“Thought I told you I don’t want you bringing her over when your mom isn’t here.” James took a swig from his fourth—or was it fifth?—beer of the evening.
“Thought I told you I don’t give a fuck what you say, Jimmy-boy. You’re not my father, and this isn’t your house.” His stepson flipped him the finger, before pushing his girlfriend inside the house and closing the door behind them. “Let’s go to my room,” he said in a stage whisper, leading the girl toward the stairs. “We won’t be bothered there.”
The fucking brat let go of Beth’s arm long enough to squeeze her ass, and turned to throw a wink at James. It was all James could do not to smash his bottle on the boy’s head.
“Michael!” Beth swatted Michael’s hand away, and skipped up the rest of the stairs.
“Come on, baby. You know you love it.” Michael caught up with her at the top of the staircase, and threw her over his shoulder, obviously not caring he gave James a perfect view of the girl’s virginal white cotton panties.
James wanted to go upstairs, barge into his stepson’s bedroom, toss Michael on his ass, and then screw Michael’s fucking girlfriend on Michael’s fucking bed.
Sadly, that would be wrong.
What was also wrong was that James hadn’t stopped wanting several variations of that scenario since last summer, when Beth had first come to see Michael. All prim and proper, she’d been like a breath of fresh air. Chatty, bubbly, bouncy, with innocent green eyes and rosy cheeks. And that fiery red hair…
James wanted to touch that hair, feel it caress his face, tickle his chest as she rode him. He wanted to fist his hands in it, as he fucked her mouth. Wanted to use it as reins, while he took her from behind.
He’d never felt like a pervert, until he’d met Beth. He hadn’t stopped feeling like one in the year since. Even after Michael went back to college, and Beth stopped dropping by, James kept fantasizing about ripping her clothes off and taking her on the dining room table, in front of his wife and stepson; of sneaking up into the bathroom after her, and pounding her against the wall; of following her home, and making her suck his cock in a dark alley.
Patricia had no clue—of course Patricia would have no clue—that the only reason her husband had started wanting her on a nightly basis was a then nineteen-year-old college girl. His wife didn’t know the man who’d exchanged vows of eternal devotion with her thought of a juicy, barely legal, cunt every time he sunk his fingers or cock inside her. Patricia was just happy in her perfect little family dream, blissfully ignorant of how it could all burst at the seams, if one Beth Knowles bent down to tie her shoelaces in front of James just one more time.
And his stupid, cocksure ass of a stepson kept bringing her home even after James told him he didn’t want the two of them fucking while he was around. When James said it was disrespectful, Michael replied he owed him no respect, so James had Patricia talk to the boy. In the end, they all agreed Michael wouldn’t…entertain when his mother wasn’t around. James hadn’t found it wise to explain that, when Michael made Beth scream, he could pound Patricia into the mattress with a hand over her mouth, and imagine Beth’s screams were for him.
As if on cue, Beth’s giggle came from upstairs. “We shouldn’t. Your stepdad is here.”
Michael said something, gaining himself another giggle, and her protests were soon replaced by soft moans and the creaking of bedsprings.
Cursing the lack of sound-proofing in the house, James took another beer out of the fridge, popped it open, and planted himself on the couch in front of the television. Even the volume set at maximum level didn’t manage to drown out the distinctly Beth mewls. They echoed in his brain. They were burned inside his mind, together with visuals of how her face would look contorted in ecstasy.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. He was twenty years her senior, for fuck’s sake. He was the big round four-oh, when she was still a year from the legal drinking age. James remembered her previous birthday. Patricia had told him Michael wanted money to take his little girlfriend somewhere special. The following morning, things had gotten immensely worse for James’s peace of mind, as his stepson had unsolicitedly informed him he’d scored.
Using James’s money to pay for the hotel room.
While James had turned in early, and spent half an hour bemoaning not having brushed his teeth.
Maybe it was midlife crisis.
He flicked through channels, until he found Animal Planet. The mating rituals of cabbage worms or some such should take care of his hard on.
Still hard half an hour later, he dared turn down the volume to check if the sounds had stopped. Heavenly silence met his ears, and he sighed in relief. If things went as usual, in about another twenty minutes they’d be asleep, and he’d be able to go to his room and jerk off until his dick was chafed.
