DIRTY DREAMS (AN EROTICA COLLECTION)

I can hear them through the wall. My stepbrother Ethan and his three friends – Jack, Marcus, and Tyler – up late on a Friday night, drinking beers they think our parents don’t know about. The walls in this house are thin. They’ve always been thin. When I was in high school, I could hear every video game explosion, every stupid joke, every late-night conversation about girls and parties and all the things teenage boys obsess over. But tonight is different. Tonight, they’re talking about me. “I’m telling you, she’s gotten so f*****g hot.” That’s Jack, the one with the swimmer’s build and the cocky grin. “Did you see her by the pool today? That bikini was like... fuck.” “Bro, that’s your friend’s sister.” Marcus. He’s always been the cautious one. Football player, big shoulders, gentle eyes. "Stepsister,” Ethan corrects. “We’re not actually related.” “Still weird.” “Is it though?” Tyler now. He’s the quiet one, the one who watches more than he talks. “She’s nineteen. We’re all eighteen. She’s been away at college all year. It’s not like we grew up together.” “Exactly.” Ethan’s voice is louder now, more confident. More drunk. “And have you seen her ass? Like, actually looked at it? I live with that ass. I see it every day. In those little sleep shorts. In yoga pants. In that f*****g bikini she wore today that almost gave me a heart attack.” My heart is pounding. I’m lying in my childhood bed, door closed, lights off, supposedly asleep. But I’m wide awake, pressed against the wall, listening to my stepbrother and his friends discuss my body like I’m a piece of meat. I should be disgusted. I should storm in there and tell them they’re pigs. Instead, my hand slides under the waistband of my shorts. “What would you do?” Jack asks. “If you could. No consequences.” “Fuck.” Ethan laughs, low and dirty. “Where do I start? That mouth, first. She’s got those full lips, you know? I’ve thought about them wrapped around my c**k so many times.” “Same,” Tyler admits quietly. “When she eats those popsicles by the pool... I have to leave before I embarrass myself.” My fingers find my c**t. I’m already wet. Already throbbing. Listening to four boys describe what they’d do to me while I touch myself in the dark. “I’d eat that p***y for hours,” Jack says. “Get her so wet she’s begging for it. Then flip her over and take her from behind. Watch that ass bounce while I pound her.” “You think she’s loud?” Marcus asks. He sounds curious despite himself. “Like, a screamer?” “God, I hope so.” Ethan again. “I want to hear her beg. Want to hear her say my name while I’m balls deep in that tight little – ” I c*m. Silent, shaking, biting my pillow to muffle the sounds while my stepbrother and his friends talk about f*****g me fifteen feet away. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. These are boys I’ve known for years, boys who have eaten dinner at our table, boys who are practically family. And I just came harder than I have in months imagining them doing everything they’re describing. I lie there in the aftermath, breathing hard, listening to their conversation turn to other topics – video games, college plans, some girl Marcus is trying to date. Normal teenage boy stuff. Eventually, I fall asleep. Still wet. Still wanting. Still pretending I’m not imagining four c***s taking turns with my body. *** A sound wakes me. My door. Opening slowly. A creak of hinges I’ve heard a thousand times but never in the middle of the night, never when I’m supposed to be alone. It’s dark. The only light is a sliver of hallway glow that disappears when the door closes again. Click. Someone just locked my door from the inside. My heart hammers against my ribs. I should scream. Should sit up and demand to know who’s there. Should turn on the light and call for my parents down the hall. Instead, I stay perfectly still. Eyes closed. Breathing even. Pretending to be asleep. Because I know who it is. I can smell them – beer and boys and something darker. Want, maybe. Anticipation. The mattress dips. Someone is sitting on my bed. “She’s out,” a voice whispers. Tyler. “Look at her – completely gone.” “Told you she sleeps heavy.” Ethan. My stepbrother. Standing somewhere near the foot of the bed, close enough that I can feel the weight of his gaze. “She’s been like this since we moved in. Dad used to joke that a bomb couldn’t wake her.” “So we just...” Jack trails off. I can hear the hesitation in his voice. “I mean, is this okay? This feels kind of...” “She’s asleep,” Ethan says. “She won’t know. We’ll be careful. Just... touch her a little. See what she feels like. We’re not gonna do anything.” Liar. I know he’s lying. I can hear it in his voice – the hunger barely contained. The justification that sounds weak even to him. And God help me, I want him to keep lying. A hand touches my thigh. Over the blanket, tentative, barely there. Testing. Waiting to see if I’ll wake up. I don’t react. The hand grows bolder. Slides higher. Finds the edge of the blanket and slips beneath it, seeking bare skin. My shorts have ridden up in my sleep – I’m wearing the little cotton sleep shorts, the ones Ethan mentioned earlier, the ones that show the bottom curve of my ass when I bend over. The hand finds my bare thigh and I hear a sharp intake of breath. “f**k,” someone whispers. “Her skin is so soft.” “Is she... is she wearing underwear?” Another hand. A different angle. Sliding up my other thigh, converging in the middle. “Yeah,” Tyler breathes. “But they’re... holy s**t, they’re wet.” “What?” “Feel.” A finger traces over my underwear, right over my p***y. Even through the cotton, I can feel how soaked I am – from earlier, from right now, from the knowledge that four boys are touching me in the dark while they think I’m unconscious. “Jesus Christ.” Jack sounds reverent. “She’s f*****g dripping.” “She must have been having a dream,” Ethan says. His voice is closer now. He’s moved from the foot of the bed. “A good one.” “What do we do?” Whispered debate. Hushed arguments. What if she wakes up. What if she doesn’t. How far do they go. How far can they go. “We have at least an hour before my parents wake up,” Ethan says finally. “We’re quiet, we’re careful, she never knows. Okay?” “Okay,” three voices answer. Okay, I think. Do it. I want you to. Someone – I think it’s Marcus, judging by the size of the hands – carefully pulls my blanket down. The cool air hits my skin, and I have to concentrate not to shiver, not to break character, not to show any sign that I’m awake and aware and desperately, achingly ready. “Lift her hips,” Ethan whispers. Large hands slide under my body, raising me slightly, and I feel my shorts and underwear being worked down together. Slowly. So slowly. Inch by inch, down my thighs, over my knees, off my feet and tossed somewhere on the floor. I’m naked from the waist down. In my childhood bed. With four boys staring at my p***y. “Oh my god.” Jack’s voice is strained. “Look at her. She’s... she’s perfect.” “Spread her legs.”