Role Play With My Stepbrother (1)
Role Play With My Stepbrother (1)
~ Joyce ~
The plastic grocery bags bite into my palms, but I barely feel the sting. My mind is already upstairs. I told myself I was just being a good stepsister by picking up the earbuds Daniel begged for, but my racing heart knows better. Being near him always feels like standing too close to a fire.
I drop some of the bags in the kitchen with Mom, barely saying a word. I grab my own bags and head upstairs, dropping them on my bed before going to Daniel’s room.
I reach his door and don't even bother knocking. We’re family, right?
The door swings open, and the first thing that hits me is the sound.
Moans.
Loud, wet, desperate moans.
My eyes fly to the laptop on his bed.
On the screen, a lady is arched back, her hands busy between her legs.
My stomach drops.
It’s not just porn. The girl on the screen has my dark hair, my pale skin, even the same curve of the jaw.
It is not me on the screen but it's close enough to feel like a violation. She looks exactly like me.
Daniel is on the bed, his hand moving under the duvet. He freezes when he sees me, but he doesn't look ashamed. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk curls his lips.
"Did you get them?" he asks, his voice husky.
I can’t breathe. My throat feels like it’s filled with cotton.
"Do you have any idea how loud that stuff is?" I hiss.
I quickly glance behind me into the hallway, making sure Mom and my stepdad aren't lurking, then I slip inside and slam the door shut.
"What? They know I’m into this shit," Daniel says, leaning back, not bothering to take out his hand. "I'm a fucking adult, Joyce. Your mom was even here a few minutes ago. She saw it.”
My jaw hits the floor. "My mom... what?" I whisper.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “She saw it.”
I look back at the screen. The girl is crying out now, and the resemblance is so striking it makes my head spin. "That’s… that’s my face," I gesture vaguely at the screen. "What the fuck did you do?"
"AI is a miracle, isn't it?" he smirks. "I had so many photos of you, Joyce. I just needed to give them to the right program to see what you’d look like... naked. And under me."
I should slap him. I should scream and run. But my feet feel like they’ve been fused to the floorboards. And seeing how much work he put into wanting me... it does something to my blood. It turns it into liquid fire.
"You're sick, Daniel. Truly, pathologically sick."
He rolls his eyes and pats the edge of the bed. "Sit down."
Against my better judgment, I do. Heat is radiating off my cheeks. I can’t help but look at him—really look at him. Daniel is gorgeous, all sharp angles and hard muscle.
Even now, I can see the thick ridge of his erection straining against the duvet. When he notices me staring, he finally pulls his hand out, but the smirk stays.
"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, closing the laptop tab.
I swallow. “What.”
"Okay, listen up," he says, sitting up straight. "I have a problem. A very serious problem, and our parents know it."
"What problem?"
He watches me for a few seconds. "Hmm, I guess I’ll be keeping it to myself," he teases, his eyes dark. "At least for now... but just know porn helps me. Especially when the girls have you and your hot momma’s face."
A gasp escapes me. Before I can process the shock, he leans in and touches my face.
My whole body reacts like it has been waiting for it.
My knees weaken. My chest presses against his hand without permission. Heat flares between my thighs before I even realize it, and I hate myself for it.
I thought about the three years I've spent memorizing the scent of his cologne in the hallway. And hearing him admit he wants me makes my pants feel suddenly, embarrassingly damp.
But this is WRONG.
That thought is thin and weak compared to how badly I want him not to pull away.
"I… I need to go," I stammer and shove the earbuds into his hand and turn to bolt.
Daniel’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. He pulls, and I lose my balance, falling directly onto him. Our faces are inches apart. I can feel the heat of his breath and the hard press of his length against my thigh. Why is he still hard?
He starts to lean in, his eyes on my lips—
"Joyce! Danny!" Mom’s voice echoes from downstairs.
I scramble off him, my chest heaving, and fly out of the room.
I find Mom in the foyer. She looks flushed, her eyes bright.
Your stepfather and I are heading to the neighbor’s for a meeting," she says.
My heart starts hammering so fast, I fear my mom can hear it.
"Can I come?" I ask, my voice trembling. The thought of being alone with Daniel after what just happened is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“No, honey. It’s for parents only.” Her tone is soft, almost casual, but it makes my chest tighten. “We won’t be long.”
Just then, Daniel joins us. The way Mom looks at him makes my blood run cold. She’s blushing. Daniel stands there like a king, a proud "minotaur" surveying his territory.
My stomach twists. Is she… interested? Are they…? No, it can’t be. Can it?
I clear my throat loudly, snapping Mom out of whatever trance she’s in.
"Bye, kids!" she murmurs as my stepfather yells for her from the car. The front door clicks shut, and silence fills the house. The quiet feels loaded, like the walls are holding a secret I don’t know yet.
I whirl around to face Daniel. "What the fuck, dude? Are you hitting on my mom?"
"Uhh... depends on what you mean by 'hitting on,'" he responds coolly.
The realization truly hits me now.
"Are you fucking my mom?" The question feels heavy and disgusting, but I have to know.
He studies my face for a moment, like he’s deciding how much damage to do.
“You think she looks at me the way she does for nothing?”
My throat tightens. My legs feel like jelly at this point.
“I told you I have a problem,” he says again, like it means something different now. “And just so you know… your mom talks about you,” he adds quietly, his eyes dark. “The things she wants us to do. What she thinks would make this family… closer.”
My stomach freezes. My chest tightens. I don’t need a soothsayer or an interpreter to understand what he means.
“What…?” I manage to bark, my brain short-circuiting.
He just shrugs and walks back toward his room. I trail behind him like a lost puppy, my mind racing with a hundred frantic questions.
The stairs creak under my weight, each step echoing too loudly in the empty hallway.
"How? When? You're lying! You have to be lying! She loves your dad. She wouldn't encourage this... this sickness."
Before I know it, I’ve followed him right back into his bedroom. He closes the door behind us. Not locking it. Just shutting out the hallway.
"You don’t believe me?"
He reaches into a box in his closet and pulls out a clear plastic bag. Inside is a tiny, black-and-white maid outfit—the kind you only see in movies.
Written in bold letters across the top of the bag is my name: JOYCE.