Step Sister's Glory Hole

The late August sun blazed mercilessly over the sprawling campus of Westfield University as I pulled my Dodge Challenger into the visitor parking lot. Three years. Three long years since I'd set foot on American soil, let alone this pretentious Ivy League institution where my father taught economics and my stepsister pursued her molecular biology degree.

I'm Marcus—twenty-four years old, six-foot-three of lean muscle carved from military training and discipline, with dark hair cropped short in a fade that still felt foreign after years of regulation cuts overseas. My green eyes had seen things no man should witness, done things that still haunted my dreams, and yet nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for what fate had orchestrated for my homecoming weekend.

My stepsister Chloe had been twelve when my father married her mother. I was sixteen, already rebellious, already counting the days until I could escape the suffocating academic environment of our household. Chloe had been a gawky, braces-wearing bookworm even then—perpetually buried in fantasy novels, wearing oversized sweaters that swallowed her slight frame, her chestnut hair always pulled back in a severe bun that made her look forty instead of a preteen.

We'd never been close. The age gap, my impending departure for the Marines, and her general awkwardness had created a chasm between us that never closed. I shipped out to basic training two days after my eighteenth birthday, and in the intervening years, I'd only seen her briefly during holiday leaves—always the same shy, stammering girl who couldn't meet my eyes.

Until tonight.

My buddy Derek had texted me an hour after I landed at JFK: "Bro, you have to come to the Alpha Chi house. Pi Lambda Phi initiation week. Trust me. Wear something nice."

I'd laughed at the message. Derek and I had served together in the 2nd Battalion, and his idea of "something nice" probably meant cargo shorts without blood stains. But I was restless, jet-lagged, and the thought of cheap beer and cheaper thrills appealed to my deprived senses after months of abstinence in the desert.

The Alpha Chi fraternity house loomed like a colonial mansion on steroids—white columns, wraparound porch, and the unmistakable thump of bass-heavy music vibrating through the foundation. I navigated through clusters of intoxicated coeds, their perfume and laughter a sensory assault after the austerity of my recent life.

"Marcus!" Derek's voice cut through the din. He materialized from the crowd, already three sheets to the wind, his arm draped around a blonde in a crop top that left nothing to imagination. "My man! Look at you! Still ugly as sin!"

We embraced, the rough camaraderie of combat brothers instantly rekindled. Derek pulled back, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Listen, I know you just got back, but you need to see this. Pi Lambda Phi's annual fundraising event. These sorority girls are doing the craziest shit for their initiation."

"Fundraising event?" I raised an eyebrow, accepting the red Solo cup he thrust into my hand.

"Glory holes, my friend. The legendary Pi Lambda Phi glory hole challenge." Derek leaned in conspiratorially, his breath hot with whiskey. "Every pledge has to service anonymous donors. Twenty bucks gets you a ticket. Winners get ten minutes in the back room with a coed cocksucker. No faces, no names, just hot wet college girl mouths on hard dicks."

I should have walked away. Every instinct honed by discipline and moral training should have sent me back to my car. But six months without female contact—without even seeing a woman who wasn't wearing a burqa or military uniform—had left me a walking bundle of testosterone and deprivation.

"Show me," I said.

Derek whooped and dragged me through the throng. The main living room had been transformed into a cabaret of debauchery. A makeshift stage dominated one wall, where a statuesque redhead in lingerie that cost more than my monthly salary was announcing raffle numbers. Around her, pledges in various states of undress—some in lacy bra and panty sets, others in sheer babydolls and thigh-high stockings—milled about, their faces flushed with alcohol and nervous excitement.

"See that brunette?" Derek pointed to a girl in the corner, her back to us, wearing a plaid skirt that barely covered her ass and beige thigh-high stockings that made my mouth water. "That's the one I want. Look at those legs. I'd kill to have those stocking-clad thighs wrapped around my face."

