand, a souvenir of the day my stepdad claimed me completely.

And every time my mother wore something from Victoria's Secret, I knew she had no idea how often those same pieces of fabric had been soaked with our passion.

Some things are too good to be kept secret, but this one would stay locked in my heart forever, a forbidden memory that made my body burn every time I thought about it.

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I've been with my boyfriend Ethan for about two years now. He's 23, works in finance, travels constantly for work. His dad is David, 48, this successful corporate lawyer with silver hair and these piercing blue eyes that make my knees weak. His stepmom is Patricia, 45, the kind of woman who hosts dinner parties and judges everyone's wine selection.

I spend a lot of time at their house when Ethan's away. David always insists. "You're part of the family," he says. "Don't be a stranger." So I'm not. I've been anything but a stranger in that house.

David and I have been sneaking around for about six months now. It started with a kiss in the kitchen when Patricia was in the garden. Then his hand on my thigh under the dinner table. Quick, dangerous moments that made my heart race and my panties wet.

Last Saturday was different. Ethan was in Chicago for a conference. Three days gone. Patricia had planned this fancy dinner party with her rich friends. Wine. Cheese. The whole pretentious thing.

David texted me Friday night. "Come over Saturday afternoon. Before the guests arrive. I need to see you."

I knew exactly what that meant. I couldn't stop thinking about it all night. Touched myself in bed imagining his hands on me.

Saturday morning, I took my time getting ready. Shaved everything. Moisturized. Picked out this tiny sundress that barely covered my ass. No bra. No panties. Just the dress and some sandals. I wanted him to see. I wanted him to know I came prepared.

I drove over at 2pm. Patricia was in the kitchen, prepping food with the caterers. She barely looked up when I walked in.

"Oh, Emma, you're early. David's in the study. Go say hi."

She had no idea. No fucking idea what was about to happen.

I walked down the hallway to his study. The door was slightly open. I pushed it and walked in. David was sitting behind his massive oak desk, reading something on his laptop. He looked up when I entered.

His eyes went straight to my legs. The dress. The way it clung to my curves. I saw his jaw tighten.

"Close the door," he said. His voice was low. Commanding.

I did. Locked it too.

I walked around his desk. He stood up and grabbed my waist, pulling me onto his lap. His mouth found mine. Hungry. Desperate. His tongue pushed past my lips and I moaned into him.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," he breathed against my neck. "I've been thinking about you all week. Every night. Jerking off to the memory of you."

"Show me," I whispered. "Show me how much you missed me."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands were under my dress in seconds. Grabbing my bare ass. Squeezing. His fingers found my wetness instantly.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so wet. You came here like this? Already dripping for me?"

"Always," I said. "Always ready for you."

He pushed my dress up over my hips. Exposed my body. His mouth went straight to my tits. Sucking. Biting. Licking. His fingers pumped in and out of me. I was already so close.

"Not yet," he said. "I want to taste you first."

He lifted me off his lap. Laid me down on his desk. Papers scattered everywhere. He didn't care. His face was between my legs before I could even breathe.

His tongue found my clit and I screamed.

"Shh," he growled. "Patricia is in the kitchen. The caterers are in the dining room. You want them to hear you?"

I bit my lip. Hard. Tried to stay quiet. But his tongue was so skilled. So experienced. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He licked me like he was starving. Like my pussy was the only thing keeping him alive. His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that makes me crazy. His thumb pressed against my clit. Sucking. Licking. Pumping.

I grabbed his hair. Pulled him closer. Rode his face. Grinding against his tongue. I was so close I could taste it.

"I'm gonna cum," I panted. "Fuck. I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me," he said against my pussy. "Cum all over my face."

I did. Gushing. Squirting all over his face. All over his lips. His chin. His nose. I could see the clear liquid covering him. And he didn't pull away. He kept his mouth on me. Swallowed everything. Drank me like fine wine.

"Fuck," he breathed when I finally stopped shaking. "You taste like heaven. Better than anything Patricia has ever made."

