Story 1.

Ellen’s POV

“Hmmm… Yes, Cane… just like that…”

Mom’s voice drifted through the thin walls again, low and breathless, followed by a deep, masculine groan that made my stomach tighten.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the familiar rhythm coming from their room. It had become a nightly occurrence ever since Mom took a week off work. It was just the three of us in this apartment, and I was the only one who couldn’t seem to sleep.

I pressed a pillow over my face, but it didn’t help. The sounds slipped through anyway; the slow creak of the bed and my mother’s moans curled around me like smoke. My body reacted whether I wanted it to or not, involuntarily— a slow, unwelcome heat spreading through my veins. I hated how easily it happened now.

Cane wasn’t just my stepfather. He was the man who had been in my life since I was seven. The one who taught me how to ride a bike, who stayed up late helping with math homework, who looked at me differently after I turned eighteen.

Those stolen glances. The way his eyes lingered when I wore my favorite tank top and shorts around the house. The way he cleared his throat and left the room when I hugged him a second too long.

I knew I shouldn’t think about him like this. But the more I tried not to, the more my mind wandered.

The soft buzzing sound of a toy started from their room, mixing with Mom’s muffled moans. My cheeks burned. I squeezed my thighs together, and I swallowed, but the ache only grew stronger.

It's either now or never.

I reached under my pillow and pulled out my own vibrator; it was small, discreet, and far too familiar lately.

I slipped it under the duvet, spreading my legs slowly. My heart pounded as I turned it on, the low hum barely audible over the sounds coming from their room.

I closed my eyes and let my imagination take over.

Imagine it’s him… imagine your stepfather’s face.

The thought sent a shiver through me. I pressed the vibrator against myself gently at first, teasing, remembering the way Cane’s hands looked when he gripped the steering wheel — strong, steady, and capable. Then I imagined those hands on me instead.

A soft whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it.

I moved the toy slowly, following the rhythm I could hear through the wall. Each imagined thrust of Cane’s body against mine made my breath catch. The pleasure built steadily, warm and dangerous, until it finally crashed over me in a quiet, trembling wave.

I bit down hard on my lip to stay silent, and my thighs shook vigorously under the covers.

When it passed, I switched the toy off and lay there, breathing heavily, a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt settling over me.

A soft knock on my door made me freeze.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

I quickly hid everything and pulled the blanket up to my chin. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly.

Cane stood there, shirtless, a towel wrapped low around his waist. His broad chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat, muscles shifting as he leaned against the doorframe. His dark eyes found mine in the dim light.

“Ellen,” he said quietly, voice still a little rough. “You okay in here?”

I nodded quickly, hoping my face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

My eyes trailed down his V line. I tried not to look, but they betrayed me. His bulge remained visible underneath the towel.

He studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he gave me that familiar half-smile — the one that always made my stomach flip.

“Try to get some rest,” he said softly. “Mondays are usually long.”

He turned to leave, but paused.

“And Ellen?”

“Yes?”

His eyes held mine just a second longer than they should have.

“Keep the volume down on your… music. Okay?

You know what? If you want it that badly, why not come to my office tomorrow, if you are free?”

My heart nearly stopped.

He closed the door gently behind him.

I lay there in the dark, cheeks burning, mind racing.

How long had he known?

And why did the thought of him knowing make me feel something I definitely shouldn’t?

The Next Morning

“Morning, Ellen. You’re up early,” Mom said, reaching for the milk in the cabinet. She looked perfectly put together as always — elegant, distant, ready for another business trip.

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a casual tone. “I need to pick up a few books from the library before dinner tonight.”

Mom nodded absently. “I’ll be flying to San Francisco this afternoon. Take care of the house while I’m gone.”

As she wheeled her suitcase toward the door, Cane’s deep voice filled the kitchen.

“Morning, Ellen.” His tone was warm and casual, but his eyes lingered on me a fraction longer than usual. “Sleep well?”

My heart skipped. “Yes,” I answered, a little too quickly. “Very well.”

He smiled faintly, that knowing look flickering again. “Good. I’ll drive your mom to the airport. See you tonight at dinner.” Then he gave me a naughty wink.

Damn, I melted instantly.

The moment they left, the apartment felt too quiet.

I touched the spot on my neck where his gaze had rested.

This was dangerous.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop.

I remembered Last Christmas, when Mom was away again, he caught me wriggling my ass to “Cardi B’s” song.

“You’re killing me, Ellen.” Then he walked away. Left me throbbing and ashamed.

My stepfather looks young for a 50-year-old man; he’s got a cute face and nice abs. I’m not surprised that Mum fell hard for him; he’s hot.

Until today.

“Come here, naughty girl,” he growled finally, voice breaking on the words like he’d held them in too long.

