All Chapters of Stepbrother's Filthy Toy (An Erotica Collection): Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

SOPHIE“Again. Say it the way she did.”Ethan’s voice was low and rough above me, one hand locked around my throat just tight enough to make my pulse flutter under his palm. His cock was buried to the hilt inside me, thick and throbbing, every slow grind of his hips dragging the head over the spot that made my thighs shake. The black lace thong he’d shoved to the side cut into my hip. The perfume—her perfume—hung heavy in the air, mixed with the wet, filthy scent of how hard he’d already made me come once.I swallowed against his hand and gave him the line in her voice, soft and husky and needy.“Fuck me like you missed this cunt. Use me. Fill me up until I can’t take anymore.”His eyes darkened. He thrust harder, the wet slap of skin on skin carefully controlled so it wouldn’t carry past the closed door. Parents were home. The television murmured downstairs. Every sound we made had to stay small, contained, secret.“Good girl,” he muttered, and the praise wasn’t for me. It was for he

SOPHIEHis cock throbbed deep inside me. My walls fluttered around him. The footsteps paused right outside the door. Then continued past. A door closed further down the hall.Ethan exhaled slowly against the back of my neck and started moving again—slower, deeper, more dangerous.“You’re going to come for me,” he whispered. “Right now. While they’re right down the hall. Come on your cock like the dirty girl you are.”I shattered with his hand still over my mouth. My pussy clamped down in hard, rhythmic pulses, milking him, wetness gushing around his shaft. The orgasm ripped through me so intensely my vision sparked and my bound arms jerked against the rope. He fucked me through it, dragging every wave out until I was shaking and oversensitive and leaking down my legs.He didn’t come.Instead he pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and shoved my knees wide. My bound arms were trapped under me, forcing my chest up. He looked down at my flushed face, my heaving breasts, my cunt still twi

The spotlights were blinding. I stood naked on the raised platform in the center of the main lounge, wrists cuffed loosely behind my back, ankles spread and locked to a pair of floor bolts so I couldn’t close my legs. The air was cool against my skin. Every shift of my weight made my breasts move, nipples already tight from the chill and the dozens of eyes on me. Music throbbed low through the club speakers, slow and heavy, the kind that felt like a pulse between my legs. A handler in black moved around me with a small remote. The vibrating egg inside me was still on its lowest setting—just enough to keep me wet and restless, not enough to let me get anywhere close. My thighs were already shiny with it. “Lot Fourteen,” the auctioneer’s voice carried smoothly over the room. “Twenty-eight. Experienced. Limits clearly listed in your programs. Hard limits: no blood, no permanent marks, no breath play beyond light. Soft limits negotiable with the winner. She has requested public use ton

“Count them.” The first stroke of the flogger landed across my upper back in a heavy, thudding fan of leather tails. Heat bloomed under my skin. I sucked in a breath and gave him what he wanted. “One, Sir.” He didn’t rush. He paced behind me, letting the tails trail lightly over my shoulders, my spine, the curve of my ass, before the next stroke fell. Harder. Lower. The sound of it cracked through the quiet circle of watchers. “Two, Sir.” The egg inside me continued its low, relentless hum. Every impact sent a fresh jolt of sensation straight to my clit. My thighs were already shiny; fresh slick had begun to drip onto the floor between my spread feet. The cuffs held my wrists and ankles firmly against the St. Andrew’s cross. I could move just enough to arch into the strikes or flinch away—he had left me that much freedom on purpose. He worked the flogger in slow, methodical patterns. Upper back. Shoulders. The soft undersides of my arms. Then down to my ass, where the tails wra

LARA.They called me a slut in the group chat.
So I decided to earn the title properly — starting with the boss who started the rumor.I read the entire thread twice.
Once for the rage.
Once for the strategy.The messages were still open on my laptop when I closed it. Screenshots saved. Names noted. Especially his. Daniel Reeves, Director of Client Strategy, the man who had typed “she’s probably already fucked half the floor” followed by three laughing emojis while sitting fifteen feet away from my desk.I stood up, smoothed my skirt, and walked straight into his office without knocking.He looked up from his monitor, mildly irritated. “Lara, I’m on a call in—”I shut the door, locked it, and leaned against it.“You started a group chat about me,” I said, voice light, almost cheerful. “Called me a slut. Said I was probably already fucking half the floor. Cute theory. Wrong, but cute. So I came to correct the record — and to punish the asshole who started it.”Daniel’s expression froze