I laughed. Couldn't help it. We were both a mess. His face was soaked. My legs were shaking. I'd never squirted that hard before.

He stood up. Kissed me. I tasted myself on his lips. Sweet and salty.

"Now," he said. "Let's finish this properly."

He turned me around. Bent me over his desk. I heard his belt unbuckling. His zipper. His cock was out. Hard. Thick. I felt the tip pressing against my entrance.

"Please," I begged. "Please fuck me."

"You want it?" he asked. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I've been thinking about this all week," I panted. "Touching myself in bed, imagining it was your cock inside me. Please. Fucking please."

He slammed inside me. All the way. I screamed into the papers. He was so deep. So thick. Filled me completely.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take all of it. You were made for this. Made for me."

He fucked me hard. Fast. His hips slapped against my ass. The desk was shaking. Papers flying everywhere. I could hear the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of me.

"You like that?" he asked. "You like being fucked by your boyfriend's dad while she's downstairs?"

"Yes," I moaned. "Yes. Fuck yes."

"Look at yourself," he commanded.

There was a mirror on the wall. I looked. I saw myself bent over. My dress bunched up around my waist. His cock disappeared into my pussy over and over. His hands gripping my hips. His face twisted in pleasure.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said. "So fucking beautiful."

He pulled out suddenly. Spun me around. Lifted my legs onto his shoulders. Plunged back inside me. Deeper this time. I could feel him in my stomach.

"Oh my god," I cried. "I'm gonna cum again."

"Not yet," he ordered. "Wait for me."

"I can't. I can't."

He thrusted harder. Faster. His thumb found my clit. Rubbed tight circles. I couldn't hold it anymore.

I exploded. Gushing around his cock. Squirting all over his stomach. His chest. He kept fucking me through it. Didn't slow down.

"Now me," he growled. "I'm gonna fill you up."

"Cum inside me," I begged. "Please. Fill me up."

He thrusted one more time. Deep. I felt him pulse inside me. Once. Twice. Three times. Warm and thick. Pumping his cum into me. So much of it.

We collapsed onto the desk. Both panting. Sweating. His cock still inside me.

"That was incredible," he breathed.

"Don't move," I said. "Stay inside me."

He did. We stayed like that for a few minutes. His cock softened inside me. Both of us were catching our breath.

Then he pulled out. Slowly. I felt his cum dripping down my leg. He grabbed a tissue and wiped me clean. Gentle. Almost tender.

"Get dressed," he said. "Patricia will be looking for us soon."

I pulled my dress back down. Fixed my hair. Checked my reflection in the mirror. I looked flushed. Wrecked. Completely satisfied.

David buttoned his pants. Fixed his shirt. He looked completely composed. Like nothing had happened.

"One more thing," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my panties. The ones I'd been wearing. He'd taken them at some point. I hadn't even noticed.

"These are mine now," he said. Smirking.

"You're disgusting," I said.

"You love it."

We walked out of the study together. Casual. Normal. Patricia was in the dining room, setting the table with her friends.

"There you are," she said. "I need help with the centerpieces."

David kissed her cheek. "Of course, darling."

I helped too. Acting normal. Like I hadn't just been bent over his desk. Like I didn't have his cum dripping down my thigh.

The dinner party was torture. Four hours of small talk. Wine. Cheese. Patricia's friends gossiping. David kept looking at me across the table. Smirking. His foot found mine under the table.

I crossed my legs. Felt his cum still inside me. Couldn't stop thinking about it.

After the guests left, Patricia went to take a shower. David and I were alone in the living room. He sat next to me on the couch. His hand on my thigh. Sliding up under my dress.

"Again?" I whispered.

"Again," he confirmed.

He pushed me down on the couch. Hiked my dress up. His mouth was on me before I could breathe. Licking. Sucking. Fingering.

"I've been thinking about this all night," he said. "Watching you across the table. Knowing you were still full of me."

I came again. Gushing all over his face. He drank every drop.

Then he fucked me again. Doggy style. His hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. Patricia was upstairs. In the shower. Completely clueless.