I followed his gaze, but my attention was drawn elsewhere. A petite figure near the stage caught my eye—dark hair in twin braids, oversized glasses sliding down her nose, wearing a conservative cardigan over what appeared to be a vintage dress. She looked profoundly uncomfortable, clutching a clipboard like a shield, her body language screaming "I don't belong here."

Something about her seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it. The lighting was dim, the crowd thick, and my brain still operating on Middle Eastern time.

"Ticket!" Derek shoved a small orange slip into my hand. "Number 47. They're drawing in ten minutes. I'm gonna go find some blow before then. Don't wander off!"

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with my beer and my growing arousal. The redhead on stage was now describing the "prizes" in graphic detail—how each lucky winner would enter a private booth, slide their erect cock through a hole in the wall, and experience "the finest amateur college blowjob technique this side of the Mississippi."

My cock stirred in my jeans. It had been too long. Way too long. The thought of anonymous oral sex—a warm, willing mouth with no complications, no expectations, just pure physical release—was intoxicating.

"Number 47!" The redhead's voice cut through my reverie. "Is there a number 47 in the house?"

I stared at the ticket in my hand, then at the stage. The redhead was scanning the crowd, her professional smile fixed in place.

"Last call for number 47! We have a lucky winner for booth three!"

I raised my hand, suddenly conscious of dozens of eyes turning toward me. The redhead's smile widened, becoming genuine.

"There's our handsome soldier! Come on up, sweetheart!"

The crowd parted as I made my way forward, my military bearing automatically straightening my posture. Whispers followed me—Is that the guy from the poster? The Marine?—and I realized Derek must have been bragging about my service record again.

"Welcome home, hero," the redhead purred, taking my arm and guiding me toward a hallway marked "Private Event—Authorized Personnel Only." "You're going to love booth three. We call her 'The Vacuum.' Best little cocksucker in the freshman class, if you believe the rumors."

She winked and pushed me through a door into a narrow corridor lined with four identical doors, each marked with a number. A bored-looking frat boy checked my ticket and pointed to the third door.

"Ten minutes, dude. Clock starts when you enter. There's a timer inside. Don't try to take off the blindfold on the other side—house rules. Just stick your dick through the hole and enjoy the ride."

I entered booth three. It was cramped—barely four feet square—with a padded bench along one wall and a circular hole cut into the opposite wall at waist height. A digital timer on the wall displayed 10:00 in red LED numbers. A small shelf held tissues and a bottle of lube.

My hands trembled slightly as I unbuckled my belt. This was insane. I was a grown man, a combat veteran, about to stick my cock through a hole in the wall for a stranger to suck. But my arousal overrode my hesitation. I freed my erection—thick, veined, and achingly hard after months of celibacy—and positioned myself at the hole.

"Ready when you are," I called out, my voice rough.

Silence from the other side. Then—a soft gasp. A feminine gasp.

"Oh my God," a voice whispered—high, breathy, trembling with nervousness. "It's... it's really big."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Thanks. You can touch it if you want."

A pause. Then—fingers, soft and tentative, brushing against my shaft. The touch sent electricity shooting up my spine. Those fingers explored me with curious innocence—tracing my length, circling my girth, fluttering over my swollen mushroom head where precum already beaded at the tip.

"You're leaking," the voice observed, wonder replacing nervousness.

"That's because I'm excited," I groaned. "Please... put me in your mouth."

Another pause, longer this time. I could hear breathing—rapid, shallow, excited. Then warmth. Wet, heavenly warmth enveloped my cockhead, and I nearly collapsed against the wall.

"Fuck," I hissed, my head falling back. "Yes... just like that..."

The mouth on the other side was inexperienced but enthusiastic. tentative licks gave way to bolder exploration—a tongue circling my ridge, flicking against my frenulum, then slowly, inch by inch, taking me deeper. The sensation was maddening—soft and wet and hot, with just enough suction to make my toes curl.

"Good girl," I moaned, my hips instinctively thrusting forward, seeking more depth. "Take it deeper... I know you can..."

