Chapter 14
whiskey dick
Elias
I'm so fucking angry. I need to punch something.
I took an Uber downtown right after Saige and Nolan left and sat in a couple of bars alone, pre-gaming my problems away before the concert tonight. I tried to start a couple of fights, but no one was dumb enough to take the bait today.
Too fucking bad.
I can't believe she made me come in my fucking pants like that.
I can't stop thinking about it, though—her round, bare ass across my lap, her cheek red from my punishment, the way she screamed and writhed against me.
I couldn't stop myself from grinding against her, and when I did, she'd arch her back, and I'd get a glimpse of her pink pussy.
So I just kept spanking her until her cheek was swollen, and my dick was about to fucking explode.
I've never been so turned on in my life. She deserves to be punished for that, too.
What was she thinking? The little pink-haired killer can't stop running her fucking mouth to me, even after she agreed to do whatever I fucking wanted. She knows what the consequences could be, and then she starts grinding against my dick like that?
I want to fucking choke her. But that turns me on, too. Fuck.
I'm going to have to do something about this, or it's only going to get worse. What's left of my rational side says I need to get my stepsister the fuck out of my house so that I can stop obsessing over her. It worked once before…eventually.
But the other side—the one that's much fucking louder now than it has been in years—tells me I'm wrong.
I don't need to get rid of Saige. Saige needs to start getting on her knees and on her back and showing me how much she appreciates the benevolence I've shown the cunt who ruined my life. Especially after I've saved hers twice.
In fact, why hasn't she fucking done it already?
I could go home and tell her that the chores and the homework aren't good enough, and I want what she's giving to Dax and Nolan or the deal is off. I think she's expecting it, anyway.
But that's not what does it for me. She'd be angry, and that's not what I want.
I want desperate. I want pathetic. I want my stepsister ashamed while she takes my dick any way I fucking want to give it to her.
I want to watch the embarrassment burn her cheeks afterward while she knows she's too fucking weak for it to ever say no.
I want to be able to humiliate and degrade her the way I do now while we're both fully aware the moment I pull out my throbbing cock, she'll be on her knees.
But I don't know how to make that happen.
Dax said if I was just a little bit nice to her, she'd probably do whatever I wanted. Maybe he's right; I could try it. Not too nice, or she'd be suspicious.
I can see how it might work. Aside from the obvious daddy issues, I don't think the girl has even had a friend in years. I mean, sure, that's my doing, but still…
I saw the way she looked at me when I uninvited Sasha to the party and kicked Rhys and his crew out of the house.
The security guard scans my ticket and checks my ID before I step into the venue with a couple of guys I used to play hockey with and the girls they brought. I've been waiting for this concert for fucking months. I need to stop thinking about fucking my stepsister and enjoy it.
Besides, one of them has been hanging on my arm and smiling at me the entire hour we spent in line. She has wavy brown hair and a septum ring like Saige, and I can tell she wants to fuck.
We go to the bar when we get inside and order some shots. Before I take mine, the girl, Charley, takes it from me, and, just as I'm about to bitch her out, tucks it into her cleavage.
"Go ahead and take it," she says, arching her back.
"You don't know what you've just done," I tell her.
"I think I do."
I look her up and down before dipping my head, taking my time picking up the shot glass with my teeth before draining the contents and setting it back on the table.
"Nice work," she says. "Such precision."
"I'm very methodical."
"I bet you are."
We order a couple more shots before the show starts, and then make our way to our spots. But we aren't even through the opening set before Charley has her hand in my pants, no-so-discreetly jerking my cock in the dark space.
"Jesus, you're huge," she says. "I knew you would be."
My thoughts instantly drift to Saige again.
Saige, who probably can't even sit down comfortably after what I did earlier, stroking me in her fist, knowing she disappointed me and she owes me, or else I might not give her a ride home tonight.
I might just leave her here if she can't make it up to me.
Fuck, that's a pretty sight. Not enough for me to come in my pants, thankfully. That's not really something I want to do again.
"I want to suck it now, and when we leave here, you can come home with me and have me any way you want."
That's all I need to hear.
I drag Charley into the men's washroom with me. No one bats an eye when we pass them on our way into the stall, and when I pull out my dick, her eyes go wide.
"You said you knew it was huge. You started this," I tell her. "Are you going to finish it, or what?"
"I'm always up for a challenge."
She bites her lip and drops to her knees, wrapping her hand around the base of my dick and opening wide, looking up at me with big blue eyes while she tries to take me into her throat and gags.
It feels fucking good, but… "Close your eyes," I tell her.
I can tell she doesn't understand; it's just that it's hard for me to look down at her when the watery eyes I want to see looking up at me are light brown, the color of amber.
I let her lick and suck it like a fucking lollipop while my mind wanders to that girl with the amber eyes, picturing her cheeks burning while they hollow around my dick. The girl in my head looks scared and weak, hopeless and desperate for my cock, just like the way I want her.