He came inside me again. Filled me up. Pulled out and watched it drip out of me.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said. "All messy. Covered in me."

He kissed me. Soft. Then got up and walked to the kitchen like nothing happened.

I lay on the couch for a while. Shaking. Dizzy. Still full of him.

Patricia came down an hour later. "You look tired," she said. "You should stay the night. It's late."

I agreed. Couldn't drive anyway. My legs were still shaking.

She set me up in the guest room. I fell asleep almost immediately. Exhausted.

I woke up at 3am. Someone was in my room. David. Naked. His cock hard.

"Move over," he whispered.

I did. He got in bed with me. Pulled me on top of him.

"Ride me," he said. "Quietly."

I sank down onto his cock. Rode him slowly. Deep. His hands on my hips. Guiding me. His eyes locked on mine.

"I want you to cum again," he said. "Cover me."

I rode him harder. Faster. I felt myself climbing. Peaking.

"I'm gonna cum," I panted.

"Cum on my cock."

I did. Gushing. Squirted all over his stomach. His chest. He grabbed my hips and held me there. Thrusting up into me through my orgasm.

Then he flipped me over. Fucked me from behind. Deep. Slow. Intense. I came twice more before the sun came up.

Patricia knocked on my door at 8am. "Breakfast is ready, Emma."

David was already dressed. Sitting on the edge of the bed. He winked at me.

"Coming," I called out.

Ethan called that afternoon. "How's everything?" he asked.

"Good," I said. "Your dad's been really sweet. Taking care of me."

"Yeah, he's great like that," Ethan said.

I looked at David across the room. He was watching me. Smirking.

"Yeah," I said. "He really is."

That was three weeks ago. It hasn't stopped. Every time Ethan's away, I go over. David and I find moments. Quick fucks. Long sessions.

Last time, he whispered in my ear, "I've been thinking about you all day." He had me bent over his desk before I could reply.

Patricia still doesn't know. Ethan still doesn't know.

But I know. And David knows. And every time I walk into that house, I feel his eyes on me. Hungry. Wanting.

I'm already wearing a new pair of panties. Lace. Pink. I know he'll take them.

And I can't fucking wait.

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I've been with Mark for almost three years now. He's 24. Sweet. Kind of nerdy. Works as a graphic designer. He's not the most experienced guy in bed but I love him. He's good to me.

His dad Richard is 48. Divorced. Successful lawyer. Tall, silver fox type. Built like he still hits the gym every morning. He's got this presence. This confidence. When he walks into a room, you feel it.

I noticed Richard the first time Mark brought me home. I was 19 then. Fresh faced. Nervous. Richard shook my hand and his grip was warm and firm and he held it just a second too long. His eyes traveled down my body and back up. I felt naked. Exposed. And I fucking loved it.

Over the years, I started spending more time at their house. Mark still lives with his dad while he finishes his master's. So I'm there all the time. Dinners. Movie nights. Weekends. I started dressing differently around Richard. Shorter shorts. Tighter tops. No bra sometimes. Just to see what he'd do.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. I'd catch him staring. His eyes lingering on my tits when I bent over. Watching my ass when I walked past. He'd clear his throat and look away but I knew. I fucking knew.

I'd go home and touch myself thinking about him. About his big hands. His deep voice. The way he said my name. It was wrong. So wrong. But I couldn't stop.

Mark never noticed. He was too busy with his research. Too trusting. He'd kiss me goodnight and go to his room while I lay in the guest room thinking about his dad.

It started three months ago. Richard was having a rough week. Some big case he was working on. Mark was at the library studying. It was just the two of us. I came downstairs in this tiny tank top and shorts. Richard was in the kitchen drinking whiskey.

"Rough day?" I asked.

He looked at me. His eyes dark. "You have no idea."

I walked over to him. Close. Too close. "Maybe I can help."

He didn't say anything. Just looked at me. His hand came up. Touched my face. Soft. Gentle. His thumb traced my bottom lip.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he admitted. His voice was low. Raw.

