My step Dad wants me pt3

I woke up to the feeling of being watched.

The room was still dark, only the faint blue glow of pre-dawn slipping through the curtains. Damian was propped on one elbow, eyes roaming over my naked body like he was memorizing every inch he’d already claimed. His cock was already hard again, thick and heavy against my hip, leaking at the tip.

He didn’t say good morning.

He simply rolled me onto my stomach, nudged my thighs apart with his knee, and dragged two thick fingers through the sticky mess he’d left between my legs last night.

“Still dripping me,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied. “Good. Means I marked you properly.”

I whimpered into the pillow when he pushed those same fingers—coated in his own cum—past my lips.

“Suck,” he ordered.

I did. Greedily. Tasting the filthy combination of us while his other hand kneaded my ass, spreading me open casually, like he owned every hole already.

Which, after last night… he pretty much did.

He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and replaced them with his mouth—kissing, biting, licking a slow path down my spine until he reached the small of my back. Then lower.

When his tongue touched my asshole for the second time in twelve hours I jolted, half-shocked, half-desperate.

“Relax,” he growled against my skin. “You knew this was coming. You clenched just thinking about it when I said it last night.”

He wasn’t wrong.

He ate my ass with the same obscene hunger he’d shown my pussy—long, wet, filthy licks that circled and probed, gradually pressing the tip of his tongue inside while his fingers returned to my cunt, three this time, stretching me open again.

I was shaking, drooling into the pillow, hips rocking back onto his face without shame.

“Such a dirty fucking girl,” he muttered between licks. “Can’t decide which hole needs filling more, can you?”

“Please…” My voice was wrecked already. “Both. Anything. Just—fuck—”

He pulled away abruptly. I whined at the loss.

The bedside drawer opened. I heard the unmistakable snap of a lube bottle.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He poured it directly onto me—cool, thick streams dripping down my crack, over my pussy, pooling on the sheets. Then his fingers were there again, slicking everything, pushing lube inside my ass with slow, deliberate pumps.

One finger. Then two. Scissoring. Stretching.

I hissed at the burn, then moaned when he curled them just right.

“You’re gonna take it,” he said, more promise than question. “Every fucking inch. And you’re gonna come with my cock in your ass and my fingers in your cunt like the perfect little anal slut you were born to be.”

The degradation should’ve embarrassed me.

Instead it made me gush around the fingers still buried in my pussy.

He pulled everything out at once, leaving me empty and clenching around nothing.

Then I felt the blunt, hot head of him—not at my pussy this time.

He pressed against my ass, steady, insistent, not forcing, but not retreating either.

“Breathe,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “Push back when you’re ready.”

I did.

The stretch was brutal—far more intense than his fingers. I cried out, hands fisting the sheets, tears springing to my eyes.

He froze, only the head inside, letting me adjust, one big hand stroking down my spine in long, soothing passes.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, the sudden tenderness almost more devastating than the stretch. “Taking Daddy’s cock in your tight little ass like you were fucking made for it.”

The praise broke something in me.

I pushed back harder.

Another thick inch sank in.

Then another.

Until his hips finally pressed flush against my cheeks and I felt impossibly, obscenely full.

He stayed still for long seconds, both of us shaking.

Then he started to move.

Slow drags at first—pulling almost all the way out, then sinking back in, letting me feel every ridge, every vein.

The burn faded into something darker, hotter, more addictive.

When he felt me start to rock back to meet him, he lost the last thread of gentleness.

He fucked my ass like he’d fucked my pussy last night—hard, deep, merciless.

One hand wrapped around my throat from behind—not squeezing, just holding, possessive. The other slid beneath me, three fingers plunging back into my dripping cunt while his thumb found my clit.

Double penetrated—ass and pussy stuffed at once—I lost the ability to form words.

Only sounds.

Broken, animal, desperate sounds.

He pounded into me, the wet slap of his balls against my pussy, the filthy squelch of his fingers, my own choked sobs filling the room.

“You love this, don’t you?” he snarled against my ear. “Love being my dirty little anal whore. Love feeling me stretch this virgin ass wide open.”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“Gonna come like this?” His fingers curled viciously inside me, hitting that spot while his cock dragged against the thin wall separating us. “Gonna soak my hand while I breed your tight little asshole?”

The word breed did something primal to me.

I shattered.

Screamed into the mattress as my whole body seized—orgasm ripping through me from both holes at once, squirting around his fingers, clenching so hard around his cock I thought I might break him.

He fucked me through it, pace brutal, chasing his own release now.

“Fuck—gonna fill this ass up—gonna pump you so full of cum you’ll feel it for days—”

He slammed deep one final time and came with a guttural sound that vibrated through both of us.

I felt it—hot, thick pulses flooding my ass, so much it leaked out around his cock even while he was still buried inside me.

He stayed there, grinding slow, lazy circles, pushing his load deeper while I trembled beneath him.

When he finally pulled out, I whimpered at the gape, at the obscene drip of cum that followed.

He flipped me over immediately, spread my thighs wide, and looked down at the mess he’d made—my pussy swollen and glistening, my ass leaking his cum onto the sheets.

Then he did the dirtiest thing yet.

He dropped down and licked me clean.

Tongue gathering every drop of his own release from my wrecked asshole, then dragging up to suck my oversensitive clit until I was crying and trying to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

Only when I was shaking, oversensitive and sobbing, did he crawl back up my body.

He kissed me—deep, filthy, letting me taste both of us on his tongue.

Then he gathered me against his chest, still sticky, still leaking, still trembling.

His lips brushed my temple.

“Rest,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Because tonight I’m tying you to this bed and seeing how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop.”

I shivered.

Already wet again.

Already counting the hours.