Stepfamily Stories

I slept across the hall from the man who had his fingers inside me two weeks ago, and my mother called that a blessing.I stayed in my room for the rest of the night.Not because I was tired. Because if I opened that door I was going to do something I couldn’t blame on vodka. The house was too quiet. Too clean. Too full of her new life. I heard them downstairs. Her laugh. His voice. The easy sound of two people who had already chosen each other while I was still learning how to swallow the word Dad.I sat on the bed with my bag unpacked at my feet and stared at the wall until the wall started looking like a bathroom sink.I hated him.I hated that he had seen me shake.I hated that he had said no like he was doing me a favor.I hated my mother more.Seven days. That was all she gave my father before she put another man’s name on her mouth and called it moving on.A floorboard creaked in the hall.Then her voice, soft, disgusting.“Night, baby.”Baby.I pressed my face into the pillow

He locked the collar. Leather warm at my throat. The buckle pulled until I felt every swallow. Then the cuffs. One wrist. The other. Chain short enough that my arms stayed above my head on my mother’s pillows, open, offered, unable to pretend this was still a dare. The phone downstairs kept ringing. He didn’t go get it. He stripped. I had not seen him naked. Not in the bathroom. Not in the parlor. Not when he bent me over marble and spanked me red. I took my time looking because I might never get this view again. I doubted that already. God help me. He was thick. Heavy. Bigger than the boys I had let put their hands under my dress. Real. Veined. Hard because of me. The sight pulled a pulse through my cuffed wrists and down to my spanked ass. I wondered, stupid and hungry, how that was going to fit inside a girl who had only ever come on his fingers and a toy. He walked to the bed like he had already decided I was his. No kiss. No soft mouth between my legs. He bit my neck

Finn didn’t stop.Logan sat in the chair like the living room had turned into his office and we were the meeting. Every thrust shoved me forward on the couch. Every moan went to Daddy on purpose. I could feel Finn trying to last, trying to look like he wasn’t shaking, trying not to look at the man who had just taken the room from him.Logan stood.He didn’t rush. He crossed the carpet, dropped to a crouch beside my face, and put two fingers under my chin so I had to look at him while his son fucked me.“You wanted more,” he said. “Say it to me.”“More.” It broke. “Daddy, more.”His other hand slid under me.Thumb on my clit.Exact. Mean. He rubbed me in tight circles while Finn slammed deep, and the two rhythms didn’t match, which made it worse. Pleasure stacked too fast. My arms shook. I came with a raw sound against Logan’s wrist, pussy clamping down on Finn, eyes locked on the man who hadn’t even taken his slacks off yet.Finn cursed and had to still inside me.“Don’t you come,” Lo

DoveI wrote how I wanted my professor to fuck me, and then he asked for the paper.That was the whole disaster.To the rest of the room I was Dove. Quiet. High marks. The girl who sat in the second row and never caused a problem. They didn’t know I had spent three months coming in the dark to Professor Damien Hale. Desk. Tie. My knees on his lecture notes. Every student-and-professor clip I watched left me worse than the last, dripping and ashamed and still hitting replay. Today I got tired of sitting through another lecture with my thighs pressed together like that could hide it.So while he talked about my grades falling — he had no idea he was the reason — I wrote it.Not a joke. Not a dare I could laugh off later. I wrote the darkest, most cum-depraved things I had been carrying around like homework I couldn’t turn in. Where I wanted his hands. How I wanted the desk under my back. How I wanted him to stop teaching and use me until I couldn’t say sir without moaning it. I wrote th

I wore the skirt.No tights. The air in the lecture hall touched my bare thighs every time I shifted, and I spent the whole last class like that: quiet Dove in the second row, notes in front of me, nothing useful on the page. Professor Damien Hale taught as if he had not told me to stay. As if he had not quoted my own filth back to me in the dark. As if there was not a video of my dripping cunt sitting in his phone.I hated him for the calm.I was soaked before he dismissed anyone.“That will be all.” Chairs scraped. Laughter in the doorway. Someone asked him a question about the midterm and he answered it like a decent man. I stayed in my seat until the room emptied, the way a good girl stays when she has been told to.The last student left.He did not look at me until the door shut.Then the lock turned.The sound went through me harder than the video.“Stand up.”I stood. The skirt was short enough that I felt ridiculous and chosen. He walked the aisle like he had all the time in t