Sleeping Sister Porn Stories นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“But I could feel them. It was supposed to be a simple dance, and I am a darn good dancer. A dance to get their cocks hard, but it wasn’t enough for them. A hand found my waist; one of the men pulled me toward him with a force that tore my panties loose. The other man grabbed my tits. His palms were rough, Father. My breath hitched, and I just… I let him.” “Stop,” I croaked. It was a pathetic plea. “I let them fondle me in that room, their hands caressing every inch of my body. Even parts I didn’t think they would touch,” she breathed, the sound of her lips moving almost audible through the screen. “One of the men had slipped a finger into my asshole. At the end of it, I was crying out in pl

"I shredded the homework she worked so hard on, unleashed cockroaches and rats into the basement where she lived, and framed her for stealing... but they wouldn't listen to a single word she said. When your beloved sister was beaten until her mouth was full of blood, she kept crying out for them, yet they wouldn't stop. Even I felt a little sorry for her just listening to her!" Right after saying all that, he burst into laughter. "Do you know where your baby sister lived? In the basement! Their own flesh and blood lived in a damp, cold basement with no sunlight, while I lived in your old, spacious, well-lit bedroom. Her old room was converted into my walk-in closet ages ago. That's not all—"

I was a full-grown Alpha who was kept awake by night terrors. “I don't know,” I lied, too embarrassed to tell a middle-aged human that I saw Aunt Natalia's body right next to my mother's every night—bloodied, broken, and screaming my name. The man didn't look like he believed me, but he didn't say anything, reaching into his drawer to pull out a notepad. What the fuck was he writing in that tiny book that he couldn't say out loud? “How often do you have sex?” Whenever my brother decides to feed our twisted fantasy and I get to fuck the she-wolf I wish was mine.

Which was why, at eleven o'clock on a Friday night, she was spread out on her bed with her laptop balanced on her nightstand, her hand between her legs, and Jude Brennan's I*******m open on her phone. Pathetic. She knew it was pathetic. She didn't care. The video on her laptop was filthy....some rough amateur thing she'd found on a site she'd never admit to visiting, a girl bent over a bathroom sink while a man fucked her from behind, his hand fisted in her hair. The girl was begging, and the man was telling her to shut up and take it, and Mara's fingers were buried inside herself, her thumb working her clit as she stared at Jude's most recent photo.

I was virgin when my sister crawled into my bed and she and mom were the only pussy that I ever had so I have nothing to use as a comparison, but I'd be willing to bet that there wasn't any better pussy in the world. They were good because they loved to fuck. My sister May was fucking four different guys right up to the day of her wedding and she picked up with the four (of which I was one) on the day after she came back from her honeymoon and her poor husband hadn't a clue. Mom went bar hopping and picking up guys whenever dad went out of town on business and I had personally seen her with over twenty-seven different guys. In short - the women of my family were sluts.

I couldn’t sleep. Not after watching my baby sister masterbate and me handjobing myself to it Every time I closed my eyes, the image came back; Cynthia on her bed, legs spread wide, two fingers buried deep in her tight, shaved pussy, moaning quietly as she came. My own sister. My blood sister. The girl I used to carry on my back when she was little. And now I’d jerked off watching her finger-fuck herself like a desperate pervert.

I pressed open-mouthed kisses to the swell of her breasts, inhaling her scent of peaches and arousal. My hands slid over her hips, my thumbs stroking the soft skin there, revering every inch as if it were sacred. She arched slightly, whispering my name, and I moved lower, my lips grazing her stomach while she unclasped my bra, freeing my breasts. She pulled me up, her mouth found one nipple, sucking gently, rolling it between her lips until I whimpered, my fingers threading through her hair. Between breaths, as her hand cupped my other breast, kneading softly, she murmured against my skin, "Your sisters... do they know? About you, I mean... about who you like?", she asked.

"Don't worry, Cindy. I won't get pregnant. Jeffrey and I use my other entrance whenever we sleep together," my sister, Celine Lowen, said as she swayed her body from side to side. A chill ran down my spine as I looked at her face. The feeling of boiling water surging into my nostrils and throat in my past life crashed over me. It took a long time, but I managed to calm myself down. "Wow. That's quite amazing," I said.

She didn't sleep. Which, truthfully, was the least surprising thing that had occurred to her over the past three weeks, and that was saying a lot, given the past three weeks had been a parade of a contractual marriage, a vitriolic mother-in-law, and nearly kissing her coma-induced sister’s fiancé in a library at midnight. Nearly. She stared at the ceiling in the dark and had a very direct, very stern, conversation with herself. It was nothing.

I looked at my parents. “Do you want to know why I’m getting home so late tonight? A client forced me to down an entire bottle of hard liquor. I was in the washroom puking my guts out. “And while I was out there breaking my back, I saw my own sister showing off the apartment you bought her. It’s the one I’ve been working really hard to afford but will never, ever have! Daphne stood up and said in a shrill voice, “Lina, how can you talk to Mom and Dad like that? They’ve sacrificed so much to raise us—”