"Do it," I whispered.

He kissed me. Hard. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I moaned. His hands were everywhere. On my ass. My tits. My waist. He lifted me onto the kitchen counter. Spread my legs. His mouth went to my neck.

"Richard," I breathed. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

He didn't waste time. He pulled my shorts off. My panties. His cock was out. Thick. Huge. He pushed inside me and I screamed.

"Shh," he said. "You don't want to wake the neighbors."

I bit my lip. Hard. He fucked me on the kitchen counter. Hard. Deep. His thumb on my clit. I came in minutes. Gushing all over his cock.

That was just the beginning.

We fucked everywhere after that. The bathroom. The backyard. His bedroom. My bedroom. Any chance we got. Mark never suspected a thing. He'd come home and I'd be sitting on the couch with Richard, acting normal. My cum still drying on his dick.

It was risky. Stupid. But I couldn't stop.

Last Saturday was different.

Mark had a study group in the afternoon. Richard and I had the house to ourselves for like four hours. I wore a sundress. No bra. No panties. Just the dress and my wet pussy.

Richard was in the living room. Drinking. Reading. I walked in and stood in front of him. The dress was thin. Translucent in the light.

"Well hello," he said. He put his book down. "What do we have here?"

"Your birthday present," I said. "I know it's early but I couldn't wait."

His birthday wasn't for another two weeks.

"Come here," he commanded.

I walked over. Straddled him on the couch. His hands went under my dress. Grabbed my ass. Squeezed.

"No panties?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd take them off anyway."

He kissed me. Deep. His hands on my tits. Pinching my nipples through the thin fabric. I was already wet. Soaking. I could feel his cock through his pants. Hard. Thick.

"Ride me," he said.

I pulled his cock out. Straddled him properly. Sunk down onto him in one motion. We both moaned. He was so big. So deep. Filled me completely.

I started bouncing. Up and down. His hands on my hips. Guiding me. His face buried in my tits. Sucking. Biting.

"Fuck," I moaned. "Yes. Yes. Don't stop."

I was lost. So lost. I didn't hear the door open. Didn't hear footsteps.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I froze. Turned around. Mark was standing in the doorway. His face white. His mouth open. His backpack on the floor.

Everything stopped.

"Mark," I said. "It's not what it looks like."

"Not what it looks like?!" His voice cracked. "You're on my dad's cock! In our living room! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Richard didn't move. His hands were still on my hips. His cock still inside me. He looked at his son. Calm. Unflinching.

"Son," he said. "Let's talk about this."

"Talk about this?!" Mark was shaking. "You fucked my girlfriend! My girlfriend! What is there to talk about?"

"Mark," I tried again. "Please. Let me explain."

"Explain what? That you've been fucking my dad behind my back? That you're a lying whore?"

The word stung. But he was right. I was exactly that.

I climbed off Richard. Pulled my dress down. My legs were shaking.

"I should go," I said.

"You're not going anywhere," Mark said. His voice was different now. Calmer. Almost controlled. "You two. You want to fuck? Then fucking finish it."

"What?" I stared at him.

"You heard me. Finish what you started." He was watching us with this look. Anger mixed with something else. Something darker. His eyes were on his dad's cock. Still hard. Wet from me.

"Son," Richard said. "Maybe we should—"

"No," Mark cut him off. "No. You wanted my girlfriend? Then have her. Show me what you do."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Mark, you don't mean that."

"I fucking mean it." He walked closer. Sat on the armchair across from us. His eyes on us. Hungry. "I want to see. I want to see how you fuck her. Show me what I've been missing."

Richard looked at me. Raised an eyebrow. His hand found my waist.

"What do you think?" he asked me. "You up for a show?"

I should've said no. Should've walked out. Should've ended everything right there.

Instead, I climbed back onto Richard's lap.

Mark watched. His hand went to his pants. Unzipped them. His cock was already hard. He started stroking himself.

"Go on," he urged. "Show me."