I groan, grabbing a fist full of wavy brown hair. "That's it, baby," I say to that girl while thrusting into Charley's throat. "Choke on it."
But I can't quite get the girl on her knees with my dick in her mouth to turn into Saige. She's making too much noise—these weird high-pitched little shrieks while she sucks on it—and it's pulling me right out of my fantasy.
And from the sound of it, Sleep Token has taken the stage now. And I still can't fucking come.
I close my eyes and remember the way Saige squirmed on my lap earlier, and finally get close, but then Charley lets my dick drop from her lips.
"Holy shit," she says, gasping for air while she pumps me in her fist. "I need a break. Tell me what to do."
"Stop talking," I growl. I can't hear her voice anymore. It's ruining it, and that just pisses me off more. I came in my fucking pants on the couch earlier, and now I have a fucking smoke show on her knees in the bathroom for me just minutes after meeting her, and I can't even come?
What the hell is wrong with me? What did Saige do to me?
She licks me from base to tip a few times while she catches her breath and then takes me into her throat again. I grab her hair tighter, fucking her mouth faster. She's gagging now—and that helps. She can't make those noises if she's gagging.
I picture Saige half-naked and crying on my bedroom floor the way she was that night, but instead of crawling on her knees toward Dax, she falls at my feet with her mouth open, and I'm fucking her face, tears running down her cheeks the way they are Charley's now.
I'm so close now. I'm going to explode.
She must taste it, too, because she gazes up at me with those fucking blue eyes I don't want to see, satisfaction on her face, and it slips away from me again.
"Fuck!"
I let her go, and she stumbles on her knees a little before righting herself. "What the hell? Elias, what's the problem?"
"Get out."
"What?"
"Just get the fuck out."
"Are you too drunk or something?"
It'd be nice to have that excuse, but… "Does that look like whiskey dick to you? You just aren't doing it for me. I don't like your face."
I know it's a shit thing to say, but I don't care. And then her face changes. Shame washes over her, and my dick twitches.
I just want her to get the fuck out of here.
"Fuck you. I've never had any complaints before."
"Well, that's surprising."
"Another big dick attached to a useless man. What a shocker." She rolls her eyes before unlocking the stall.
I think this is exactly what I wanted—a bad attitude, someone mouthy I can put back into her place.
I almost pull her back into the stall to make her sorry, thinking I could come to this, but I don't. Even if I could bend her over my lap and beat her ass red, it wouldn't be the same.
It still wouldn't be as good as if it were Saige.
I lock the stall behind her, and free of distractions, I can finally fantasize about my stepsister's watery amber eyes and come in peace, white ropes of cum erupting from the tip for what feels like minutes before it finally stops.
I don't even bother going back to my seat. I leave the venue, get in an Uber, and go back to our empty campus townhouse.
After stumbling inside, still drunk, I go straight to Saige's room, where I spend hours going through her things, trying to learn anything I can about her. I know she keeps a journal, but it isn't here now. She must have taken it with her.
I open the top drawer and start pulling out her undergarments. She's got a lot of really tiny, slutty pieces that can't be comfortable at all, and it pisses me off. Who did she buy them for? The skinny goth kids she used to fuck in high school?
I bet they couldn't even make her come.
I could, though. I'll make her scream, just like I told her I would that first night we met.
I pull out a black thong that's nothing more than a few strings and a tiny, mesh triangle and picture her ass devouring it.
The ass I beat red, her cheeks vibrating every time I smacked them. I lie back on Saige's bed, wrapping the thong around my dick, and use it to stroke myself. In my head, she tells me that she's sorry, and that she'll do anything to show me.
I let her go, and she stands, stripping down to nothing, and then climbs onto my lap, screaming when she impales herself on my dick. And even though she looks ashamed, she rides me so fucking hard, and her pussy is dripping all over me, so I know she wants it. Every fucking inch of it.
As I pump my cock, I realize there isn't anything—not porn, not any other woman—that will ever do this for me again. There's only this. Only her. And don't think that doesn't piss me off.
I come hard all over Saige's black thong and her comforter. When I finish, I wipe my hand on her pillow—the one she brought from home, which must be her favorite.
Then, I go upstairs, shower, and then start scrolling through her social media, reading every caption, although most of them are old.
She's only posted twice this year, and both posts are of concerts, not of her.
I realize why she made the comment about how I didn't know her this morning after I mentioned the concert—it looks like we have the exact same taste in music.
And Saige used to write poetry and post it online on Sundays. But she hasn't in a while—not in over a year. A few of them read like love stories, and she's even tagged some kid named Sawyer, who's in a lot of her photos.
Another tall, skinny goth kid. Well, she certainly had a type, and it's not me.
But Saige isn't my type, either, and she's all I think about.
Dax isn't her type. But I guess he does have all of those tattoos that make him maybe a little closer to what she's looking for.
And Nolan...yeah. He's giving sporty emo Clark Kent. I can see how she'd eat that up.
I read Saige's poetry, drunk enough that the room is fucking spinning now, until I fall asleep.