All Chapters of MAKE ME SCREAM: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

I squirt around Kai’s cock. Hard, forceful, spraying past where we’re joined, soaking his stomach, the mattress, the camera that’s still fucking recording. My whole body seizes, pulling against every rope, every restraint, and the orgasm is so intense my vision goes completely white and I stop making sound. Just, open mouth, arched back, silent convulsion.Then sound returns and it’s a scream.Kai fucks me through it. Harder. Faster. His composure shattering.“Take it, take your stepbrother’s cum—” He buries himself and stills, and I feel him release, hot, thick, flooding my pussy in heavy pulses that fill me while I’m still convulsing. I feel every rope of it. Feel my walls milking him, squeezing, pulling him deeper.“Yes, fill me up, I can feel it, oh god I can feel you cumming inside me—”He pulls out. His cum gushes from me immediately, thick, white, mixing with my squirt, running down to where Knox’s fingers are still in my ass.Knox removes his fingers. Lines up. Pushes into my

“I’m nineteen,” I say. “I can go where I want.”“Under my roof?” He steps closer. “Under my rules.” Another step. He’s in my space now, close enough that I can smell him, clean sweat and sandalwood, the scent that fills my head when I’m alone in my room at night with my hand between my legs. “Your mother trusted me to keep you safe while she’s away. This—” His hand gestures at my outfit. “— is not safe.”Connor circles behind me. I feel his heat at my back, his breath on my bare shoulder.“You know what I think, brother?” Connor’s voice is lower than Craig’s. Rougher. “I think she dressed like this on purpose. I think she wanted to get caught.”“I didn’t—”“Those heels are your mother’s.” Connor’s hand settles on my waist from behind. Casual. Proprietary. His thumb traces the bare skin between my top and my skirt and the contact sends goosebumps cascading down my spine. “And this skirt doesn’t cover shit. You walked through this house past both of us wearing this. You wanted us to see

The orgasm hits before Connor bottoms out and I scream around Craig’s cock so hard my throat burns.My pussy clamps down on Connor’s shaft, violent, rhythmic, milking — and the force of the contractions combined with how wet I am sends a gush of liquid spraying around his cock. It splatters against his thighs, runs down the side of the pool table, drips onto the basement floor. My body seizes, back arching, wrists straining against the rope, the clamps digging into the felt under my crushed tits, and the orgasm rolls through me in waves I can’t control.“MMMPHHH, MMMPHHH—” I’m screaming around Craig’s cock, the vibrations making him groan, and Connor doesn’t wait for me to finish — he slams the rest of the way in. Full. Deep. The head of his cock hitting my cervix at the exact moment my walls are convulsing, and the impact extends the orgasm into something unbearable.“Oh fuck, she’s cumming already—” Connor’s voice is strained behind me. His hands grip my hips and he starts moving, n

I lose track of time.The basement has no windows. No clock. Just the pool table, the leather couch, the chain on my ankle that gives me enough slack to reach the bathroom in the corner but not the stairs. They’ve left a blanket on the couch. A pillow. Water. Snacks. Everything I need to survive between visits.Because that’s what they are. Visits.They come downstairs whenever they want. Sometimes together. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with an hour between, sometimes with fifteen minutes, just long enough for me to start drifting off before the door opens and boots hit the stairs and my pussy clenches before my eyes open.Friday night blurs into Saturday morning. Craig comes down at dawn. I’m curled on the couch, naked, still leaking their combined cum from the night before. He doesn’t speak. Just lifts my legs, positions himself between them, and pushes into my cum-filled pussy with a groan that rings off the walls.I’m awake instantly. Gasping. My walls are sore and swollen and the s

I’m three fingers deep when the bedroom door opens.Not mine, Ryan’s. His childhood bedroom in his father’s house, where I’m supposed to be napping while Ryan runs to the pharmacy for the migraine pills he forgot. I was napping. For about four minutes. Then I rolled onto my stomach and the sheets smelled like Ryan’s cologne and the warmth made me restless and the restlessness made me wet and now I’m on my back with my sundress hiked to my ribs and my panties dangling off one ankle and three fingers buried inside my pussy, my hips rolling in slow, filthy circles against my own hand.I wasn’t thinking about Ryan.That’s the part I’ll never admit out loud. My boyfriend of eleven months is at a CVS two miles away and I’m fucking myself in his childhood bed to the thought of his father. To the image of Dominic Corsetti’s hands — broad, veined, scarred across the knuckles from years of construction work, gripping my thighs instead of my own. To the low, accented rasp of his voice that makes