Richard pushed inside me again. I moaned. Mark was watching. His hand moving faster. This was so fucked up. So wrong. But I was so wet.

"Fuck her," Mark said. "Fuck her like you want to."

Richard grabbed my hips. Started thrusting into me. Hard. Deep. I was bouncing on his cock. My tits bouncing in my dress. Mark's eyes glued to me.

"You like watching?" I asked him. My voice was breathy. Dirty.

"Yes," he admitted. "Fuck yes."

"Then watch."

I rode his dad harder. Faster. Richard's hands on my ass. His teeth on my neck. Mark was jerking off furiously. His eyes never leaving us.

"Fuck," Mark moaned. "You're such a fucking slut."

"I'm your slut," I said. "Both of yours."

That did it. Mark stood up. Walked over to us. His cock in his hand.

"Get on your knees," he ordered.

I climbed off Richard. Dropped to my knees on the floor. Mark grabbed my hair and pushed his cock into my mouth. I tasted his precum. Sweet. Salty.

"You're going to swallow," he said. "Every drop."

I nodded as much as I could with him down my throat.

Richard stood up. Walked around. He was behind me now. His hands on my hips. He pushed inside me from behind. Slowly. Deeply.

"Oh my god," I moaned. Mark's cock still in my mouth. Richard's cock in my pussy. Both of them. At the same time. It was overwhelming. Incredible.

"Look at you," Mark said. "Fucking both of us. You're such a dirty whore."

"Yes," I gasped. "I'm your whore."

Richard started thrusting. Harder. Faster. His hand reached around and found my clit. Rubbing tight circles. I was so close. So close to coming.

"Don't cum yet," Richard ordered. "Not until we do."

"I can't," I begged. "I'm so close."

"Hold it," Mark said. "Hold it for us."

I tried. Fucking tried. But it was too much. Too intense. Richard's cock in my pussy. His fingers on my clit. Mark's cock in my mouth. I exploded. Came all over Richard's dick. Gushing.

Richard pulled out. Mark pulled out. Both of them standing over me.

"Now," Mark said. "Open your mouth."

I opened wide. Mark came first. Hot and thick on my tongue. I swallowed. Then Richard. Pumping his cum into my mouth. Mixing with Mark's. I swallowed. Tasted both of them.

"That's it," Mark said. "Good girl."

I collapsed onto the floor. Panting. Weak.

Both of them got dressed. Sat down. Mark on the couch. Richard in his armchair. Like nothing had happened.

"Clean her up," Richard said to Mark. "Then take her home."

Mark picked me up. Carried me to the bathroom. Ran a warm bath. Helped me in. Washed me gently.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just couldn't—I don't know what came over me."

"You were jealous," I said. "And turned on."

"Both," he admitted. "I didn't know I'd like it. Watching you. Watching him."

"It doesn't bother you?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know," he said. "I just know I've never been so hard in my life."

He kissed my forehead. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Better than okay."

After my bath, we went back to the living room. Richard was making coffee.

"Stay for dinner," he said. "I'm ordering pizza."

We stayed. Ate pizza. Watched a movie. All three of us on the couch. Me in the middle. Both of them touching me. Hands on my thighs. Waist. Shoulders.

By the time the movie ended, I was aching again. Wet. Desperate.

"Bedroom?" I asked.

Both of them nodded.

We went to Richard's room. Mark and I on the bed. Richard standing above us. I kissed Mark. Deep. Then I kissed Richard. His hand on my jaw.

They took turns with me. All night. Sometimes watching. Sometimes joining. I'd suck Richard while Mark fucked me from behind. Then Mark would watch while Richard ate me out. Then both of them on top of me. Over me. Inside me.

I didn't sleep. Didn't want to. I just wanted more.

Morning came too fast. The sun streaming through the curtains. I was in the middle. Both of them asleep on either side.

I slipped out. Went to the kitchen. Made coffee. Wrapped in one of Richard's shirts.

Mark came out first. Kissed me softly.

"Last night was..." he trailed off.

"Intense," I offered.

