2. Cole
two
Cole
T he expression on Noelle's face when I brought up my gift was absolutely fucking priceless. Though she didn’t respond to my question, I could tell she heard me and understood exactly what I meant. There’s something euphoric about watching her fucking squirm in my presence, and deep down, I know she relishes the attention—even if it’s the wrong kind.
She deserves every bit of the shit she gets, and more. She’s the fucking reason behind my father’s murder, and while I can’t say for sure, I can feel it in my bones. If she aims to make my life a nightmare, then I’m determined as fuck to return the favor and have a twisted sort of fun doing it.
What she doesn’t realize is that I’ve been quietly tracking her—watching her, stalking her—for years, long before my father was killed. My fascination has morphed into an obsession that I can’t seem to shake. She remains completely unaware of the hidden cameras I’ve placed in her room and bathroom, capturing private moments I can’t help but jerk off too. I know she senses that someone is watching, but I doubt she suspects that the eyes boring into her fucking soul belong to me.
I know she’s fucking hiding something, and I’m committed to uncovering it.
As soon as she steps outside, her jeans hugging her juicy ass and clinging to her curves just right, I spring from the couch, eager to dig deeper into the mystery surrounding her, knowing I'll find something eventually.
“Yo, where are you going? We’re supposed to be watching game tapes before tonight,” Ryder asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Relax, I’ve got the Bulldogs and their tricks down. The rest of you are the ones who need to study,” I quip, fully aware that the three of them are among the team’s best offensive players.
“Your stepmom is fucking hot,” Aiden comments out of nowhere, his gaze glued to the screen.
My pulse quickens, and I quickly suppress a grin, forcing my lips into a straight line to mask my agreement. “She’s alright,” I shrug, and Hudson throws a handful of Doritos at me, laughing as he shakes his head.
“Come on, Cole. It’s obvious you’re into her—you want to fuck her—especially now that your dad's not around.” He trails off, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly, hitting a nerve with his insinuation.
“Sure, she’s hot—maybe an incredible fuck. But don’t forget she’s hiding something. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a hand in the home invasion. She probably wanted my dad’s money and set him up,” I scowl, feeling a surge of rage that twists my thoughts darker and more sinister.
“Cole, I really don’t think she was involved in that,” Ryder says softly, his expression shifting to one of sympathy. “She didn’t exactly have an easy time, man. Did you forget they nearly killed her and gang raped her?”
A chill creeps down my spine as silence envelops the room, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. Fragments of that night resurface —memories I thought I had buried to avoid facing them. I remember being there—decorating the Christmas tree while my dad and I had a football game on in the background. Noelle looked stunning in her sexy Santa outfit, her silky blonde hair braided into playful pigtails. Back then, we still got along. I was already captivated by her then.
None of us were prepared for the horror that unfolded when three masked gunmen burst in, dividing us. I can still hear Noelle’s terrified screams from the other room while my father struggled with his captor in the den.
I emerged from that night unharmed, which has never made any sense to me. If they brutally attacked Noelle and murdered my father in cold blood, why was I left untouched? The question haunts me, and so does the thought that maybe Noelle played a role in the tragedy.
“Uh, Cole? You still with us?” Hudson snaps his fingers in front of my face, jolting me back to the present.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “I’ll be right back,” I mutter, hastily heading for the stairs, anxious to escape before they can say anything else.
But more than that, I'm curious to see what my naughty stepmother is hiding.
As I make my way up the stairs, each step feels heavier than the last—heavy with the weight of my thoughts. The house is eerily quiet, amplifying the sound of my heart thrumming in my chest. I reach the top, pausing for a moment outside her door, which is slightly ajar. A faint light spills into the hallway, and I can hear the soft melody from the radio she left on.
For a moment, I consider turning back. The guilt gnaws at me like a rat, but my curiosity is a stronger drive. I know it’s wrong, but I’m not in the mood to care. And besides, being in the wrong has never felt so fucking right.
I push the door open just enough to slip inside her room, the familiar scent of her lingering in the air—a mix of vanilla and something spicier that feels like a cozy embrace yet sets my nerves on fire.
