My Stepmom’s Open Door(4)

I walk down the stairs naked, every step careful on the cool wood, the house quiet except for the low sound of the television somewhere below. My skin feels too tight, too aware. Maria is waiting at the bottom. She looks at me slowly… staring at my bare feet, moving up my legs, between them, over my stomach and breasts… then smiles like she’s already decided something about me.

“This is Becky,” Helen says from behind me. “She’s new. Eager. Still learning.”

“We’ll fix that.”

Helen’s hand settles between my shoulder blades and guides me into the living room. She puts me on the floor on my back, the carpet rough against my skin. Fred is already on the couch, pants open, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls while he watches. Maria kneels between my spread legs without a word. She coats her hand and the thick black strap-on in lube until both shine, then presses two fingers inside me. The stretch is immediate. She works them in and out, then adds a third. Then a fourth. It hurts more than anything Helen or Fred have done to me, deeper, wider, less careful. I gasp and jerk my hips away on instinct. Helen catches my wrists and pins them above my head, her grip firm.

“Breathe,” she says, calm and close. “Push out. Don’t fight it.”

I try. Maria keeps going, twisting her hand, spreading her fingers until the knuckles catch and press hard against my entrance. The pressure is sharp enough that I almost say stop. The word sits right behind my teeth. Almost. Instead I lock eyes with Helen and nod once, small and tight. Maria pushes. The widest part forces me open; the pain burns through me in a hot, thick wave that makes my thighs shake. My cunt clenches around her, fighting and then yielding, taking more and more until her whole fist is inside me to the wrist. I can feel the shape of it, the way my body has to rearrange itself to hold her.

“Good girl,” Helen whispers against my ear. “Look at you. Taking it all.”

Maria fucks me with slow, steady movements of her fist, pulling back just enough that the knuckles drag, then sinking in again. The strap-on rests heavy and slick against my thigh, rocking with every motion. Fred gets off the couch and comes closer. He feeds his cock into my mouth without asking, thick and salty on my tongue. Helen swings a leg over me and straddles my chest so I can lick her at the same time, her weight settling on me while she holds my wrists. Fist, cock, tongue. The three of them move together and I can only take it… mouth full, cunt stretched, Helen’s taste on my tongue… until the orgasm that comes is different from the others. It builds from somewhere deeper, almost frightening in how far it reaches, and when it hits I sob around Fred’s cock and go limp under all of them, twitching and wet and open.

Maria withdraws slowly, carefully, the emptiness after almost as intense as the stretch. Helen and Fred take turns fucking me after that, Helen first with the strap-on still wet from Maria’s hand, then Fred, while Maria watches from the side and occasionally adds her fingers or her mouth wherever she wants. By the time they finish, I’m raw and marked, thighs sticky, barely able to think past the ache and the way my body keeps clenching around nothing.

Later they carry me back upstairs between them. I sleep between Helen and Fred, their heat on either side of me. Maria stays the night on the other side of Helen, her breathing steady in the dark.

In the days that follow, the routine settles in. One afternoon Helen makes me edge for nearly an hour on the living-room floor while Fred grades papers across the room, the soft scratch of his pen never stopping. Another night Maria arrives with a different strap-on, thicker, curved differently, and teaches me how to take it on my hands and knees without collapsing, her hand on my lower back keeping me steady every time my arms shake. The sharp remarks I used to make grow quieter. I stop reaching for my phone. I no longer count the days until my father returns.

Two months pass.

The night before he is due home, Helen fucks me with the original black strap-on one last time while Fred holds me open and Maria watches from the end of the bed. When it’s over they clean me up, dress me in one of my ordinary college T-shirts, and send me to my own bed. The sheets feel cold after weeks of sharing theirs.

“Tomorrow everything goes back,” Helen says at the doorway. She doesn’t sound regretful. “You know how to find us if you decide otherwise.”

I close my eyes.

I already know I’ll go back.