He grabbed my waist and yanked me onto his lap. No hesitation now. His hands roamed — rough, possessive — squeezing my ass through the skirt before shoving it up around my hips.

I gasped, already soaked, grinding down on the thick ridge straining his slacks.

He spun me, bent me over the desk. Papers scattered like confetti. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, claiming, tasting like coffee and restraint finally snapping. His fingers hooked my panties, and he dragged them down just enough.

“Fuck me hard, Daddy,” I begged. I deliberately came to his office just to feel his cock in my pussy again after what he did last night drove me crazy.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t ease in. One hard thrust and he buried himself deep, stretching me, melting me, and filling me until I saw stars. His hips snapped forward, relentless, each slap of skin echoing in the quiet office.

I clawed the edge of the desk, arching.

“Oh! Cane…” Moaning his name like a prayer.

He knew every spot, angled just right to hit that place that made my thighs shake. A sharp slap to my ass. Then another.

Red blooming under his palm. He fisted my bun, yanked my head back so he could suck a bruise into my neck — marking me where no one else would see.

He pulled out slow, torturously slow. I dropped to my knees without being told.

That’s when the knock came.

I scrambled up, yanking my skirt down. He tucked my soaked thong into his breast pocket like a trophy, eyes gleaming. I couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out — giddy and filthy.

“See you at home,” I whispered, trying to catch my breath.

“Make sure you eat your fruits,” I said louder, for the secretary.

“I will, princess,” he called back, voice steady even though I could see his pulse hammering in his throat.

Maybe she heard my moans. I didn’t care. Mom’s on a business trip for three days.

Tonight it’s just us. The house is empty. No more pretending.

I walked out still dripping, thighs slick, his taste lingering on my tongue. I could still feel him inside me — thick, relentless, owning every inch.

It all started when I turned 18. I’m an only child, and my mother was away on one of her usual business trips, leaving just my stepdad and me at home.

Cane took me to the amusement park that day. We stuffed ourselves with ice cream, cotton candy, and all the overpriced treats until we were buzzing and sticky.

When we got back, I was sweaty and gross, so I headed straight for the shower. Cane said he’d do the same after me.

I stripped down, but then I remembered my body wash had run out that morning. All I had on was my thin, see-through singlet, so I wrapped a mini towel around my waist and padded down the hall to Cane’s room to borrow his.

That’s when I heard the buzzing.

“Oh fuck,” came Cane’s low groan through the door.

I figured maybe he was shaving or something. I knocked harder. No answer. Curiosity won, and I pushed the door open.

Damn.

I froze, staring at the sight in front of me. Cane had his thick, veiny cock in hand—hard as steel, and he was thrusting into some kind of toy, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

He’s got a pretty round ass that tempted me to grab it.

My body tingled instantly, heat pooling low in my belly. I wasn’t scared. Just… excited. I couldn’t look away, not like I wanted to.

The buzzing cut off suddenly. He whipped his head around, eyes wide.

“What are you doing here?” His voice stayed calm, but I could see him trying to mask the embarrassment, one hand still gripping himself.

“I… um… I…” I stammered, cheeks burning.

He didn’t yell or cover up. Instead, he reached out, pulled me gently closer. His arms felt warm, steady against my skin—familiar in a way that made my pulse race.

“Do you want to know how this feels?” he asked, expression unreadable, voice low.

“Yes,” I whispered, nodding before the voice in my head could scream that this was my mother’s husband.

That night, everything changed. He went slow, careful, like he was teaching me something sacred. His mouth on me first—then his tongue tracing my virgin pussy until I was shaking and gasping.

Then I took him in my mouth, tasting the sweet-salty mix of him, learning every inch with my lips and tongue.

We’ve kept it secret ever since. No one can ever know about what happens between my stepfather and me.

But tonight I wanted more. All of it.

Thorough. No interruptions.

Later, at home, I didn’t wait. The second the door closed behind him, I pushed him toward the bedroom.

Stripped him slowly, shirt first, then belt, savoring the way his breath hitched when my nails grazed his stomach.

I shoved him onto the bed. Straddled his face.

Call me cr@zy. I just want to be fucked roughly tonight.

“Eat me,” I demanded, lowering until his mouth met my dripping cunt.

Ellen’s pov

His tongue dove in, expert, filthy, lapping my clit in tight circles, sucking my folds.

“Damn! You taste so good.” He murmured as my juices coated his chin; I rode his face shamelessly, tits spilling free, nipples hard from the cool air, and his growls vibrating through me.”

“Fuck!” I bit my lower lip as goosebumps and pleasures flooded me all over, the sensation making my head about to explode.

When I couldn’t stand it, I slid down, hungrily took his cock in my mouth — thick, veined, leaking from his pre-cum.

I sucked deep, gagging myself on purpose, my tongue swirling the head. I got teary as I tried to keep eye contact with him, humming so he felt it in his balls.

