50 SHADES OF SINFUL PRESSURE
Every room in the house became a stage for our filthy secret.
In the kitchen that first morning, he bent me over the marble island, my breasts pressed against the cold surface while he fucked me from behind. The slap of his hips against my ass echoed off the tiles. “Say it,” he growled, tugging my hair. “Tell me whose pussy this is now.”
“Yours,” I gasped, voice breaking. “It’s your pussy, Jake… your stepmom’s pussy belongs to you.”
The words tasted dirty on my tongue, but they made me clench around him so hard he groaned and filled me again, hot pulses of cum leaking down my thighs as I trembled through another orgasm. I felt disgusting. I felt alive.