Things didn’t go as usual.
The floor behind him creaked, and he turned to see Beth tiptoeing toward the living room, fully dressed and without even a hair loose from her ponytail.
Startled, she jumped back a little. “Thought you were asleep.”
“Just watching TV.” He turned toward the screen again. “Thought you were busy.”
“We were. Then Michael finished…being busy before I did, and is now snoring.” She laughed, and circled the couch to sit next to him. “Anything good on?” She indicated the television with a tilt of her head.
Her perfume was saturating his senses, pulling him to her, drowning out all reason. Her arms were crossed, pushing her breasts upward, stretching her top taut against their swell, and causing James’s mouth to water. He had to get away from that perfume with the undertones of sex. Hd to get far away from those breasts.
“See for yourself.” He jumped up, and tossed her the remote.
She ignored it, and got up after him. “Where are you going?”
“To get a beer.” Or several. Anything to make him pass out before he decided to screw it all, screw seven years of marriage, screw Patricia, screw staying out of trouble, and replace Michael’s sweat on Beth’s skin with his own.
“Can I have one?” She followed him to the kitchen, standing too close for comfort when he opened the fridge. He could brush her thighs with his fingers, if he wanted to. He could pretend to look at the lower shelves, and take another sneak peek under her skirt. Her panties would be wet now. She’d be wet from fucking his stepson, and still James wouldn’t mind eating her out. He wouldn’t mind at all lifting her up, laying her spread eagled on the kitchen table, and eating her pussy. Widening her hole with his fingers, before sticking his cock inside her, and giving her the hardest fuck of her life.
He slammed the refrigerator door shut. “No. No beer for another year for you.” Ignoring her pout took up every ounce of strength he had, but he managed to walk past her, and back toward the living room.
She was just two steps behind him.
“Now where are you going?” she asked.
He refused to look at her, knowing she’d still be pouting. “To my room.”
“You didn’t get your beer.”
He could hear her coming closer. “Changed my fucking mind.”
“Mr. Williams?” she called out when he was half-way up the stairs.
With a sigh, he paused. “What?”
She ran upward, and stopped just one step below him. Was he imagining her breasts touching his back? “Why don’t you like me?”
The question threw him, and he turned to face her.
“Why don’t you like me?” she asked again. “Everyone else does, but you’re always growly and rude and—Why?”
She was giving him the puppy-eyed look, and he felt sick to his stomach by the things he wanted to do to someone so innocent. “You’re being silly.” He started up the stairs again, but she grabbed his arm and climbed to the step next to him.
“What is it about me that pisses you off?” she asked, suddenly sounding older. “If you just give me a chance, I’m sure you’ll see I’m really a sweethea—”
“I don’t want to give you a chance.” His mouth was dry.
He couldn’t take it any longer. Couldn’t take her lips so close to his. Couldn’t stand how her fingers burned his skin. How he could see down her cleavage.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her against him. “Liking you would end up with me balls-deep inside you, and you screaming my name,” he said in a rough whisper. “Is that what you want?”
No words came out of her lips, and James decided to up the stakes. He had to make her run away, because his self restraint was worn dangerously thin. Without warning, he spun her the other way, and pinned her arms against her body. “Do you want me to bend you over the railing and fuck you? ’Cause that’s all I can think of when I see you bouncing. I think of you bouncing on my cock.”
She strained against his hold, but he tightened his grip, and brought his free hand to her lips. “Every time you smile, I think of these lips wrapped around my cock, Beth. I think of you gagging, and me pushing in deeper.” He kneaded a breast, part of him hoping she’d protest. That she’d fight him. “I think of coming on these tits. Think of spurting on them. Of making you rub my cum in.” He ran his fingers down her stomach, to her sex, and bunched up the material of her skirt so his knuckles brushed her soaked panties. He’d known she’d be wet. Wet because of Michael, the fucker who had the luxury of being inside her body.
James’s ire rose, and he pressed his knuckles harder against the place he longed to be buried in. “And don’t get me started on this. The things I want to do to this… They’d make you run away screaming, or come back begging for more.” His index finger unfolded from his fist of its own volition, and glided down the length of her lower lips over the soft cotton. “Now do you see why I shouldn’t like you, Beth?”
