Don’t feel bad or guilty – you started the company and you’re giving them jobs.
I walk up Wall Street and have decided to take the subway. I always have a driver at my building but I passed him by today and nodded my head. He looked puzzled and I didn’t care. I just felt like being alone.
Alone, until I get home to you.
If she’s even home. How is she getting to me so fucking bad? She never did this before, all those years I knew her… She’s still the same girl…
I bury my leather gloved hands into the pockets of my black wool trench coat and head down the filthy steps into the rank stink of the train station. I wait for ten minutes as I listen in on conversations. Poor people stand next to me talking about hustling for money. One of them says he’s going to sell his rock CD to a big record label and is expecting a lot of money in the next month. I glance over at him and see that he looks like a bum. He’ll make it big, I think, and there’s no sarcasm in my thought.
The 3 train barrels up and stops with a loud never-ending creak. I step on as the doors open and listen to the conductor’s voice, “Stand clear of the closing doors please.” He sounds tired and bored. He wants to go home and so do I.
I sit there for a few minutes and it feels like a blur to me. Then the speedy train begins to slow down and I watch the blur of “72nd street” etched on the walls of the station. I step off the train and walk slowly out of the station and up the steps. Traffic is loud and noisy and the snow has continued to accumulate since I left work. I’d say there’s about half an inch on the ground yet it hasn’t slowed traffic at all despite the frigid temperatures and frozen streets.
Horns honk and tires screech and people scream and the voices and sounds are all intermingled and I don’t pick up on any in particular. I zone out and begin to walk east towards my penthouse condominium. I wonder if Miranda’s even home – I’d be bored too if I didn’t have to work, but who am I fooling? I don’t have to work anymore.
She’s not there.
I sit down on the couch and flip on the television after carefully placing my shoes on the rack by the door. As I sprawl my legs out I flip the remote to dim the windows and the noises and bright grayness of the day begins to dissipate at once. There’s a sitcom on but I flip to the Spanish channel even though I don’t know Spanish. I grab a cigar laying on the table and the pack of matches next to it. I scratch the match against the box and let it burn until the flame barely singes my finger.
Good, I still feel pain.
I light the cigar and suck in a thick fume of smoke then exhale it into the room. I don’t smoke in here but today’s an exception. Now if only I could have a scotch I’d be set, but I’m trying to cut down on my alcohol intake. The smoke tastes expensive and I don’t wonder what it’s doing to my lungs. I don’t smoke enough to wonder the repercussions of that.
It’s a luxury cigar and I don’t remember where I got it, or what country it came from. All I know is that I’m enjoying it, and when I hear the door open and glance over to see Miranda coming in with three packs of groceries my heart warms up and my stiff expression relaxes. I think about scolding her for buying groceries herself; we have servants for that.
Then I remember she’s not used to this lifestyle so I just smile. I know I was like her once, though it was so long ago I don’t remember. I remember bits and pieces of the poor lifestyle. Our folks had it rough, Miranda’s mom and my father. They got together when we were four. He was a factory worker and she was a retail manager. I’m twenty seven years old and I’ve been rich since I was twenty. Before that feels like a dream. A bad one. But I still remember playing with Miranda in the backyard. Pushing her on the tire swing, being a dick to her. I was an asshole as a child. Guess some things never change.
“Hey Scott,” She winks at me as she sets the groceries down, “You’re home early.”
“I wasn’t doing anything there. It was a waste of time.”
“I keep telling you that.”
“How would you know?” I tease her, “I don’t let you come to my office anyway. I could be the busiest son of a bitch in this town.” I wink.
“Sure you are.”
“If someone saw my bank account they’d think I was.”
She smiles and starts unloading the groceries. I get up and help her. Why did I do that? It’s not my job – it’s hers. God, she’s really changing me. My stepsister of all people. Is it for the better? No, of course not, I tell myself. I can’t let myself change for her. I’m a dick.
Chapter 7
Miranda
I can still smell his musk through the sweetly sick aroma of the cigar. I don’t know why he smokes those things. He’s in denial and says he doesn’t smoke them much but I bet he puffs three or four a week. Despite the idea of it being a turn off he looks sexy doing it, especially when he’s in a suit like right now.
He holds it loosely between his lips as he puts the oranges away and then stares at me. I can tell he doesn’t like this. I should have told him to stay sitting down, but he smiles. It’s a woman’s job, not a man’s. But that’s not it. That’s not it at all. He doesn’t like that I even got the groceries, he wishes I’d had the butler do it. But I feel guilty when I ask him to do simple chores when I’ve got nothing to do myself.
Scott seems to read my mind and speaks softly, “It’s what I pay him for. And I pay him very well.”
“I just didn’t have anything to do myself. You didn’t used to have a butler, Scott. Growing up we had our chores. We had to actually do the little things for ourselves, you know?” I say.
He smiles and walks back into the living room, “It’s Friday.” He says blankly.
“I know.”
“I just decided I’m going to make arrangements for us to fly out of New York tonight.”
“Where to?” My eyes light up.
