Stepfamily Stories のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

I moaned my stepbrother’s name with another boy’s cock in my ass.That was the whole disaster.The party was a bruise of bass under the floor. Reid had ignored the no-parties rule the second our parents left for the anniversary trip. My room smelled like cheap body spray and the lube I had put in his hand because I would not let him near the hole I was saving. He was behind me on the bed, jeans at his thighs, fucking my ass in short messy strokes. I was on my knees. Face in the pillow. Tank top still on. He thought the wetness on my cunt was for him.It was not.I had gone downstairs an hour ago to tell Reid to turn it down. I had seen Knox first.Gray sweatpants. Low. Thighs spread in a patio chair like the yard belonged to his cock. The cotton was thin enough to insult me. Thick line down his left thigh. Heavy. A blunt shadow where the head sat. Taryn in his lap. His hand on her ass. His mouth saying I had always been a bore while the whole party laughed.Reid: “That’s my sister.”K

I went to his place on Thursday.Not because I was brave. Because the teammate had gone quiet and Reid had asked why Knox walked him out so fast, and because my cunt had not dried out since Knox’s fingers left my ass and my clit and a rule I could still hide.Knox opened the door in a T-shirt and the same kind of sweatpants. No party. No Taryn. His house was smaller than ours. One lamp. He looked at me on the step like he had bet himself I would not show.“You here to ask,” he said, “or to stand there and drip on my porch.”“Ask.”He let me in. The door clicked. I hated how loud it was.“Say it.”My face burned. “Break the rule. The virgin one. I saved it. You know I saved it. I want you to take it.”Knox laughed once, not nice. “You want your stepbrother to fuck the hole you wouldn’t give a nobody while I was downstairs. That’s the sentence.”“Yes.”He didn’t reach for his waistband. He walked into the kitchen, poured water, drank, looked at me over the glass.“Reid would end this ho

Monday I walked the hall in jeans that had nothing to do with comfort.I was sore. A good, secret ache every time I sat in lecture. Knox’s cum was gone but the memory of it wasn’t. Reid had bought the dead-battery lie. Gia had covered after I begged. I felt Knox in my cunt when I took the stairs and I hated how much I liked the limp I was hiding.He was at the lockers with the football boys. Taryn was there. She put her hand on his stomach like Saturday had not happened. Knox laughed at something Garrett said. His eyes found me anyway. That look from the window. From the door. From between my knees.My phone buzzed before I reached Literature.Knox: Those jeans are a problem. I can see how you’re walking. That’s me.Sable: You’re standing with her.Knox: She’s standing with me. Different sentence. Bathroom after third. The one by the back stairs. Don’t be late or I assume Saturday was a one-time mistake.I sat through Heathcliff with my thighs pressed together and my reserved-not-rese

Reid left for the game at one-forty.I texted at two.Sable: He’s gone.Knox: Back door. Five minutes.His house in daylight felt like a crime we were done pretending was accidental. He let me in and locked it. No hall. No jeans trick. He took me to the bedroom this time.“If we’re doing this while he’s in a stadium,” Knox said, pulling my shirt off, “we do it in a bed so I can look at you when you remember you’re supposed to be my sister.”I sat on his sheets. He stripped. I took him in my mouth first because I had given that hole away years ago and it was the one that didn’t feel like a stolen thing. He was thick on my tongue. Salt. The head dragged my throat. I hollowed my cheeks and worked him until spit shone on his shaft and his hand fisted in my hair. He pulled me off with a wet sound.“On your back.”He licked me until I was shaking — clit, folds, the sore entrance he had already broken — then pushed into my cunt in one slow slide that made Saturday and the hallway add up. Dif

I have spent two months pretending these men do not exist.Two months of taking the long way around the kitchen. Two months of eating in my room with the door cracked just enough that I can hear if someone is coming. Two months of keeping my eyes on the floor whenever Grant’s voice carries down the hall, low and certain, the kind of voice that makes my stomach drop and my thighs press together before my brain can catch up.Grant Hale. Forty-something. My mother’s new husband. My stepfather.He looks like he was carved out of something harder than the rest of us. Broad shoulders that strain every shirt he owns. Forearms that flex when he pours coffee. A jaw that could cut glass and a mouth that rarely smiles unless he’s looking at my mother. He is the last man I should be thinking about when I slide my hand between my legs at night. He is also the only man I think about.His sons are worse.Rhett is twenty-four, all quiet intensity and tattoos that disappear under his sleeves. Cole is