My step Brother

The following weeks were a blur of observation and growing tension. Every dinner felt like a performance, and every shared silence in the hallway felt like a challenge. Cathy found herself tracking Michael’s movements through the house, her ears tuned to the sound of his heavy footsteps or the low vibration of his voice when he was on the phone.

The summer heat had become oppressive, settling over the house like a thick blanket. Michael and Iris were often by the pool, their laughter drifting up to Cathy’s window. Sometimes she would watch them from behind the safety of her curtains. Michael would be lounging, his bronzed skin glistening with water, while Iris draped herself over him like a colorful silk scarf. Cathy felt a persistent, gnawing ache in her chest—a mix of displacement and a hunger she refused to name.

One Friday afternoon, the house was unusually quiet. Her mother and David had gone away for a long weekend trip to the coast, leaving the three of them alone. Cathy had spent the morning trying to read, but the words on the page wouldn't stick. The air in her room felt stagnant.

She walked downstairs to get some ice water. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a sound coming from the living room. It wasn’t the television or music. It was the rhythm of skin hitting skin, punctuated by sharp, ragged gasps.

Cathy stopped in her tracks. Her heart began to thud against her ribs. She should turn around. She should go back upstairs and lock her door. But her feet moved forward of their own accord, drawn by a magnetic pull she had been resisting for a year.

She crept toward the cracked door of the lounge. Through the narrow opening, she saw them.

Michael had Iris pushed up against the back of the sofa. He was standing behind her, his hands buried in her blonde hair, pulling her head back to expose the long line of her throat. Iris was bent forward, her hands clutching the leather upholstery for support. Her floral sundress was bunched up around her waist, and her breath was coming in frantic, high-pitched hitches.

Cathy’s breath hitched too. She leaned against the doorframe, her legs feeling like lead. She didn't move. She didn't blink. She watched as Michael’s muscles rippled with every powerful movement, his expression one of focused, raw intensity. He looked like a predator in his element, dominant and entirely unashamed.

Iris let out a long, low moan that vibrated through the floorboards. "Oh fuck, Michael, don’t stop," Iris moaned, her tits bouncing wildly as he pounded into her from behind.

Cathy couldn’t help but stare. The fantasy she had played over and over in her mind for a long time was happening right in front of her, more vivid and visceral than any dream. She had wondered for months how to bridge the gap, how to make the first move in this strange, blended family dynamic. But today, the heat and the proximity had finally broken her resolve. She decided right then to go with the flow, she saw a dildo just close to where she stood she picked it up and decided to use it to please herself while convincing herself that he is her stepbrother which means joining in isn't allowed.

Her hand moved down, her fingers gripping her dildo tighter as she began to fuck herself against the wood of the doorframe. The friction was a desperate relief. Her pussy was soaked, the fabric of her shorts damp with her own arousal. The sound of his balls slapping against Iris’ ass echoed in the room, a rhythmic percussion that drove Cathy’s fingers to move faster.

Suddenly, Michael’s head snapped toward the door. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look angry. His eyes locked onto hers with a terrifying clarity, and a wicked grin spread across his face, as if he had been waiting for her to show herself all along.

“You like what you see, Cathy?” he growled, his voice dripping with lust.

Cathy bit her lip, her fingers working faster and harder, the pressure building to a breaking point as she watched Iris’ tits jiggle with every one of Michael’s thrusts.

“huuuhhh yes, I iiii do” she stammered, her voice barely audible over their moans, but she knew he heard her.

That’s when Michael pulled out of Iris, his cock glistening with her juices, and walked towards the door where Cathy stood. “Come here,” he commanded, his hand reaching out to grab her wrist.