Skin and Sin (An Erotica Collection)

Stepdaddy’s Filthy Girl -1

Nyssa pushed the bathroom door open without knocking. Steam rolled out in a thick cloud and hit her face. She had only meant to keep her toothbrush before heading to bed. The shower was running, the glass door half fogged, and through the clear lower panel she saw him.

Theron stood under the spray with his back half turned. Water ran in sheets down the broad planes of his chest, over the hard ridges of his stomach, and lower. His c**k hung heavy between his thighs, already half hard, the head flushed dark and wet. Another stream of water slid along the thick length of it and dripped from the tip.

She froze. Her lips parted. The toothbrush slipped from her fingers and clattered against the tile. The sound was sharp in the small room.

Theron’s head turned. His eyes met hers through the steam. For one long second neither of them moved. She could see the way his c**k twitched, thickening further under her stare. A low sound left his throat, almost a growl.

Nyssa’s face burned. She spun and bolted, yanking the door shut behind her hard enough that it slammed. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she fled down the short hall to her room. She locked the door, pressed her back against it, and tried to catch her breath.

The image would not leave. Water cascading over muscle. The heavy hang of his c**k. The way it had started to rise while she watched. She had never seen him like that. Not fully. Not hard. Her mouth felt dry. Between her legs a slow, insistent pulse started.

She stripped out of her sleep shirt and shorts with shaky hands and climbed onto the bed. The sheets were cool against her bare skin. She lay back, knees falling open, and slid one hand down her stomach. Her fingers found her already slick folds. She was wetter than she had any right to be after only a few seconds of looking.

She closed her eyes and replayed it. The water running down his chest. The way his stomach tensed. The thick shaft, the flared head, the way it had thickened while her eyes stayed locked on it. She rubbed slow circles over her c**t and let out a soft moan.

“f**k,” she whispered to the empty room. “You were hard. Right there in front of me.”

Two fingers slipped inside her easily. She curled them and pressed the heel of her palm against her c**t, rocking her hips. In her mind she was still standing in that steamy bathroom, the door open, watching him. She imagined he had not turned away. She imagined he had kept looking at her while his hand closed around his c**k and started to stroke.

Her fingers moved faster. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. She added a third finger and stretched herself open, imagining the thick heat of him pushing into her instead. Her free hand cupped one breast and pinched the n****e hard enough to sting.

“Theron,” she breathed. The name felt dangerous on her tongue. “God, look at you.”

She pictured the water still running over him, his fist sliding from base to tip, the head of his c**k shiny and swollen. She imagined the low sound he had made turning into her name. In the fantasy he opened the glass door and told her to come closer. She stepped under the spray with him, soaked in seconds, and his wet hands gripped her hips.

Her orgasm built fast. She f****d herself harder, chasing it, thighs shaking. When it hit she bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Her cunt clenched tight around her fingers as the pleasure rolled through her in long, hard waves. She kept rubbing through it until the sensitivity forced her to stop.

She lay there breathing hard, fingers still buried inside herself, the aftershocks twitching through her. The real Theron was still in the shower down the hall. The thought made her clench again.

In the bathroom Theron had not moved after the door slammed. The water continued to pound against his shoulders and chest. His c**k stood fully hard now, thick and aching, the head dark and leaking a thin strand that the water washed away.

He had seen the way her eyes dropped. The way her lips parted. The flush that climbed her throat before she ran. She had stared. She had looked at his c**k like she wanted to put her mouth on it.

He wrapped a fist around himself and squeezed. A low groan left him. He braced his free hand against the slick tile and started to stroke, slow at first, then harder. The soap made everything slippery. His grip slid easily from root to tip.

He pictured her still standing there. Instead of running she stayed. She watched him get harder under her eyes. He imagined telling her to come closer, to open the glass, to get under the water with him. In his mind she stepped in wearing only the thin sleep shirt she had been in. The fabric clung to her t**s and the soft curve of her stomach. He peeled it off her, let it drop to the wet floor, and put his hands on her bare skin.

His fist moved faster. Water streamed over his knuckles and down the shaft. He thought about pushing her back against the tile, lifting one of her legs, and rubbing the head of his c**k along her slit until she was as wet as the rest of her. He thought about the soft sound she might make when he finally pushed inside.

“Nyssa,” he muttered under his breath. The name felt wrong and right at the same time. He stroked harder, hips rocking into his fist. “f**k, Nyssa.”

He imagined her on her knees in the shower, water running down her back, her mouth open for him. He pictured the way her lips would stretch around the thick head, the way her tongue would drag along the underside. He imagined burying a hand in her wet hair and f*****g her mouth slow and deep while she looked up at him with those same wide eyes she had given him when the door opened.

His balls drew up tight. He braced harder against the wall and worked his c**k in short, rough strokes. The orgasm hit hard. He came in thick pulses against the tile, the first jet strong enough that it nearly reached the opposite wall before the water washed it away. He kept stroking through it, milking every last drop, her name still on his tongue.

When it finally eased he stayed under the spray, breathing hard, c**k still half hard in his loose grip. The image of her standing in the doorway refused to leave. The parted lips. The stare. The way she had bolted like she had seen something she wanted and was not supposed to want.

He shut the water off, dried himself roughly, and pulled on a pair of shorts. The house was quiet. He walked past her closed door on the way to his own room. For a second he almost stopped. He could still hear the faint sound of her breathing on the other side if he listened hard enough. Or maybe he only imagined it.

He kept walking. In his own bed he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His c**k twitched against his thigh, already interested again. He reached down and gave it a slow stroke, then forced himself to stop. Tomorrow they would have to look at each other over breakfast. He would have to pretend he had not come hard against the shower wall while thinking about his stepdaughter’s mouth and cunt.

Across the hall Nyssa cleaned her fingers with a tissue and pulled the sheet over her bare body. Her cunt still pulsed with leftover heat. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, but sleep stayed far away. Every time she started to drift the same images returned. Water. Muscle. The heavy, rising weight of his c**k. The low sound he had made when their eyes met.

She slipped a hand back between her legs and touched herself again, slower this time. Soft circles over her sensitive c**t. Two fingers easing back inside the wet heat. She did not try to come a second time. She only kept herself on the edge, replaying the moment over and over while her body stayed open and needy.

In the dark she whispered his name one more time and felt her walls tighten around her fingers. The night stretched long and quiet. Neither of them slept easily.