Her room is a mess, clothes tossed carelessly across the floor, remnants of a life that seems chaotic but perfectly curated for someone like her. I spot a red thong and snatch it up right away, shoving it into my pants pocket—I'll put it with the other pairs I took from her.
Posters of skulls and dark art hang on the walls, but the centerpiece is undoubtedly the large mirror reflecting the chaos and beauty of her fucked-up world. I know I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be snooping. But there’s something captivating about the danger of it all, and besides, deep down I don't fucking care.
Feeling how hard my cock is just from breathing in her lingering scent, I scurry to the bathroom in her room, closing the door with a soft click behind me. My eyes roam over the dainty towels and neatly organized beauty shit, and suddenly an idea hits me out of nowhere.
I pull out my cock and start stroking, grabbing her things and sniffing them, burning her scent into my brain. I lean against the bathroom door, my head hung and eyes closed, my hand tightly pumping away as I picture my stepmother washing soap all over her naked body and rubbing her huge, pierced tits while soap slides down to her precious, shaved cunt.
"Jesus," I murmur, feeling my toes curl and balls tighten as my orgasm nears.
Quickly, I rush over to the shower and grab her loofah, filling it with cum before I snatch a few bottles, twisting the caps off them. I make it just in time, holding one of the bottles to my cock as my cum spurts out, mixing with her shampoo. Still full, I pump into her body wash and conditioner, feeling a little more still left in the tank.
I glance around the bathroom, breathing hard, trying not to bust the rest of my load too quickly. Spotting some more bottles on the vanity, I turn around and begin jerking myself off again, adding hot, sticky cum to her lotions and face creams, grinning as I think about how—if possible—I can mix it in with her toothpaste.
But fuck, I'm empty, my hand hurts, and my cock is raw and throbbing from beating my meat like a fucking teen going through puberty. I've never jacked off so much since Noelle came into my life. What I wouldn't give to fuck her, but even I know how fucking wrong that shit is... but Christ, I want—no, need—to feel how tight and wet her cunt is, and I need it to happen soon.
"Took you long enough. What were you doing, jerking off to pictures of your stepmom?" Aiden jokes as I finally make my way back down the stairs, a bit more relaxed. He has no idea how right he actually is, though
"Fuck off, Aiden," I retort, collapsing onto the couch with my laptop in hand.
The game footage still plays on the TV, with Aiden and the others mostly engrossed in it. I log into my email to do some digging on Noelle using the app I installed on her phone, which mirrors everything she does and sends the reports directly to my laptop.
Once logged in, I sift through the messages, Facebook chats, and emails, meticulously reading every single one. But I don't find anything new. Just as I'm about to log out, an alert pops up from her phone. Curiosity piques my interest, compelling me to click on it. My jaw tenses at the sight that greets me, and I struggle to keep my expression in check.
My "naughty stepmother" has ventured into a kink app—a space where consenting adults can exchange their most intimate fantasies while remaining anonymous.
I quickly start searching for her account, eager to unveil any private messages or posts she's made regarding her interests. But there's nothing—that is, nothing revealing—except for a list of favorite pages and accounts she's followed, all leaning toward some dark and twisted shit.
Now this is what I'm talking about.
One particular page catches my eye, flooding me with anger as I delve into its contents. When I read the phrase 'Kidnapping Kink,' my hands clench into fists, and memories of the night my father was murdered crash over me once again.
"Are you watching porn or something?" Ryder chuckles, leaning closer in an attempt to sneak a peek at my screen.
I snap my laptop shut, sliding it under the couch before he can catch a glimpse, which elicits a strange look from him.
"No, just checking my email and stuff. Not that it’s any of your fucking business," I snap, venom lacing my words as they spill out.
He rolls his eyes, guzzling the remainder of his Gatorade before capping the bottle and tossing it behind him, landing squarely in the trash.
"Whatever you say, man." He shrugs, standing up and dumping a lap full of chip crumbs onto the white carpet.
"Shit, we need to hurry or we'll be late for the game," Ryder exclaims, turning off the TV and springing to his feet.
Without uttering a word, the four of us grab our bags and head out, praying we'll make it to the college in time for the football game.
Even though the drive is short, by the time we pull into the snow-covered parking lot, it feels like I've been in the car for hours, thoughts about my stepmother and her secret life still nagging at me.