No reply came. She was trembling in his arms. He guessed she was crying. Good. Now she’d hate him, and stay away from his fucking house.
“Now do you see why I shouldn’t like you?” he asked again.
She shook her head, and spread her legs a bit to rub her mound against his hand.
It wasn’t reason that led James’s actions from that point on. His conscious mind pulled down the shutters and went on holiday, while instinct and repressed desire took over. He pressed his hips against hers, led her to the railing, and fisted his hand in her hair to bend her forward. The time for talking was over. Now he needed to act. To feel.
He flipped her skirt up with his free hand, and couldn’t hold back from smacking one cotton-covered buttock. She moaned, and he did it again. “Make another fucking sound, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week,” he hissed in her ear.
She bobbed her head yes and kept silent, while he pushed her panties aside to plunge two fingers inside her. She wouldn’t need preparation. Other than already being soaking wet, she’d had another dick inside her minutes ago.
The thought of another man having her made James see red.
Still holding her by the hair, he popped all the buttons of his jeans with one hard tug to his fly, freed his cock, and buried his entire length inside her. She bucked and tensed, but didn’t try to pull away, pressing harder against him instead.
There was no way he’d last if he didn’t slow down. He knew it. But he didn’t care about lasting. He didn’t even care about her release. His entire being had needed this for so long, he couldn’t hold back if his life depended on it.
He folded his body over hers, and whispered, “This is my turn. You’ll get yours.” When she strained to look at him over her shoulder, he met her mocking gaze seriously. “That’s a promise.”
She nodded and started rocking against him harder. Faster. Her pussy was strangling him, the slapping sound every time his pelvis smacked her ass, music to his ears. But what made him adamant that this—they—would happen again, every chance he got, was the way she chanted his name under her breath.
His balls tightened. There was no way back. “Are you on the pill?”
Seeing her shake her head almost had the effect of a cold shower.
He pulled out and used his grip on her hair to spin her and make her kneel in front of him. The stairs weren’t that wide, and she instinctively tried to pull back and find her balance, but he’d have none of that. “Suck me.”
She did as she was told, not even flinching when his cum hit the back of her throat the moment her lips closed around his shaft. She sucked as much of his length as she could inside her mouth, gulping down his spendings and flicking her tongue over the underside, until he was entirely drained.
Then she looked at him, those big green eyes wide with mock-innocence. “Now, do you like me?”
He wanted to laugh and cry and tell her that not only did he like her, but he’d also be her slave forever, and he’d start by making her come so hard, she’d pass out with ecstasy. Instead, he helped her up and kissed her fiercely, enjoying the taste of himself on her lips and tongue.
“I like you,” he said, when they broke apart for breath.
Michael’s door opened, and then slammed shut. They hurriedly put some distance between them, and straightened their clothes.
Guilt hit James full force, as he took the stairs two at a time to get back to the couch, before Michael wondered why the two of them were walking upstairs together. He was a bad man, who’d taken advantage of an innocent girl, disregarding society, family, and his own self respect.
That should never happen again.
He heard Michael ask Beth if she’d gotten any sleep.
“Nope. I decided to utilize my time better.”
Glancing back, James saw Michael’s hulking form hugging her from behind, the two dragging their feet down the stairs.
“I had a nice chat with your stepfather,” Beth said. “We hit it off, and now I can come by anytime I feel like it.” She winked at James. “And he apologized for acting the way he did, and now he owes me.”
James had the distinct feeling he’d been played.
Maybe he needed to punish her next time, after she’d had her turn.
Maybe he should make her call him Daddy.
Beth knew she was playing with fire whenever she set foot in Michael’s house, but she didn’t care.
She saw the way Mr. Williams looked at her ever since he promised she’d get her turn, and she knew he remembered that promise every single time Michael brought her over for some naughty fun.
She knew Mr. Williams waited for her—waited to pick things up where they’d left them—but she never went down to him after Michael drifted off.
