11. Tasting Her Innocence
TASTING HER INNOCENCE
Trevor
Isit on the sofa, forty floors above the city, and watch my stepsister try not to disintegrate.
The light pouring through the windows turns her hair white-gold, satin yet feral, loose around her shoulders and still a little damp from the shower.
There’s a spatter of faint freckles across her collarbone.
She has her knees together now, but it doesn’t do much to hide her body.
I could say she’s shy, but it’s more complicated than that—Kayleigh’s the type who burns herself for warmth.
She pulls the plush hotel-grade robe like she’s going to put it back on, realizes what she’s doing, then forces herself to let go, arms dropped at her sides, big breasts bobbling.
Good. She needs to do what I tell her to do and nothing more.
The city’s a slab of mirrors, haze, and gridwork out beyond the windows, but I don’t look at it. Not when there’s this much beauty at arm’s length. I’m in a mood to enjoy things slowly.
She’s nude, every inch as flawless as the pictures suggested: big, creamy tits made to bounce, areolae the color of fresh lipstick; a belly with just enough curve to mark her as real; a pussy so pink and clean it’s like a page ripped out of a fantasy.
And the nervous flush on her cheeks, the way she can’t keep her hands still, the way her breath catches every time I look at her—those, too, are part of the spectacle. I savor them all.
She starts talking before I can stop her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kayleigh blurts, voice so brittle I’m afraid she might crack open and spill onto the carpet. “It’s—it’s insane. We’re step-siblings, Trevor. It’s illegal in, like, a million states. And it’s so wrong—”
I let her wind herself up. I like seeing her in motion, how the apprehension and the want cancel each other out in her face.
“You want to tell me why you’re trembling, then?” I ask, calm as a snake. “Or why you called me at five in the morning, and not someone else?”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her eyes cut away, and she’s silent for a moment. Then she shakes her head, a tiny, panicked flick.
“I just—I panicked. I wasn’t thinking.”
I stretch my arm along the back of the sofa, lean into the velvet and let my legs sprawl. “You don’t look panicked. You look aroused, sweetheart. I’ve been with a lot of women, and it’s obvious.”
The compliment makes her gasp. She sucks in a breath, her whole chest rising, the upper slopes of those huge tits catching the pale light and casting faint, soft shadows.
Her nipples are stiff and utterly delectable.
They look ready for a suck, but she’s not ready yet.
Kayleigh needs to be softened a bit before I go in for the kill.
Sure enough, my stepsister tries to fold her arms over her breasts, but aborts the attempt, settling for tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Trevor, please,” she whispers. “This isn’t me. I’m—I’m not like Stella, or Cassie, or those other girls you date. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never even—” She clams up, color rising from her collarbone to the tips of her ears.
“Never what?” I prod, my voice low and unhurried.
She’s staring at the coffee table. “Well, I’m a virgin, actually. I’ve never been touched. I was going to wait until marriage, or at least until I was engaged, so I’m innocent, Trevor. So we can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
Her last words are so timid I have to lean forward to hear them. She has her arms crossed tight over her breasts now, hugging herself, a little girl in a hurricane.
I let the silence bloom between us. It’s a hard, perfect thing. Then I break it.
“No one saves themselves for marriage anymore, Kayleigh,” I drawl, letting the sentence roll out slow and deliberate. “And if you’re worried I’ll ruin you, I can promise you: it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you.”
She makes a tiny sound—a high, wet gasp—then covers her mouth with the back of her hand.
The urge to push her down on the sofa and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name is so sharp I see stars. But this isn’t the moment for that. I’m in a patient mood, and she deserves to be taken apart piece by piece, not all at once.
“Besides, I want to check for myself,” I say in a deliberate tone like it’s no big deal. “You know the whole ‘trust but verify’ theory.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. She blinks once, twice.
“What do you mean?” she says, and her voice is so small I barely catch it.
I don’t move. I just smile, the slow smile of a man who’s already won and knows the rest of the match is just performance.
“You know what I’m talking about. No one’s that naive. Now stand up,” I say. “Face me.”
She hesitates, then uncurls from the sofa, feet padding silent on the soft, fluffy rug. She stands in front of me, knees a little bent, both hands at her sides. Her big breasts are right in my face and it takes everything out of me not to lean forward and lick a delicious pink nipple.
“Turn around,” I rasp.
She does, her hair swinging across her naked back, the line of her spine as delicate and pale as a child’s. I can see her body start to tremble, but she holds perfectly still.
“Bend over. Touch the floor.”
There’s a long, silent second where she doesn’t move, and I wonder if she’ll refuse.
She doesn’t. She bends at the waist, hands reaching down, her ass sticking out, perfect and round, cheeks creamy and dusted with those faintest freckles, thighs parted so the folds of her pussy are visible even from here.
I sit for a moment, just taking it in. Goddamn, how did I get so lucky? I have a gorgeous young woman nude and bent over before me, her wet pussy and tight asshole on display. She’s aroused too, with female nectar seeping from her hole as her big breasts dangle, her clit just waiting to be kissed.
But I move slow. I get up and step behind her. The scent of her is stronger now: clean hair, citrus body wash, and the unmistakable hot, animal musk of a girl on the edge of losing her mind.
I place a hand gently on her lower back, then run my palm down to cup her succulent ass. Her flesh is warm and pliant, with the tense, buzzing energy of a woman barely containing herself. I knead her, then let my other hand slide along the outside of her thigh.
She gasps again.
I lean in close, my voice just above her ear.
“You know how many times I’ve thought about this?” I murmur, rolling the words over her like syrup. “How many times I’ve pictured you, spread and dripping, waiting for me to taste you, sweetheart?”