I zone out through the coach's complete pregame speech, still thinking about what Noelle might be hiding. After saying a team prayer, I grab my helmet and slowly walk out of the locker room, but not before my coach stops me, clasping his hand around my shoulder.
"You got a clear head tonight, Saint?" he asks, a worried look etched onto his face.
I nod, "Yes, sir. I got this," I assure him, forcing a smile through my tight frown.
"Alright, but if your game is off tonight, I'm benching you and putting in our backup." His eyes bore into mine, trying to decipher the lie swirling within.
"I'm fine, Coach," I snap, putting my helmet on and walking away before he can say another fucking word.
As I step onto the field, the roar of the crowd washes over me, momentarily drowning out my chaotic thoughts. The bright stadium lights flicker like stars against the darkening sky, and I can feel the palpable energy from our fans. But even in this electrifying atmosphere, all I can think about is Noelle and her inexplicable secrets.
The whistle blows, and the roar of the crowd merges with the pounding of my heart. My teammates line up, the smell of sweat, snow, and grass filling my lungs as I take my position as star quarterback. I call the first play, and adrenaline courses through me, pushing the thoughts of my stepmother aside—at least for now.
We kick off, and I find myself lost in the rhythm of the game. Every hit, every tackle draws me further into the present moment. I focus on the ball, its laces and grip, the formations, the strategy. My mind clears as I release some of that pent-up frustration, turning it into energy I channel into my performance. I catch a glimpse of the stands where I see familiar faces—friends, family, and the ever-frightening yet stunning silhouette of Noelle.
And just like that, anger and desire surge back within me. Each time I think of her swipe to a profile steeped in kink—her world of taboo fantasies—my blood boils. But at the same time, my mind goes to that sinful cunt of hers, and the next thing I know, I'm fucking her brains out. I can't fucking win.
The game progresses, and we’re neck-and-neck, fighting hard to gain the upper hand. The other team breaks through my players and into the pocket, coming right for me while I still have the ball in my hands. My opponent rushes toward me; I feel the ground shake beneath my feet as I almost slip on the falling snow and let instinct take over. No one’s open, so I dodge to the left, weave past another player, and barrel toward the end zone. The cheers from our fans are deafening as I secure the touchdown, a moment of pure bliss breaking through my conflicted thoughts.
But as I celebrate, Noelle’s presence lurks in the back of my mind. I can't shake the thought of what she's willing to let a stranger do to her, knowing that it could possibly turn my fucking world upside down.
What kind of stepmother joins a community that fantasizes about kidnapping? And it's sad to say, but that isn't nearly the worst of it—a kidnapping kink is fucking vanilla to those people. What kind of person delves into such dark desires while pretending to be the perfect stepmom at home?
The kind I'm about to fucking ruin in every way possible.
We huddle with the team after the play, strategy spinning through our discussions. I throw on a brave face, but beneath it, insecurities begin to blossom. Did she ever look at me the way she looks at those accounts? I shudder at the thought, forcing myself to listen to my teammates as they cheer and laugh, highlighting every triumph on the field.
“Hey, Saint, are you good?” Aiden nudges me, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, just... thinking about the next play,” I mumble, but he raises an eyebrow like he knows me too well. Because he fucking does.
The second half begins, and the pressure mounts. I can feel the coach's gaze on me, waiting for mistakes, as if he senses the storm brewing inside my head. With every tackle I dodge and every pass I throw, the wind carrying it away and off path like my life, I'm caught between worlds: the game in front of me and the twisted secrets behind the closed doors of my home.
As we kick into high gear, a player from the other team pushes me hard as I nail down another pass. I can feel the sharpness of the moment. It reminds me of the anger boiling from my own life, the raw reality, and my need for the truth to unfold.
By the end of the game, we pull off a stunning victory, but I hardly savor the win. The cheers from the crowd melt into the background as I head straight for the locker room. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
“Great job out there, man!” Ryder pats me on the back, but I pay him no mind.
My pulse still races, my skin crawling and burning at the images of Noelle being tied up, blindfolded, and fucked.
Shit, if anyone is going to fucking degrade her in some twisted ass way, it's going to be me, and right now, fuck, it's all I can think about.