My Stepbrother's Secret

by Annabelle Winters

  I’ve had a couple of orgasms, of course. I mean, I may be a virgin and not particularly sexual, but I HAVE touched myself. I made it my mission one night when I was sixteen. I remember locking my room door, lying on my bed with the lights off, feeling nervous as I pushed my shorts down and placed my hand on my little mound. I remember searching for my clit, freaking out a bit when I touched it—so sensitive! But then I understood how it’s good to caress the tender skin around your clit, rub your soft, milky-white inner thighs, run your finger along your trembling little slit . . . and if you do that, slowly, calmly, softly, then your clit fills out a bit, and soon you can tell it needs to be touched, that YOU need to be touched.

  I was successful that night, coming quietly, with a series of childish whimpers, all alone in my bedroom with those strawberry-colored sheets and aquamarine curtains moving in the cool nighttime breeze. That was my first time, in a way, I suppose!

  And that’s what I told my friends. Told them I had done it, done it for the first time. Of course, I didn’t tell them I did it with myself! I told them it was Bobby Wagner, this kid whom I had made out with and who had just left town with his parents to move to Germany (I guess his dad was in the Army or something). Yeah, I admit it. I lied. I guess I didn’t want to be that chick who was still a virgin when she got to college. That freak who had never been fucked, didn’t know how to fuck.

  But that night, the night after hearing about this mystery-man Caleb, I fingered myself up in my new room, that room with the soundproof paneling, and as I touched the soft little hairs on my pussy, ran my fingers up and down my slit, pressed down on the tender hood covering my clit . . . yes, I slowly felt myself getting wet imagining my stepbrother—this guy I hadn’t even seen yet—walking into my room naked, his cock gently bouncing as he smiled at me and asked me to suck him as he pinched my pink nipples, getting them perky and hard as I gasped and said yes, I’ll suck you, I’ll suck your cock. But then you have to fuck me. You have to fuck me, Dear Stepbrother. Fuck me for the first time.

  And I was rubbing my clit furiously now, legs spread wide, my cotton panties crumpled and still hanging off one of my ankles, my nipples feeling tight and erect as I pinched them. My eyes were closed tight, and I imagined this guy licking me between my legs now, his hands cupping my ass as I pushed my mound into his face, gasping as I watched him eat me out, and then I sucked his hard cock some more as he groaned, and I reached out and pulled on his balls as he mumbled in ecstasy, and then he pulled out of my mouth, his dripping cock leaving a trail of saliva and pre-cum along my naked body as he dragged his erection down along my pert little nipples, farther down now, all the way down, and he was teasing me now, running the tip of his cock up and down my slit, touching my clit now, and I reached down and grabbed his cock, jerking him off gently as he rubbed my pussy lips with the wet tip of his heavy cock, gently opening up my slit, and in my fantasy I imagined my pussy opening up and start to shamelessly pour its secret juices out, and I was so warm down there, so wet down there, and I felt his hardness start to slide into me, stretching me, opening me up, and I imagined a sudden sharp pain as I moaned and jerked my body, and then the pain was gone as my stepbrother’s cock pushed its way into my dark depths, and there was pleasure, delight, ecstasy, and I felt so stretched out, so filled, so FUCKED!

  I screamed as I came that night, and for a moment I was terrified someone would hear and come running. But then, as I lay there in my new room and looked around, holding my breath to see if I could hear my dad’s footsteps outside, my eyes focused on those soundproof panels all over the walls, even covering the door.

  Shit, they wouldn’t hear me scream in here, I realized. No one can hear what goes on in this room. No one can hear.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  What else did my dear new stepbrother use this room for?

  4

  My stepmom never mentioned Caleb having a girlfriend, but clearly he had girls. Yes, he had girls.

  I saw the first one about two weeks after Caleb moved back. I had just gotten back from school, kinda early, and this drop-dead GORGEOUS woman was leaving. Leaving from the back door, quietly, her face all red and flush, her hair all mussed, her eyes bloodshot and wild. I may be a virgin, but I can tell when a girl’s had her brains fucked out, and I just stood there in the driveway and stared at her as she walked past me.