To my shock, she obeyed. That warm wet mouth slid further down my shaft, taking me into her throat with a ease that suggested either natural talent or extensive practice. I felt the tight constriction of her muscles, the rhythmic swallowing that massaged my sensitive underside, and I knew I wouldn't last long.

"Jesus Christ," I panted, my hands bracing against the wall. "Where did you learn to suck cock like this? You're incredible... absolutely incredible..."

The only response was a muffled hum that vibrated through my entire length. She began to bob her head in earnest now, establishing a rhythm that had me seeing stars. Her hands joined the action—one stroking what she couldn't fit in her mouth, the other cupping my heavy balls with gentle reverence.

I was close. So close. The timer on the wall showed six minutes remaining, but I knew I wouldn't need them. My orgasm built like a tsunami, starting in my toes and rushing upward with unstoppable force.

"I'm gonna cum," I warned, my voice strained. "If you don't want it in your mouth, pull back now..."

Instead of retreating, she doubled her efforts. Her suction increased, her tongue pressed firmly against my pulsing vein, and her throat opened to take me even deeper. It was all the encouragement I needed.

With a roar that shook the booth, I exploded. Spurt after spurt of thick, pent-up cum flooded her waiting mouth—six months of stored semen released in what felt like an endless orgasm. She swallowed gamely, her throat working around my spasming shaft, milking every drop from my spent balls.

When it was finally over, when I was reduced to a trembling, sensitive mess, she didn't immediately release me. She continued to suck gently, cleaning me with soft laps of her tongue, treating my softening cock with tender affection that felt almost... loving.

"Thank you," I breathed, my forehead pressed against the cool wall. "That was... that was the best blowjob I've ever had. Seriously. You're amazing."

A soft giggle from the other side. Then silence as she withdrew. I heard the shuffle of movement, a door opening and closing, and I was alone.

I cleaned myself up, tucked my satisfied cock back into my jeans, and emerged from the booth on legs that felt like jelly. Derek was waiting in the hallway, his eyes wide.

"Dude! You were in there for the full ten minutes! Most guys tap out after five! What happened?"

I just smiled, still floating on the afterglow. "Let's just say... I won the lottery."

We returned to the main party, but my mind remained in that booth, replaying every sensation, every sound. I needed to know who she was. The mystery consumed me—the thought that somewhere in this room of lingerie-clad beauties was the girl who had just given me the most intense sexual experience of my life.

The redhead emcee was back on stage, announcing the final portion of the evening's entertainment. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've been waiting for! The Pi Lambda Phi pledges have completed their challenges, and now it's time for the grand finale! Each pledge will perform one final act of... let's call it 'community service'... for your viewing pleasure!"

The crowd cheered as pledges began filing onto the stage. My eyes scanned each girl—blondes and brunettes, tall and short, curvy and slim—searching for any clue that might identify my mystery cocksucker.

Then I saw her.

The quiet girl from earlier—the one in the cardigan and glasses—was being escorted to center stage by two senior sorority sisters. They stripped away her conservative outer layer, revealing a sheer white babydoll underneath that left nothing to the imagination. Her breasts were fuller than I'd expected, heavy and natural, with dark nipples visible through the thin fabric. Her hips flared beneath the short hem, and those same beige thigh-highs I'd noticed earlier encased her shapely legs.

But it wasn't her body that made my blood run cold.

It was her face.

Without the oversized glasses, without the protective cardigan, without her hair hiding her features... she was unmistakable.

Chloe.

My stepsister.

The girl who had just swallowed my cum was the same awkward, bookish stepsister I'd ignored for eight years.

"Oh my God," I whispered, the blood draining from my face.

"What?" Derek asked, following my gaze. "Oh, her? Yeah, that's Chloe something. Total nerd, right? But apparently she's breaking records tonight. Sucked off like twenty guys or something. The guys are calling her 'The Vacuum' for real now."

