Open Legs Novels & Stories

About what it looks like when two people who were both broken in specific and complicated ways decide to build something anyway, carefully and honestly and with full information, the way you build things when you cannot afford to get it wrong again. I am not scared. For the first time in longer than I can measure, I am not scared of any of it. I am awake and certain and completely open eyed. Eyes open. The way they should have always been.

She moans, and I feel her get even wetter. I start to run my hands down the inside of her left leg. When I reach her ankle, I strap it on. Then, slowly, I run my hands down the inside of her right leg. Again, at the bottom, strapping it in place to her ankle. Looking, I can see the button. I click it and pull, and it makes the bar open wider, forcing her legs open. I walk back and look at her. She looks fantastic, totally naked and has no way to cover herself. I feel myself go crazy. I move quickly, the flogger swinging down, hitting her arse, making her scream.

I asked, "Are my legs bothering you being there?" Greg smiled as he told me, "No, they're fine there." He placed his hands on my bare thighs, and I realized that I wasn't dressed appropriately to be lying with my legs draped over my sons. We were both wearing sweatshorts, but mine were much shorter than his. The bare skin of our legs pressing against each other felt good, but it was definitely inappropriate. Greg was still shirtless, and I was wearing an old, beat up tank top with no bra on. Fuck it, I thought in my drunken haze.

"Do you ever wear normal clothes? Like sweatpants? Or a t-shirt that didn't require a credit check to purchase?" "No," he deadpanned, finally pressing a final key and closing the laptop with a soft click. His ocean-blue eyes lifted, locking onto mine with an unflinching, icy intensity that immediately made my stomach do a weird, erratic flip. He assessed my appearance—the chaotic nest of my dark hair, the oversized shirt, and the ridiculous gray slippers swallowing my feet—with an unreadable expression. "Sweatpants are an inefficiency. They breed a mindset of stagnation."

“What?” “Sit! Now!” I sat immediately. “Lift your legs and spread them wide.” My face immediately went red. “What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond I knew better to do it. I spread my legs wider. He hadn’t moved from his seat. “Good boy,” he murmured, a slow smile escaping his lips. “Spread your legs wider. Shoulder width. Let me see how desperate you already are.” I obeyed instantly, feet sliding apart . I felt Jerry’s voice hit me like a command I could not ignore. “Spread wide for me, Aiden. Legs open as far as they go. Show me that tight hole.”

I spread my legs wide open and recoiled my knees to show him my vaj in its full glory. Chris' eyes widened when he saw I wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Sexy and revealing indeed.” He smiled and his head disappeared between my thighs.

Next text: “Sit on the chair in the corner. Spread your legs wide. Put one foot on each stool in front of you. Open up for me.” There was a low leather chair with two small stools positioned perfectly in front. I walked over, sat down, and followed the instructions. I leaned back, lifted my legs, and rested one foot on each stool so my pussy was completely exposed — spread open, wet, and on full display. I wasn’t even shy about it. The alcohol I’d had earlier was helping me feel bold and a little high. I waited like that, legs wide, heart hammering, pussy tingling in the cool air.

He pulled back just enough to growl against my pussy, voice muffled and filthy. “Spread those legs wider for me, baby girl. Think of it as the ultimate yoga stretch—open up like you’re in the splits for daddy’s tongue. Don’t you dare close on your coach. Wider. That’s it… good girl. Let me eat this greedy little cunt properly.” The dirty talk made me moan even louder. I forced my legs to fall open again, spreading them as wide as I could, my knees bent and thighs trembling. My hand flew back to my breast, pinching and tugging my nipple harder.

Her door was cracked open just enough. The sight hit me like a truck. Lila was on her back in the middle of her bed, completely naked, legs spread obscenely wide. Her pussy was red, swollen, and gaping — stretched wide open like it had been fucked for hours. Cum already leaked from her hole, dripping down to her ass. Stepdad Marcus stood between her thighs, slamming his thick cock into her with deep, powerful strokes. Uncle Victor was beside them, stroking his own massive dick, waiting his turn.

Instead, he leans forth, mere inches apart from my lips, and utters, “Open those legs, Saraya.” My mouth falls open and my heart flutters with confusion. What the fuck did he just say? Open my legs? Why the fuck would I do that? “What the fuck?” I mutter and he keeps me in my place, his hand comes to my bare thighs and I feel the insect crawling at the back of my skin, giving me goosebumps.