  She barely noticed me, and I swear I could smell sex on her, the aroma of sweat and semen, the tang of her own juices. And again I could feel that tingling sensation between my legs, and my tits were feeling tight in my blue cotton bra, and I rushed up to my room, feeling wetness on the lips of my pussy, my pink panties already getting damp. I had been masturbating like crazy since Caleb moved back in, those fantasies of him naked becoming vivid and detailed after two weeks of seeing this gorgeous, brooding stepbrother of mine, this guy who could supposedly do it all. Yes, do it all.

  What did he do to this woman that put her in that state, that state where her eyes were still glazed over, a weird half-smile on her lips. She was even walking a bit funny, I thought. What, does my stepbrother have a gigantic cock? Did he spread her wide, stretch her out, fill her up as he fucked her? Does she have tiny blue bruises on her soft, creamy inner thighs from how hard she was fucked just now, in my house, by my stepbrother, just down the hall from me?

  I rushed into my room, flinging my backpack across the floor, the images of my stepbrother already flooding my mind just like my wetness was flooding my pussy. Those strong tattooed arms, those washboard abs, that broad, rock-hard chest. Does his stubble tickle your thighs when he pushes his face between your legs? Does it feel hot and prickly when he flips you over, spreads your asscheeks, licks the cleavage between your buttocks while his long, rough fingers push their way into you from behind?

  I locked the door and threw myself on the bed, pulling my skirt up over my hips, pushing my hand into my panties as I struggled to get the fingers of my other hand under my bra, my bra which was feeling tight suddenly as my breasts and nipples stiffened from arousal.

  My finger was on my clit and I took a deep breath, feeling a shiver of relief going through me as I closed my eyes and started to rub myself.

  And that’s when I noticed it.

  The smell.

  His smell.

  On my bed.

  I felt electricity surge through me as I jumped off the bed and stood up, panties halfway down my thighs, bra pulled up over my tits. I stared at my bed, and then realized that although it was still made, it looked different from how I had left it that morning. I am not the neatest person, but I like to make my bed really well. I tuck the sheets in tight, arrange the pillows just right. Then I make sure the comforter is flattened out perfectly, and I tuck the comforter under the mattress, like they do in hotels.

  But as I looked at my bed right then, I could see that the comforter was no longer tucked in. Not at all. It had been spread neatly across the bed, sure, but not tucked in at all.

  Oh. My. God.

  Someone’s been in my bed while I was at school, I realized. Someone’s been under the comforter, on the same sheets that I sleep on every night.

  Someone.

  I looked at those sound-proofed panels again, then back at the bed, feeling a strange excitement rising up in me. Did this really just happen? Did my stepbrother just fuck this woman in my bed? In MY bed?

  I pulled the comforter off the bed and stared at my strawberry colored sheets. Then I gasped, partly in disgust, but also because I was strangely turned on by what I saw:

  Because there, in the middle of my bed, was a dark spot, a wet patch, fresh and sticky.

  I just fucking STARED for a moment as my mind raced. I was feeling hot and flustered, at one level disgusted, at another level aroused as fuck. Is that what I think it is? Is that REALLY what I think it is?

  I moved close to the bed, carefully lowering my face to the sticky wet patch. I was holding my breath, but finally I inhaled, sniffing the wetness like

some filthy animal.

  The smell was strong, clean, erotic as fuck, and I pulled my head back as I felt the blood rush to my face. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, my stepmom and dad were home downstairs, so maybe Caleb used my room because of the soundproofing? That’s it, right? It couldn’t be for any other reason, could it? It couldn’t be because he’s trying to send me a message, could it? Because he’s secretly turned on by the thought of fucking someone in his little sister’s bed, shooting his cum onto the same sheets where I lay my untouched eighteen-year-old body every night?

  Enough, I thought as I laughed in disbelief at the shit that was going through my mind. A message? Really? Are you really that far gone? Acting like it’s all about you? It’s clear what happened. Your stepbrother fucked a chick in your bed, made her scream as he pushed his cock into her, made her howl as he blasted his load deep inside her. Obviously he didn’t want anyone to hear, and so he used my room, his old studio. It’s not that unbelievable. I mean, Caleb probably feels some ownership of this room even though it’s mine now.