“Don’t get too excited, Miranda. I need to be in Los Angeles on Monday so I figured we could spend the weekend there before I’m swamped with work.”
Work, he says. Over and over. I’m sick of it. He seems to be gone five days a week from six in the morning until eight at night, and I know it’s not necessary. But I know he’s not seeing someone else. He wouldn’t bother. He’d just kick me to the curb if he wanted someone else and probably not speak to me anymore. I’d be the estranged Stepsister.
I think he’s just sitting in his office trying to find a purpose.
“I’ve never been to the West Coast.”
“It’s nice, weather wise.” He sits on the couch and turns the TV off. Then he props both feet up on the table and crosses his legs. He’s still wearing his suit but he’s got no shoes on and I feel like walking over there and tackling him. How does he look so perfect without even trying?
I finish putting up the groceries and walk over to him. I surprise him from behind by placing my hands over his shoulders and squeezing down on his muscular neck. He fidgets a little and then relaxes before placing the cigar over an ash tray. He leans back and unzips his dress slacks…
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this… What would they think of us?” I lick my lips and feel my heart pounding.
“Come down here.” He says shakily.
I know what he wants.
I walk slowly to the front of the couch as I unbutton my shirt. I pull it off and let my big tits hang the way he likes. He stares at them and reaches in a casual manner for the cigar and then places it between his lips and lets it hang. He doesn’t ask, and knows he doesn’t have to.
I crouch down on my knees and pull his slacks down to his knees. The material feels fine and expensive, which I know it is. I run my wet tongue up his crotch as I pull his boxer briefs halfway down his legs, and then I take him in my mouth. His girth stretches my lips wide apart and I almost begin to gag, and he lays back and closes his eyes after stubbing out the cigar. He wraps his hands around my head and forces me further down on his massive dick.
He tastes good. I know he’ll come soon because
I’ve gotten better at using my tongue.
My tongue slides out on the bottom of his cock and swirls around as I feel his body beginning to tense. I tighten my lips around his shaft and suddenly he pulls away and stands up rigidly.
“I’ll be right back.” He crouches down and runs a finger across my chin before waving it in a don’t move kind of gesture.
I lick my lips and watch him go, knowing damn well where it is he’s going and what he’s going to get. He walks back into view a few moments later and he’s holding the blindfold in one hand and dangling the cuffs in another.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s going to do. He likes me to ask, so I ask every time.
His cock hardens even more as I mutter the question and a stern look sweeps across his gorgeous face. He walks towards me with the cuffs and places them on, clicking them loudly and tightly into place as they secure my arms behind my back. Then he sits back down in the same spot and strokes his cock momentarily before placing the blindfold over my head.
“You know damn well what I’m doing, Miranda.” He rasps.
I reach forward to find his cock with my mouth alone since my hands are cuffed and behind my back. Considering the size of it, it’s pretty easy. I pick it up with my lips and feel the hardness of it sliding into my throat as I bob my head up and down on him in complete darkness of the blindfold.
His body squirms and his cock throbs, and I feel his big hands latched onto my head pulling it up and down, making me move the way he likes it. Teaching me how to do it, how to suck his dick. His cock throbs harder and then I feel him pull away and hear him gasping softly. He almost came, but apparently he isn’t ready for that. I want it badly, though. His hands grab me at the shoulders and he slides me a bit to my left until my arm is pressed against the table. I can feel and hear him crawling off the couch and standing in front of me; the heat of his cock practically permeates against my cheeks.
Then it came thrusting into my mouth ravenously and I had to steady myself firmly on my knees to keep from flying backwards. He held it there deep in my mouth before pulling out and running its head against my lips. A chuckle comes from his mouth and then he plunges his dick between my lips once more and holds it there for me to suck.
“Oh, Miranda…” His voice is a mere whisper.
I tighten my lips and suck him slowly but firmly. I can feel him swelling up inside of me and then he lets it out, the seed I so desperately want between my legs. It expels onto my tongue and I hold it there for a moment before pulling away and throwing my head back, the darkness taking over me as I swallow his load.
His fingertips caress my temples and then I can see again. He holds the blindfold with one hand as he caresses my soft skin with the other, his blue eyes beating into my face with intensity. His cock is still hard and throbbing as it stands before me, and he pulls me up to my feet and grabs a key out of his pocket before turning me around and taking the cuffs off.
I lick my lips and feel my pussy aching for his dick, but I know he’s not going to give it to me yet.
****
I bathe silently as I let the steaming water run over my hair and skin. I look out the window and see that the snow is still falling and I wonder if that will affect our flight, but since it’s his own jet probably not. I step out and towel myself dry and then begin to get ready. After I’ve put on my clothes I go back into the bathroom and carefully put on my makeup. I want to look good for him, especially since we’re taking a little trip.
Scott surprises me by stepping up behind me suddenly and wrapping his arms around my torso. He’s been showing me a lot more random acts of affection lately and I like it. It’s a nice balance between that and his absolute asshole side.
