My Best Friend's Stepfather Takes My Ass

Talia had been wet for him since the airport text landed that morning. Twenty-two, diploma still warm in a drawer back at her apartment, and she was standing barefoot in Imani's family kitchen like she belonged there, pouring coffee she did not need. Everett came in from the garage in a gray T-shirt and soft black pants, forty-eight and still built like a man who lifted because he liked the way his shoulders filled a doorway. Salt in the dark hair at his temples. A watch on a thick wrist. The same man she had been staring at, privately and filthily, since the week she turned eighteen and Imani dragged her home for a long weekend that had nothing to do with homework and everything to do with a pool and a stepfather who did not look away when she climbed out of the water.

Four years of that. Four years of polite hellos and longer looks. She had never touched him. She had touched herself to the thought of him more times than she would admit out loud.

"Imani get on the plane all right?" he asked.

"Texted from the gate. Wedding's in Savannah through Monday. Your wife's already in Chicago, right?"

"Conference till Tuesday." He took the mug she held out. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them pretended it was an accident. "So it's just us holding down the house."

"Just us."

They ate leftover pasta standing at the island because sitting felt too formal for the charge already in the room. He asked about the job she had lined up in the fall. She asked about the deck he was rebuilding. The talk was ordinary. The way his eyes kept dropping to the thin straps of her tank top was not. She had put on the short cotton shorts on purpose. No bra. She wanted him to see the shape of her. She had wanted that since she was old enough to want it cleanly, and she was old enough now to stop pretending the want was theoretical.

He shifted his weight, and the soft pants did nothing to hide him. Thick. Heavy. Already lifting along his thigh like his body had decided before his mouth did. Talia's gaze stuck there. Heat climbed her throat. She did not look away fast enough.

Everett set his mug down. The sound was small and final.

"You've been staring at my cock for ten minutes," he said. His voice had dropped. "You going to keep doing it, or are you going to tell me what you want?"

Her face burned. Her pussy clenched so hard she had to grip the edge of the island. "I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me, Talia. Not this weekend." He came around the island. Close enough that she could smell soap and sun on his skin. "I've wanted to fuck that tight little ass of yours for years. Since you were grown and walking around my house like you didn't know what you were doing to me. You knew."

The admission hit her low and hot. Years. He had wanted her ass for years. She had spent those same years with two fingers in her cunt and one careful fingertip pressing her rim, whispering his name into a pillow so Imani would not hear through the wall on the nights she stayed over.

"I knew," she said. "I've wanted you since I was eighteen. I used to get off in the guest room thinking about you bending me over and putting it in my ass. I still do."

His hand came up and cupped the back of her neck. Not rough yet. Certain. "Say it clearer."

"I want you to fuck my ass, Everett. I've never let anyone. I saved it. I want you to be the one who takes it."

He kissed her like he had been waiting at the edge of that sentence for a long time. Hungry, open-mouthed, tongue pushing in, a low sound in his chest when she opened for him and kissed back just as hard. Her hands fisted in his shirt. His palm slid down her spine and grabbed a handful of her ass through the shorts, squeezing until she gasped into his mouth. She could feel him, fully hard now, pressed to her stomach. Thick enough that her virgin hole fluttered in a mix of fear and filthy want.

"Bedroom's too far," he said against her lips.

"Couch."

They stripped each other on the way, clumsy and fast. Her tank top hit the floor. His shirt followed. She dragged his pants and briefs down together and his cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, a vein standing along the shaft, the head already slick. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked, slow, learning the weight. He groaned and shoved her shorts and panties down her thighs. She kicked them off. Twenty-two, naked in the late light, nipples tight, pussy shaved smooth and already shining.

Everett sat her on the arm of the couch and spread her knees. Two fingers slid through her slit, easy, obscene. "Dripping," he said. "All this from talking about your ass?"

"Yes. God, yes. Please."

He pushed those fingers into her cunt and curled them, fucking her with them while his thumb found her asshole and circled. She jerked. The touch was dry at first, then he gathered her wetness and smeared it there, pressing until the tip of his thumb breached her. The stretch was small and shocking. She stroked him harder, thumb swiping over his slit, spreading the pre-cum.

"Raw," she heard herself say. "I want it raw. I want you to fuck my ass with nothing between us. Please, Everett. I've thought about your cum in me for years."

"You begging for my cock in your hole already?"

"I'm begging." Her voice cracked. She slid off the arm and dropped to her knees on the rug, still holding him, looking up. His cock hovered at her mouth. She did not take it. She pressed her cheek to the shaft and spoke against the heat of it. "Wreck me. Please. Wreck my hole. I've never had anything but my own fingers and I want you to ruin it. Stretch me. Use me. Fuck my ass until I can't sit down without thinking about you."

His hand tightened in her hair. "Get up and bend over the couch. Now."

