STORY TWO: Fingering My Married Stepbrother’s Voice.

SOPHIE.

My fingers were buried knuckle-deep in my dripping cunt when I heard the front door open downstairs. I didn’t stop. I curled them harder against that spongy spot that made my toes curl, thumb grinding tight, filthy circles on my swollen clit while I finished typing the latest line in my secret document.

Tony’s thick married cock slammed into me from behind, stretching my greedy little pussy while he growled, “You’re nothing but my filthy toy now, Sophie. My wife could never take it like you do.”

I moaned softly, hips rocking shamelessly against my hand. My inner walls fluttered and clenched, soaking my fingers and the chair beneath me. I was so close already, pussy throbbing with forbidden need. But I edged myself cruelly, pulling my fingers out with a wet pop just before I could cum. Not yet. I wanted to save the explosion for when he was here.

“Sophie?” Mom called up the stairs. “We’re leaving for the airport. Tony’s downstairs!”

My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged animal. Tony. My tall, muscular, married stepbrother who barely tolerated me. The man whose deep voice alone could make me ruin my panties. The man I’d been obsessively writing filthy stories about for months — stories where he used me, bred me, ruined me while his wife waited at home none the wiser.

I quickly closed my laptop, wiped my slick fingers on my thigh, and pulled on a tiny white tank top (no bra, nipples already stiff and obvious) and the shortest sleep shorts I owned. No panties. My shaved pussy was puffy and glistening, lips swollen from how long I’d been teasing myself.

Downstairs, Mom hugged me quickly while Dad loaded the car. Tony stood in the foyer like a wall of restrained power — dark hair perfectly styled, fitted button-down stretched across his broad chest, slacks hugging those powerful thighs and the heavy bulge I fantasized about daily. His wedding ring caught the light, and a fresh gush of arousal trickled down my inner thigh.

“Take care of your sister, Tony,” Mom said cheerfully. “We’ll be back in a few days.”

He gave a tight nod, jaw clenched. “Of course.”

The moment the door closed, the air thickened. Just us. Alone.

Tony turned to me, arms crossed, voice low and commanding. “Ground rules, Sophie. No parties. No sneaking out. I have important meetings, but I’ll be back at night to make sure you’re not causing trouble. Understood?”

God, that voice. Deep, authoritative, edged with irritation. It went straight to my clit. I squeezed my thighs together, feeling my bare pussy lips slide slickly against each other, and gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile.

“Yes, Tony,” I murmured, voice breathy. “Whatever you want.”

He narrowed his eyes but seemed satisfied. “Good. I need to make some calls. You should rest if you’re still feeling sick.”

I followed him into the living room like a needy little slut in heat, curling up on the corner of the couch with a thick throw blanket strategically draped over my lap. Tony dropped into the armchair across from me, phone to his ear, long legs spread in that casual masculine way that made my mouth water.

“Yeah, the merger needs to close by Friday,” he said firmly, tone all business. His free hand gestured as he spoke, strong fingers flexing. I imagined those fingers buried inside me instead, stretching my tight cunt while he told me what a dirty girl I was for craving my own stepbrother.

My hand slipped silently under the blanket. Two fingers parted my soaked folds and sank deep inside with a quiet, obscene squelch. I bit my lip hard, eyes fluttering as I started fucking myself slowly, matching the rhythm of his voice. My thumb found my aching clit and rubbed tight, slippery circles.

Fuck, Tony… keep talking. Use that married voice while I finger my dripping pussy for you.

He stood up to pace, muscles shifting under his clothes. The front of his slacks tightened over his bulge with every step. Was he getting hard? Or was that just my desperate, horny imagination making me see what I wanted?

I pumped my fingers faster, curling them against my g-spot. Wet sounds were barely muffled by the blanket. My nipples poked obscenely against my thin tank top, begging to be sucked and bitten. In my head, Tony had me bent over the couch, yanking my shorts down and slamming his thick cock balls-deep into my married-stepbrother-craving cunt while he growled filthy things about turning me into his personal breeding toy.

A tiny, needy whimper slipped out.

Tony paused mid-sentence, glancing over. “You okay? You’re breathing heavy.”

“I’m… fine,” I gasped, voice husky. My fingers never stopped thrusting, slick and noisy now. “Your voice is just… really soothing. Keep going.”

He frowned but continued the call, pacing again. Every flex of his thighs, every low rumble from his chest pushed me closer to the edge. I imagined dropping to my knees, pulling his zipper down, and swallowing every inch of his married dick while he tried to sound professional.

Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my core. My pussy clenched greedily around my thrusting fingers, juices coating my hand and soaking the couch cushion. I was so fucking close. My hips rocked shamelessly under the blanket, chasing it.

“Tony…” I whispered, too far gone to stay quiet.

He ended the call abruptly. “Sophie, what the hell is wrong with—”

The blanket slipped as my orgasm hit like a freight train.

My back arched, thighs shaking violently. A broken, filthy moan tore from my throat as my cunt spasmed hard around my fingers, gushing slick juices down my hand and thighs. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me, my pussy pulsing visibly, clit throbbing under my thumb. I couldn’t stop the sounds — wet, obscene, desperate little cries as I rode my fingers through the intense orgasm, eyes locked on him the entire time.

Tony froze. His gaze dropped to the fallen blanket, to my spread legs and the blatant movement of my hand still buried between them, to the shiny wetness coating my fingers and the dark wet spot on the couch.

His eyes widened in shock, then darkened with something far more dangerous.

“Sophie…” His voice was hoarse, strained, almost broken. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”