She wouldn’t go down to him, until he actually told her he wanted her to, no matter how he clenched his jaw or sucked in his cheeks in irritation, making his gorgeous cheekbones jut out, when she’d wave her fingers at him before pretending to give her boyfriend her full attention.
A month had gone by since Mr. Williams had fucked her against the railing, with said boyfriend sleeping a few feet away, and it was all she could think of, every time Michael grunted above her. It was Mr. Williams’ cock she sucked when Michael came in her mouth, his hands touching her body, his tongue dipping inside her pussy.
Michael constantly bragged about having found all her spots and being able to make her come within moments, when in reality she only managed to fall over the edge when she brought Mr. Williams’ face into mind, those blue eyes of his challenging her to admit the truth to herself. He’d ruined her for other men, and he hadn’t even given her an orgasm.
Still, she didn’t go to him.
She would sometimes sneak out of Michael’s room, once her boyfriend was fast asleep, and listen to Mr. Williams pacing downstairs. There was no doubt in her mind he kept his steps loud for her to hear he was there. Waiting.
She was waiting, too. Waiting for him to make the first move.
He owed her.
* * * *
Michael insisted they go to his place after the party, and she went with him mostly to make sure he arrived safely. He’d drunk a lot, and judging by the way he leaned his weight on her, would end up sleeping it off on the sidewalk, if she didn’t walk him home.
At the front door, Michael said he was perfectly capable of letting himself in. She let him try, amused at his efforts to fit the key about two inches above where the lock was.
Her mirth was cut short, when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Williams stood there in nothing but his jeans.
She was extremely glad Michael was drunk. That way, he wouldn’t notice her licking her lips at the sight. His stepfather was illegally hot. At forty, Mr. Williams sported the physique of a thirty-year-old man, who spent hours in the gym. Very few laughter lines were noticeable on his tan skin, his dark-blue eyes and high cheekbones stealing the show. His eyes were bloodshot now, and his dark hair mussed, but still he was perfection personified, with those incredible muscles in his arms and torso tensing, as he took her in. His jeans hung low on narrow hips, allowing her a teasing view of his lower abs and those almost vertical lines that led to what she hoped she’d feel inside her again soon.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asked, not wasting time on meaningless things such as greetings.
When neither Beth nor Michael answered, Mr. Williams opened the door wider for them to come in. “Keep it quiet,” he said. “Patricia is sleeping.”
Beth started steering Michael toward the stairs, but Mr. Williams grabbed her arm. “If you’re not back here in ten,” he whispered, “I’m coming upstairs and fucking you right next to him.” His breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, and she’d never been more turned on.
She nodded curtly, and used strength she hadn’t known she possessed to drag Michael to his bed. She tucked him in and got back to the living room—all in less than ten minutes.
“Do you know you’ve been quite the little cock tease?” Mr. Williams asked, the moment she bounced down the stairs. He was sprawled in his armchair, a bottle of beer in hand, gaze seemingly unfocused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She loved baiting him. Loved the muscle in his jaw that ticked as his ire rose.
“Oh, you don’t?” He arched an eyebrow as he scrutinized her, his expression unreadable.
Beth felt her heartbeat accelerate under his perusal. Despite knowing he wanted her, she still worried that maybe her dress wasn’t flattering enough; maybe she should have pulled her hair up; maybe she should have put more makeup on.
“You come by here, dressed and made up like a little slut”—his voice was even, his gaze locked on hers—“and yet I never get to touch what you so freely put on display.” He circled the opening of the bottle a couple of times with his index finger, before dipping the tip in. “You walk into my home, wearing those tiny little dresses, cooing over Michael—when you’re not fucking the idiot boy’s brains out—and driving me crazy.”
“I don’t come here for you. I come for Michael, and he happens to like the way I look. And what I do with him, I do ’cause I want to, not to drive you crazy.” That was a blatant lie. She’d stopped being into Michael the moment she’d noticed Mr. Williams looking at her legs, and that was the first time she ever set foot inside the Williams residence.
He left his beer on the table by his side, and laced his fingers together on his sculpted stomach. “Take off your dress.”
She could do nothing but stare for a few moments, indignation and lust fighting for control over her mind and body.
“I said”—he narrowed his eyes—“take off your fucking dress.”