Twenty guys. The number echoed in my skull. My sweet, innocent stepsister had just performed oral sex on twenty men—including me, her own stepbrother—and she was about to do more.

On stage, Chloe was being positioned on her knees. A blindfold was tied around her eyes, and the redhead announced that she would be "servicing" volunteers from the audience until she reached her goal of twenty-five cocks.

"Twenty-five!" Derek whooped. "Dude, we gotta get in line!"

I should have stopped it. Should have dragged her off that stage, should have exposed the insanity of what was happening. But I didn't. I couldn't. Something darker, more primal had taken hold of me—the knowledge that my stepsister was not the innocent girl I'd believed her to be, but a secret slut who craved cock.

And I wanted her to crave mine.

"Let's get in line," I heard myself say.

The line moved with agonizing slowness. I counted seventeen men ahead of me, each one taking their turn with the blindfolded Chloe on stage. The fraternity had set up a makeshift privacy screen—tall black curtains that allowed the audience to see silhouettes but not explicit details. Still, the sounds carried clearly—the wet sounds of oral sex, the groans of pleasure, the occasional cheer when a man finished.

I watched the chalkboard tally being updated. 18... 19... 20. Each number represented another load my stepsister had swallowed or worn on her face and chest. The thought should have disgusted me. Instead, my cock was hard as granite, straining against my zipper, desperate to be number 21.

"You're up, soldier," the pledge coordinator called out, recognizing me from earlier.

I stepped behind the curtain. Chloe was exactly as I'd seen her silhouette—kneeling, blindfolded, her sheer babydoll soaked with spit and cum, her hair falling out of its braids in disarray. She looked used. She looked beautiful.

"Number 21," the coordinator announced to the crowd. "This one's been waiting all night for you, Chloe baby. Show him what Pi Lambda Phi pledges are made of."

Chloe's head turned toward the sound of my footsteps. Her lips were swollen, glistening, parted slightly as she breathed heavily. She looked like a debauched angel—corrupted innocence that was somehow more alluring than any experienced porn star.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice hoarse from use. "I'm... I'm ready."

I didn't speak. I couldn't risk her recognizing my voice, not yet. I simply unzipped and presented my already-hard cock to her waiting mouth.

She didn't hesitate. Her lips parted and she took me deep immediately—no teasing, no buildup, just pure hungry suction that made my knees buckle. This was different from the booth. There, she'd been tentative, exploratory. Now she was a machine—bobbing her head with practiced rhythm, using her hands in perfect coordination, hollowing her cheeks to increase the pressure.

"Fuck," I groaned, unable to stop the exclamation.

Chloe froze. Her mouth remained wrapped around my shaft, but she went completely still. Then, slowly, she pulled back until just my tip rested on her lower lip.

"Marcus?" she whispered, her voice trembling with horror. "Is that... is that you?"

I said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy with implications.

"Oh my God," she choked out, tears forming beneath her blindfold. "Oh my God, oh my God, please tell me it's not... please..."

Still I said nothing. I couldn't. My mind was racing—should I deny it? Pretend to be a stranger? But she knew. She knew my voice, my scent, something. The connection between stepsiblings, however strained, was undeniable.

"Say something," she begged, her hands covering her mouth. "Please... tell me I'm wrong..."

I reached down and pulled off her blindfold.

Chloe's eyes—hazel, wide, terrified—met mine. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The sounds of the party faded into background noise. It was just us—stepsister and stepbrother, connected by the most taboo act imaginable.

"You..." she whispered, her face draining of color. "In the booth... that was..."

"Yes," I said quietly.

"And now... I'm... I'm sucking you again..."

"Yes."

The tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks through the drying cum that already painted her face. She looked destroyed—shattered by the realization that she'd committed incest, however unwittingly, twice in one night.

"I didn't know," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I didn't know it was you... either time... I thought... I thought you were still overseas..."

"I got back today," I said, my voice gentler than I felt. "Chloe... we should talk about this..."

