by Selena Kitt
But I’m getting pretty horny now, and I don’t know if it’s related or what, but I’m feeling a bit of naughtiness welling in me.
The worst part is that since she remarried five years ago, I can hear my mom going at it with my stepdad every now and then.
I heard it back when I was younger, but it didn’t affect me the way it does now.
Now, whenever they wake me up with all their noises, instead of squashing my pillow against my ears in a fruitless attempt to block out the squeaking bed and moans and grunts, I let my imagination take over.
I don’t imagine those two doing it, of course, that’s gross—I don’t want to visualize my mom like that. Instead, I imagine it’s me with some hot guy, and not just some faceless guy, or some nonexistent guy that my imagination cooked up—the face of the guy invariably ends up being my stepdad’s son—my stepbrother, Scott.
I imagine him on top of me in the dark while my fingers slide down my body to my wide-awake mound, easing my tingling pussy with a light massage. I rub my fingers over my peaks and valleys, letting myself enjoy the sensations of having the soft flesh of my fingertips fondle my folds.
Then my fingers go from grazing and sliding over my cunt to working at the tingling center furiously until the buildup of pleasure explodes in orgasm.
I want so much more than this now, and I wish Scott could give it to me. I’m dying to lose my virginity, dying to feast my eyes on him again, and I’m definitely dying to know what it feels like to actually have his cock in me. Any cock, almost.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a good girl.
I feel bad when I get these thoughts because I know we’re family, that he’s pretty much my brother since our families joined, and do good girls fantasize about their big brothers fucking them?
Probably not, so I feel terrible and dirty, but I just can’t help it.
Everything has come together in a way that’s almost unbearable: the desire to lose my virginity, to satisfy my curiosity about what it’s like to be plowed by a thick, hard cock, to have my stepbrother’s eyes settle on me and see a burning need in them, and finally, to have him take me.
Scott knew me through most of my teenage years, until near my seventeenth birthday when he got deployed.
He’s about two years older than me, and we were pretty close in a friendly way, even though I had an intense crush on him since the moment I saw him. My thirteen-year-old self saw this cute fifteen-year-old guy with clear blue eyes, dirty blond hair, and an adorably devilish smile and fell into insta-love.
My crush got progressively worse over the first few months.
Maybe it was simply having a great-looking guy close in age near me all the time, and his testosterone got to me, but I became in love with the idea of being in love with him, of us being together.
A stupid fantasy, I know.
Even my friends agreed he was dreamy, and I was glad they all ended up just like me—stuck with heart eyes and no special attention from him to take things further. But he was always so friendly and generous with that devilish smile of his, that it was more than enough to keep our fires going.
I didn’t share my fire with them of course; I played it cool since I knew they’d judge me.
In the beginning, I agreed with them when they said he was hot, but said no more than that.
I also tried to hide the fact that I hoped none of them decided to pursue him.
To my horror, after they visited me at home one day, they asked me to ask him if he liked any of them—the most diplomatic way our group of friends could find to approach this dilemma: leave it up to the guy to choose.
“I don’t date thirteen-year-olds,” he said when I asked him, and I happily passed the message on.
He and I went to different schools, so maybe he dated someone there, but I tried not to think about it, and thankfully, he never brought anyone home for us to meet.
In no time, it seemed, he was off for basic training.
I was nearly seventeen by then.
Now he’s in the Middle East somewhere, and I’m grateful for every day that goes by without news because it means he’s all right, that he’s still with us. And every day I get to hold on to the fantasy of him coming home, and having a chance to have our bodies meet in the most intimate way, becoming one.
When Scott started his military training, I knew what it meant, but I ignored the possibility he’d be sent away somewhere to a dangerous area, possibly with no return.
In the meantime, I appreciated his new body and even his more distant personality once he completed his training, and suddenly found him unbearably hot.
As I said, I always had a crush on him, but it was pretty harmless and innocent in the early years.
At the sight of the new him, that crush morphed into pure animal lust so fast.
When the day came for him to leave us for war, my pure love for him won out—I wasn’t sad at a lost opportunity when it came to being fucked—I was devastated at the thought that I might lose my brother.
I cried like a baby, instantly the emotional thirteen-year-old he first met again.
Days before he left I started crying, but I did my best to keep it to myself—bawling in my bedroom alone, door locked, or in the shower.
The day we took him to the airport, I had no shame or control—I wept the moment the cloud of sleep lifted as I woke up, all the way till later that night when he was gone, out of everyone’s reach, and I cried myself to sleep.