His hands fisted my hair; his hips jerked, chasing my throat.

I nodded rhythmically, making his cock dig deeper in my throat.

“Ellen…stop..” I pulled off fast, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“Cane? What’s wrong?”

He clutched his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Face flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead. Not the good kind of exertion sweat—this was wrong. All wrong.

“Call… ambulance,” he managed, his voice sounded thin and frail.

My heart pounded fast. Fear. Confusion.

They all clouded me.

I scrambled for my phone, hands shaking so bad I almost dropped it.

911.

Words tumbled out

“He developed a sudden chest pain, I… I don’t know.” They kept asking a series of questions I didn’t understand. “Just fucking come!”

The paramedics arrived in what felt like seconds but was probably minutes. They loaded him onto the stretcher while I hovered, still half-dressed, thighs sticky, his taste on my lips. Mom was still away on her trip. I rode in the ambulance with him, holding his hand the whole way.

Diagnosis came fast in the ER: acute coronary syndrome. Blocked artery. They stented him that night, but the damage was done; his heart muscle weakened, and his ejection fraction was low. Congestive heart failure followed.

Cane would never be the same; his health failed him.

He sent for Zac three months later. Mum had to resume her shift; life continued.

There was a knock on the door.

I walked to the door with my shorts and tank top, the door opened, and I didn’t know when I suddenly gasped for air.

Zac was tall, broad like his father used to be, with the same dark hair, same piercing eyes. But younger and stronger.

“You must be Ellen,” he said, voice bold and husky.

“Ermm…. Yes!” I stuttered, forgetting what I was about to say for a second. His features were striking.

“You’re his son.” I stepped aside. “He’s upstairs. He’s… been asking for you.”

Cane’s room smelled of antiseptic and old cologne. He lay propped on pillows, thinner than I remembered, but his gaze still sharp when it landed on his son.

“Zac.” Cane’s voice was weaker, but the command in it hadn’t faded. “Sit.”

They talked—awkward at first. Old wounds. Cane apologizing in fragments for being absent, for the divorce, for everything. Zac listening, jaw tight, not forgiving, but not walking away either.

I stayed in the doorway, quiet. Watching the resemblance hit me all over again. The way Zac’s shoulders filled the room. The way his hands flexed when he was holding back anger. The way his eyes flicked to me once, twice—lingering.

Days turned into weeks. Zac started coming more often. Bringing groceries, fixing things around the house Cane couldn’t anymore. I cooked for three now instead of two. Late-night talks in the kitchen while Cane slept upstairs.

Whiskey poured into coffee mugs because it felt safer than wine glasses.

The first real spark happened one night after Cane had taken his meds and drifted off early. Zac and I were in the living room, TV on low, half a bottle of scotch between us.

“You’re so beautiful, Ellen,” Zac said quietly, staring at the screen but not really watching. Then he faced me, “You take my breath away every time I look at you.”

I froze. That was unexpected. “Please don’t say anything else, so I don’t pounce on you right now.”

Zac turned his head, and his eyes met mine.

Lingered.

“I think I want you now,” he groaned. “You don't have to pretend. I caught you staring at me while I was working out this morning. Don’t you want to feel these muscles on you?”

His words sent sparks of desire through me, and my clit picked up the signal.

“I looked him deep in his eye.” Fuck me till I can walk no more, Zac,” I whispered in the most sultry voice, feeling no ounce of shame.

I’m so filthy. I fucked my stepfather, now I’m about to fuck my stepbrother. Call me a whore.

Silence stretched. Then Zac reached over, slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed my knee.

I could feel heat building up from within.

He slid closer on the couch. Slowly, his hand moved up my thigh—gentle at first, then firmer. I parted my legs just enough.

Inviting and urging him to ruin me, right there on the couch.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

I didn’t.

His mouth found mine—rougher than Cane’s ever was, tasting of scotch and pent-up everything. His hands roamed freely under my shirt, his calloused palms on my skin.

I arched into him,

“Hmm, yess.” I moaned straight into his ears as his fingers slipped beneath my shorts, finding me already wet.

We didn’t make it to a bedroom. Right there on the couch, with Cane asleep two floors up, Zac pushed my shorts down, freed himself, and sank into me, slow—inch by thick inch—eyes locked on mine the whole time.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my neck. “You feel…so tight.”

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Slow at first, he gave me long, deliberate strokes that made me tremble. Then he went harder and faster, his hand flew over my mouth to muffle my cries and moans so we wouldn’t wake the house. I came clenching around him, my nails digging into his back. He followed right after, burying deep, and spilling inside me

“You feel so good, Ellen.” He whispered with a choked groan.

We stayed tangled, breathing hard, the room smelled of his cum mixed with mine, and it did nothing but arouse me more.