"Talk?!" she laughed hysterically, the sound breaking. "We can't talk about this! This is... this is wrong! This is illegal! We're... we're family!"

"Stepsiblings," I corrected automatically. "Not blood."

"Does that matter?!" she cried. "Does that make it okay?!"

I didn't have an answer. I should have been as horrified as she was. I should have been pulling up my pants and running for the exit. But looking down at her—kneeling before me, her face streaked with tears and strangers' cum, her lips still wet from sucking my cock—I felt only arousal. Intense, burning, undeniable arousal.

And something else. Something I hadn't expected.

Protection. Possession.

She was mine. She'd always been mine, in some way I hadn't understood until this moment. And now that I'd felt her mouth on me, now that I'd experienced her submission, I couldn't imagine letting her go.

"Chloe," I said, my voice dropping to a commanding register I'd learned in the Marines—the tone that brooked no argument. "Look at me."

She looked up, her eyes swimming with confusion and shame.

"You're going to finish what you started," I said. "You're going to suck my cock until I cum in your mouth. And then we're going to leave together and figure this out. Do you understand?"

Her mouth fell open. "You can't be serious... I can't... we can't..."

"We already did," I pointed out. "Twice. The only difference now is that we both know."

"But... but everyone will see..."

"Let them see," I said, reaching down to cup her chin. "Let them watch my stepsister swallow her stepbrother's load. Let them know you're mine."

The possessiveness in my voice seemed to trigger something in her. Her eyes dilated, her breathing quickened, and I saw the moment surrender washed over her—the same submission I'd sensed in the booth when she obeyed my instructions without question.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay... I'll do it... but please... don't make me look at you while I..."

I considered this. "Fine. Put the blindfold back on. But know that it's me. Know that your stepbrother's cock is in your mouth. Know that you're being a good little cocksucker for me."

She whimpered at the dirty talk, her hands trembling as she replaced the blindfold. Once it was secure, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth again.

The sensation was indescribable—knowing that she knew, that she was choosing this, choosing to continue despite the taboo. Her technique changed, becoming more deliberate, more worshipful. She used her tongue to trace every vein, to explore every inch of my sensitive flesh with reverent attention.

"Good girl," I praised, my hands finding her hair, her braids long since unraveled. "Such a good little stepsister. Do you know how many nights I fantasized about this? About finding you like this, on your knees, ready to serve?"

She moaned around my shaft, the vibration traveling straight to my balls. Her hands came up to grip my thighs, her nails digging in slightly as she increased her pace.

"You were made for this," I continued, my voice rough with approaching climax. "Made to suck cock. Made to please men. My perfect little oral slut."

The degradation should have offended her. Instead, she doubled her efforts, taking me deeper than before, swallowing around my tip in a way that made my vision blur.

"I'm close," I warned. "I'm going to fill your mouth, Chloe. I'm going to give you your stepbrother's cum. And you're going to swallow it all like a good girl. Aren't you?"

She nodded frantically, her mouth stuffed full of my throbbing meat.

"Say it," I demanded. "Tell me you're going to swallow my cum."

She pulled back just enough to gasp, "I'll swallow it... I'll swallow your cum, Marcus... please... give it to me..."

Her begging pushed me over the edge. With a guttural groan, I erupted—pumping thick ropes of semen directly onto her tongue and down her eager throat. She swallowed convulsively, her throat working around my spurting tip, taking every drop I gave her.

When I was finally empty, when my cock had stopped twitching, she continued to suck gently—cleaning me, worshipping me, her tongue darting out to capture any stray drops.

I pulled out slowly, watching my cum glisten on her swollen lips. She kept her head bowed, the blindfold still in place, her chest heaving with emotion and exertion.

"Take off the blindfold," I commanded.

She obeyed, blinking up at me with glassy, submissive eyes. I reached down and scooped some of the cum that had landed on her cheek, feeding it to her. She opened her mouth automatically, sucking my finger clean.

"Stand up," I said.