I was a mess for days—weeks probably. The fog of grief held me for a while, and I’m sure no one saw it as anything but what it was—a sister mourning the loss of one of her best friends.
His dad tried not to look sad, but I could tell he was terrified Scott wouldn’t come back too.
Our eyes would meet once in a while, and an understanding of the magnitude of the situation would pass between us.
My mom loved Scott too, but not like I did. And definitely not like his dad.
I mourned the loss of Scott while trying to move on from my taboo passion for him months later, the part of me that just wanted him in my pants. I even considered experimenting with this guy I work with, even though I know it’s a bad idea to cross those lines with coworkers. Thankfully, my coworker’s kind of lame and still has acne, and if I’m gonna risk a working relationship, the guy should at least be super good-looking and worth the risk. I don’t want to see a pimply face above me, cracking a lame joke while he sticks his wiener in me—I want to watch an alpha hottie plowing me. A guy like my military stepbrother, Scott.
It’s like I’m obsessed and I don’t know what to do about it.
I guess it’s also because I don’t get out much—I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life so far, and after graduating high school, I just go to my summer job at the movie theater, come home, eat whatever my mom cooks for dinner when she gets home, then retire to my room to read or write poetry.
I don’t have a lot of opportunities to meet other possibilities—unless you count all the guys who show up at my job with their dates, which I don’t.
Luckily for me, I don’t get hit by this burning need too often, and when I do, I lock myself in my room and knead my tingling pussy with my soft, warm fingers, imagining Scott doing all the touching until my body tenses up and releases some of the built-up sexual tension.
It’s not enough of course, but it does the job—it calms me down for a while.
But I’m aching for a real man to take care of me. I need masculine flesh rubbing against mine until I come.
I’m putting away the dishes when my mom casually says that Scott’s coming home soon.
I panic immediately. What does she mean ‘soon?’
Fear and joy seize me at the thought of seeing my old friend, my stepbrother, my fantasy lover in the flesh again, and I wonder how I’ll keep myself from stuttering and giving away my nasty thoughts of him in my eyes.
My mom would be so ashamed of me if she knew.
And if he knew, I
wonder if he’d be flattered or disgusted?
Maybe what I feel for him beneath the lust will come through like it did the day he left.
I’ll probably be so overwhelmed with joy and relief to have him back, dirty thoughts won’t return for days.
“When exactly?” I ask her, my heart hammering against my chest while I try to look cool.
“He’ll be here in a few days,” she says, and I lose it on the inside. My heart is jackhammering, and it feels like every known feeling to man is passing through me at once and almost shorting my brain—almost, because my brain stays alive with an image: Scott, magnetic in his military uniform, within reach.
Then that image of him morphs into a fantasy, and I imagine him shedding his military uniform before me, getting a chance to see every part of his muscular torso nude—his tanned skin stretched over bulging muscles in his arms, a strong, hard chest, and rippling ab muscles.
My pussy starts tingling at the idea of his lean, broad, muscular body in the flesh, half-dressed, then my fantasy suddenly stops as he clutches at the waistband of his pants, as if to undo them.
My mind lets him keep his pants on as the image fades away—guess I’m not quite ready for that part.
My heart rate has stayed up since the news of my stepbrother’s imminent return, and my virginal pussy hasn’t stopped tingling in anticipation.
The day is finally here when he’s supposed to arrive, and I awake with my heart beating ridiculously fast. It doesn’t slow when my stepdad leaves to pick Scott up from the airport, and it speeds up even faster when I hear his car pull up about an hour and a half later.
I feel like I’m actually going to have a heart attack at the rate it’s been going all day.
I can’t help going to the window to watch them exit the car and I keep my eyes on them as they head toward the house.
I feel like I’m going to pass out and have to take deep breaths to keep myself together while I try to decide whether to run outside and greet them or stay where I am and wait till they get inside, pretending like I’m not as eager as I am.
I don’t know who I thought I was fooling—I can’t help myself, and I leave the window almost immediately.
Chapter Two
Scott
I know I’m in trouble the minute I see Claire peeping at me through the window. Not just because from the little I see, the past two years have turned her into a beautiful young woman, but because she’s looking at me with those eyes—eyes she made at me before, but something’s different now.
Way back in the day, her cute little crush was sweet and probably inevitable due to pure biology.
Put two good-looking youngsters with their teenaged hormones going nuts and chances are, something will spark.