“I will do no such thing!” She meant it. It would take more than a barked order to get her naked.
“Oh, you will. You see, you and I have a score to settle, and I never back down on a promise.” He edged forward, and placed his elbows on his knees. “Now lose that, before I rip it off you.”
His words made her soak the tiny thong she wore. With trembling fingers, she lowered the straps of her silk dress and let it slide down her body, enjoying its caress on her skin until it pooled at her feet. “Better?”
“You’re disrespectful, Beth, and disrespectful girls need a lesson in manners.” His expression was stony. “Come here and lie across my lap.”
She laughed. The concept was silly. What they both wanted was sex—the sooner, the better. She saw no reason for theatrics.
Laughing wasn’t the smart thing to do.
Mr. Williams was on his feet, and grabbing her by the hair in the blink of an eye. One of her heels slipped off, as she lost her footing. “Hey!” Ignoring her protest, he dragged her back to the armchair, and reclaimed his seat, forcing her on her stomach across his knees.
“You will respect me, Beth.” He stressed his point with a hard slap on her ass. “When I say you do something, you will do it.”
She couldn’t bite back a shocked cry.
“You see, you’re a little slut”—another slap accompanied his words—“who thinks she can play with me.” Smack. “You’ll soon realize that’s not the case.”
She brought her arms under her body, and tried to get free from his grip, but he planted his elbow between her shoulder blades, tightening his hold on her hair.
Caressing a butt cheek, he leaned closer to her face. “You’re a dirty little slut, wearing this”—a finger snaked beneath the strip of lace comprising the back of her thong—“and expecting me to do nothing about it.” His hand returned to smacking her asscheeks.
His harsh words and gruff voice made her blood pump in her veins, but it was the stinging on her flesh that made her crazy with want. Every time she began to lose herself in the pain and pleasure the spanking evoked, he would change the rhythm. “Stop that,” she said halfheartedly. “They’ll hear.”
“Not if you keep your nasty little mouth shut. You do not get to tell me what to do.” This time the blow landed lower, making her moan. A fresh gush of liquid pooled between her legs. “Do you get that?” He rubbed the tender flesh, his soothing touch belying his commanding tone.
Beth kept her mouth shut, refusing to show him how much she enjoyed his ministrations. Her treacherous body kept pushing back toward his hand, though. She needed to get some friction. Needed to be touched. And the bastard knew it.
“Do you?” He slid his finger along her slit, pushed her flimsy thong aside, and flicked her clit.
“Yes,” came her gasped reply.
She guessed he was going for ‘Mr. Williams,’ but decided to up the stakes. “Yes, Daddy.”
He went rigid long enough for her to wonder if she’d done something wrong, but then he was pulling her up and claiming her lips for a fierce kiss. His tongue demanded entrance at once, and she granted it eagerly, melting into him.
“I see there’s hope for you yet,” he said with a smile when they broke apart.
She let him seat her on one of his thighs, her legs dangling between his knees, his arm wrapped around her waist. Her body was tense with anticipation of what he’d do next, yet she already missed the feel of his fingers on her.
“Now be a good girl, and let Daddy make sure you’ve been nice, yes?” His voice sounded raspy, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one embarrassingly turned on by their role playing.
She nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
He ran the knuckles of one hand down her cheek. “Have you been with any boys?” His touch was gentle, almost reverent.
“What do you mean, Daddy?”
“Has any boy…touched you?” His tone was serious.
She bit her lip innocently, and brought a hand up to her breasts. “There is a boy who touched me here.” She ghosted her fingers along the pale flesh, then pinched the nipple.
He squirmed beneath her, his gaze burning her. “Has he, now? Show me what else he did.”
Lowering her eyelids, she shook her head. “I’m ashamed.”
“Then let me guess. Did he do this?” He lowered his head and closed his lips around one nipple.
He sucked on it, grazing it with his teeth, and Beth arched her back. “Yes.”
He slid his fingers along the underside of her knee, and then moved them up her inner thigh. “Did he touch you here?” he asked huskily.
“How far up did he go?”
She just shrugged, and his fingers drifted higher, drawing slow circles all the way to her mound. “Did he touch this?” He brushed her clitoris.
