Fucked By My Stepbrother And His GF (2)
I step back into the living room trying to act like nothing happened but my stomach is a tight knot. What the hell did she mean by she has a thing for me?
Yes there was always something about the way she watched me, her dark eyes almost always fixed on me. I’d noticed but always dismissed it thinking her gothic vibe just made her look… intense.
I honestly find it kind of amusing that she’s into me. I mean… Inker is smoking hot. But I’m just eighteen. I’ve never had anything to do with a woman. And she’s my brother’s girlfriend!
I almost turn back around, tell myself I should just go to bed. But my feet carry me to them anyway.
The living room smells like beer and sweat. Stan is stretched out on the couch, one arm over the backrest, the other holding a bottle. He and Inker are laughing about their college days. She’s on his lap, her leg swinging, hand playing on his chest. When her eyes find me, that smug little smile spreads across her lips. My chest tightens immediately.
I slide onto the couch opposite them, pretending to relax but my face feels hot and I can’t stop glancing at Inker.
Why does she have this effect on me? I’m supposed to be straight. Right?
Stan glances at me, a lazy grin spreading like he knows something I don’t want him to. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his bottle like we’re sharing a secret I’m not ready for.
Then Inker leans forward. “Truth or dare?” she asks suddenly in a low, playful voice.
I freeze. “Uh… I—”
“Come on, it’s fun,” Stan says.
I glance at Inker. Her smirk sharpens, eyes glinting like she knows exactly what’s going on inside me.
“Fine,” I whisper. “I’ll play.”
She gets up and walks toward me, her hand sliding along the couch and brushing close to mine. Goosebumps shoot up my arm, every nerve suddenly alive.
Stan leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright. No truths,” he says, wagging the neck of his bottle at me. “That’s too boring.”
Inker smirks. “Only dares.”
“And if you chicken out…” Stan tips his bottle toward the half-empty liquor on the floor. “You drink. Simple.”
The way they both look at me makes my cheek burn. Like they’re daring me before the game even starts.
It feels like whether I do the dare or drink, I’m cooked. This game might end with me getting screwed one way or another.
I won’t let that happen.
We arrange ourselves on the floor and Inker grabs an empty bottle, spinning it. Stan’s knee brushes mine but he doesn’t move it away. The bottle wobbles then points straight at Stan.
“Oh boy,” he says, voice smooth.
Inker smirks. “Take off your shorts. Boxers stay on,” she says casually.
Stan stands, hands hooking into his shorts like it’s nothing and tugs them down. My breath hitches before I can stop it.
He’s in nothing but white condom boxers now. My eyes betray me, darting lower. The fabric outlines his dick perfectly, clinging in a way that leaves very little to imagination.
I force my eyes up to his chest… his shoulders, anywhere else. But that’s no better. When did he get this broad? He didn’t look like this the last time I saw him. Now his muscles shift like they’ve been honed without him even trying. He stretches lazily like he knows he’s on display.
A smug laugh ripples from Inker. My eyes snap to her and instantly regret it. She’s already watching me, lips curled like she just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.
I must look guilty as hell.
And still, the thought I can’t shake is at the back of my mind: what would it feel like pressed against me?
It’s my turn to spin the bottle. I spin and it lands on inker. Of course. Of course it had to be her. Like fate wants to ruin me.
My throat closes. “I—I… um…”
Stan grins. “Come on, Country. Don’t tell me you’re too scared to play a game?”
“I’m not scared!” I mutter.
“Loosen up, Cassie,” Inker murmurs. “Good thing you came here before starting college properly. It’ll be a shame if you show up at school as a prude and a nerd. So what’s it gonna be, pretty?”
I freeze, embarrassment burning hot in my stomach. Me, a prude? A nerd? My face goes red but under the shame a thrill coils low in my belly. She’s not wrong… and the thought of proving myself—showing her I can play—makes my pulse spike in a way I didn’t expect.
