PREGNANT, NUDE & LIVE FOR MY STEPFATHER

Amy

I couldn’t believe my ears. Damien wants me… AMIRA RAVE to spread my legs and touch my pussy while he watched?

“Are you insane?” My voice came out cracked, a desperate little whisper that sounded pathetic even to my own ears. “You want me to… with you sitting right here? Watching me?”

Damien didn’t blink.

“You heard me,” he said. His voice was low, flat, and completely devoid of any joke or hesitation.

It was the tone of a man who held a loaded gun and knew he didn’t even have to pull the trigger to win. “Sit back down. Spread your legs. And finish the show.”

“No,” I snapped, a sudden flash of real, defensive fire sparking inside me.

I pulled the comforter tighter around my chest, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I had.

“No way. I’m not doing this with you. You’re a pervert. I am not putting on a show for you like some kind of porn—!”

Before I could even finish the sentence, Damien moved.

He took two steps forward, reaching out and grabbing the back of the wooden armchair.

With a sharp, scraping sound against the floorboards, he dragged it closer—so close the front legs nearly touched the mattress.

Then, he sat down.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His broad shoulders blocked the only way off the bed, trapping me between the wall behind me and him.

“You don’t want to dare me, Amy,” Damien murmured. “Ten seconds,” he added.

He meant business. This man wasn’t joking.

I could refuse. But if my mother found out about this, my life in this house—my tuition, my shelter, everything—would be burned to ash.

Tears of humiliation stung the corners of my eyes behind the black fabric of my mask. I always knew Damien was mean, an evil creepy. But not to this extent.

My bottom lip trembled.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered.

“I know,” Damien replied, his face hard as stone. “Now move the stupid blanket, you camera slut.”

My hands shook as I slowly let go of the wool. I pulled it down past my waist, exposing my bare stomach. Slowly, I started spreading my legs.

Damien’s eyes were locked on me like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

His gaze dropped straight to my pussy, burning into me with a dark, unblinking intensity that made my stomach twist into knots.

“This is wrong,” I gritted out.

“Your audience is waiting,” he commanded quietly, ignoring whatever I was saying.

I swallowed hard, my pride already shattering into a million pieces. I reached down with my right hand, my fingers sliding between my legs to press straight against my wet flesh.

The chat exploded instantly.

Ping! Sounds echoing in the room.

$200, $300, $500.

••That’s it. Give us the show, Amy.••

••I’ve never seen anything like this•••

I bit down hard on my lower lip, letting out a ragged, humiliated gasp as my middle finger rubbed on my clit.

“Hhhhn…” I held the moan-whimper before it could escape.

I was forcing a slow rhythm because my body was too tight, panicked, and fucking embarrassed.

I mean… who wouldn’t be. I’m fucking masturbating in front of DAMIEN, the Falcon family’s prick!

As I moved my hands against my wetness,

something was happening. Something I couldn’t say out loud.

This is wrong, right?

I mean the fact that my mother’s husband was sitting right three feet away, watching my pussy spread, touching myself.

That was supposed to feel disgusting. Right?

Like really disgusting.

But guess what is happening?

The sight of him looking at me like the audience I had always envisioned whenever I was on camera was sending an electric shock straight down my spine, making me pool against my own fingers!

I mean my body was getting excited that DAMIEN was seated in front of me, watching me together with the hundreds of people behind the laptop screen!

I’m crazy. I’m not normal. At all.

Slowly the resistance was melting away, replaced by a desperate ache.

But that isn’t even the worst.

The worse part now is the fact that I couldn’t stop looking at Damien.

This way. His jaw was locked tight, the way his eyes were burning into my hand as it worked between my legs.

“Ahh…” the moan slipped out without control. “Are you… ah… are you happy now?” I panted, my voice breaking as my hips started bucking upward on their own, chasing the friction. “Is this… AHH fuck… is this what you wanted to see… huh? Huh? You sick bastard…?”

Damien didn’t answer. He just watched me unravel, his silence louder than any words could ever be.

The more I rubbed on myself, the more intense everything became.

“Ahhh ohhh fuck… ahhh yess ohhh ohhh…”

The friction became too much. The pressure in my lower stomach coiled so tight I felt like I was going to snap. My fingers moved faster, in a frantic rhythm that filled the dark room with wet slaps against my skin.

“Oh god—fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck!”

My back arched hard against the wall, my whole body locking up as the orgasm hit me.

My inner muscles clenching tight around my fingers, my thighs snapping shut while trapping my hand in between, desperate to milk every wave that came with this.

Fuck!

I collapsed forward onto the mattress, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down my neck, panting so hard my lungs burned.

The room was dead silent again, save for the frantic chimes of the laptop and the scrolling text.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us moved.

Then,

Damien slowly pushed himself up from the wooden chair.

I could see the tent that had built in that bastard’s pants.

He didn’t say a single word. He just turned around, walked towards the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

The door shut behind him.

Damn…

Instantly the reality of what just happened crashed down on my chest like a ton of bricks. My hands were still shaking. My skin was still damp from sweat.

Without thinking, I lunged forward across the mattress, grabbed my laptop, and slammed the screen down, cutting off the live stream instantly.

Damien didn’t say anything before he left.

I did what he asked of me. But… I’m still unsure. He isn’t going to tell my mom, is he?

A cold knot of guilt twisted my stomach.

Damien is a serpent, unpredictable.

What if he still told mom?

God. I’m cooked.