Movie Night With Parents
It was a terrible idea to watch a movie tonight. We had plans, filthy, screaming plans, but Mom insisted on “family time.”
So I made my own. No panties. The tiniest skirt I own. A promise in every step past Jake’s door earlier, hips swaying just enough to make him follow me with his eyes.
He catches me on the stairs, backs me into the shadows, shoves two fingers straight into my bare pussy like he’s been dying for it all day.
Turns out we had the exact same idea.
“New bet,” he whispers, voice gravel and smoke. “I own this cunt for the entire movie. One real sound either of us makes and the loser is the winner’s slave tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Anything goes.”
I’m already soaked, clenching around his fingers like a greedy little slut.
“Deal,” I breathe. “When I win, you’re licking your own cum out of me on the kitchen floor while Mom’s ten feet away.”
His grin is pure sin. “And when you lose, I’m bending you over the breakfast bar and fucking you so loud Rick hears my balls slap your clit with every thrust.”
My pussy flutters hard enough that he feels it.
“Deal.”
We walk in like angels.
The living room is a trap. One huge open box, hardwood floors that echo, vaulted ceiling that throws every breath back at us. Mom and Rick are tangled on the long part of the sectional, six feet away, maybe five. Close enough I can smell Mom’s vanilla lotion. Close enough that when Rick shifts, the whole couch creaks and my heart stops.
Mom waves. “Hurry, babies! It’s starting!”
Rick lifts the popcorn bowl, arm around her. They’re cuddled under their own blanket, completely blind to the fact I’m naked under this skirt and already aching.
Jake drops onto the short end and yanks me down beside him. The thick fleece blanket falls over our laps like nothing’s wrong.
Under it, my skirt is around my waist in seconds, thighs spread wide, pussy bare and glistening. The cool leather kisses my skin for one heartbeat before his hand is there, claiming me.
The first explosion lights the room blue.
His palm cups me, so warm it feels like sunlight. One finger traces my seam, top to bottom, feather-light, teasing, like he’s memorizing me.
Oh God.
My breath catches hard. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, because if I open my mouth I’ll moan his name right here.
He parts my lips so gently, reverently, like I’m something sacred and filthy all at once. Cool air hits my clit and I shiver, thighs trembling.
Then he sinks one thick finger inside, agonizingly slow.
The stretch is perfect. Sweet. Torturous. I feel every inch sliding through my wetness, feel my walls fluttering around him, begging for more. He stops when he’s buried to the knuckle and just holds there. My hips want to rock so badly I have to dig my nails into my own thigh to stay still. A tiny, desperate whimper builds in my throat. I swallow it down, but it hurts.
I’m not letting him win that easy.
I slide my hand under the blanket and wrap my fingers around his cock through his sweats. He’s already rock-hard, burning hot, the head soaked. I squeeze once, hard, and feel him throb against my palm like I just yanked his soul.
He answers by adding a second finger, scissoring gently, opening me wider. The stretch is sweeter now, fuller, and the soft, wet sound makes my cheeks burn. My pussy flutters around him, greedy, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.
I shove his waistband down and free him completely. Skin on skin. He’s thicker than my wrist, velvet over steel, slick with precum. I stroke once, slow and filthy, base to crown, spreading that wetness over the head with my thumb. His abs flex so hard I feel the muscles jump under my forearm. His turn to fight a sound.
We begin the longest, quietest war of our lives.
He curls both fingers inside me, finds that spot instantly, and starts a slow, deliberate come-hither stroke that feels like warm honey pouring through my veins. His thumb settles on my clit and draws one perfect, lazy circle.
Fuck.
My thighs tremble uncontrollably. My pussy clenches so hard I almost cry. A soft, needy whine tries to crawl out of my throat. I trap it behind my teeth, but my eyes water.
I squeeze his cock in retaliation and feel another thick bead of precum spill over my fingers.
Minutes crawl like hours.
Every time the music swells he adds pressure, thumb circling sweeter, fingers stroking deeper, teasing that spot until my vision blurs. Every time the room goes quiet I slow my strokes until he’s the one shaking, until I feel his cock jerk in my hand like it’s begging.
Mom turns. “Drinks?”
He chooses that exact second to slide a third finger in and grind his palm slow and gentle against my clit. I choose that second to drag my nail up the underside of his cock, right along that sensitive vein.
We both freeze.
“I’m fine,” we choke out together, voices wrecked.
Mom shrugs and turns back.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You’re dripping down my wrist, baby sis.”
The words alone make me clench so hard a tiny, broken moan slips out before I can stop it. I slam my teeth into my lower lip, taste blood again.
I answer by pumping him once, hard, twisting at the head. His breath catches sharp enough I feel it against my neck. His cock jerks in my hand, leaking steadily now.
Another explosion.
He uses it. Shifts me onto my back along the short couch, legs draped over his lap like we’re innocently cuddling. The blanket never slips. Mom’s profile is right there. Rick’s elbow is inches from my face.
He lines up. The fat, slick head of his cock kisses my entrance, nudges, spreads me open.
I wrap my hand around the base and squeeze, hard, controlling him.
He pinches my clit, sharp and perfect. A bolt of pure electricity shoots up my spine. My back tries to arch and I have to force it flat. A desperate, needy sound builds in my chest. I swallow it, but it hurts so good.
We glare at each other in the flickering dark.
Then he starts to push in.
One inch.
Holy fuck.
Another inch.
I feel every millimeter stretching me, burning, perfect. I’m so wet the slide is filthy, but the blanket and the soundtrack swallow it. I keep my fist locked around him, refusing to let him go deeper until I’m ready. He retaliates by rolling my clit between his fingers, slow, sweet circles that make my eyes roll back. A soft, helpless moan tries to escape. I bite my own wrist to keep it in.
Halfway in and I’m already shaking, stuffed so full I can’t think.
He stops. Lets me adjust. Lets me suffer.
I stroke him slow, once, twice, feeling him swell impossibly thicker in my grip.