Dirty Family Secrets (Short smut stories)

I smoothed down the hem of my little black dress as I stepped into the cozy dining room of Alex’s family home. The air was thick with the scent of roasted garlic and herb-crusted chicken, mingling with the faint undertone of polished wood and fresh flowers on the table. It was supposed to be a simple pre-wedding family dinner, a chance for everyone to bond before the big day in just a few weeks. Alex’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, were the epitome of suburban perfection, all warm smiles, perfectly styled hair, and a house that screamed “happy family.” Alex, my sweet, dependable fiancé, sat beside me, his hand resting possessively on my thigh under the table. He was handsome in a boy-next-door way: clean-shaven, with neatly trimmed brown hair and kind blue eyes that always looked at me like I was the center of his world. But tonight, my attention wasn’t on Alex. It wasn’t on the wedding plans he kept babbling about—the floral arrangements, the seating chart, the honeymoon in Bali. No, my gaze kept drifting across the table to Ben, Alex’s younger brother. Ben was the polar opposite of Alex: rugged, cocky, with a perpetual five-o’clock shadow that made him look like he just rolled out of bed after a night of wild f*****g. At twenty-five, he was three years younger than me, but he carried himself with the confidence of a man who’d broken more hearts and more beds than I could imagine. His dark hair was tousled just right, falling over his forehead in a way that begged for fingers to run through it. He wore a fitted black t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, hinting at the rippling muscles beneath. His jeans were tight enough to outline the impressive bulge at his crotch, and I found myself staring, wondering just how big he was, how thick, how he’d feel stretching me open. I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs to quell the sudden ache building between my thighs. God, what was wrong with me? I was engaged to Alex, for f**k’s sake. We’d been together for two years, and he was the perfect man with a stable job as an accountant, always attentive in bed, even if it was a bit vanilla. But Ben… Ben looked like the kind of guy who’d pin me down and f**k me senseless, leaving bruises and bite marks as souvenirs. I’d met him a few times before, but tonight, something clicked. Maybe it was the way he leaned back in his chair, manspreading like he owned the room, his thighs straining against the denim. Or the smirk that played on his full lips every time our eyes met, like he knew exactly what filthy thoughts were racing through my mind. “Pass the wine, would you, Heather?” Mrs. Thompson asked, snapping me out of my daze. I smiled politely, handing over the bottle of merlot, but my mind was elsewhere. As I poured myself another glass, I imagined Ben’s strong hands wrapping around my waist, yanking my dress up over my hips, exposing my lace thong. I’d worn it tonight thinking it might lead to some post-dinner fun with Alex, but now all I could think about was Ben tearing it off with his teeth. Alex droned on about the wedding DJ. “We’re thinking of going with that band from the expo, the one that plays all the classics. What do you think, Ben? You into that kind of music?” Ben chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver straight to my core. “Classics? You mean like the s**t our parents danced to at their wedding? Nah, bro. Give me something with a beat, something that makes you want to grind up on someone.” His eyes flicked to me as he said it, lingering just a second too long on my cleavage, which was pushed up enticingly by my push-up bra. I felt my n*****s harden under his gaze, poking against the thin fabric of my dress. f**k, I was getting wet already, my p***y clenching at the thought of Ben’s hips grinding against mine, his hard c**k pressing into my ass as we danced dirty in some dark club. I forced a laugh, trying to play it cool. “Ben’s got a point. We don’t want the guests falling asleep during the first dance.” But inside, my mind was spinning a web of depravity. I pictured Ben cornering me in the hallway after dinner, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “I know you’ve been staring at my d**k all night, you little slut. You want it, don’t you? Want me to bend you over right here and f**k that tight p***y while your fiancé chats with Mom and Dad?” I squeezed my thighs together, the friction against my swollen c**t making me bite my lip to stifle a moan. The conversation flowed around me oblivious. Mr. Thompson was talking about the stock market, Mrs. Thompson gushing over the cake samples, Alex giving answers I didn’t hear. In my mind, Ben didn’t wait for an answer. He’d shove me against the wall, his rough hands hiking up my dress, fingers delving between my legs to find my soaked panties. “f*****g drenched for me already,” he’d growl, rubbing my c**t through the lace until I was whimpering, begging for more. Then he’d spin me around, yank my