So perfect. So untouched. So about to be mine.
Getting her panties off I follow suit with my boxer briefs, working the cotton prison out and around the tip of my cock, the pain of my member being in this fabric cage so damn painful I feel like my entire insides are about to pop, my balls aching, needing to release inside her.
Moving back to the promised land, my big shoulders wedge between her legs, pushing them open as I dive in, licking straight up her slit as she immediately moans on contact.
“No!” Jenson cries out, knowing damn well what I’m doing now. Good. The asshole deserves to feel pain.
I want him to hear her. Want her to lie and yell and scream and kick and make him think I’m taking something more than I really am. Don’t want him to know his step-daughter and I had a little private conversation beforehand, one he’s not privy to.
“You’ll never get away with this,” her mom yells.
“Probably not,” I call out, responding to her. “The baby’s D.N.A. will match mine.”
“You bastard! You animal!” she screams. I can hear the spit in her mouth as she shouts, hear her wiggling around all the way down there on the floor as she tries to free herself from a plastic zip tie that is absolutely unforgiving, a bind that’s unable to be broken.
I mouth her daughter’s pussy and she moans out, her parents screaming and screeching in horror.
Good. They live life on the top of the food chain, the modern-day ruling elites. This is what happens when the peasants revolt, refuse to take it anymore and in the process do whatever is necessary to take some of the power back.
But this isn’t a shot across the bow. Taking this perfect angel, this untouched virgin, is the kind of act that would start a thousand-year war. The kind of thing a man would kill his brother for.
And there’s not a thing they can do about it.
Jenson’s about to pay dearly for what he did for me, and it won’t involve him losing a single cent from the bank account he so worships.
I’m done thinking about them. Done caring about revenge. Now it’s time to enjoy why I really came here.
Let the feast begin.
4
Juniper
His thick torso, muscles everywhere, pin me to the bed as his lips slam into mine, searing me with a kiss.
Moaning into his mouth I feel his tongue demanding entry and I don’t deny him, my lips opening as he slides past my weak resistance.
I should be protesting, should be denying this rapidly evolving Stockholm syndrome, but my body doesn’t allow it, my emotions overriding what little string of logic I’m still holding on by.
His big mitts slide up my body, his hands claiming my breasts as he groans into my mouth. My back arches as I push my chest up and into his face, practically begging him to do exactly what he does next.
His face drops down to my collarbone, then quickly moves to my chest where he sucks on my nipples, flicks at the taut peaks, and traces circles around my areolas with the tip of his tongue.
Pure lava courses through my veins, the rest of my body jealous from the sexual onslaught of the man who came here to what I would have expected to be a robbery of our home, which quickly devolved into a robbery of my own common sense and decency.
And if I’m not careful he’s going to take something else next…if I don’t give it to him first.
I moan in a way that must sound like this is happening against my will, mixed with a touch of need. It’s push and pull, yin and yang, confusion, and complete clarity.
“Stop,” he barks in a weird twist of irony as my stomach starts to shake and my cunt threatens to unleash right on the satin bed sheets. “Not until I say so,” he growls so only I can hear.
“Leave her alone. I swear you’ll take it in the ass in prison for the rest of your life. I fucking swear it,” my stepdad yells, but I don’t even care. I just block it out, letting this man quickly and thoroughly show me the complete and utter difference between himself and boys my own age. The same boys who I’m not attracted to in such a way I’ve never even been kissed.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper silently, begging him to keep going despite both his and my dad’s threats to halt. But oh are they very different things, complete opposite ends of the spectrum.
The sound of my mom’s cries downstairs are only drowned out by the grunts and groans of the stranger who’s mounted me, the man who I don’t even know what his real face looks like, let alone his name.
“They don’t want someone like me here,” the man mumbles, apparently to himself. “No sidewalks tell a man like me he’s not welcome, doesn’t belong here…that he’s not like them. As if he didn’t remind me of that completely and thoroughly three years ago.”