Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
My phone is face down on the passenger seat. I don’t dare flip it over. I know exactly what’s waiting there: not one, not two, but four text messages from Kayleigh McEnroe, each one a new punch to the sternum. I replay the sequence in my head as the city streaks past:
I was at Spoon and Stable, a dinner I did not want to be at, across from Kristen—she’s six feet in her heels, all limbs, a bottle-blonde Valkyrie with the kind of ass that’s the obvious work of a talented surgeon. She wore a backless dress, nothing underneath. She spent the first hour talking about Love Island and the second hour talking about her “crypto portfolio,” which is code for “I have two grand in Dogecoin and need a reason to bring it up on dates.”
The only thing that kept me present was the way Kristen looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention: up through her lashes, pupils dark and huge, like she wanted to start a fire right there at the white linen table. She’d have blown me in the men’s room if I so much as nodded. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but some primitive part of me was already elsewhere, pacing a cage, waiting for something better.
Then my phone buzzed. I figured it was work, my run group, or maybe even another woman that I’ve been dating. I keep a couple in rotation. It’s nothing personal, it’s just the way I operate.
But when I opened my phone, what I saw stunned me. It was a photo of my innocent little stepsister, standing in front of a mirror, just the edge of a towel at her hip, blonde hair loose and wild, her tits so big and perfect they seemed like a Photoshop prank. The areola was this sensual, dusky pink, the kind you only see in late-night Cinemax and never in real life. She held the phone in one hand, other hand just barely covering a nipple. I felt a rush of heat, unexpected, dizzying, as my cock instantly hardened.
Two seconds later, another one: Kayleigh, this time sitting on her bed, the towel gone, her thighs parted just enough to reveal the pink wetness of her pussy. She wasn’t even looking at the camera, just off to the side, lips parted, the tip of her tongue visible as she bit it. Her left hand was between her legs, spreading herself open, a perfect rose triangle glistening with female nectar. Her clit was enormous, almost swollen. She looked sensual, womanly, and like an absolute slut in control.
Then the third: this one a close-up, full spread. Not even a pretense of modesty. Her fingers pinched her labia apart, index and middle straining, the inner lips of her vag peeled back and dripping, her clit perched like a ripe berry above the slit. The focus was slightly off, but it made it look even dirtier—like a screenshot from a cam site, sent just for me. I wanted to fall to my knees. I wanted to press my mouth to that steaming snatch, worshipping it with my lips and tongue until Kayleigh came like a wild animal on my face. I wanted to see more.
Clearly, I lost the thread of Kristen’s conversation altogether. I could see the Amazon’s lips move, but I heard nothing. All I could think of was the color of Kayleigh’s nipples, the soft shadow under her breast, the slick shine of her cunt.
I locked the phone, turned it over, but I couldn’t stop.
When the buzz came, minutes later, I flipped my cell over again. This was the photo that broke me: Kayleigh, on her side, one leg pulled up and propped on the headboard, camera set up on a timer and aimed at her ass. She reached back and spread her cheeks, exposing her pink, perfectly puckered asshole, a glisten of lube or spit making it shine. Her foot was still in a high heel—trashy, dangerous, totally deliberate. She had her face turned toward the lens, just visible in the mirror, and the look was pure invitation. If she’d said “Daddy” I would have ejaculated on the spot but instead, I was at this fucking dinner. What I wouldn’t have given to press my mouth to that tight asshole, slipping my tongue into her rectum to hear her shriek. What I wouldn’t love to have Kayleigh experience an intense anal orgasm with my cock buried deep in her anal canal, stretched so hard she winced with discomfort.
I spent the rest of the dinner pretending to care about the menu, but every time I blinked, I saw Kayleigh. My stepsister. My stepsister’s asshole. Her breasts, her tight pink vag. I was hard for the rest of the night, half-hard even now, hours later, the memory churning in my bloodstream like fentanyl.