On Your Knees: Short Stories

~Nastya

It’s a sin to moan out your mother’s husband’s name while masturbating until that husband is George.

I bend my back against the sheets, my hips twitching as my fingers slid deeper, working a brutal, relentless rhythm that had me breathless.

A muffled, desperate whimper escaped my lips into the quiet bedroom, echoing off the walls in the dark.

"George..."

God, it was pathetic, but I couldn't stop. I've never seen a forty six year old man this young and hot. He could easily pass for his early thirties, with broad shoulders, a sharp, stubbled jawline, and a body carved out of a dead demigod.

Well, consistency pays off, he owns a massive fitness center in the city and goes there almost every single day to keep himself in peak condition.

Meanwhile, my forty four year old mum looks like she’s well into her early fifties, exhausted by life and completely indifferent to him. Half the time, I wonder if he even gets attracted to her anymore.

I wonder if he looks at her and wishes he had something tighter. Something younger.

Because anytime I see him, I get wet.

It’s an absolute sickness. He doesn't even have to put a hand on me to make my pulse race; he touches me just with his stare.

He fucks me without even knowing it anytime he gives me that dark, lingering look, that little confident wink over the breakfast table, or that casual, heavy pat on my shoulder that sends a electric shock straight down between my thighs.

My fingers moved faster, pressing against my swollen clit as his image flashed behind my eyelids, the way his grey gym shirt clung to his chest, the faint scent of his body that followed him down the hallway, the low rumble of his voice when he called me by my name.

My breath hitched, my thighs trembling violently as the heat built into a tight, unbearable coil.

"Fuck... George..."

I clamped my legs together, riding out the sudden, shattering wave of friction as my body shuddered against the mattress.

My chest rose and fell in ragged, frantic gasps, my inner muscles clenching around nothing as the intense orgasm finally began to fade into a warm, lingering hum until it finally rushed out.

I lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling as I smiled in satisfaction even though I didn't feel totally satisfied.

Before I could even catch my breath or pull my hand out from under the covers, my mother’s tired voice came through the quiet hallway outside my door.

"Nastya! Go get George from the study! Dinner is on the table!"

I froze, my skin instantly flushing hot. My fingers were still wet, my body still sensitive and trembling from screaming his name just seconds ago.

"I'm coming, Mum!" I called back, my voice sounding way higher than usual.

I kicked the blankets off, sat up, and looked down at my wet hand. A wicked, heat fueled smirk spread across my face. She wanted me to go fetch her husband for dinner, completely clueless that I was still covered in the mess I made while fantasizing about him.

I wiped my hand on a towel, threw on a night gown, and stepped out into the hallway, heading straight for his study.

I walked down the quiet hallway, my heart pounding against my ribs.

The door to his study was just a few centimetres away from me as I reached out to knock, a soft, heavy sound stopped me dead in my tracks.

A moan. It was low, raspy, and thoroughly ruined with dark, unadulterated need.

My breath caught in my throat. I pressed my back against the wall, my heart slamming into my chest like a sledgehammer.

Slowly, carefully, I leaned forward and peeped through the narrow crack in the door.

The first thing my eyes landed on was a bottle of baby oil sitting uncapped on the edge of his desk.

My gaze shifted lower, and my whole body went rigid.

His broad back was turned slightly toward the doorway, his black gym shorts shoved down to his knees. His massive, calloused hand was wrapped tightly around a cock so huge it made my breath hitch in my throat.

It was thick, veiny, and easily twice the size of anything I had ever taken from my ex-boyfriend. I’m twenty, yeah, I’m legal enough to have had my fair share of experience.

I’ve been dating since I was eighteen, and I have three boyfriends on rotation right now, but nothing, nothing I’ve ever seen or touched could compare to what he was holding.

His large hand stroked up and down his cock in a slow movement, the oil making a slick, wet sound with every slide he completed.

The muscles in his shoulders and back flexed with power as he worked himself, his head tilted back against the leather chair.

Then, as if the sight of him wasn't enough to drive me completely out of my mind, his jaw clenched, and a deep, guttural sound tore from his chest.

"Fuck... Nastya..."

My jaw dropped. The air rushed out of my lungs in a sharp gasp.

Nastya.

The fuck? Moaning his twenty year old stepdaughter's name while pumping his massive dick with baby oil in his private study?

The realization hit me like a physical slap, sending a wave of shock, dirty heat straight down to my core.

A heavy rush of wetness instantly soaked through my lace panties again. He wasn't just touching me with his stare, he was losing his mind over me in the dark.

I leaned closer to the crack in the door, biting my bottom lip so hard I nearly drew blood, completely unable to turn away.

The absurdity of the moment made my head spin, but the raw, filthily addicting view through that crack pulled me completely under.

I reached down beneath my nightgown, sliding my fingers straight into my panties. My pussy was already soaking wet, throbbing in frantic sync with every stroke of his thick hand over his dick.

I began to rub myself ferociously, keeping time with his heavy, rhythmic thrusts against his palm. Every time his muscles bunched and he let out another low, raspy growl, I stroked my swollen center harder, matching his pace, biting my lip until I could taste blood just to keep from crying out loud.

Inside the room, his movements turned wild, desperatw as he pumped his cock with absolute brutality.

"Nastya... fuck... Nastya..." he grunted aggressively, his voice thick with a dark, uncontrolled need.

Lost in the scorching heat of the moment, my knees went weak. I leaned too hard against the door, my hand slipping against the wood.

The door creaked loudly, swinging all the way open.

"Fuck, Nastya!" he roared one last time, completely blind to the world as he reached his breaking point.

With his eyes shut tight and his jaw locked, thick, heavy ropes of white warm fluid erupted from his dick, splattering across the desk and the papers beneath it.

A long, shuddering sigh of pure, unadulterated pleasure spilled from his chest, his head falling back against the leather seat as he rode out the tail end of the orgasm.

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips, his chest heaving up and down.

Then, he slowly opened his eyes.

The smile froze instantly. His gaze locked straight onto mine.

I stood right in the doorway, my fingers still buried deep in my robe, my lips parted in a breathless gasp. He sat there frozen in his leather chair, his shorts still down at his knees, his massive, glistening hand still wrapped tightly around his thick, spent cock.

For five suffocating seconds, neither of us moved.

“RUN!” The inner girl in me screamed so loud that I could hear.