Skin and Sin (An Erotica Collection)

Stepdaddy’s Filthy Girl -3

Nyssa walked into the living room after dinner and sat on the couch. She chose the middle cushion, close enough that her bare thigh pressed against Theron’s the moment she settled.

She wore the same short shorts from earlier and a different tank, this one soft and slightly oversized so it kept slipping off one shoulder.

Her skin was warm from the shower she had taken. The scent of her soap mixed with the faint heat between her legs.

Theron kept his eyes on the television. Some late show neither of them cared about played with the volume low. His thigh tensed under the contact. He could feel every inch of her skin against his. His c**k started to fill the second she sat down.

“You mind if I sit here?” she asked, even though she was already there.

“No.” His voice stayed even. “Plenty of room.”

She shifted a little closer. The press of her thigh became firmer. Her knee bumped his. She left it there.

Conversation stayed light at first. She asked about his day. He answered in short sentences. She told him about a book she had started reading. He nodded and made the right noises. Underneath the ordinary words both of them were wound tight.

Nyssa’s pulse raced. She could feel the solid muscle of his leg and the way it flexed every time she moved.

She glanced down once and saw the thick ridge already forming along the front of his shorts.

Heat flooded between her legs. She imagined climbing into his lap right then, straddling him, and grinding against that hard length until the fabric between them was soaked.

She imagined the low sound he would make when she rolled her hips and felt him jump under her.

Theron kept his hands clenched on his knees. He fought the urge to slide one between her legs and see if she was as wet as she looked.

The soft skin of her thigh stayed pressed to his. Every small shift she made sent another rush of blood to his c**k.

He could smell her. Clean soap and something warmer underneath. He wanted to put his mouth on the inside of that thigh and work his way up until he found the source of the heat.

“You’re quiet again,” she said.

“Just watching the show.”

“You’re not watching the show.” She turned her head and looked at him. “You’re thinking about something else.”

He met her eyes. The air between them felt heavy. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

She smiled a little. “Coward.”

The word landed soft and teasing. She shifted again, deliberately this time, so more of her thigh pressed against him.

Her shorts had ridden up. He could see the crease where her leg met her body. His hands stayed locked on his knees. His c**k strained hard against the fabric of his shorts, the head already damp.

Nyssa’s breathing stayed shallow. She kept the conversation going, asking about work, about plans for the weekend, about nothing that mattered.

All the while she imagined swinging one leg over his and settling onto his lap. She pictured the thick ridge of his c**k fitting against her through the thin shorts.

She imagined rocking slowly, letting him feel how wet she already was, watching his face while she did it.

In her mind he finally broke and gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks. He pushed the fabric aside and rubbed the head of his c**k against her c**t until she was shaking.

Theron’s jaw was tight. He answered her questions without really hearing them. His mind stayed locked on the warm press of her thigh and the way her tank kept slipping lower on her shoulder. He could see the upper curve of one breast.

He wanted to pull the fabric down and put his mouth on her n****e. He wanted to slide his hand up the inside of her leg until his fingers found the soft, wet heat he knew was waiting.

He kept his hands where they were and counted breaths.

She laughed at something he said, a soft sound that made her body shift against him again. The movement pressed her closer. He felt the soft give of her breast against his arm for a second before she leaned back.

His c**k twitched hard enough that the motion was visible. She looked down and saw it. Her tongue touched her lower lip.

“You’re hard,” she said quietly. It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“Because of me?”

He did not look away. “Yes.”

The simple admission hung between them. Nyssa’s cunt clenched. She pressed her thighs together for a second and felt how slick she had become.

She wanted to climb into his lap so badly her hands trembled. Instead she stayed where she was and kept talking, voice a little lower now.

“I keep thinking about the shower,” she said. “About how big 'it' is. About how you got harder while I watched.”

Theron’s hands tightened on his knees until the knuckles went white. “Nyssa.”

“I touched myself after. Did you know that?”

“I guessed.”

“I came thinking about your c**k. About what it would feel like in my hand. In my mouth. Inside me.” She said it calmly, like she was still talking about the weather. “Have you thought about me the same way?”

He exhaled slowly. “Every night since.”

She made a soft sound in her throat. The conversation could have ended there. She could have stood up and left him aching. Instead she stayed.

Her thigh remained pressed to his. Her shoulder brushed his every time she breathed. They talked about nothing important for another twenty minutes while the tension between them climbed higher and higher.

Every shift of her body made his c**k throb. Every glance she gave the hard outline in his shorts made her wetter.

Finally she stretched and stood. The loss of her warm thigh against his felt like a physical ache.

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “Good night, Theron.”

“Good night.”

She walked out of the room slowly. He watched the sway of her hips and the way the shorts hugged her ass until she disappeared down the hall. The door to her room closed softly. The house went quiet except for the low murmur of the television.

Theron stayed on the couch. The cushion beside him still held the heat of her body. He could smell her on the fabric. His c**k was so hard it hurt.

He waited another minute to make sure she was not coming back, then pushed his shorts down and freed himself. The thick length sprang up, flushed dark, the head shiny with precum.

He wrapped a fist around it and stroked once from base to tip. A low groan left him. He stared at the cushion where her thigh had pressed against him and pictured her still sitting there.

In his mind she turned, climbed into his lap, and settled her weight on his c**k. He imagined the heat of her cunt through the thin shorts, the way she would rock and grind until the fabric was soaked. He stroked faster, thumbing the sensitive underside.

He thought about sliding his hand between her legs while she sat beside him. He pictured finding her already wet, pushing two fingers inside her while she kept talking in that soft voice about nothing.

He imagined the way her walls would flutter around his fingers and the soft, broken sounds she would try to keep quiet. His fist moved harder. He spit into his palm and worked the wetness over the head, squeezing on every upstroke.

The fantasy shifted. Now she was straddling him for real, shorts shoved to the side, the head of his c**k rubbing against her open, slick folds.

He imagined pushing up into her slow, feeling her stretch around him, watching her face while she took every inch.

He thought about gripping her ass and guiding her hips until she was riding him deep and steady. The wet sound of her cunt around his c**k filled his head.

“f**k,” he muttered. “Nyssa.”

He stroked faster, hips lifting off the couch. The cushion still warm from her body stayed in his peripheral vision.

He imagined burying his face between her thighs the way he had the night before, licking her until she came on his tongue, then flipping her onto her back and f*****g her right there on the cushions.

He pictured the way her t**s would bounce under the thin tank and the way her legs would wrap around him.

His balls drew up tight. The pressure built fast and hard. He kept the image of her grinding on him locked in his mind as the orgasm hit. He came in thick pulses across his stomach and the front of his shirt, the first jet strong enough to reach his chest. He worked himself through it, milking every drop while her name stayed on his tongue.

When it finally eased he sat there breathing hard, c**k still twitching in his loose grip, the scent of her still clinging to the cushion beside him.

He cleaned up with a handful of tissues and pulled his shorts back into place. The television still murmured. He turned it off and sat in the dark for a long minute.

Down the hall her door stayed closed. He wondered if she was touching herself right now, thinking about the hard ridge she had felt against his thigh and the way he had admitted he thought about her every night. The idea made his c**k stir again.