My Stepdad Is My P**n Partner 3

Marcus’s mouth was on me before I could catch my breath.

He licked me slow and deep. His flat tongue dragged from my entrance all the way up to my clit, then slid back down again. He did it over and over. Each pass felt deliberate, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the taste of me after years of only imagining it. His hands gripped the backs of my thighs and pushed them wider apart. The leather couch creaked under my back. The overhead lights burned warm against my skin. I could feel the camera lenses trained on us, but right then they might as well have been a mile away. All I could feel was his tongue, his breath, the way his stubble scraped the tender skin of my inner thighs.

I moaned loud enough that the overhead mic definitely caught it. The sound bounced off the high warehouse ceiling and came back to me, raw and needy. He hummed against my pussy in response. The low vibration rolled straight through my clit and made my hips buck off the couch before I could stop them.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he said for the camera. His voice came out rough and thick. But the way his fingers dug deeper into my thighs told me it was more than just dialogue. He was speaking to me. Only me. The same man who once sat across the kitchen table pretending to read the newspaper while I walked around in tiny pajama shorts, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

He sucked my clit into his mouth. Gentle at first. Lips soft and warm. Then harder. He pulled the swollen bud between his lips and held it there while his tongue flicked fast little strokes over the tip. At the same time he slid two thick fingers back inside me. He found that spot immediately. The one that made my toes curl and my vision blur. He rubbed it in slow, firm circles. Steady pressure. No mercy.

My back arched off the couch. My hands flew to his hair. I gripped the dark strands hard and held him right where I needed him. My hips rocked up to meet his mouth. I couldn’t stop myself. Every nerve in my body felt lit up. Pleasure built heavy and deep. Not the quick, sharp kind that crashes and fades. This was slower. Thicker. The kind that starts low in your belly like a gathering storm and spreads outward until your whole body feels like it’s burning from the inside.

He ate me like a man who knew exactly what I liked.

Because he did.

He had heard me through the thin walls of our old house. Late at night when I thought everyone was asleep, when I touched myself under the covers and tried to stay quiet. He had listened to me come in the shower, water running to mask the sounds, but never quite enough. He had jerked off to the muffled moans I made when I fucked my high school boyfriend in my bedroom with the door cracked open just a little. Then he had gone downstairs and fucked my mother on the living room couch right after, like it was nothing. Like he could erase what he had heard by burying himself in someone else.

Now he was making me pay for all of it.

His fingers sped up inside me. Not frantic, but purposeful. Each stroke dragged over that perfect spot while his tongue stayed relentless on my clit. He alternated between fast flicks and long, slow sucks that pulled the sensitive bud deeper into his mouth. My thighs started to tremble. My breathing turned ragged. Sweat gathered between my breasts and trickled down my ribs. My nipples were so hard they ached every time the air moved across them.

I was right on the edge.

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. My toes curled against the leather. My fingers twisted in his hair until I was sure I was pulling too hard. I could feel the orgasm hovering just out of reach, heavy and inevitable. But I didn’t want to come yet.

I wanted to drag this out.

I wanted to feel every filthy second of my stepdad eating my pussy on camera.

I wanted to savor the wrongness of it. The way his tongue knew every secret fold. The way his fingers remembered exactly how deep to go. The way his breath hitched every time I moaned his name under my breath, too quiet for the mic but loud enough for him to hear.

I pulled his head up.

He lifted his mouth from me slowly. Reluctantly. His lips were shiny with my wetness. His chin glistened. His breathing came hard and uneven. Behind the mask his eyes were dark and wild.

I whispered, so quiet only he could hear.

“I know it’s you.”

His eyes darkened even more. The pupils swallowed the grey almost completely.

For one long heartbeat he didn’t move.

Then he smiled. Slow. Dangerous. The same smile he used to give me when I lied about where I had been and he knew the truth anyway.

He crawled up my body.

Settled between my thighs.

His cock rested heavy and leaking against my stomach. Pre-cum smeared across my skin in a warm, sticky line.

He kissed me.

Deep. Filthy. Tongue sliding against mine so I could taste myself on him. Salt. Musk. The raw flavor of my own arousal mixed with the taste of his mouth. I moaned into the kiss. My hands slid up his back, nails digging into the muscle there. I pulled him closer until there was no space left between us.

When he pulled back, he spoke loud enough for the crew.

“You ready for my cock, baby?”

I nodded. My voice came out shaky. “Yes.”

He reached down. Lined himself up.

The blunt head pressed against my entrance.

He pushed in.

Slow.

Inch by inch.

Stretching me open.

Filling me completely.

I gasped. Real. Loud.

He bottomed out. Groaned.

“Fuck. So tight.”

He started to move.

Deep. Steady. Every stroke dragged over my g-spot.

My legs wrapped around his waist. Heels dug into his back.

He fucked me like he had been dreaming about this for years.

And maybe he had.

I looked up at him. Mask to mask.

He looked down at me.

And in that moment, with his cock buried to the hilt inside me, we both stopped pretending.

We knew.

And we didn’t stop.