Broken Rules; A compilation of short erotic stories.

Ellen’s POV

“Hmmm. Yes, Cane, yes! Fuck me harder!!” 

Those were the words mom spewed out almost every night since she took a week's leave from work.

We were just three in the apartment — and I’m the only child. 

“Oh, Cane,” another moan slipped into my ear.

I can’t even sleep properly because these two decide to have sex every night, it’s not even helping me because my hormones feel like I’m the one beneath Cane, or right above him, riding him like my life depends on it. 

Yes, I know Cane is my stepfather, but I can tell he wants me too. From the stolen glance whenever I’m in my tank top and bum shorts to the smack of his lips when my towel once mistakenly slid down my body in the living room because I wanted to watch my favorite show. 

I can hear the buzzing sound of a vibrator, coming directly from Mom’s room.

“Now is the time,” I whispered to myself.

The sound of their skins slapping rhythmically had already turned me on, and I could feel my juice dripping quietly from my cunt.

I brought out my vibrator, spread my legs wide under the duvet, eyes closed.

“Since you don’t have a boyfriend, imagine your stepfather's cock inside of you,” I told myself softly, licking my lips. The pleasures Cane made me feel since I turned eighteen had always been the best.

Turning on the vibrator, I slid it in mildly, teasing myself and reminiscing on that pleasure he gave me five years ago.

“I want you to fuck me, Cane,” I whispered to the air, increasing the vibrator. I slid it in completely.

The sensation and excitement ran through me as I curled my feet, relishing every single moment.

I followed the rhythmic sound of their skin, each thrust bringing me closer to climax.

“Hmm, yes!!” I tried so hard to suppress my moans. “Deeper Cane, yes!”

I murmured as I came undone on the vibrator, teasing myself slightly before I put it off.

“Ah, that was a good one,” I muttered before I heard a mild knock on my door.

I froze.

Mum? Cane?

Must be one of them, but the former meant big trouble.

I opened the door to see Cane sweaty and shirtless. He had a short towel around his waist, and I tried so hard to control my eyes, but they betrayed me. Apparently, he was still hard.

“What do you need?” I asked, trying to stay focused.

“Reduce the sound of that toy. You can come to my office for some goodies tomorrow.” He whispered and went back into the room.

I closed the door carefully, my heart thudding like it’s about to explode.

How did he hear?

“It’s nothing, honey. She was fast asleep.” I heard him tell my Mum as they continued.

I curled up on the bed, thinking of the statement he made as I forced myself to sleep.

“Morning, Ellen, you’re up early.” Mum reached for the milk from the cabinet. 

“Yeah, I needed to pick up a few books from the library, for early birds.”

“Hmm, okay.” She nodded. “I’ll be traveling to San Francisco, business trip. Take care.” She drew out her box’s handle and made for the door.

“Morning, Ellen.” Hope you slept well? Cane’s husky voice rang through my ear, making my heart skip for a reason I don’t know.

“Erm, yes!” I replied rather too loudly.

I’ll be driving your Mum to the airport, see you later.” He left carrying Mum’s handbag.

My mother never really cared about me; she’d been the most nonchalant mother I’ve seen, but I’ve gotten used to it.

It’s always work, work, Cane and work.

Knock. 

I turned the knob after knocking once.

Cane looked up from his desk, that same broad, easy smile he’d worn since I was a teenager — warm, protective, a little too knowing now.

“How can I help you, little Miss Ellen?”

I’m 23. 

“I went shopping at the store nearby. Thought you might like these.” I stepped into his office, closing the door behind me with a soft click. 

The mini fruit basket dangled from my fingers like an excuse.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over me — not leering, but lingering. My hair was up in that high, messy bun he used to tease me about when I was still too young to understand why his gaze made my stomach flip. 

Today I wore the cologne he once complimented on me too quietly, the one that makes his jaw tighten. I know because I’ve watched it happen for years.

He sniffed once, nostrils flaring. “Smells good in here.”

I set the basket on his desk and stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that the heat of him brushed my thighs through my skirt.

“I’m not so little anymore, you know,” I whispered, leaning in until my lips were near his ear.

His throat worked. “You’ll always be my little girl.” His voice was rougher now, lower. “Did you bolt the door?”

“What do you think?” I bit my lower lip, letting my fingers trail the top button of his shirt. One slow pop. Then another. His chest rose and fell harder beneath my touch.

For years, I’d tried to outrun this. I’ve had multiple dates that bored me, hookups that left me cold. Toys that couldn’t mimic the way his hands feel — big, sure, like they know exactly how to hold without asking permission. 

Nothing else ever came close to the man who raised me after my mom married him, the one who taught me to drive, who stayed up late helping with college applications, who looked at me one summer when I came home from uni and suddenly couldn’t look away.

It started small. Innocent things that weren’t innocent anymore once I turned 18, once I noticed how his eyes darkened when I wore shorts around the house, how he’d clear his throat and leave the room when I hugged him too long.

 How he’d linger in doorways watching me stretch after a run, sweat making my tank cling. We never spoke about it. We just… existed in the same space, breathing the same charged air.

Last Christmas, when Mom was away again, he caught me wriggling my ass to “Cardi B’s” song.