50 SHADES OF c*m

I have a dirty secret... And it's staring right back at me. Dark green hooded eyes nestled below thick brows, sharp cheekbones framing the most alluring yet scariest face I've seen. My lips widen further, slick heat rolling down my fingers as I push in a third finger, curving the tip as I apply pressure against the walls of my p***y. My eyelids flutter slowly as I drift in and out of my ecstatic daze while I force myself to stare at my screen. To stare at my stepbrother Declan. A small moan escapes my lips as I thrust faster, the squelching sound of my juices filling the silence. I shut my eyes and begin to imagine it's Declan's d**k in my p***y instead of my fingers—what size would it be? I'd bet it would be long and thick, stretching me the same way my fingers are now, those meaty balls slamming against my thighs as he pounds me hard and deep... My phone falls to the bed as I begin to knead my breasts slowly the way I imagine his rough hands would. "Mhmm," I lick my lower lip. "Just like that, Declan." My grip tightens on my breasts and the image of Declan floods my vision. He'd pin my gaze with eyes dark with lust. He’d look down at me exactly like that, that same scary-alluring face hovering inches above mine, green eyes almost black with hunger. His voice would come out low and rough, the kind of voice that sinks straight into your spine. “Part your legs wider for me.” I do it without thinking. In the fantasy my thighs fall open as far as they can go, knees pressed into the mattress, everything on display. The cool air kisses my soaked folds and I whimper, the sound small and broken. Fuck! I've never been this needy. It feels like someone lit an aphrodisiac dynamite between my legs. My fingers keep sliding in and out, each thrust deeper, curling hard against my c**t—but in my head it’s Declan’s d**k. I can almost see it, feel him so vividly: the head flared and blunt, leaking precum, green veins ridged along the shaft, straining against his skin. The sound it would make sliding into me would be filthy, like a porn soundtrack, making that slurpy sound every time he bottoms out as those swollen, heavy balls slap against my soaked entrance. "Oh s**t—" I slam my free hand on the sheets as my toes curl, eyelids fluttering as I let out a soft moan. “Look at you,” he’d growl, one big hand wrapped round my throat just tight enough. “Such a filthy little b***h. This greedy cunt is already soaking my d**k. You’re so f*****g wet for your stepbrother’s c**k it’s embarrassing." The words hit me like a slap and my free hand squeezes my breast harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh. I can hear the exact way he’d say it—mean and amused at the same time—and it only makes the ache between my legs worse. My thumb finds my c**t, circling it in fast, hurried movements as if making up for his physical absence. I can smell myself in the air, thick and musky. In the fantasy Declan pulls out just long enough to drop down between my legs, and the loss of that thick stretch makes me cry out, empty and aching. I imagine the first swipe of his tongue over my folds and my back arches off the bed so hard the sheets twist under me. And boy does Declan play dirty. He eats me like he’s starving, tongue flat and greedy, dragging from my dripping hole all the way up to my c**t, then back down again. Then he catches my labia between his teeth and chews—gentle at first, then harder, tugging the sensitive skin until the sting blooms again, burning yet sensual. Fuck, this is heaven. “f**k—Declan—” He’d look up from between my thighs, mouth shiny with my juices, those dark eyes still locked on mine, and order me in that low, commanding voice I've heard too many times. “Lick your c*m off my fingers. Taste how wet you get for your stepbrother.” I imagine him pushing those thick fingers past my lips, the ones that were just buried inside me, and I suck them clean like the needy slut he’s turning me into. I suck my own fingers clean. The taste is tangy, musky, and somehow that only makes me wetter, hungrier. God knows I want more. I want his c**k next. I want to know what he tastes like—salty skin, his thick length pulsing under my tongue, the heavy weight of him stretching my jaw while those engorged balls rest against my chin... Damn. I’m so close. The coil in my belly is wound so tight it burns. A quiver rushes down my spine, shooting down my thighs; my legs begin to shake, my fingers falter as I fall against the sheets. My walls spasm once, twice when a loud moan tears past my throat. The orgasm rips through me so hard my vision whites out completely. My walls clamp down in violent, rhythmic pulses, soaking my hand, my thighs, the sheets beneath me in a hot flood. My c**t is so sensitive that even the brush of my own palm makes me jolt, another smaller wave crashing over me until I’m gasping, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from how good it hurts. I’m still floating in that hazy, wrecked place, chest heaving, thighs sticky and trembling, when I hear it. A soft, unmistakable click followed by the bright white flash of a camera. Shit. My eyes snap open. Declan stands at the foot of my bed, phone raised high. Those dark green eyes drag slowly over every inch of my exposed, shaking body—pausing longest on my still-clenching p***y—with a blank, almost bored expression that gives nothing away. “Say cheese.”