Stepbrother's Mercy- Chapter 3- The collaring

Three nights after the gala, 3:17 a.m.

The penthouse was a cathedral of shadows and city neon bleeding through floor-to-ceiling glass. Raven woke to a heavy hand clamped over her mouth and 220 pounds of pure muscle pinning her face-down to the mattress. Saint’s knees forced her thighs apart; his cock—already naked, scalding, leaking—dragged along the cleft of her ass like a threat she’d been waiting for.

“Shh,” he growled against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. “Don’t scream, little sister. Just open that greedy cunt and take every inch of your stepbrother’s cock like the perfect whore you were born to be.”

He had stripped her in her sleep. She was spread-eagle, wrists cuffed to the headboard with butter-soft black leather restraints, ankles locked wide to the bedposts with padded cuffs. Cool air kissed her bare skin, her cunt already dripping onto the Egyptian cotton from whatever dream she’d been having about him.

Saint shifted his hips. The fat, swollen head of his cock nudged her entrance, slid through her slick folds once, twice—teasing, coating himself—until she was whining into his palm and trying to push back for more.

One savage thrust and he buried himself to the absolute root.

Raven’s muffled scream vibrated against his hand. He was huge—thicker, longer, more brutal than she remembered from the gala. Her walls stretched around him like they were made for this violation, fluttering helplessly as he punched the air from her lungs and kissed her cervix with the flared head.

He didn’t give her time to adjust. He started fucking her like he wanted to punish her and worship her at the same time—long, punishing strokes that dragged over every nerve inside her, balls slapping her clit with wet, filthy sounds. Each withdrawal left her empty and clenching; each slam forward drove a broken moan into his palm.

“You wore that tiny silk robe at dinner on purpose,” he snarled, teeth sinking into the soft spot where her neck met shoulder—hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark. “Sat across from me with your legs spread under the table so I could see your bare cunt glistening every time you shifted. You wanted me to drag you over the marble, bend you over the lobster bisque, and breed you in front of the staff while they pretended not to watch.”

He pulled out abruptly, flipped her onto her back like she weighed nothing, and shoved her knees to her ears, folding her completely in half. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper. His cockhead battered her cervix on every violent thrust, a sweet, sick pain that made her eyes roll back.

“Look at me while I ruin your pretty little sister-cunt forever.”

Raven forced her eyes open. Saint was a god of ruin above her—muscles flexing under golden skin, sweat dripping from his jaw onto her heaving tits, abs rippling with every snap of his hips. His cock pistoned in and out of her, coated in a thick layer of her cream, veins standing out along the shaft.

He released her mouth, wrapped one big hand around her throat instead, squeezing just enough to make her gasp and see stars.

“Say it.”

Her voice was wrecked, raw. “I’m yours, Saint.”

“Louder. Make the entire fucking city hear who owns this cunt.”

“I’M YOURS!” she screamed, voice cracking. “My cunt, my ass, my throat, every hole belongs to my stepbrother! Please, brother, harder—”

He rewarded her with a vicious grind that crushed her clit against his pubic bone. She came instantly—a violent, full-body seizure, cunt spasming so hard she squirted in messy, forceful pulses that soaked his abs, his balls, splashed up onto her own tits. Saint kept fucking her through it, relentless, using her orgasm to slide even deeper, growling filth against her ear.

“That’s it, soak your brother’s cock. Milk me with that tight little sister-pussy. I’m going to keep you dripping every single day until you’re swollen with my bastard.”

When the spasms finally slowed he pulled out, fisted his cock (glistening with her juices), and painted her tits and belly with thick ropes of pre-cum, marking every inch of skin like territory.

Then he reached under the pillow and produced the final collar.

Black Italian leather, two-and-a-half inches wide, butter-soft lambskin on the inside, heavy brushed-silver O-ring at the front. A discreet engraved plate hidden against her throat would read: PROPERTY OF SAINT VALENTI – RETURN IF FOUND CUM-SOAKED.

He dangled it in front of her tear-streaked, cum-splattered face.

“Last chance to run, Raven. Put this on and there is no safe-word, no escape, no pretending you don’t cream your thighs every time I breathe in your direction. You’ll be my personal fucktoy, my breeding bitch, my collared whore until one of us is dead. Choose.”

Raven’s chest heaved. Her cunt clenched on nothing, pushing out another thick river of their mixed fluids that ran down to soak her asshole and the sheets beneath. She was trembling, oversensitive, ruined, and still desperate for more.

She lifted her chin, baring her throat like a sacrifice.

“Collar me, brother. Make me yours forever.”

The leather closed around her neck with a soft, final click. The weight was perfect—heavy enough she would feel owned every second of every day. He locked it with a tiny titanium padlock; the key dropped between her sweat-slick breasts on a new platinum chain that rested right above her racing heart.

Saint kissed her then—brutal, devouring, teeth clashing, tongue fucking her mouth the same way his cock had just fucked her cunt. He bit her bottom lip until it bled, licked the blood away, then bit again.

When he pulled back his cock was rock-hard again, angry red, dripping.

“New rules start now,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Every morning you wake up with my cock in one of your holes. Every night you fall asleep the same way. You don’t come unless I say. You don’t wear panties unless I put them on you myself. In public you call me Saint. When I’m balls-deep inside you, you call me brother. You leak my cum every single day until your belly is round with my baby. And every time you look in the mirror you’ll see my collar and remember who fucking owns you. Understood?”

Raven’s answer was to clench her empty cunt deliberately, pushing out a fresh gush of their fluids that ran down her ass crack.

“Yes, brother,” she whimpered, voice trembling with lust. “Breed me. Use me. Break me. I’m yours. Only yours.”

Saint groaned—an animal sound torn from his chest—and slammed back inside her in one stroke. She was so oversensitive she came again instantly, screaming his name, walls milking him like a fist.

He fucked her through a chain of orgasms that left her sobbing, begging, babbling absolute filth:

“Please brother, harder, mark me, fill me, own me, knock me up, ruin me.”

He came three more times—once flooding her cunt so deep she felt it in her womb, once pulling out to paint her collared throat and the new leather until it gleamed with his seed, once flipping her over and shoving into her ass without warning, breeding her second hole while she screamed into the pillow.

When he finally unlocked the cuffs and ankle restraints, Raven collapsed boneless, every hole gaping and leaking, collar the only thing she was still wearing, skin covered in bites, bruises, and his cum.

Saint gathered her trembling body against his chest, surprisingly gentle, and pressed a reverent kiss to the leather at her throat.

“Mine,” he whispered against her skin, voice raw with possession and something that sounded dangerously like devotion.

Raven smiled into his neck, tasting salt, blood, and sex.

“Always, brother.”

He rolled them so she was draped across him, cock softening inside her cunt again, keeping her plugged and full.

“Sleep,” he murmured, fingers tracing the collar. “Tomorrow we start the rest of forever.”

Raven drifted off with his heartbeat under her ear, his cum leaking slowly out of her, the collar heavy and comforting around her throat.

She had hated him once.

Now she was addicted to him.

And she never wanted it to end.