I swallow hard and the words slip out: “I dare you… to kiss Stan.”
Stan stiffens, eyebrows raised. “Wow… a few minutes ago you didn’t want to hear about us fucking and now you want to watch us kiss.”
I shrug.
They lean toward each other. Lips brushing, then pressing harder, excruciatingly slow like they’re trying to consume each other’s faces.
I’m part horrified, part mesmerized, every nerve begging for more when I know I should be disgusted.
“That’s enough,” I finally murmur, cheeks burning. Inker smirks like she’s won a little game with me.
Stan starts to move but Inker stops him. “I want to spin again,” she says, playful yet commanding. He shrugs and lets her. She spins deliberately… and the bottle points at me.
“Cassie, take off your top,” she says, dark eyes gleaming.
I stiffen. “What? No—I’m not wearing a bra—”
“A dare is a dare, pretty face. If you refuse, you drink.”
Stan chuckles. “Why would you want to see her boobs, Inker?”
“It’ll be… fun,” she mutters.
I clench my hands, refusing. They still shake as I grab a glass and the liquor bottle. It’s cold and wet against my skin but my palms are sweaty anyway. Stan keeps staring, Inker’s smirk grows sharper and I realize I’m the only one shaking. No game has ever made me feel this hunted.
I pour it quickly and gulp it down.
“Shy looks good on you, Country.” Stan mumbles.
I hate that the words make me warm.
The burn of the alcohol slides down my throat, making my stomach flutter in a confusing mix of relief and heat. My head feels light and for a second the tension in my body loosens.
But Inker isn’t done. She leans back, eyes narrowing in mock disappointment. Then she grabs the bottle of lotion off the side table and tosses it toward me.
“Fine. You drank. But I’m not letting you off that easy. Lotion up your arms for us, pretty. Slowly. Let’s see how good you are with your hands.”
My throat locks. What is she trying to do? I look at Stan, then at Inker. They’re both staring and waiting.
“What? No. That’s not the game. I already—”
Inker leans closer. “It is now.”
I glance at Stan hoping he’ll say something but he just sits there sipping from his drink, eyes heavy on me like he wants to see what I’ll do.
The silence stretches. I fumble with the cap and the heavy vanilla scent fills the air, then I squeeze a drop into my hand.
I rub the lotion into my arm, and it feels wrong with them watching. Too intimate. Too exposed.
“Slower,” Inker murmurs, her gaze locked on my hands. “Pretend you’re touching someone you really want.”
Stan laughs low under his breath, shifting where he sits like the sight is getting to him too. The silence stretches heavily until he leans forward and grabs the bottle, flicking it across the floor.
It spins until the neck points at Inker.
Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “What’s it gonna be, Staniebaby.”
Stan hesitates, biting his lip, clearly unsure what to dare. She leans forward, a wicked glint in her eye. “Eat me out and make me come,” she says, low and commanding.
What?
Stan grins like he’s just been handed a trophy. Then he turns to me. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”
I don’t even know what to say.
Stan shrugs and moves closer to Inker as she starts peeling off her clothes slowly. My stomach twists as he lowers his head to her pussy, Inker’s gaze locked on him.
Then he dips his head lower between Inker’s thighs and the room fills with wet sounds I can’t unhear. His mouth moves against her like he’s starving. Inker arches, a low moan spilling out as her nails dig deep into his shoulders.
I want to cover my ears, want to sink into the ground, but my eyes won’t close.
My thighs clench so hard it hurts. My hands fists in my shorts, desperate for somewhere to put all this shaking heat.
But it’s too late. I’m already wet.
I watch his tongue move over her clit, the way she grinds against his mouth like she can’t get enough. Her fingers clutch his hair hard, pulling him closer.
Her head tips back but her eyes don’t stay closed. They flick open, locking on me even as her body trembles, pinning me harder than his hands ever could.
It feels like she’s coming for me, not him.