"Yeah. Intense." He paused. "Are we okay?"

"We're fine," I said. "More than fine."

Richard came out. Rubbed his eyes. Walked over and kissed my forehead. Then he kissed Mark's forehead.

"Breakfast?" he asked.

We had pancakes. All three of us. Laughing. Eating. Like a weird, fucked up family.

I've been back twice since then. Both of them. Together. It's become our thing. Our secret.

Mark's study group meets every Saturday now.

Richard and I have plans.

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My sister Sarah is 24. She's been with Tom for about three years now. He's 27, tall, dark hair, works as a personal trainer. Built like a fucking Greek statue. I've lived with them for the past six months while I save up for my own place.

I've always noticed Tom. Hard not to. The way his shirts stretch across his chest. The way his arms look when he's carrying groceries. The way his sweatpants hang low in the morning. I'd catch myself staring and feel guilty. He's my sister's boyfriend. Off limits.

But my body didn't get the memo.

Last Thursday, Sarah had a late shift at the hospital. She's a nurse. Left around 7pm, said she wouldn't be back until midnight. Tom was home. I was in my room scrolling through my phone when I realized I left my laundry in the bathroom.

I walked down the hall. The bathroom door was slightly cracked. I heard something. A sound. Rhythmic. Soft grunts.

I should've walked away. I know that. But I didn't. I peeked through the crack.

And there he was. Tom. Standing in front of the bathroom counter. His sweatpants around his ankles. His hand wrapped around his cock. Stroking. Fast. His other hand held something.

My panties.

The pink lace ones I'd left in the laundry basket. The ones I'd worn the night before. He was holding them against his face. Smelling them. Jerking off with them pressed against his nose.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. I just watched.

His hand moved faster. His hips bucked. His face was twisted in pleasure. He brought my panties down to his cock. Wrapped them around himself. Stroked through the lace.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "Fuck yes."

I should've run. Should've screamed. Should've done anything but stand there watching my sister's boyfriend get off on my underwear.

But I was frozen. And wet. So fucking wet.

He came. All over my panties. White and thick. He kept stroking through it. Moaning. Then he looked up. Straight at the door. Straight at me.

Our eyes met.

"Fuck," he breathed.

I pushed the door open. Didn't even think. Just walked in. "Tom," I said. My voice was shaking. "What the fuck?"

He panicked. Dropped my panties. Tried to cover himself. His cock was still hard. Still wet. Pre cum dripping down the shaft.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just—I found them in the laundry and I couldn't—fuck. I'm so sorry."

"Those are mine," I said. Stepped closer. "My panties."

"I know. I know. I'm disgusting. I'm so sorry."

"Did you smell them?" I asked.

He froze. "What?"

"Did you smell them before you came on them?"

He swallowed. Nodded. "Yeah. I did. They smell like you. Sweet. Like vanilla and—fuck I'm so sorry. I'm the worst person."

I was standing right in front of him now. Close enough to see his cock twitch. Close enough to see the guilt and shame and something else in his eyes.

"Show me," I said.

"What?"

"Show me how you did it."

He stared at me. His mouth open. "I don't understand."

"You owe me," I said. "You used my underwear to jerk off. The least you can do is show me."

He hesitated. Then he picked up my wet panties. Wrapped them around his cock again. Started stroking. Slow at first. Then faster. His eyes locked on mine.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're not mad?"

"I'm fucking furious," I said. "But I'm also turned on. And I don't know how to process that."

He moaned. His hand moved faster. "You're so beautiful," he said. "I've wanted you for months. Every time I see you in those shorts. Every time you walk past me. I can't stop thinking about you."

"Then stop thinking," I said. "Fuck me."

He dropped my panties. Grabbed me. Pulled me against him. His lips crashed into mine. Hard. Desperate. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I tasted myself on him. Sweet and salty.

He pulled back. Looked at me. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Fuck yes. I've never been more sure of anything."

He kissed me again. His hands were everywhere. On my tits. My ass. My waist. He lifted me onto the bathroom counter. Pushed my shorts down. My panties were soaked. Dripping.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so wet."

