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Stepbrother on the Force
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Stepbrother on the Force
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Stepbrother on the Force
Stephanie Brother
Published by Stephanie Brother, 2015
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18, and all characters represented are 18 or older. This story contains explicit sexual content. The story depicts consensual sex between an adult woman and an adult man. The characters in this story are not related by blood. This story may contain unprotected sex.
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1
HEY THERE, MY name’s Nicolette. Most people call me Nic. So, um, welcome to my shithole of a life, lol.
It’s Saturday night, and I’m hanging with my boyfriend. I have a teeny little apartment in a sorta sketchy neighborhood and that’s where we spend most of our time. He’s out of work and I don’t make much, so it’s not like we can afford to go to clubs or do anything fun, not if it costs money. Hell, I usually don’t have enough to get a couple beers at the crappy bar down the street. But that’s okay. I love Dane and he loves me, and that’s all that matters, right?
“Come here, babe,” Dane says, reaching for me. I like it when he says that. I give him my hand and let him pull me over. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, babe,” he says into my hair.
I get a little turned on, I mean my guy is holding me and I can’t help feeling in the mood, you know? But Dane…Dane’s not really in a sexual place these days. So I let that stirred-up feeling pass right on by.
“Hey babe,” he says. “I’m not feeling that great right now. Thinking maybe you could go out and run a little errand for me. Would you do that for me?” And he turns his big brown puppy-dog eyes on me.
“Dane,” I say, and then I look around for the right words but I can’t find them anywhere.
“Come on,” he pleads. “It’s just…you don’t have to or anything. I’m just asking because of how I’m feeling, and you know what makes me feel better, babe, you know how to make me feel good….”
“No, I don’t know,” I snap at him. “How are you ever going to get it together if you give every last cent to your dealer?”
“That’s not fair,” says Dane, and those puppy-dog eyes turn away from me. “You know I’m in a lot of pain. You know getting high is like all I’ve got left.”
“Thanks. Good to know.”
“Aw babe, I didn’t mean—” And yep, on cue, the big brown eyes are back, full-force. He knows it’s hard for me to resist him. Knows I can’t kick him out. Knows that eventually I’ll cave and go get him what he needs, because I can’t just sit here watching him suffer.
Without saying anything I get up and put on my jacket. It’s cold out and my jacket is thin, but I shouldn’t be out that long. My neighborhood, unfortunately, is crawling with dealers and I should be able to score pretty quick.
When I first met Dane, he was working and—
—oh hell. I was about to spin you a story about how he was a decent, hard-working dude who caught some bad breaks. But the truth, the real truth, is that he’s always been an addict, ever since I first met him. And I got together with him because he called me babe and reached for me this one night, and because I thought he needed me.
That was all it took.
Yeah, I know. Not exactly what they write about in romance stories, is it? And in one half of my head, I know he’s totally using me. To get him drugs, give him a place to hang out, and probably most important—make him feel legit. That’s what having a girlfriend does, sorta. Like he can tell himself he’s not that big of a mess because he’s got me.
Uhm-hmm, screwed up. I know.
On my way downstairs I don’t see anyone in the hallway which is fine, I don’t know any of my neighbors anyway and I don’t want to. Now don’t look at me like that—you wouldn’t want to know them either. Bunch of skanks and druggies, that’s pretty much it. I’m probably the only person in the building who gets a W-2, know what I’m saying?
Yup, there’s Chickie on the corner, like I knew he would be. Chickie’s okay. He sells weed mostly, but if you want something else, he can tell you where to get it. For me, he’ll go get it himself and give it to me, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t like buying from some stranger.
“Hey Chick,” I say when I get close.
He spins around and does a little jig like he’s glad to see me. Glad to see my wallet, more like. “Whatcha need, baby girl?”
“Blow, I guess,” I say.
“You in luck,” says Chickie. “Got some supply right on me tonight. Just one?”
“Yeah just one. I’m not exactly rolling in it, Chick.”
He laughs, sliding his hand into his coat. We go to shake hands and the crisp bills and the small glassine bag change hands smoothly.
“You have a good night, baby girl,” he says.
What’s he calling me that for? I want to yell that my name is Nicolette, I’m not just a blank space with no name. I feel like slapping the shit out of him. It’s this surge of scary anger, even though if he wasn’t here, if there was no Chickie, there wouldn’t be anything to bring back to Dane. Like it’s Chickie’s fault Dane can’t get it up anymore, Chickie’s fault that my life sucks so bad.
It’s cold so I hurry on back. Dane is peeking out between the Venetian blinds—sometimes he gets sorta paranoid and thinks he needs to keep watch. It makes me laugh because the whole big problem is not that people are following him or after him, it’s that nobody gives a shit, you know? Nobody is coming to get you, Dane, because nobody even knows you exist. You’re nothing. The two of us, one plus one equals nothing.
Zero.
Dane snatches the glassine bag out of my hand and shakes out the little white envelope. “Get me a straw, baby,” he says without looking at me.
