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Stepbrother Master(8)

By:Ava Jackson



Shutting myself in my room to avoid him didn't work. I catnapped, flipped through all the books on my e-reader, and even repainted my toenails. The boredom just made it harder to ignore my libido. And being lazy during the day meant being awake at night, when I'd be sure to glimpse the seemingly endless stream of booty calls coming and going from his bedroom.

By my third night at Wild Cliffs, I was already fucking done. I couldn't stand just lying in bed trying to sleep anymore. I needed some fresh air. I needed to get far enough away from Ford's room to stop wondering whether he slept naked. I threw on the clothes I had worn to dinner the previous day and crept downstairs.

As I opened the front door, a cool night breeze caressed my face. I breathed in deep: dust, grass, animals, wood smoke, and the strange spice that I'd learned was the smell of truly clean air. The stars twinkled in the deep black sky, brighter and more numerous than I'd ever seen in the city. My head's clearing already.

I didn’t go outside with any particular goal. I stood on the porch for a while, just enjoying the peacefulness of the night. Eventually my eyes drifted to the horse barn. Like every little girl in the world, I had been obsessed with “magical ponies” once. Now that I'd seen real herds of show horses running in their paddocks, spirited and graceful, I was falling in love all over again. Maybe I could visit them for a little while.

Filled with thoughts of petting soft noses and offering sugar lumps, I strolled down the brick walkway in front of the house. But when it turned off toward the horse barn, becoming a dirt path, I heard a strange noise. It sounded like it was coming from the tack room. Confused, I ventured closer and heard it again—that sharp snap, followed so quickly by a low moan that they were almost the same sound.

Light was shining through the crack in the tack room door. I glanced through the slim space and gasped.

A woman knelt naked on the concrete floor. I couldn't see her face. Her arms were raised over her head, bound at the wrist by white rope; the other end of the rope disappeared into the rafters. The pale skin of her ass was covered in painful-looking red marks.

And Ford stood over her with a riding crop.

He wore only old, faded blue jeans. The harsh light of the tack room's single bare bulb cast his amazing body into sharp planes and angles of shadow, defining every muscle. And I could see one thing in particular very clearly: the long, thick cock straining against his zipper. My mouth went dry.

With an expert flick of his wrist, Ford cracked the crop over her right ass cheek. The motion was fast and fluid, as if he had a lot of practice, and the tendons in his forearm bunched with the force he put into the blow. The woman gave a high-pitched, desperate sob. Her back arched, pushing her ass toward me, and I could see her pussy glistening. A fresh welt bloomed on her tender skin.

“Just three more, pet,” Ford barked. His deep voice took on a new and strange, rough tone that made my clit snap to attention. “You can do it. You asked for this. Unless you don't care about your reward anymore?”

The woman shook her head rapidly, making a guttural noise. Her sandy-colored hair slid aside to reveal a leather strap around the base of her skull. She was gagged.

I couldn't take my eyes off them. Should I call Mom? Should I call the police? But the tied-up woman was writhing into Ford's blows, not away from them, and moaning like a cat in heat with every word from his full lips. Whatever the hell was going on here, she liked it. Loved it. She wasn't scared at all—and I wasn't either. Some other feeling had frozen me to the spot. A bizarre fascination that went down to the pit of my stomach.

With a shock, I realized that I was rubbing my thighs together, trying to ease the hot ache of desire. I shifted slightly and felt a flood of slickness.

I swallowed hard. My hand slipped under my thin, jersey knit skirt—just to test, I told myself. I already knew I was almost as soaked as the woman in front of me. Even touching through my panties, my fingers felt damp.

Ford struck one, two, three more times, true to his word, and the woman moaned with each harsh snap. He was breathing hard, but not from exertion. His eyes burned me without even facing my direction. The look on his face was somehow both faraway and immediate, consumed by the absolute need of here and now. Almost unconsciously, I rocked into the heel of my hand.

He threw the crop aside to clatter on the floor. He dropped down behind the woman, one knee on either side of her left leg. “Good girl,” he purred. Now his voice was hypnotic, rather than overtly commanding, and it dripped with sin. “Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

Without waiting for a response, he shoved two fingers inside her. She screamed against the gag and pushed back, trying to take him deeper. He growled in appreciation and started savagely thrusting his hand. “Such a good pet; you're so wet for me.” He panted. His free hand strayed to his zipper.

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