She rose on unsteady legs, and I caught her, pulling her against my chest. She was trembling—whether from cold, shame, or arousal, I couldn't tell. Probably all three.

"We're leaving," I said. "Now. Get your things."

"But... but the initiation..." she protested weakly.

"Is over for you," I said firmly. "You've done enough. More than enough. Now you're coming with me."

I guided her offstage, ignoring the catcalls and questions from the crowd. Derek tried to intercept us, but one look at my face sent him scurrying backward. I found Chloe's cardigan and glasses, draped them over her shoulders, and led her out of the fraternity house and into the cool night air.

She didn't speak during the walk to my car. Didn't resist when I buckled her seatbelt. Just sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

I drove to my father's house—our childhood home, now empty for the weekend while Dad and Chloe's mom attended a conference in Boston. The irony of bringing her back to the scene of our familial relationship wasn't lost on me, but it was the only option. We needed privacy. We needed to talk.

Or so I told myself.

In reality, I already knew what was going to happen. I could see it in the way she watched me from the corner of her eye—the mixture of fear and curiosity, shame and desire. She wanted this as much as I did, even if she couldn't admit it yet.

We entered through the kitchen, and I locked the door behind us. The house was dark and silent, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer the only sound.

"Chloe," I said, turning to face her in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows. "We need to discuss what happened."

She hugged her cardigan tighter around herself. "I know," she whispered. "I know we do. I just... I don't know what to say. I'm so embarrassed... so ashamed..."

"Don't be," I said, stepping closer. "What happened... what we did... it was incredible. You were incredible."

"But you're my stepbrother," she said, her voice breaking. "This is wrong. This is... incest. Even if we're not blood related, we grew up together. We share parents. We..."

"We're adults," I interrupted. "Consenting adults. And what we did tonight... Chloe, I've never experienced anything like it. You have a gift. A talent that shouldn't be wasted on random frat boys."

She looked up at me, confusion clouding her features. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying..." I reached out and cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing over her still-swollen lips. "I'm saying that I want more. I want you. Not just tonight, but... however long this lasts. I want to explore this... this thing between us."

"But... but why?" she asked, genuine bewilderment in her voice. "I'm not... I'm not pretty. I'm not sexy. I'm a nerd, Marcus. A bookworm. Girls like me don't... don't get guys like you."

I laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh. "Chloe, do you have any idea how you looked tonight? That sheer babydoll, those stockings, your hair falling down... you were the sexiest woman in that room. Every guy there wanted you. Every single one."

"That's just because... because of what I was doing," she said, looking down. "The sorority thing... it's just an act. I'm not really... I don't really..."

"Don't really what? Suck cock like a porn star?" I challenged. "Because you do, Chloe. I've had my share of blowjobs, believe me. And yours... yours were transcendent. You have natural talent. Instincts that can't be taught."

She blushed furiously, the color visible even in the dim light. "I... I practiced," she admitted quietly. "On bananas. And cucumbers. And... and I watched a lot of videos. I wanted to be good at it. I wanted... I wanted to be wanted."

The vulnerability in her admission broke something in me. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight as she trembled against my chest.

"You're wanted," I murmured into her hair. "God, Chloe, you're so wanted. I want you. I've wanted you since the moment I saw you tonight, even before I knew it was you. That mouth... those eyes... you're irresistible."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with hope and fear warring in her expression. "Really? You really want me? Even knowing who I am?"

"Especially knowing who you are," I said, and then I kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was claiming—hard and demanding, my tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste myself on her tongue. She gasped against my lips, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders, and then she was kissing me back with equal fervor.

I walked her backward until her back hit the kitchen counter, then lifted her onto it, spreading her legs to stand between them. Her skirt rode up, exposing the tops of her stockings and the damp patch on her sheer panties.

"You're wet," I observed, my fingers tracing the damp fabric. "Sucking all those cocks... it turned you on, didn't it? Being used like that. Being a dirty little cumslut for strangers."