She remains still, but I know she hears me.
I drop to one knee, bring my face even with her ass, and spread her cheeks with both hands.
Holy fuck! She’s open now, completely exposed, pussy lips glistening and her tight little asshole puckered and pink.
I run a thumb along her slit, up and down, slow enough to be cruel.
She flinches at the first touch, then pushes back against my hand, not even pretending to resist.
“You’re already so wet,” I say, and it’s the truth. My thumb comes away shiny. I rub it across her clit, slow and careful, and her knees go weak.
“Goddamn, you’re a dirty little girl. Did you think about this when you took those photos? Did you want me to see them? Or did you want me to touch you, Kayleigh?”
She’s breathing hard now, each exhale a little whimper.
“Please, Trevor,” she says, but she doesn’t finish the sentence.
I push a finger into her, slow and gentle, careful to find the right angle. There’s a tight, almost unbreakable resistance, and I know immediately: she wasn’t lying. Her hymen’s intact, and it’s waiting for my cock to break it.
“You’re tight as hell,” I rasp, letting a hint of awe into my voice. “So fucking perfect. You really haven’t let anyone in here, have you?”
She shakes her head, hair falling forward, eyes closed.
“Good girl,” I say, and begin to work her with my finger, just enough to start to loosen her up. My thumb circles her clit, patient, never fast, just enough to keep her on the edge.
“Stay still for me,” I warn, and she does, even as her hips start to twitch and rock on their own.
“Oooh, Trevor,” she wails quietly, her lashes falling shut. “Mmmm!”
With my other hand, I spread her a little wider and press another finger at the entrance, forcing two inside. She gasps, then moans, the sound raw and beautiful. I keep up the slow, insistent rhythm, opening her, stretching her just a little more with every pulse.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, voice a whisper. “You wanted Daddy to see what a good girl you are?”
She nods frantically, hands now gripping the edge of the coffee table, knuckles white as her big breasts sway. The sight of her, wrecked and needy, is almost too much.
I lean in, tongue just brushing the skin of her lower back. She shivers, and then I lean forward and lick her asshole, tasting the musk of her back door.
“Daddy!” she gasps. “That’s wrong!”
“It’s not wrong,” I rasp, licking her dark star again. “If I want you to come with my tongue in your butt, then that’s what you’re going to do sweetheart. No questions asked.”
Then, I lower my mouth to lap at her pussy, soft and slow, tasting the sharp, sweet salt of her arousal. Her thighs tremble.
“Trevor—oh god, please—” she stutters, and I can hear the desperation in her voice.
I curl my fingers inside that tight cunt, feeling for that sweet spot just behind the ridge, and press. Her whole body seizes up.
“Fuck, you’re going to come just from my fingers, aren’t you?” I say, laughing softly. “What a horny little slut.”
“I’m not a slut,” she gasps even as her pussy squeezes on my digits, another gush of fluid drenching my palm. “I’m not, Daddy!”
I merely chuckle again before licking her asshole with the flat of my tongue.
“You are,” I rasp. “You’re my little cockhungry fuckslut, judging by how your pussy’s creaming right now. But I love that, sweetheart. I love innocent little girls who are whores at heart.”
She whines, then shakes her head, then whines again. She’s lost, her knees shaking as she trembles beneath my ministrations.
I keep her right on the edge, working her, letting the tension build and build until Kayleigh’s breath becomes a single, animal wail. Then I clamp my hand on her hip, hold her in place, and shake my fingers vigorously.
“Ahhhh!” she cries out, throwing her head back as her eyes close. “Ohhhhhh!”
“That’s it,” I rasp. “You love having Daddy’s digits deep in your pussy. You love being fingerfucked, don’t you, my little whore?”
Kayleigh can’t answer, but I don’t stop until she convulses around me, pussy squeezing and pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She comes with a high, keening cry, collapsing forward until she’s almost spread on the coffee table, ass still up and twitching.
“Mmmm!” she screams. “Oh oh oh unnnnh!”
Fuck, her pussy’s so powerful that my digits almost break off from the powerful spasms. But I love it and continue to shake them inside her cunt as her eyes roll back, the tremors almost violent now.
In fact, I don’t stop shaking my fingers in her cunt until the last spasm passes with a whimper.
Then I pull them out slow, watching a gooey loop of pussy fluid grow between my hand and her cunt.
“Goddamn,” I rasp before breaking the string. “So fucking wet.”
She’s panting still, big breasts heaving, barely able to stand. I stand and stroke her hair, pushing it back from her neck.
“Shhh,” I say. “You did so good, Kayleigh. You were perfect.”
She doesn’t speak, just shivers.
I let her recover. I walk back to the bar, pour myself a fresh drink, and savor the hot, raw pleasure in my chest. Damn, I can still taste her fluids on my tongue.
When I return to the living room, she’s now seated on the sofa, one hand clutching the robe to her chest. Her face is flushed, eyes huge.
I hand her a glass of water, and when she doesn’t take it, I put it down on the coffee table.
“Get dressed,” I say, voice gentle but firm. “We’ve got all day. I want you to go home, shower again, and then come back tonight. Wear something that makes you feel like a whore.”
She nods, still not meeting my eyes.
I lean down and kiss her forehead, just once.
“You’re my dirty little secret now,” I whisper. “And I’m not done with you yet.”
She looks up then, eyes shining, and for a split second, I see the rest of our future: Kayleigh bent over my desk, her knees on my kitchen floor, her body opening for me again and again and again. All the taboo and all the filth, made sacred by the fact that it’s ours alone.
I smile and walk out, leaving her ruined and perfect in the morning light.
The city is still there, forty stories below, but for once, I don’t feel like I’m looking down on anything at all.