I didn’t see her like that back then, but I understood what was happening.
Luckily, she was sweet enough not to act on it, and we managed to build a friendship, an innocent closeness.
I missed her like hell when I was away.
And now, seeing her all grown up like this has sparked something else in me.
I’ve been away a long time, and opportunities to relieve carnal cravings are not exactly plentiful or practical.
On top of that, I’ll be living in a house with a girl who is quite clearly willing to give me what I need—a beautiful girl, with the most incredible eyes: blue-gray eyes full of adoration.
This is a dangerous combination, and I must not let things get out of hand.
I pride myself on discipline, order, and rules.
These values go beyond my military training and job requirements to my personal life—whatever little there is.
Sure, us military guys can get rowdy and crazy when we come back home, or at any moment we get to feel free, but for me, there are certain things one shouldn’t do, and sleeping with your stepsister is one of them.
Rules say it’s a dirty taboo—I’ve known her since she was thirteen, and for all intents and purposes, I am her brother.
Order says certain lines shouldn’t be crossed, and family is family. The order here is that I must not look at her that way.
Discipline is one hundred per cent necessary to resist her and her furtive glances.
I must not look at her too closely—if at all. I know she wants me, and I’ll have to pretend I can’t read her messages. If it all becomes too much for me, I’ll have to leave the house. I must rebuff her if she tries to get close to me in any way; I can’t come home only to cause destruction here as well.
Discipline. Rules. Order.
But she’s got those fucking eyes—those large, doll-like blue-gray eyes framed with all those lashes.
Those eyes could be the ruin of me.
I must not look at them. I must ignore the way they look at me.
“Scott!” Claire runs up to me and throws her arms around me in unabashed joy.
I hold her tightly, savoring the feel of her soft, warm body against mine.
“Claire,” I whisper since some of my blood has redirected itself to my dick. “I’ve missed you,” I say, pulling away as I feel my cock coming awake and trying to make sure she doesn’t feel me hardening against her.
I almost have to pry her off.
Thankfully she doesn’t look too miffed when I pull away and hold her by the shoulders before dropping my arms, but not before the warmth of her skin heats my hands.
“I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed you,” she says with a huge, beautiful grin. “Welcome home, bro!”
I smile in return, appreciating her understanding, her continued effort to keep things in perspective between us.
Then she grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the house.
“Mom’s making dinner—you’ll love it. She threw in some of your favorites...”
I let her yap on while trying not to think about how right it feels for her to hold my hand like this.
When we get inside, her mother stops what she’s doing and comes over to embrace me in motherly welcome.
“Welcome back, sweetheart. Your room’s all clean—fresh linens and everything. We even got you that latest Game-box...”
“Xbox, Mom,” Claire interrupts.
“…in case you just want to relax your mind for a bit. As for dinner, I’ve prepared roasted chicken, asparagus, baby potatoes, and steamed carrots. Even a chocolate cake if you’re up for a delicious, sinful dessert!”
I flood with warmth at the generous reception.
I have never felt more at home than with this family, and I dread the day I might have to leave them all again.
“So,” my stepmom says as we’re eating dinner, “with you back home it is a must that we all do something as a family. Maybe several things, but we’ll start a trip. Your dad and I have been thinking of booking a cabin in Lake Arrowhead, obviously with at least three bedrooms, and with a nice Jacuzzi and everything. Maybe one with a loft...”
As she goes on and on about this woodsy possibility, I nod every few seconds or so, trying not to imagine just Claire and me at the cabin, sexual tension thick in the air and the promise of consummation.
What has gotten into me?
It’s like I have a one-track mind all of a sudden, and as much as I adore my little sister, I can’t possibly risk turning what we have into something more; I can’t risk damaging it, twisting it, dirtying up the purity that is her, and us.
Speaking of pure, I wonder if she’s still...
I shake my head, trying to shake off my filthy thoughts.
“You don’t think we should?” my stepmom says.
Crap, I missed whatever the hell she was saying and I have no idea what she thought I was responding to.
“I think it’s all a great idea. I was just shaking off a memory of... you know, out there.”
I feel guilty for lying and ushering in a grim atmosphere with my words as everyone gets the dark implications, but it’s worth the rescue of my mind from the gutter.
Chapter Three
Claire
I’m a good girl, but I sort of put the idea of the cabin in my mom’s head in the early stages of a plan.
After she told me that Scott was coming back to town, I emphasized how important it was to reconnect and have stress-free time as a family, to continue strengthening our family unit.