Chapter Two: My Stepbrother's Bet
1908 Words
Movie Night With Parents
It was a terrible idea to watch a movie tonight. We had plans, filthy, screaming plans, but Mom insisted on “family time.”
So I made my own. No panties. The tiniest skirt I own. A promise in every step past Jake’s door earlier, hips swaying just enough to make him follow me with his eyes.
He catches me on the stairs, backs me into the shadows, shoves two fingers straight into my bare p***y like he’s been dying for it all day.
Turns out we had the exact same idea.
“New bet,” he whispers, voice gravel and smoke. “I own this cunt for the entire movie. One real sound either of us makes and the loser is the winner’s slave tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Anything goes.”
I’m already soaked, clenching around his fingers like a greedy little slut.
“Deal,” I breathe. “When I win, you’re licking your own c*m out of me on the kitchen floor while Mom’s ten feet away.”
His grin is pure sin. “And when you lose, I’m bending you over the breakfast bar and f*****g you so loud Rick hears my balls slap your clit with every thrust.”
My p***y flutters hard enough that he feels it.
“Deal.”
We walk in like angels.
The living room is a trap. One huge open box, hardwood floors that echo, vaulted ceiling that throws every breath back at us. Mom and Rick are tangled on the long part of the sectional, six feet away, maybe five. Close enough I can smell Mom’s vanilla lotion. Close enough that when Rick shifts, the whole couch creaks and my heart stops.
Mom waves. “Hurry, babies! It’s starting!”
Rick lifts the popcorn bowl, arm around her. They’re cuddled under their own blanket, completely blind to the fact I’m naked under this skirt and already aching.
Jake drops onto the short end and yanks me down beside him. The thick fleece blanket falls over our laps like nothing’s wrong.
Under it, my skirt is around my waist in seconds, thighs spread wide, p***y bare and glistening. The cool leather kisses my skin for one heartbeat before his hand is there, claiming me.
The first explosion lights the room blue.
His palm cups me, so warm it feels like sunlight. One finger traces my seam, top to bottom, feather-light, teasing, like he’s memorizing me.
Oh God.
My breath catches hard. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, because if I open my mouth I’ll moan his name right here.
He parts my lips so gently, reverently, like I’m something sacred and filthy all at once. Cool air hits my clit and I shiver, thighs trembling.
Then he sinks one thick finger inside, agonizingly slow.
The stretch is perfect. Sweet. Torturous. I feel every inch sliding through my wetness, feel my walls fluttering around him, begging for more. He stops when he’s buried to the knuckle and just holds there. My hips want to rock so badly I have to dig my nails into my own thigh to stay still. A tiny, desperate whimper builds in my throat. I swallow it down, but it hurts.
I’m not letting him win that easy.
I slide my hand under the blanket and wrap my fingers around his c**k through his sweats. He’s already rock-hard, burning hot, the head soaked. I squeeze once, hard, and feel him throb against my palm like I just yanked his soul.
He answers by adding a second finger, scissoring gently, opening me wider. The stretch is sweeter now, fuller, and the soft, wet sound makes my cheeks burn. My p***y flutters around him, greedy, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.
I shove his waistband down and free him completely. Skin on skin. He’s thicker than my wrist, velvet over steel, slick with precum. I stroke once, slow and filthy, base to crown, spreading that wetness over the head with my thumb. His abs flex so hard I feel the muscles jump under my forearm. His turn to fight a sound.
We begin the longest, quietest war of our lives.
He curls both fingers inside me, finds that spot instantly, and starts a slow, deliberate come-hither stroke that feels like warm honey pouring through my veins. His thumb settles on my clit and draws one perfect, lazy circle.
Fuck.
My thighs tremble uncontrollably. My p***y clenches so hard I almost cry. A soft, needy whine tries to crawl out of my throat. I trap it behind my teeth, but my eyes water.
I squeeze his c**k in retaliation and feel another thick bead of precum spill over my fingers.
Minutes crawl like hours.
Every time the music swells he adds pressure, thumb circling sweeter, fingers stroking deeper, teasing that spot until my vision blurs. Every time the room goes quiet I slow my strokes until he’s the one shaking, until I feel his c**k jerk in my hand like it’s begging.
Mom turns. “Drinks?”
He chooses that exact second to slide a third finger in and grind his palm slow and gentle against my clit. I choose that second to drag my nail up the underside of his c**k, right along that sensitive vein.
We both freeze.
“I’m fine,” we choke out together, voices wrecked.
Mom shrugs and turns back.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You’re dripping down my wrist, baby sis.”
The words alone make me clench so hard a tiny, broken moan slips out before I can stop it. I slam my teeth into my lower lip, taste blood again.
