Once Upon a Tryst with My Stepbrother

011: Bed and Breakfast

[Arthur]

Laying next to the woman of my dreams, I wake to her screaming beside me.

No, she isn’t screaming, she’s screeching. The sound coming from her mouth reminds me of an injured animal, a frightened beast.

And it breaks my heart.

She is not the first I have ever cared for, but I have never cared for anyone as I care for her. Hearing her pain, my soul feels the pain along with her.

She begins to whimper, and tears slowly trickle from her eyes. Shaking her, I call out to her. “Faye, wake up Faye!” but there is no response. She continues to cry, to scream out in pain, tearing at her pillow with her fingernails piercing the fabric.

“What are you? Who are you?!” Faye continues to cry.

Pulling her tight to my chest, I wrap my arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair. I begin to sing to her, a song my mother used to sing, and I feel her relax against me, her body melting into my own.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play beneath the stars…..”

Faye releases a deep sigh.

I barely know her but she has already found a way deep into my heart.

I know I shouldn’t love her, it’s too soon, and she’s my stepsister, but I can’t help myself.

I would give everything to make her smile, to see the sadness of her previous life ease from her face.

[Faye]

Arthur wakes me with a kiss on the cheek as he carefully climbs out of bed. I pretend to sleep and he pretends to not see me pretending.

I must fall asleep for real because I blink and then find myself waking to the smell of bacon and black coffee. I roll over and stare up at the ceiling. That’s when I noticed that my panties, the pink lace thong that I wore that very first night, were still hanging from his ceiling fan. I feel my face growing red with embarrassment and wonder how many people have been in his room and saw those hanging there. His father? The maid? I don’t understand why he hasn’t taken them down yet, this weird s****l trophy dangling is just out of reach. It reminds me of those mobiles that parents hang above their kids to help them fall asleep. All it is missing is a can of cheap beer and it would be the perfect mobile for the average frat boy.

Laughing, I push the comforter off of my still-sleepy body and step into a pair of slippers that were left on my side of the bed.

Gosh, I have a side of his bed. That feels…quick.

I’ve never been in a relationship that has lasted more than a few weeks and I worry about how quickly this is progressing. I am usually more casual, less passionate, and more, well, cool. I don’t know a better way to say it, but the way I want to cling to this man unnerves me. I crave him with every atom of my being, and that doesn’t feel natural.

And yet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. More natural than breathing. He is romantic, silly, sincere, humble, charming, capable, beautiful…so impossibly wonderful I have a hard time believing he is true. I am afraid to tell him all of this as I know it would likely drive him away. He’s still so young, not even 20. Someone his age has no real concept of commitment. It would be better if I didn’t let myself fall too hard.

I stumble downstairs, my legs unsteady. I only remember the edges of my nightmare, bits and pieces, the smallest flashes. Mostly I remember the emotions. Fear. A great deal of fear.

I started having nightmares when I was 13. I don’t remember my dreams much before that moment, only that around that time I started waking up nightly screaming and sweating, unable to tell up from down. My mom took me to a series of different psychologists. Some told me it was “all in my head.” Others claimed I might have a nervous condition brought on by the death of my father 5 years before. All I know is that every night in my dreams I’d die. Sometimes it was in a cave, other times on a street, in a back alley, or by train. In each scene, I looked much like I do now--red hair, violet eyes, full figure. My height, my skin tone, and the shape of my face changed a bit here and there, but those elements always stayed the same.

And each time I die. Young. Not much older than I am now.

Last night’s dream was different. I didn’t die. But I did feel pain. I still do.

Rubbing my head, I feel no traces of the crescent shape that had been bleeding in my sleep. My skin is completely unmarked. No serpents on my arms, nothing.

It was all just a dream after all.

Shaking it off, I roll my shoulders as I reach the bottom of the stairs. Here I am, with a handsome man who thinks I am gorgeous. A man who came to my rescue when he had no real reason to do so, without asking questions or expecting favors. If I didn’t need to be at school soon, I’d spend my day in his shirt exploring our relationship on a deeper level.

Deeper. Oh god, when did I become so s*x-crazed?

I turn the corner and I’m greeted by a sight. The coffee carafe was full and waiting, sitting warm on the coffee maker. The bacon was crisped and waiting on the counter. There are a dozen eggs next to the bacon ready to be scrambled. That alone would have been lovely. What was even better was finding Arthur standing next to a large, black gas range wearing nothing but an apron.

He bends down to open a cupboard and pulls out a large frying pan. He doesn’t seem to notice me sneaking up at him as my eyes watch his muscles flex at his movement. Nobody should be allowed to have an ass half as fine as his.

I need a distraction from the darkness of the night before and the stress of the days to come. It looks like he needs a distraction too.

I lick my lips, sauntering forward as I watch him bend down again. He knows that I’m there by the way he starts to wiggle. “Like what you see?” He confirms my theory. His ass is on full display, not a stitch of clothing covering his beautiful, round cheeks. I grin as I finally reach him. Turning to face me, I saw an impish fire in his gaze and I knew I was in trouble.

He steps forward, untying his apron and tossing it roughly to his right. I’m impressed to see he is ready for another round.

I stare at him for a moment, unable to look away. His eyes, like winter storms, stare down at my chest and I feel my n*****s harden.

Arthur bends down and lifts the edges of my borrowed shirt. He takes a moment to gaze in appreciation, eyeing my breasts like he’s staring at a precious piece of art, his eyes light up as he says “Perfect.”

Lifting the shirt to the base of my collarbone, he kisses each areola, first the left, then the right. Covering himself with the shirt, his head resting beneath, he begins to suckle, using his hands to squeeze my breasts together so that he can lick and bite and suck on both n*****s at the same time. I watch my shirt bob up and down as his tongue does its work under a layer of cotton.

His hands reach down to find my opening already wet and dripping. We walk backward like this until my bare ass hits the island in the center of the kitchen. He lifts me, my ass resting on the cool black marble, my feet dangling. He kisses a trail down to my belly button, presses me back, and then whispers “Bon appetit.”

My nails dig into his back as his tongue reaches into my core. “Arthur!!” I scream as he licks me from the inside out.

Arthur reaches down to lift each leg and place them on his shoulders. I arch my pelvis into his mouth as he continues to thrust with his tongue. I see stars, my body buckling as he gently bites my c**t. “Ah, yes! Gods, Yes! Don’t you dare stop!”

His hands reach up to cup my breasts as he continues to taste me down there. His thumb finds my n*****s and rubs them first gently, then roughly. He pinches them, and I scream incomprehensibly as I c*m into his mouth. He licks me until my screams become whimpers and my body stills. Kissing his way down the inside of my thigh he releases each leg, grinning up at me like a satisfied cat.

We forget about breakfast. We forget about everything.