It doesn’t take me long to put on makeup and I’m pretty good at it. It’s what I did for years before my secretary job, and it’s an art that I mastered and never forgot. A bit like riding a bicycle, I guess.
Scott moves towards my cheek and kisses it, and I know he probably smudged the foundation a bit. I don’t care, because it’s him and I’ve fallen hard for him over the past month. I twist around and lock my lips against his. He tastes minty, like he just brushed his teeth. He moves back and stares at me mysteriously before winking and leaving the room, and I wish I ever knew what he was thinking. His moods seem to change within a matter of seconds.
The blowjob must’ve been good.
Chapter 8
Scott
It’s five o’clock and I’m sitting on the couch. I’m ready to go but Miranda is still packing her bags. It’s been two hours. Christ, I told her I’d buy her new clothes there. What doesn’t she understand about that?
“Two suitcases down, one last little bag to go.”
“Think you can speed it up a bit, sis?” I ask.
She stops and stares at me. The pupils dilate and I can see the redness forming in her cheeks. Her lip quivers. Oh fun, here we go.
“What the fuck is your hurry, exactly?” She asks.
“No hurry,” I say with a big grin on my face, “I’d just like to get to Los Angeles before tomorrow.” I stretch the grin out as far as it will go and she hurries towards me.
“I’m not taking that long – forgive me, Scott, for trying to take all the stuff I’ll need for an entire week – and I’m doing it quickly, fuck you very much. I wasn’t exactly given much notice of this trip.”
“You don’t have to go if it sounds that awful.” I tease her. My grin’s still there in full force.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She wheezes, and then walks out of the room.
Sorry, I say silently, though I know I should actually say it. It’s funny, when I think about it. We’re bickering back and forth like we’ve always done, back when we lived in that shithole four bedroom house in New Jersey as kids. Always fighting, always mouthing off to one another.
I love her, but I’m not used to being soft. I’m not used to being understanding. I’m not used to a woman like her who won’t take my annoying shit. Forgive me, ma’am. I laugh and thumb through my business reports. Looks like it’s going to be a fun week, though I really wouldn’t have to go if I didn’t want to. I could still get everything done with my West Coast secretary filling in for me, but I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone quite the way I trust myself when it comes to getting things done properly.
Another twenty minutes pass and I feel my heart beginning to beat. My pilot can wait but I don’t like making him, and I stand up and walk casually to the bathroom. Oh, it looks like her hair’s not good enough. I’m so used to this shit. She’s always been this way. She’s combing it and running some styling cream through it.
“Any day now?” I ask.
She moves with such speed that I didn’t even see it fucking coming. She backhands me across the cheek and I stand there frozen in place with a blank look on my face. I glance in the mirror and see that my cheeks reddening and my lip is slightly swollen. I can taste the blood droplets in my mouth as I smile. I shift my eyes to Miranda. I wasn’t expecting that at all. Nice touch, hon. She smiles back and then she looks kind of upset. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and mutter into her ear.
“I’m sorry I’m rushing you, but I’d really like to get going, hon. I told you I’d buy you anything you wanted in Beverly Hills this weekend. You don’t need all this shit.” I feel like a pussy, but I know I’m not one.
“I’m almost done.” She says hurriedly, as if the smack never occurred.
I act like it didn’t either. I don’t have time to get mad and truthfully I don’t care. I probably deserved it.
Five minutes later she’s ready. She feels bad about the backhand, I can tell. She should. I’m not going to lay a guilt trip down on her though; I don’t do that shit. The doorman comes up and grabs our luggage, loads it on the cart and then takes us downstairs. We get out front and my limousine is there. It’s probably been waiting for an hour, and I feel kind of bad for the guy.
I hand t
he doorman a crisp hundred after he loads our luggage and nod my head at him as the driver opens the door for us. I go in first and then Miranda crawls in behind me and in a matter of seconds we’re finally fucking off. Traffic’s surprisingly light as we cruise down the FDR, unusually so. Finally we get to the bridge and it stalls to a halt. I cup my jawline in my hands and take long breath. I’ve got to calm down, but I’ve gotten myself worked-the-fuck-up over this. I remind myself that we’re taking a vacation and to cool it, and that everything’s fucking gravy.
Miranda picks up on my attitude and doesn’t comment. I don’t blame her, I’m being a dick and acting like I can’t help it when I know damn well that I could slap a smile on my face and act like everything’s peachy. We finally move after sitting for fifteen minutes and slowly pass a collision that had been blocking the highway. Two cars absolutely smashed and two stretchers carrying bodies. You’ll be alright, I consider yelling out the window, but I don’t.
Chapter 9
Miranda
We’re on the plane. Finally we’re on the plane and I can get my stepbrother to stop bitching at me silently for making us late. I can’t believe I smacked him though, God forbid we get into fights every once in a while. Always have, I guess that won’t change. His lips a little swollen around the corner and he hasn’t acted the same since but I know he’s trying to hide his emotions like he always does. Like he always does so fucking well.
Stepbrother: No Boundaries Page 3