  But in my BED? On my SHEETS? What, did he not notice that his cum had gotten on the sheets? Does he not use a condom? Or did the semen spill from that whore’s mouth after she sucked him. Maybe she just jerked him off on the bed while he played with her breasts, pinched her nipples, licked her face.

  No, I thought as I remembered that girl’s face as she was leaving, walking all funny, that trancelike smile on her lips. That woman was fucked two ways to heaven. Fucked to hell and back. Into the great beyond. She didn’t even see me, she was so wrapped up in her own world. And she didn’t look stoned or anything—I mean I’d seen enough stoned people to know the difference. It was something else, a different kind of high.

  And I want that, I thought then as I realized that all this time I had been getting wetter and wetter, the juices from my pussy coating my inner thighs, and for a moment I was almost scared at how wet I was. What is wrong with me, I thought. Am I really getting turned on by the sight of my stepbrother’s cum drying on my bedsheets right now? Am I that twisted, that disgusting, that filthy?

  But I could not deny my urges right then, and somehow the filthiness of it was taking me to the next level of arousal, and I just took a deep breath, made sure the door was locked, and then slipped my panties all the way off, unhitched my skirt, and carefully lay down on my sheets, shivering as I felt the wet semen of my stepbrother touch my naked ass.

  And then I just spread wide like a little slut and brought myself to a raging orgasm that almost drove me to tears as I flailed and thrashed on that bed, feeling my stepbrother’s cum spread itself over my ass, slide into my asscrack, making me sticky, wet, hot.

  And when I was done, shivering and panting on my bed, I knew this had to happen. It fucking HAD to. My arousal was driving me insane, and I was yearning to get fucked, fucked for the first time, taken hard, deep, with passion and force. Taken hard by Caleb, my stepbrother.

  Yes, I decided that day as I touched Caleb’s sticky semen once more and sniffed my fingers. My stepbrother, this guy I barely knew, was going to be my first.

  5

  Over the next few weeks I tried to get home early as often as possible. My school is only a couple of miles from the house, but the bus takes a long, winding route, stopping every fucking block, and so I started to bike to school. At the end of the day, I would literally RUN to my bike and race home, trying to maybe catch my stepbrother in the act. And that’s when I saw the second woman.

  She was Asian, skinny, beautiful, and I saw her walking out of the driveway as I turned the corner on my bike. She walked past me as I slowed down to get a look at her, and I could see that same smile on her lips, that same satisfaction in her eyes, the way she walked, the way she smelled.

  I stopped my bike at the foot of the driveway and watched her from behind. She had a perfect body, and suddenly I felt a weird kind of rage in me, a fucked up kind of jealousy. I HATED this bitch for getting to do what I’d been thinking about for weeks now.

  Still, by the time I got to my room, I had forgotten about that woman. Because once again I saw that my comforter was untucked, that smell of my stepbrother still lingering in the room, the heat of their sex still hanging in the air. It was driving me wild, and I seriously thought I was going insane as I once again locked the door, crawled into my still-warm bed, and pleasured myself as I shamelessly rubbed my ass into the stickiness that coated the sheets. My orgasm was powerful, raw, wet, and I remember gasping as I stared at my own juices flowing down my naked crotch and soaking into those sheets, mixing with Caleb’s semen as I shuddered and moaned my way to climax. The guilt, the sense of filthiness, the feeling of disgust at myself somehow enhanced my ecstasy, and I wondered if I was turning into an addict, a sex demon, a virgin with the soul of a slut.

  After a month of this routine, it became clear to me that my stepbrother was a goddamn player. He was fucking at least four different women, from what I could tell, and all of them were smoking hot. All of them seemed to be in their mid-twenties, some of them with nice cars that they would park across the street from our house. It was insane, and it was driving ME insane.

  Seriously, I felt like a pervert, a weirdo, a goddamn freak. Here I was, an eighteen-year-old virgin, masturbating like a goddamn demon as I imagined my STEPBROTHER having sex in my room, on my bed, leaving his juices for me to find! If that isn’t twisted, I don’t know what is.