She did. Elbows on the cushion, back arched, ass up, the position so exposed she felt her face go hot all over again. Everett stood behind her and spat. The wet sound made her moan before the spit even landed, warm and thick, right on her clenched hole. He rubbed it in with two fingers, then pushed. One, then both, slow and relentless, working past the resistance while she breathed and pushed back like she had practiced in her head a hundred times.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Tight little anal slut. Look at you taking two fingers like you were made for it."

"I was. For you. Deeper."

He fucked his fingers into her until the burn softened into a greedy ache, scissoring, opening her, spit and her own slick making everything filthy and wet. His other hand cracked across her ass. She yelped and shoved back onto his fingers.

"Please put your cock in me. Please fuck my ass. I need it. I need you to fill me."

He pulled his fingers out. She felt empty and obscene, hole fluttering. The blunt head of his cock pressed there, huge compared to his fingers, and he spat again, worked the spit over his shaft with one stroke, and pushed.

The stretch stole her breath. Inch by inch he fed it into her, one hand on her hip, the other fisted in her hair, holding her still while her rim fought and then yielded. She was loud. She did not care. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, it's so big, don't stop, don't you dare stop."

"Taking it," he said, voice wrecked. "My filthy anal slut. Push back. Show me you want this cock in your guts."

She pushed. He sank deeper, balls finally flush to her, and the fullness was overwhelming, a thick hot pressure that made her cunt clench on nothing and drip onto the rug. He drew back and thrust. The couch creaked. He set a rhythm that was mean and perfect, fucking her ass in long strokes, pulling her hair so her throat was bared, spanking her when she got too quiet.

"Harder."

"Greedy." Another slap, sharp, then he gripped both hips and really fucked her, the wet slap of his body against her ass filling the room. She met every stroke, greedy, shameless, chasing the deep grind that lit her up from the inside. "Listen to that hole. Sucking me in. You were never going to give this to anyone else, were you?"

"No. Yours. It's yours. Fuck, Everett, right there, ruin me."

He hauled her up by the hair just enough to bite her shoulder, then pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, hole gaping, clenching on air. He flipped her onto her back on the cushions, shoved her knees to her chest, and pinned her legs there with his forearms. The angle opened her completely. She watched, eyes wide, as he lined up and pushed back into her ass, and she could see it, the way her rim stretched shiny and tight around his fat cock, taking him, fluttering every time he bottomed out.

"Look at that," he said. "Look at your hole swallowing me. Gaping for it already. Filthy girl."

"I see it. I see you stretching me. Don't stop. Cum in me. I want it in my ass. Fill me up."

He fucked her like that, deep and watching, her legs pinned, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders, her pussy untouched and still pulsing, clit swollen, every thrust shoving a broken sound out of her. She came with his cock buried in her ass, shaking, cursing, hole clamping down so hard he swore and lost the rhythm. He drove in and stayed there, grinding, and then he was coming, thick pulses, heat flooding her, so much she felt it deep, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her.

He stayed buried. Balls-deep. Both of them breathing like they had run. Her ass twitched around him, milking the last of it. Cum already trying to leak past the seal of his cock.

"Thank me," he said, rough, still inside her. "Thank me for ruining that hole. Say what you are."

"Thank you." Her voice was hoarse, smiling, wrecked. "Thank you for ruining my hole. I'm your eager anal whore. I wanted you to wreck me and you did. Thank you."

He kissed her, filthy and slow, tongue in her mouth, the taste of sweat and spit between them, his cock still plugging her so none of it escaped yet. When he pulled out, he did it inch by inch, watching. Her rim clung, then released him with a wet sound, and his load spilled out of her fucked-open asshole in a thick white leak, sliding down to the cushion. He spread her with his thumbs and stared, satisfied, filthy.

"All weekend," he said. "I'm going to train this hole to take me deeper. Every time you think you can't, you're going to beg me to keep going. You understand?"

"Yes. Please. All weekend. I want you to use me until I can't walk."

He kissed her again, softer at the corner of her mouth, and went to get a towel.

Talia stayed where she was, legs still open, his cum cooling on her skin, heart hammering. She listened to the water run in the kitchen. Her phone lit up on the coffee table, face-down, a preview she did not need to open. Imani, from Savannah: Mom says thanks for keeping Dad company, you're a saint, tell him I love him.

Talia had not mentioned, in any of the planning texts, that she was the one who suggested the dates. She had checked Imani's wedding, checked the conference, and offered to house-sit before anyone asked. Everett thought the weekend had fallen into his lap. He did not know she had built it. He did not know she had cleared her whole calendar, lied to her new boss about a family thing, and packed the lube she had been too proud to need, all so his cock would be the first thing that ever opened her.

She reached down, pressed two fingers to her leaking, wrecked hole, and smiled at the ceiling like a woman with a secret she intended to keep until Monday.