When she didn’t reply, he pinched the sensitive bud between index and middle finger. “Did he?”
“Yes. Yes.” She bit her lip to keep a moan from escaping. Someone really might hear, and what then?
He slipped a finger inside her pussy, then two, and she no longer cared. Her hands flew to his hair, and she grasped at it so she could turn his face to hers.
He didn’t kiss her, stopping an inch from her lips instead. He pumped his fingers lazily, and she kept rocking her hips, trying to make him go faster.
“Did you enjoy it as much as you’re enjoying it now?” His voice was a low growl.
“No. No, Daddy.”
“Good.” He withdrew, leaving her feeling bereft.
Before she could protest, she heard the sound of buttons popping—the same sound she remembered from their one and only time together.
“You were a naughty girl, letting boys touch you, so Daddy will have to make sure you know that’s only for him to do,” he said, lifting her so she straddled him. One hard tug, and her tiny underwear was history.
His cock felt as big as it looked, as he lowered her on it slowly, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Once she was completely impaled on him, he slid his hands up, caressing her sides before cupping her breasts. “I want you to ride me until you learn your lesson,” he whispered. “I want to fuck you so hard, you’ll be feeling me inside for days. I want to be the only man who touches you. The only man who feels your sweet pussy strangling him. You let anyone”—he looked upward—“touch you again, and I’ll have to kill him. Are we clear on that, Beth?”
She gulped. “Yes, Daddy.”
This time he didn’t pull back, when she sought out his lips, but returned her kiss with such urgency, it scared her.
He started pumping his hips, driving in and out of her in an ever increasing tempo, swallowing her every gasp, breathing in her every sigh. His hands latched onto her fiercely, leaving red marks on her fair skin.
She brought her feet to the sides of his thighs, and balanced her weight so she could raise and lower her body to his rhythm. She loved the feel of him sliding in and out of her, so thick. So hard.
He bit her neck, sucked at the sensitive flesh, and she let out a breathy moan. When he covered her mouth with one large palm, she nearly came. She wasn’t a virgin before Michael. She’d had her share of sexual partners. Still, she’d never have imagined she’d find something like this show of dominance so erotic.
Then again, she’d never imagined she’d find it erotic to call her boyfriend’s stepdad Daddy, while he fucked her in his family’s living room.
What they were doing was wrong on so many levels. They were betraying people who loved them.
And she couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck about anything but the feel of his cock filling her, stretching her, bringing her closer to the edge.
He grabbed her hips with both hands, and started slamming into her even harder, his balls slapping against her ass.
She was close. All she needed was… She reached down and rubbed her clit vigorously, just as Mr. Williams pushed a finger coated with her juices inside her ass.
She’d never felt this way before. The all-consuming pleasure seemed to short circuit her every nerve ending. White fire burst through her veins, making her legs shake and her hands tremble, while her body convulsed on top of him. Stars burst behind her closed eyelids, as rapture washed over her, nearly making her lose consciousness.
Mr. Williams kept moving inside her while she rode out her orgasm, then suddenly lifted her and coated her stomach with his own release.
They sat there for what felt like an eternity, sticky fluid dripping from her on him. Finally, she said, “I have to go.”
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her when she tried to stand. “I meant everything I said. I will kill whoever touches you.”
“I know.” She nodded. “I’ll break up with him in the morning.” She winced getting off his lap, and he grinned with pride.
“You better wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Williams,” she said, eyes narrowed. “If he doesn’t fuck me, you don’t get to see me.”
“Let me worry about that.” He stood and walked to the kitchen. Seconds later, he returned with a dish towel. Not saying another word, he knelt in front of her, and started wiping down her front.
When she was clean, he threw the rag aside, wrapped both arms around her legs, and nuzzled her belly. She flexed her fingers into his unruly curls. With a sigh, he stood and handed her dress to her, then buttoned his fly.
She knew he’d be sleeping next to Patricia—with Patricia—minutes after she walked out of his house.
He led her to the door and kissed her softly. “I will see you soon, beautiful,” he whispered against her lips.
Letting this thing between them happen again would be begging for trouble. “I’ll be waiting, Daddy.”