  I still had barely spoken to Caleb, he was so disconnected from everyone in the family. Like I said, he never ate dinner with us. Even when we went out to a restaurant, he never joined us. I mean, why did he even move back into the house if he didn’t want to be around us? He had enough money from his fellowship to live anywhere in the world for a year. Maybe all this overachievement has gotten him fucked in the head, I wondered. Is he some crazed sex-maniac? Is this the guy I want for my first time?

  I’m not necessarily someone who’s romanticized the “first time” too much, but there are some of those old-fashioned ideas in me. I do want it to be someone special, someone I will remember. Maybe even someone I love. Okay, so yeah, maybe I have romanticized it a bit. Oops. What’s a girl gonna do.

  But jokes aside, romantic notions aside, what I want most from my first time is one thing. Just one thing, more than anything else.

  I want to come.

  Yes, the first time I have a man inside me, I want to have an orgasm. That would make it a first-time story like none of the others I’ve heard. To be brought to a raging orgasm that very first time.

  Which is why, now, after two months of seeing the looks on those women’s faces as they leave my house, after my stepbrother took them to a faraway place of pleasure, I am more convinced than ever that Caleb is the one who can bring that out in me, no matter how fucked in the head he might be.

  And so it’s time to suck up my fears and insecurities and just make a move.

  6

  So this evening, after dinner, I go up to the third floor and stand in the empty hallway for a moment. I can hear rock music coming from Caleb’s room—Kings of Leon or something like that. I figure he’s in there, and so I go to the door and stand outside, suddenly feeling like a little girl, terrified as I raise my hand to knock.

  What am I going to say? Do I tell him I know he was in my room? That he’s been fucking women in there for months? Do I just start off being direct? Letting him know that I know? What would happen?

  Maybe he gets embarrassed. Maybe he gets pissed off and just yells at me, telling me that I’m talking bullshit. I mean, I can’t PROVE he was in my room—not unless I get the fucking FBI or police forensics involved. So he’ll just deny it, and maybe start ignoring me even more than he already does!

  But what if I was right that first time? What if he is trying to send me a message? A filthy, fucked-up way to send a message, sure, but I can’t deny it turns me on, gets me wet, has gotten me to the point where I’m standing here outside his door, shivering in my bare feet, feeling like a child about to enter the principal’s office to get spanked.

  Then suddenly I think, you know what, he’s my STEPBROTHER. Like it or not, we’re family now. We’re living in the same house, sharing the same bathroom. Sooner or later we’re going to have to have a conversation, get to know each other. Isn’t it perfectly reasonable for me to just knock and say what’s up?

  So before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I just reach out and knock on the door. I stand there for a moment, anxiety raging through me, hoping that maybe he actually isn’t home or maybe won’t answer the door.

  But then the music goes off and I hear Caleb’s voice.

  “I already ate, Ma,” he says. “You can put the leftovers away.”

  I blink hard now, taking in the sound of his voice. It is deep, resonant, and I think he must be a very good singer. I couldn’t find anything on the Internet about his band or whatever, and he isn’t even on Facebook—at least not under his real name. Who is this guy?

  He’s my stepbrother, I remind myself. Family. So just fucking find the courage to open this door.

  But I can’t. I just knock again, and in a meek, squeaky voice, I say, “No. It’s me. Allie. It’s just me.”

  He doesn’t answer, but somehow I find the strength to slowly turn the doorknob and push the door open, very carefully, to make sure he can see that I’m coming in.

  Finally the door is open, and I gasp as I take in the heavy smell that I’ve come to recognize as Caleb’s own musk, his scent, animal-like almost, but clean and pure in a strange way.

  “Hey,” he says in a deadpan, looking up at me. “What is it?”

  I blink, adjusting my eyes to the dimness in the room. All the walls are painted black, and the ceiling is a deep purple. The lamps in the room are throwing out layers of dull yellow light, casting shadows all around. There are two shiny guitars on upright stands right across from me, and a bunch of weird-looking equipment with wires and dials that I guess must be amps and stuff. They are all piled against the wall, on top of some big, black industrial-looking speakers that aren’t plugged into anything.

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