thong aside, and thrust his massive c**k inside me in one brutal stroke, filling me so completely that I’d see stars. My breath hitched as I imagined the stretch, the burn of his length splitting me open. He’d pound into me relentlessly, his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. “Take it, you cheating w***e,” he’d grunt, his voice low and filthy. “Bet Alex never f***s you this good, does he? Bet he doesn’t make you scream like I will.” I could almost feel it—the way my p***y would clench around him, milking his d**k as he hammered my G-spot. My t**s would bounce with each impact, n*****s aching to be pinched and twisted. Ben would reach around, sliding a hand under my dress to roll one between his fingers, tugging hard until I cried out. “That’s it, baby. c*m for your future brother-in-law. Soak my c**k with that sweet p***y juice.” The fantasy was so vivid that I felt a trickle of arousal seep into my panties. I glanced at Ben again, and this time, he was staring right back, his dark eyes smoldering with something primal. Did he know? Could he smell my wetness from across the table? The thought made me flush, my cheeks burning as I excused myself. “I… I need to use the bathroom,” I stammered, pushing back from the table. Alex gave my thigh a squeeze, oblivious as ever. “Hurry back, babe.” I fled down the hallway, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I locked myself in the guest bathroom, leaning against the door as my heart pounded. The room was small and pristine. All white tiles, a pedestal sink, and a full-length mirror that reflected my disheveled state. My blonde hair was slightly mussed, my green eyes wide with lust, lips parted as I panted. I hiked up my dress, staring at my reflection as I slipped a hand into my thong. Fuck, I was soaked—my fingers came away glistening with my juices, my c**t throbbing under the lightest touch. I couldn’t stop now. The fantasy consumed me. My mind swirling with the imagination of Ben following me to the bathroom, kicking the door open and locking it behind him. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” he’d sneer, his voice dripping with arrogance. He’d grab me by the throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make me submit, pushing me back against the sink. “Spread those legs for me, Heather. Show me that pretty p***y you’ve been teasing me with all night.” I’d obey, perching on the edge of the counter, legs wide as he dropped to his knees. His stubble would scrape my inner thighs as he buried his face between my legs, tongue lashing out to lap at my folds. “Tastes like f*****g heaven,” he’d murmur, sucking my c**t into his mouth, flicking it with expert precision. I moaned aloud in the real bathroom, my fingers circling my c**t faster, mimicking the motion. I imagined Ben’s fingers plunging inside me, curling to hit that spot that made my toes curl. “You’re so tight, baby. Gonna stretch you out with my c**k soon. But first, I want you to c*m on my face.” My other hand roamed up to my breast, pinching my n****e through the dress, twisting it until pain mixed with pleasure. In the fantasy, Ben stood up, unzipping his jeans to free his c**k. “Suck it,” he’d command, fisting my hair and guiding my mouth to it. I’d kneel, taking him deep, gagging as he hit the back of my throat. Saliva would drip down my chin, mixing with his pre-c*m as I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks to suck him harder. “That’s it, deepthroat me, you filthy b***h. Choke on your fiancé’s brother’s dick.” But in my mind, he wouldn’t let me finish him off. No, he’d pull out, flip me around to face the mirror, and slam into me from behind. Watching our reflection as he f****d me. “Look at yourself,” he’d growl. “Look at how much you love being my w***e. Alex could walk in any second, and you’d still beg for more.” The risk made it hotter, my p***y clenching around the imaginary c**k as I fingered myself furiously now, three fingers pumping in and out of my slick hole. My breaths came in ragged gasps, my body trembling as the orgasm built. In the fantasy, Ben would reach around to rub my c**t, his other hand slapping my ass, leaving red handprints. “c*m for me, Heather. c*m while I fill you up.” And I would—shattering around him, my juices squirting onto his balls as he erupted inside me, hot spurts of c*m painting my walls, claiming me as his. In reality, I bit down on my lip to muffle my cry as I came, my p***y spasming around my fingers, waves of pleasure crashing over me. I slumped against the sink, spent and guilty, but the aftershocks still rippling through me. I cleaned up quickly, splashing water on my face, fixing my makeup. When I returned to the table, everyone was laughing about some story Mr. Thompson was telling. I slid back into my seat, avoiding Ben’s gaze. But then I felt his eyes on me. I looked up, and there it was: that cocky wink, like he knew exactly what I’d just done. My p***y twitched again, a spark lit from within. And I knew this obsession was only the beginning.