Father Stretch My Hands Part 2 Novels & Stories

he said, breathing heavier now. “Don’t hold back. What do these hands do? Where do they go? I need every detail to absolve you properly.” My face flamed but my pussy clenched at his tone. I shifted on my knees, skirt riding up my thighs a little. “They start on my breasts, Father. Squeezing them, pinching my nipples until they ache. Then they slide down my stomach… between my legs. Rubbing my… my cunt. Pushing fingers inside while I moan.”

I stroked him firmly, feeling him twitch. “Shit, yes,” he growled, hips bucking. His fingers found my pussy, sliding through my soaked folds. “You’re dripping, Mom. All for your stepson?” Two thick fingers pushed inside me, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot. I gasped, grinding against his hand, my juices coating his fingers.

Colin wrapped his heavy arm around her, his head hanging low as his chest began to heave with silent, shuddering sobs. But Caleb didn't cry. He stood perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen, his silver eyes staring down at his left arm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his hand out of the deep pocket of his hoodie. My breath caught in my throat. The heavy, long sleeve fell back. His forearm wasn't rigid anymore. The stiff, locked shoulder that had haunted him for months had completely dropped. Caleb raised his left hand, with his fingers spreading wide, then curling into a loose, natural fist. He twisted his wrist, his movements looked completely fluid, light, and human.

When he sank deeper into the lunge, the muscle flexed visibly under golden skin. Tree pose. One leg planted, the other foot pressed high against inner thigh. Victoria’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious. “Partner assist! Trust exercise—hold each other steady.” Dad steadied Victoria with an easy grip on her elbow. Chase turned to me. One brow lifted. Silent question. I hesitated—only a second—then stepped in. He reached out slowly. His hand settled on my waist—warm, callused palm flat against the dip just above my hip bone. Fingers flexed—once, barely—and I wobbled.

I looked down at my own hands, and a sudden memory flashed of the raw streak of red on the impostor's arm. Where did that scratch come from? My stomach churned violently. I covered my mouth, bent over, and began to dry-heave. Tears and sweat slicked my face as I sat there curled up, shivering uncontrollably. Ethan handed me a cup of warm water with a look of genuine pity in his eyes. I forced my head up, knowing I must look completely pathetic. "Then… what about my wife? Has she been… murdered? And who… who was the person on the phone just now?"

There was a small smile on his face as he pushed with his legs and delivered a solid punch to the belly of the man who was his father. *Bang* Mane’s fist struck his father firmly on his midsection. Both figures flew forward for about ten metres, with Mane’s fist sticking to his father’s belly like a cat with a piece of fish in its mouth. Once they had reached the ten meter mark, Mane exerted more force into his fist and unleashed his full strength.

The video played—stepdad’s thrusts steady—girl’s tits bouncing—her hands gripping the counter. Connor’s fingers moved—slow strokes—curling against that spot inside me—thumb circling my clit now—light, teasing pressure. Pleasure built fast—coiling tight in my belly—my thighs started to shake. I rocked forward—trying to chase more—moaning low in my throat. He pulled his fingers out—slow—let me feel the drag—then pushed back in—three this time—stretch burning sweet. I cried out—soft, broken—head falling back.

He follows the chain to the base of my throat and then skims his hands along my collarbone before sliding it up my arm. Once he reaches my wrist, he then takes the chain connected to the cuff there and then slides his hand down that chain, pulling it up until he gets to the end. He then lifts his hand, still holding the chain to replace his other hand holding my wrists. He then changes his hold and does the same with the other hand, following the chain connected to the cuff on my wrist until the end is in his other hand. He then moves very quickly, stepping back and jumping up, managing to slam both anchors at the ends of each chain into the wall, just high enough that my arms are stretched

"The way you curl them... it hits everything." He added a third finger, stretching me wider but still so gentle, curling them against my front wall with precision. "Good, just like that. Rock against my hand. Use me to feel better." The steam made everything slicker. I moved my hips, chasing the sensation as water cascaded over my breasts and his arm.

The man's hand tightened around my throat. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I clawed at his arm, desperate, my nails digging into his skin. He didn't flinch. He just squeezed harder. "Please," I gasped. "Please—" Elias screamed my name. I heard him struggling, heard the grunt of the men holding him, heard the crack of a fist against bone. But it was all distant, muffled, like I was underwater.