“My name’s Nicolette.” My voice is shaking with all the same anger I was feeling at Chickie. I always liked it when Dane called me baby but all of sudden…not anymore.
But all Dane’s thinking about is doing a line. He tips a little bit of powder out on a library book of mine that has one of those transparent plastic covers on it. Then he takes a dollar out of his pocket and starts rolling it up, all while not taking his eyes off that little white pile of powder, not for one second, like it might run away if he wasn’t giving it 100% of his attention.
I’m just standing there, at loose ends in my own apartment. It’s like Dane and his drugs are taking up all the space there is. And goddammit, tears spring to my eyes and start dribbling down my face. It’s, I don’t know, it’s like something inside me breaks open out of nowhere and I’m flooded with all the shitty memories, and they just keep coming and coming until I can barely breathe.
I remember my mother crying and crying when my dad left. I don’t remember him, thank God, but I sure remember standing there holding my mother’s hand and hoping she would stop crying soon because it hurt so much to see her like that.
Oh sure, I could go on. But who wants to sit around listening to somebody bellyaching?
Mom remarried when I was fourteen. The guy was okay, but he had four children and it was like I went from being my mom’s whole world to being part of a big crowd. My stepbrother Matthew was the oldest. A fucking rule-follower I could not stand because he was so full of himself. He’s a cop now, which is the perfect job for him—he can run around feeling su
perior to everyone and punishing them too. I’m sure he gets off on having a badge. You know how some people are, gotta be telling everyone else how to live their lives.
I was so happy to get out of that house. The minute I turned eighteen I was outta there. Of course I still see my Mom, but I’m not close to any of my step-sibs. Matthew still tries to horn his way into my life and tell me what to do, but I haven’t seen him lately, thank God.
Anyway, enough ancient history. Dane’s done at least three lines and he’s got a big grin on now. He’s too thin and so the grin’s sorta toothy, but still, it’s a whole lot better than him glowering and giving me the sad eyes. He starts talking like he can’t stop—blow always does that to him. He’d talk to a shovel all day, a boot, any old thing. Including me. He doesn’t notice that I’ve been crying—he’s too caught up in the story he’s telling, some story starring, you guessed it, himself. I’ve heard it all before and it wasn’t interesting the first time.
I look down at the white envelope. It’s a miniature thing, folded neatly, like something I’d have made for my dolls back when I was a kid. I was always trying to make miniature food for them and miniature plates and shoes and knitting needles, just from trash I found around the house. I reach out and finger the edges of the envelope. Dane looks at me and cocks his head. He’s trying really hard to be chill but I can tell he doesn’t like seeing me with my hand on his drugs. Even though I paid for them.
I wonder what it’s like, being high.
I wonder if it would take away the pain I feel inside almost all the time.
I stroke the edge of the envelope, thinking about it. I’m twenty-two and all I’ve ever done is weed. Too scared to do more, really. My mom told me too much about my father and how drugs messed him up, and hell, I can see the same story with my own eyes, with Dane right in front of me. But still—in this moment, I wonder whether being high some of the time is better than feeling miserable all of the time.
And plus, think about how pissed off Matthew would be if he knew. That alone makes it worth doing.
“Cut me a line,” I tell Dane.
2
I WORK AT a restaurant, it’s called Hole. Pretty ugly name for a place to eat, if you ask me. Apparently it’s some private joke with the people who started the place. But I’m not complaining, it’s a popular spot and the owners are okay to work for. I’m a line cook, which means I chop the fuck out of a lot of vegetables, basically. I’ve got some cooking skills but I don’t get to use them much here. Stocking the pantry, keeping my station neat, and chopping a mountain of onions and celery, that’s pretty much what I do day in and day out. What I like about it is that I start off with twenty pounds of onions, and when I’m done, there’s this big pile and the pieces are all the same size and I know I’ve done it right.
And I like the smell of onions, so there’s that. I get into a kind of rhythm, it’s like meditating or something, you know? At least until the busboys come in and start joking around and playing pranks. But most of the time, everything that sucks sorta fades into the distance, and my hands and my head are occupied with making food for people, which feels useful and makes me happy.
So, uh, I’m not proud of this and don’t want to tell you…but the other night, I did that line Dane scraped out for me. It was like I had this aching inside me and it wasn’t going away and I got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore, and thought, maybe just maybe, doing a line would give me some relief. Yeah, I know all about how bad it is and everything, but in the moment for some reason I just brushed all that aside.
And it was good. I felt…not happy, exactly, but lively. Interested in stuff. And chatty, yeah, very chatty. So that’s the upside, right there.
The downside? Oh boy. After one line, I wanted another. And another. Then it took forever to get to sleep, finally had to smoke some weed to calm down. And I slept through my alarm and was late to work. Like I said, the owners are okay to work for, and they’re fair and all, but they do not put up with lateness. Not that I blame them. So now I’m hanging on to my job with my fingernails, and I will tell you right now that my fingernails are stubby and chipped and not much good for holding on to anything.
And plus, my mood’s way worse ever since. So all in all, that’s the last time I partake, I promise you that.
