11: Almost caught by dad
1088 Words
~ Evie ~
It's Saturday morning, and the house is in full chore mode. I'm in the kitchen, scrubbing counters that don't even need it, just to keep my hands busy. Jack's in the laundry room, sorting clothes or whatever. Dad's planted on the couch, eyes glued to the TV - some England Premier League match. He's yelling at the screen like Arsenal's gonna hear him. Die-hard fan, that guy. Claire's over there on her phone, scrolling through all that social media crap she loves, gossiping to herself about celebrities or whatever.
I'm wiping down the fridge, but my mind's not on this. I'm horny as hell.
Jack's c**k.
That thick thing stretching me out. I need a quick f**k right now. Dad's distracted by the game, Claire's lost in her feed. Perfect. I sneak off, heart pounding already. Slip into the laundry room quiet as I can.
The door doesn't even lock - stupid house. There's this narrow window to the side yard, but the washer and dryer's humming loud, covering any noise we make. It's dumb to do this here, but f**k it. Jack's already in there, folding s**t. He sees me, and his eyes go dark. Door clicks shut behind me. He grabs me fast, spins me around, slams my back against the dryer. The vibrations from it rumble right through my ass, making my pussy...
He's needier than me, desperate. I can feel his hard-on pressing into my thigh.
"Couldn't f*****g wait," he growls. Yanks my shirt up, my t**s spill out. He pinches a n****e hard, twisting it. Pain shoots through me, but it mixes with the heat between my legs. "Claire's not watching. Probably still thinking about what she saw last time."
That shouldn't make me wetter. But it does. Thinking about her almost catching us? god, my p***y clenches. "f**k me before she comes looking," I whisper, voice shaky. I'm already grinding against him like a slut.
He spins me again, bends me over the washer. My t**s press against the cold metal. He drags my shorts down to my ankles, no panties underneath - been going commando around the house lately, just for this. No foreplay needed. He spits on his fingers, rubs the head of his c**k quick, then shoves in from behind. Hard. Deep. I choke on a moan. Filthy-sweet:
"Ohhh god... yes..right there." The washer's noise covers my gasps, but barely. He's pounding fast, punishing thrusts. It's a quickie - gotta be. Tension builds in my gut, that coil tightening. We're both gonna come quick.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me back onto him. "Your p***y's so tight, Evie. f*****g made for me." Each word comes with a slam. I'm dripping, his c**k sliding easy now. I reach down, rub my c**t fast -need to get there. "Come on, Jack - fill me up." He grunts, speeds up. I feel it hit me first - orgasm crashes through, my walls squeezing him. He follows right after, groaning low, pumping his c*m deep inside. Hot, thick spurts. I love feeling it leak out later.
We're catching our breath, his d**k still twitching in me. Then - Dad. Footsteps. Heavy. Coming down the hall.
"You didn’t pick up all my clothes," Dad calls out, voice close. Too close. He’s holding something - two shirts maybe. f**k.
Jack rips out of me. He drags his jeans up, zips so fast. His face is pure panic. Mine probably is too.
I'm scrambling for my top and shorts, but - f**k - Jack threw all the clothes in the washer already, including mine. They're spinning around in there, soaked. I'm naked, his c*m dripping down my thigh. No time. I drop to my knees, try to hide behind the dryer or something, but there's no space. Laundry room's tiny - no cabinets, no nothing. Just machines and a basket.
Dad’s at the door. It creaks open just a crack. I’m crouched low, naked, heart hammering. The whole room stinks of s*x - p***y, him. Jack's blocking the view best he can, sweating bullets. "You sweating?" Dad asks, sounding concerned.
"It's the heat from the washer," Jack says, voice steady somehow. "Makes the room like a sauna."
Dad chuckles. "Yeah, I get that. Be fast and go rest, son. Don't overdo it." He hands over the shirts through the crack, doesn't push the door wider. Thank f**k. He pities Jack, thinking he's slaving away in here alone. Not knowing his stepson just f****d me raw, came inside his daughter. Door shuts. Footsteps fade.
I exhale, shaking. "Holy shit." Jack helps me up, grabs a towel from the basket, wipes me quick between the legs. His c*m's still there, sticky. "Stay here," he whispers. "I'll grab you clothes."
He slips out, heads to my room like he's just helping with laundry. Comes back with a fresh top and shorts. I pull them on fast, no time for underwear. Bolt out of there, back to the kitchen like nothing happened. Heart's still racing. That was riskier than ever. Almost caught by Dad. If he'd seen... naked, dripping c*m? Family over. But god, the thrill - my p***y's still tingling...
Back in the kitchen, I grab a sponge, pretend I'm still cleaning. Claire glances up from her phone. "Where'd you go?" Casual, but her eyes linger.
"Bathroom," I mutter. "Quick break." She nods, goes back to scrolling. Dad's yelling at the TV again - Arsenal scored or something. Jack wanders in a minute later, grabs a water. Our eyes meet. That look - we almost got busted. But we didn't.
The rest of the morning crawls by in slow motion. I stay glued to the kitchen sponge, wiping the same spot on the counter over and over. My pulse won’t settle. That laundry-room quickie was too close. Way too close.
Lunch. Sandwiches. Everyone at the table. Dad’s yapping about the match, mouth full. Claire’s eyes flick between me and Jack.
"You two have been… close lately."
She says it again, slower this time.
Her smile is sweet but sharp, digging.
Dad doesn’t clock it - just keeps chewing.
Jack shrugs. "Just family shit."
I nod, playing along, while my pulse hammers.
Does she know?
Doesn’t matter.
Me and Jack can’t keep our hands off each other.
We hunt each other through the house like animals.
Crash together. f**k hard. Again. Again.
Never get tired of it. Never will.
As long as no one catches us, it stays ours.
Tomorrow I’m riding him again.
Watch me.
- Writer
