"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.

STORY 2

Resignation sex

Clara had survived two years under Dave Hargrove's thumb-endless overtime, frozen salary, casual insults disguised as "feedback," all while he bought another yacht and another mistress. Today the breaking point finally arrived.

Dave Hargrove, a hot billionaire and the CEO of Hargrove LTD. Everyone knows him to be a womanizer even though he doesn't mix business with pleasure.

Clara stood in front of her mirror that morning, intentionally late.

"It's my last day after all; why should I be in a rush?" She heaved, trying to sigh her worries away. She smoothed her black pencil skirt over her hips. It hugged her curves just right.

"I'm going to dress as sexy as I want; no more T-shirts and pants. Fuck you, Dave!"

She picked a white blouse that buttoned up to her neck but left the top one open; a hint of a lace bra peeked out.

She danced around the room, spraying a light perfume on her wrists-jasmine and chocolate.

It lingered in the air as she moved. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back.

"Final touch." She muttered as she smeared the red lipstick on her curved lips.

Clara folded the resignation letter into her purse. Two years of long hours, skipped lunches, and low pay. She would hand it to Dave and tell him everything. The unfair tasks.

"Here you go, Mr. Dave, cocksucker! A quick piece of advice for the billionaire who treats his staff poorly, underpays them, and makes them work their asses off for penury. Fuck you, Dave!! I don't care if I get sued. Here's my resignation letter, user!!

Clara poked her middle finger at the mirror dramatically, sticking out her tongue.

"Calm down, Clara; this is how we deal with your shithead boss." She adjusted her blouse and made for the door.

At the office, heads turned as she walked in.

Colleagues whispered. 'Clara looks different today,' one said. She narrowed her eyes at them; her heels clicked on the marble floor.

The scent of her perfume trailed behind. Dave's eyes flicked up from his desk when she entered his office.

He had bags under his eyes, Clara noticed. "Who cares? He might be out banging a whore at an expensive hotel," she cursed underneath her breath.

Meanwhile, Dave just lost a contract worth 100 million dollars.

"Morning, Clara," he muttered. His voice sounds rough from lack of sleep. Clara simply nodded and set his coffee down. Black, no sugar. Steam rose from the cup.

The day dragged on. Emails piled up.

Dave kept barking orders. "Clara, handle these reports. Call the clients. Reschedule everything."

She typed fast, her fingers aching on the keys, "It all ends today." She kept encouraging herself.

Lunch came and went, and Clara grabbed an apple from her drawer. There was no time to eat more.

The resignation letter stayed in her purse. She glanced at the clock. Five PM. Workers filed out, waving goodbyes.

"See you tomorrow, Clara." She forced a smile.

By eight PM, the office emptied, and the lights dimmed in the halls. Only Clara's desk lamp glowed. She was working overtime as usual; papers rustled as she sorted files and paperwork.

Dave's door creaked open. He stepped out, tie loose, shirt untucked. A whiskey glass in his hand, ice clinked as he shook the whiskey glass drunkenly. His steps were unsteady.

"Hey beautiful." His voice came out rough and seductive, and he leaned on the doorframe. Eyes scanned her.

Clara jumped up; the skirt rode up a bit as she sat. She was caught unaware. Her blouse stretched across her chest when she reached for a pen.

"Still here?" Dave slurred.

Clara looked up; she felt her heart beat faster, but it wasn't fear. "Finishing up," she swallowed.

He walked closer. The smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne. Sharp and woody. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his manly chest and faint tattoos.

"Why does he look extra hot tonight?" Whispered to herself, but Dave heard. He stopped by her desk.

Fingers tapped the edge. "You look... good tonight." His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower. To the curve of her breasts under the fabric. Clara shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs together. The letter burned in her mind, but her body was giving a weird signal.

Now is not the time to succumb to pleasure, Clara. She thought.

She cleared her throat. "After so much thought about this, I've decided to tender my resignation letter, Dave!" She blurted.

"I've had enough of your orders roaring in my ears every now and then, enough of the news about 'my CEO' fucking some stripper. I... I have had enough of being overworked and underpaid." She breathed heavily, like those words hurt her more than him.

Dave took a sip, unbothered about the rant epistle; liquid swirled in the glass.

"Lost that big deal today. Everything's shit." He set the glass down.

Hard. It rattled. "But you... you're always here. Loyal." His hand brushed her shoulder; Clara suddenly became calm, his hand warm through the blouse.

She froze. Her skin tingled where he touched. "What if I make it worth it? What if we strike a deal?" he said slowly. His eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry.

Clara swallowed. 'What do you mean?' Her pulse quickened.

He leaned in. Breath hot on her ear. "One night with me and I'll pay you four times your salary. Right now."

His fingers trailed down her arm, teasing her softly.

"Make me feel good, and you'll get your reward right away."

Goosebumps rose all over Clara. She thought of the bills and the empty fridge and kitchen at home. Two years of nothing. One more time of being used. Just once.

She met his eyes. Nodded slowly. "Okay."