I answer by pumping him once, hard, twisting at the head. His breath catches sharp enough I feel it against my neck. His c**k jerks in my hand, leaking steadily now.
Another explosion.
He uses it. Shifts me onto my back along the short couch, legs draped over his lap like we’re innocently cuddling. The blanket never slips. Mom’s profile is right there. Rick’s elbow is inches from my face.
He lines up. The fat, slick head of his c**k kisses my entrance, nudges, spreads me open.
I wrap my hand around the base and squeeze, hard, controlling him.
He pinches my clit, sharp and perfect. A bolt of pure electricity shoots up my spine. My back tries to arch and I have to force it flat. A desperate, needy sound builds in my chest. I swallow it, but it hurts so good.
We glare at each other in the flickering dark.
Then he starts to push in.
One inch.
Holy f**k.
Another inch.
I feel every millimeter stretching me, burning, perfect. I’m so wet the slide is filthy, but the blanket and the soundtrack swallow it. I keep my fist locked around him, refusing to let him go deeper until I’m ready. He retaliates by rolling my clit between his fingers, slow, sweet circles that make my eyes roll back. A soft, helpless moan tries to escape. I bite my own wrist to keep it in.
Halfway in and I’m already shaking, stuffed so full I can’t think.
He stops. Lets me adjust. Lets me suffer.
I stroke him slow, once, twice, feeling him swell impossibly thicker in my grip.
Mom shifts. The couch creaks.
She glances back. “You two okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
Jake smiles, all innocent. “Lily’s scared of the loud parts.”
I want to kill him. I want him deeper so bad I’m throbbing. My p***y is fluttering around the half of him inside me, begging.
Another explosion.
He sinks the rest of the way in one slow, devastating glide until he’s buried to the root and my back arches off the cushion.
Oh my God.
I feel him everywhere, pulsing, filling me so full I can’t breathe. My p***y clamps down hard, trying to keep him forever. A low, desperate moan vibrates in my throat. I shove it down, but tears prick my eyes from the effort.
We stay perfectly still for ten heartbeats. Twenty.
Then he starts to move.
Tiny rolls of his hips, barely there, but every single one drags the head of his c**k over my g-spot like warm silk. Sweet. Teasing. Cruel.
I answer by clenching deliberately, milking him hard. His jaw flexes so tight I hear his teeth grind.
Minutes stretch into eternity.
He f***s me in slow motion, long, shallow strokes that never shift the blanket but wreck me completely. Every glide feels like a promise, every drag of his c**k a tease that makes me want to sob his name. I keep my hand on him, stroking what I can reach, thumb swiping over the slick head every time he pulls back. I feel him leaking steadily now, coating my fingers.
Mom stands up to stretch.
We both freeze, locked together, his c**k buried deep, my hand still wrapped around the base.
She walks right past us to the kitchen, flips on the light over the sink, pours water.
Jake’s eyes are black, daring me.
I dare him right back and clench hard around him, rolling my hips the tiniest fraction.
His nostrils flare. He has to bite his lip until it goes white. A tiny, broken groan rumbles in his chest. I feel it against my skin.
Mom comes back, settles in.
The second her attention is on the screen again he starts moving, slower, crueler, deeper, sweet little rolls that make my clit throb and my p***y flutter.
I’m unraveling.
I reach down with my free hand and start circling my clit myself, slow and filthy, while he f***s me and I f**k him right back with my fist. Every touch is honey-sweet torture.
The final action sequence hits, pure chaos, speakers screaming.
He pulls almost all the way out and glides back in, one endless, perfect stroke. Again. Again. Again.
I match him, stroking him in time, squeezing on every upstroke.
I come first.
It rolls through me slow and devastating, p***y fluttering, clenching, gushing around him in hot pulses that soak his lap and the blanket and the couch beneath us. I shove my face into his neck and scream silently, teeth sinking into his skin hard enough to bruise. The pleasure is so sweet I almost sob.
He’s right behind me.
One more deep grind, pubic bone smashed against my clit, and he swells impossibly thick. I feel the first rope shoot deep, then another, and another, flooding me while the credits roll and Mom yawns six feet away.
We stay locked together through the entire credit sequence, grinding lazily, riding the aftershocks, both of us marked with teeth and nails and sweat and c*m.
Lights come up.
Mom turns fully, frowning at the soaked blanket, the dark stain on the cushion, the thick smell of s*x hanging in the air.
“You two are drenched,” she says slowly. “And what is that smell?”
Jake pulls out slow, tucks himself away. I sit up, thighs slick, his c*m already sliding thick and warm down my legs.
“Really intense movie,” we say together, voices hoarse.
Mom keeps staring at the wet spot.
I stand, blanket clutched in front of me, legs barely holding me.
Jake’s eyes promise tomorrow is going to destroy us both.
I can’t wait.
- Writer