"Watching you jerk off on my panties did that," I said. "Now fucking do something about it."

He dropped to his knees. Put his mouth on me. His tongue found my clit. Licked. Sucked. His fingers pushed inside me. Curling up. Hitting that spot.

"Oh my god," I moaned. "Tom. Fuck. Don't stop."

He didn't. His tongue moved faster. His fingers curled deeper. I grabbed his hair. Pulled him closer. Grinded against his face.

"I'm close," I warned. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me," he said. "Cum all over my face."

I did. Screaming. Gushing. He kept licking through it. Swallowed everything. Didn't stop until I was shaking.

He stood up. His cock was still hard. Pre cum dripping down the shaft.

"Bend over," he commanded.

I turned around. Bent over the sink. Looked at myself in the mirror. My face flushed. My hair a mess. Behind me, Tom was lining himself up. His hand gripped my hip.

"Tell me you want this," he said.

"I want this. I want you inside me."

He pushed inside me in one slow motion. Inch by inch. I screamed. He was so thick. So deep. Stretched me open.

"Fuck," I breathed. "You're so big."

"Look at yourself," he said. "Look at how beautiful you look taking my cock."

I watched in the mirror. Watched his hips move. Watched his cock slide in and out of me. Watched his abs flex with every thrust.

"Harder," I begged. "Fuck me harder."

He did. Pounding into me. His hand on the back of my neck. Pushing me down against the sink. The other hand reached around and found my clit.

"You're so tight," he grunted. "So fucking tight."

"Don't stop," I begged. "Please don't stop."

He fucked me faster. Deeper. His thumb circled my clit. I was already close again. So close.

"I'm gonna cum," I warned.

"Cum on my cock," he ordered. "Cum all over it."

I did. Gushing. My legs shook. I almost collapsed. He held me up. Kept fucking me through it.

He pulled out suddenly. Turned me around. Pushed me to my knees.

"Open your mouth," he said.

I did. He pushed his cock into my mouth. I tasted myself on him. Tasted us. He grabbed my hair and fucked my throat.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned. "Swallow it. All of it."

I looked up at him. Nodded as much as I could with his cock down my throat.

He came. Hot and thick. So much of it. I swallowed. Kept swallowing. Tasted him. Tasted us.

He pulled out. I opened my mouth. Showed him I'd swallowed everything.

"Good girl," he breathed.

He pulled me up. Kissed me. Soft this time. Lingering.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For the panties thing."

"Don't be," I said. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."

He laughed. Then his eyes got dark again. "We're not done."

"Good," I said. "Because I'm not done either."

He pulled me into the shower. Turned on the water. Pushed me against the tile. Fucked me again. From behind. His hand on my throat. The water running down both of us.

"You're mine now," he growled in my ear. "You hear me?"

"Yours," I breathed. "I'm yours."

He came inside me. Filled me up. I felt it dripping down my thigh. Mixed with the water.

We showered together. Cleaned each other up. Kissed under the water. Soft and slow.

When we got out, he wrapped me in a towel. Carried me to his bedroom. Laid me down on the bed.

"You're still hard," I noticed.

"Always am around you," he said.

He fucked me two more times that night. Slow and deep. Then fast and rough. Every position. My legs wrapped around his waist. My face in the pillow. Me on top.

At midnight, Sarah came home. I was back in my room. Wet. Sore. Still full of him.

She kissed him goodnight. Went to bed.

Tom looked at me across the room. Winked.

I went to my room. Touched myself thinking about it. Fell asleep smiling.

He's been different since then. More attentive. More touchy. Sarah doesn't notice. Or maybe she does and doesn't care.

Last night he whispered to me at dinner. "Found another pair of your panties."

"You're disgusting," I whispered back.

"You love it."

He's right. I do.

I'm wearing those panties right now. Thinking about him finding them again. Thinking about what he'll do when he does.

My sister's boyfriend. My secret. My addiction.

I can't stop. And I don't want to.

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