She moaned, her head falling back as I pressed harder against her clothed pussy. "Yes," she admitted, the word torn from her throat. "I liked it. I liked being... being objectified. Being wanted. Being... being a whore."

"Not a whore," I corrected, hooking my fingers in her panties and tearing them down her legs. "My whore. My personal cocksucker. From now on, Chloe, you don't suck anyone else's cock. Only mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she breathed, her hips bucking as I exposed her bare pussy to the cool air. "Yes, Marcus... only yours... I promise..."

I pushed two fingers into her without warning, finding her dripping wet and tight as a fist. She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I began to pump my fingers in and out of her clutching heat.

"So tight," I marveled, curling my fingers to find her G-spot. "Have you ever been fucked, Chloe? Has anyone besides me ever claimed this pussy?"

"N-no," she stammered, her hips rolling to meet my thrusts. "Never... I've only... only sucked... I wanted to save... oh God... save something..."

"For marriage?" I guessed, increasing my pace.

"For... for someone special," she gasped, her eyes rolling back. "Someone who... who deserves it..."

"And do I deserve it?" I asked, adding a third finger and stretching her obscenely. "Your stepbrother? The man who let you suck off twenty strangers before claiming you for himself?"

"Yes," she sobbed, her orgasm building rapidly. "Yes, you deserve it... you deserve everything... I'm yours... I'm yours..."

She came with a scream that echoed through the empty house, her pussy clamping down on my fingers, her body convulsing with the force of her release. I watched her face—mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushed with pleasure—and knew I had to have her. Completely. Now.

I withdrew my fingers and brought them to my mouth, sucking her essence from them with obvious relish. She watched me, her chest heaving, her eyes dark with renewed desire.

"Bedroom," I ordered. "Now. Yours or mine—whichever has a bigger bed."

"Y-yours," she stuttered, sliding off the counter on shaky legs. "The king... my parents upgraded... after you left..."

"Perfect," I said, scooping her into my arms and carrying her toward the stairs. "Because I'm going to need plenty of room to properly fuck my stepsister for the first time."

I carried Chloe up the stairs and down the hallway to my childhood bedroom, which had been preserved like a museum exhibit during my absence—the same posters on the walls, the same trophies on the shelves, the same full-size bed that suddenly seemed inadequate for what I had planned.

I set her down on the edge of the mattress and stepped back to look at her. She was a mess—hair tangled, makeup smeared, clothes disheveled, her sheer babydoll stained with cum and spit. She'd never looked more beautiful.

"Strip," I commanded. "Slowly. I want to see what I've been missing all these years."

She stood on trembling legs and began to remove her clothing with the awkwardness of someone unaccustomed to being watched. The cardigan went first, falling to the floor. Then the babydoll, lifted over her head to reveal her full breasts with their dark, pebbled nipples. Her skirt followed, pooling at her feet, leaving her in just the thigh-high stockings and her ruined panties.

"Leave the stockings," I said when she moved to roll them down. "They suit you. Make you look like a proper little slut."

She blushed but obeyed, stepping out of her panties and standing before me in nothing but beige nylon that ended mid-thigh. I circled her slowly, examining her from every angle—the curve of her hips, the swell of her ass, the neat trim of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs.

"Turn around," I instructed. "Bend over. Show me your pussy and ass."

She hesitated, her innate modesty warring with her submission, but ultimately obeyed. She turned and bent at the waist, bracing her hands on the mattress, presenting herself to me with her legs spread wide.

I inhaled sharply at the view. Her pussy was glistening, puffy with arousal, her inner lips peeking out like flower petals. Above, her asshole winked at me—tight, pink, virgin territory that I fully intended to claim eventually.

"Beautiful," I murmured, stepping closer to run my hands over her exposed flesh. "Absolutely beautiful. Do you know how many men would kill to see this? To touch this? And yet here you are, offering it to your stepbrother like a good girl."

"I'm not... I'm not offering..." she protested weakly, even as she pushed back against my exploring fingers.