“Nic! I need ten pounds of apples, quarter-inch cubes!”
“On it,” I say, heading to the cooler to get them. I like how people here call me Nic. I even like getting instructions, because now I know what my next hour is going to look like.
The not knowing, that’s part of what gets me, makes me scared. It’s like I’m wondering where the next bolt of ugly is going to come from and steeling myself for it all the damn time. So cutting up a big bag of apples is a freaking relief. If I lost this job, I don’t know what I would do.
It’s my day off. Dane has totally disappeared and I’m feeling lonely, even though yeah, I still feel lonely even when he’s here. I get up and take a long bath—kitchen work is hard on the body and I’m feeling sore. I lie in the hottest water I can stand, blowing out air and letting my face submerge, trying not to think about anything. I’m horny as fuck to be honest. So I let my fingers do some walking. I trail them along my sides—my ribs for some reason are a hot spot, and if I touch them just right, I get a little explosion in my pussy. I keep stroking my ribs and then move on to my breasts, which are too big and heavy for my liking, and super sensitive.
You know how it is, just touching yourself but not thinking of anybody—sure, you might cross the finish line someday, but it’s not like having a super hot fantasy, am I right? I start out thinking about Dane, trying to remember what it feels like when he kisses me, but I can’t hold on to the picture in my head. I pinch both nipples at once and gasp at how good it feels, and then gasp again, because it’s my stepbrother Matthew I’m thinking about, Matthew whose lips are closing around my nipple, Matthew whose tongue is flicking me so deliciously that I arch my back and want him never, ever to stop.
I try to push his face out of my head, but oh Jesus, he feels so good. I imagine him telling me he’s always wanted me, always. “You make me so hard,” Matthew whispers, cupping a breast in one hand. “And your body makes me so happy.” He bends down and sucks my nipple and slips a hand up my skirt and strokes me over my panties. I don’t feel embarrassed about my size or my belly or anything, because he is making me feel without a doubt how much he wants me. How much he loves me.
I’m getting breathless, there in the tub, my fantasy’s so fucking real. I know it’s going to be a monster orgasm and I’m smiling as I tug on my labia and finally allow my fingers to rub my clit. My pussy is streaming with juice and I think about Matthew leaning down and licking me, telling me how much he loves eating me out.
Usually I wait to come until he’s entering me with his huge prick, but this time I get so excited I lose it thinking about his tongue on my clit, and boom, I can’t hold back and I’m bucking up against my hand and sloshing in the tub and moaning Matthew’s name, the spasms rocking my body I’m coming so hard.
So, yeah.
Matthew is a goody-two-shoes, like my granny used to say. And bossy and interfering and overall a gigantic pain in the ass. But god help me, he’s also hot as fuck. He’s got a chest you would not believe, so defined and broad. Works out like a maniac and he’s strong as an ox. Could probably pick me up like I weighed no more than Tinkerbell. Back when I still lived at home, I used to hang around in the hallway when he was showering, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in a towel on the way back to his room. The bulge in his pants hinted at some monster meat in there, and I really wanted a peek. Pathetic, I know.
And the most pathetic part is being so attracted to a guy who’s supposed to be your family, and who you don’t even get along with. I mean, he makes my blood boil with all his Mr. Nice Guy advice he’s always trying to ram down my throat.
When actually, it’s his cock I’d like rammed down my throat, lol.
No, but seriously. What do you do when the guy who takes over your fantasies is a person you can’t stand? Not to mention, he has zero interest in me that way. Hardly anyone does, so no big shocker there.
I climb out of the tub now that the water’s cold. I towel off, planning for about the fiftieth time to give Dane the boot once he finally shows up again. And he will, once he runs out of money and other people to use. He’ll be right on back. And I’ll be telling him to get lost, once and for all.
You’re gonna think this is the dumbest thing you ever heard, but it’s almost like the Matthew of my fantasy is what gives me the strength to think about breaking up with Dane. Even though I know it’s made up, this person who says he loves me and wants me—it has an effect anyway. It gives me a little courage I didn’t have before.
I’ve just gotten my clothes on when the buzzer buzzes. This is no fancy building, no surprise, so I have no way of knowing who it is. But since Dane’s the only one who’s pushed that button in the last couple of months, Dane is who I’m expecting.
Only it’s not Dane.
It’s Matthew.
3
“HEY LITTLE SIS,” says Matthew, leaning up against the doorsill and smiling at me.
My face is burning, like he could guess what was just going on in the tub. Obviously I know he can’t, but I feel embarrassed anyway. I’d like to shut the door in his face, to be honest. Just being near him gets me stirred up and it’s upsetting.
“What’s up?” I ask, not inviting him in.
“Got any coffee?” he says, still smiling.
I sigh. Why did my mother have to harp on politeness so much? I let him in even though I mostly don’t want to. “What’s up?” I ask again, pulling my bathrobe tighter around me. My hair is wet and dripping, and being this close to Matthew and his rockin’ bod is just not good for me. Even though I just had a huge orgasm, he’s making me hot all over again.
Stepbrother on the Force Page 1