Watch Me Own This Pu$$y
1221 Words
I still tasted him.
Twelve hours later and I could still feel Jax’s c*m drying on my lips. I could still feel the ghost-burn of his palm on my ass. I could still hear that cruel “Sleep tight, baby sister” echoing in my head like a taunt.
I hadn’t slept. I’d lain in bed with my thighs clenched so tight they cramped, p***y throbbing, desperate, dripping onto the sheets every time I remembered how he’d made me squirt like a w***e and then left me empty.
I hated him. I needed him. I was losing my f*****g mind.
It was three in the afternoon now, sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room. Mom and Richard were at some charity luncheon until evening. The staff had the day off, and the house was supposed to be empty.
I was on the sectional in nothing but an oversized hoodie and a fresh pair of white cotton panties, knees pulled to my chest, trying not to cry from how badly I ached. My fingers kept drifting between my legs, hovering, shaking. One touch and I could f**k myself. He’d forbidden it. I was terrified to disobey and terrified I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
I was so lost in the war inside my own body that I didn’t hear the front door open. I didn’t hear his footsteps. I didn’t notice him at all until his shadow fell over me and that low, dangerous voice sliced straight through the silence.
“Touch that p***y and see what I'll do.”
I yelped and jerked upright. My heart slammed against my ribs.
Jax stood at the entrance of the living room, still in the same black shirt and jeans he’d worn this morning. He looked freshly showered, damp hair, jaw sharp. He looked like he’d spent the night buried in someone else and then washed her off just to come torture me.
He’d seen me this morning. I’d waited outside his bedroom like a pathetic little puppy when he finally came in at nine. He’d walked right past me, phone to his ear, and didn’t even glance down. He acted like I was invisible.
Now his eyes were locked on me like I was the only thing in the world.
“Jax.”
“On your knees,” he said calmly. “Right there on the rug.”
My body obeyed before my brain caught up. I slid off the couch. The hoodie rode up to my waist and my panties flashed white against the dark rug.
He walked forward slowly and unbuckled his belt with one hand.
“You look like you’re about to cry, little sister.” He stopped in front of me, towering, belt hanging open. “Did you miss me?”
I couldn’t speak. I could only stare up at him with wet eyes and trembling lips.
He reached down and cupped my chin hard. He forced me to hold his gaze.
“She's the one I went to after i left, and I f****d her, f****d her twice,” he said, voice cold. “I made her scream very loud. Want to know how many times she came?”
Tears spilled over. I shook my head.
He smiled, dark and cruel.
“Four. And I didn’t think of you once.”
Liar. I could see the bulge straining against his jeans, huge and obvious. He was already rock-hard.
He let go of my chin, unzipped, and pulled himself out. He was thick, flushed, a bead of pre-c*m already pearling at the tip.
“Open.”
I did. Instantly.
He fed me his c**k in one slow thrust. He didn’t stop until I gagged, nose pressed to his pelvis, throat stuffed full. My hands flew to his thighs for balance.
“That’s it,” he groaned, fingers tangling in my hair. “Choke on your stepbrother like the greedy little cunt that you are.”
He f****d my mouth hard and deep. His hips snapped and he used my throat like it existed only for his pleasure. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mascara running, spit dripping down my chin onto the rug.
Every thrust pushed me closer to the edge without even touching my p***y.
He pulled out suddenly, c**k slick and shining, and hauled me up by my hair.
“Bend over the couch. Panties off. Now.”
I scrambled to obey. The hoodie pushed up to my waist, my bare ass in the air, p***y glistening and swollen.
He didn’t warn me.
He just dropped to his knees behind me, spread me wide with rough hands, and dragged his tongue from my c**t to my entrance in one long, filthy lick.
I screamed into the cushions.
He ate me like he was starving. His tongue f****d deep, he sucked my c**t until my legs buckled, his teeth grazed just hard enough to make me sob. Two fingers shoved inside me, curling, pumping, stretching me open while his mouth never stopped.
My body shook so hard I nearly came, but he didn’t let me.
He stood, lined himself up, and slammed on me.
No penetration, just grazing.
Just every inch of his bare c**k grazing me while I'm open, wishing he'd fill me.
“f**k, Jax.”
“This what you wanted?” he snarled, pulling out and slamming back in so hard the couch moved. “Your stepbrother’s c**k raw on your greedy little cunt?”
“Yes, yes, God, please. Oh my God! f**k me please.”
"In huh?" He smirked.
He grazing it on my p***y like he hated me. Like he loved me. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his hips snapped, his slapped it on my c**t.
He dipped his c**k in my p***y, just a little, more like he intentionally put the tip only.
My p***y didn't mind.
It clenched around the little hardness so tight I groaned very loud.
I came, very hard, my fluid splashing on the couch and causing mess all over the place.
He pulled out immediately, spun me around, and shoved me to my knees.
“Open your mouth.”
I did.
He came with a guttural roar, painting my tongue, my lips, my face with hot, thick ropes that marked me as his.
I swallowed what I could. The rest dripped down my chin onto my bare t**s.
He tucked himself away, calm as anything, and looked down at me. I was wrecked, shaking, covered in him.
“Good girl,” he said softly, thumb swiping a streak of c*m across my bottom lip. “Now you've had my come like you always wanted.”
He turned to walk away.
That’s when we heard it.
The front door handle turning.
It didn't open. They probably forgot to take their keys.
Mom’s voice, bright and early: “Scarlett? Jax? We’re home!”
Panic exploded through me.
We were in the living room. The couch was soaked. I was on my knees, hoodie rucked up, face painted with c*m, p***y still gaping and dripping.
Jax didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
He just looked down at me with those cold, empty eyes, zipped his jeans, and said quietly.
“Better swallow fast, little sister.”
Then he went to open the door.
- Writer
