indieerotica – Page 20 – Indie Erotica Collective

Indie Erotica Collective > Articles by: indieerotica

Author: indieerotica

Gay Piss Play Mega-Bundle: 9 Hot Gay Watersports Sex Stories

Posted on September 7, 2019September 7, 2019 by indieerotica

Piss play during gay sex can be incredibly erotic.

It’s a very base act, something many people would find too demeaning or dirty to think about. But those who are into piss LOVE it. It makes sex raunchier, more taboo, kinkier… better!

From young frat brothers getting wet and wild to a young man discovering there’s no shame in wanting to be pissed on to an intimate father-son bonding experience, this 42,000-word mega-bundle collects all of Master Dominic’s previously-published piss-themed stories, including:

– Pissed On By The Bully
– Human Urinal
– Golden Showers
– Frat House Piss Party
– Pissing My Pants in Public
– Cruising for Piss
– Trucker Piss
– Pissing My Diaper
– Drinking My Dad’s Piss

This taboo bundle is exactly what you need to explore your own dirty desires.

Publisher Note:
These stories were each published individually as well as in the following collections: “Piss-Loving Boys” and “Gay Piss Play”. Drinking My Dad’s Piss appeared in the “Kinky Daddies” collection.

Becoming My Dad’s Slut Son: A Dad/Son Gay Incest Story

Posted on September 7, 2019April 4, 2020 by indieerotica

In a wild afternoon that seems almost too crazy to be real, Colin has sex with his father. Not only is it Colin’s first time with a man, it’s his first time having sex ever. His dad took his virginity. More than that, his dad opened his eyes to all of the incredible pleasures that he can pursue.

The only problem? Since that wild day, Colin’s dad is barely speaking to him. He knows his dad enjoyed it and he’s obviously having trouble reconciling what they’ve done, but Colin can’t understand why his dad doesn’t want to use his butt again. As days pass, Colin gets more and more desperate. He’s willing to do anything to get his dad to throw morals away.

Finally, he hatches the ultimate crazy idea, an idea that could get him kicked out of the house. But Colin will do anything — even if it means being the bratty son manipulating his father into sex.

Becoming My Dad’s Slut Son is a 11,500-word story and picks up from the events of My Son’s First Time.

My dick was already soft as the door slammed shut. I lay there with my pants off still, wondering what to do.

I had more calculus homework, enough to last all evening. I went to my desk, still with no pants on. Opening my math book, I couldn’t focus. I tugged on my limp dick instead, thinking about what I’d done with my dad and how badly I wanted to get that back.

The next thing I knew, I was clicking at my computer instead. I had a search window open and was typing in “dad son fucking”. The images that came up got me hard. I ended up on blogs and blog feeds. Some even had stories on them.

My dick was fully stiff now. I was jerking it, as I scrolled through images, read some of the stories. Shit, these stories were explicit. Sons begged their dads to get fucked. In one picture, a boy who looked a lot like me was on his knees, and a burly man who was bulkier than dad was behind him, his cock angled toward the boy’s hole. The boy was spreading his cheeks wide and looking back over his shoulder.

“Is this what you want, Daddy?” the caption read.

“Oh yeah, son. You make your Daddy so stiff.”

“Use my hole for that stiff Daddy dick.”

“You’ll make me shoot out all my cum if I do.”

“Dump your cum all inside me. Use me, Daddy.”

Fuck, that got me so hard, reading it, looking at the pictures, scrolling through more. I kept jerking, and pleasure built up in my balls. I read more stories, link-hopping from blog to blog, turned on even more each time I read how each son had no problem telling his dad he wanted to get his boy hole used, how the dad told him how much he wanted to use him.

Fuck, why couldn’t Dad do that to me? Why did I have to be so quiet and awkward around him? Why couldn’t I be like those sons who were begging as they spread their holes, raised their legs, sat their plump butt on their dad’s stiff prick?

That tingling in my balls was building, as I kept on clicking on those images, reading more stories, kept wishing it was me in those positions. Instead of my hand, it was my dad’s hand on my cock. I was begging him to make me cum, and he told me I was a good boy, like the dads in the images I was clicking through.

Holy shit, my cock exploded so fast with pleasure. It made my eyes water.

It all happened to fast I didn’t have time to think about the mess. My load shot in thick white streams up, all over my keyboard, shot after shot. One hit the monitor, dripping down the image of two thick, meaty boy buns. My heart hammered, as I shot and shot. Holy fuck, my computer would be ruined after this, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to shoot all this juice out, keep thinking of my dad’s hand on my cock instead.

What a fucking mess. My balls were empty, sticky white stuff oozing down on my knuckles now, pleasure gone. Damn, I wished Dad would come in right now and find me.

Cruising for Fart Sex

Posted on September 7, 2019 by indieerotica

Jessie is cruising in the mall bathroom, desperate for a little sexy fun to spice up his Monday evening. He’s got the stall with the gloryhole and all he has to do is wait until someone enters the stall on the other side.

Someone comes in and takes the stall, but Jessie’s erotic hopes are dashed when he realizes the other guy isn’t cruising. Rather, the other guy has a bad case of noxious gas and needs to get it all out.

As Jessie sits in the stall, contemplating what to do, he realizes that instead of being disgusted at being surrounded by horrific farts… he’s actually being turned on. This could be the Monday night fun he’s been looking for.

Taking a risk, he makes a dangerous proposition to the farting man…

Cruising for Fart Sex is a 5,300 word short story.

The door to the men’s room clatters open.

I quickly shut off the phone and shove it into the pocket of my jeans, still pooled around my ankles. I listen intently to decipher if this guy is here to take a piss at the urinals or if he’s gonna come in the stall next to me — the only other stall here — to stick his dick in my face.

My heart beat kicks up a notch when my stall door rattles urgently and he lets out a groan of discomfort, then he barrels into the stall next to me. Given the urgency, I doubt he’s here for a blowjob. Dude’s gotta take a shit.

It takes all of my willpower not to lean forward and down to look at him through the gloryhole. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t make a few other discreet peeks. As he pulls down his pants and underwear and sits on the toilet with a loud clatter, his foot ends up under the stall divider between us. I gawp at it — a dirty work boot in, what, size thirteen?

As if my hand and cock have a mind of their own, I start stroking as I imagine the beefy, sweaty, hairy, masculine construction worker that’s likely on the other side — and the giant cock he’s probably packing in his pants.

He lets out a groan of discomfort and then — prappp-fffttttt-papapapa-ffttttt— he farts so loud it echoes in the bowl and the walls almost shake. And then like a nuclear bomb, the stench hits me. Holy fuck. That reek could peel the paint off the walls.

And in that, I’m reminded of when I was particularly drunk at college last year. My roommate and I had come back from having beers and burritos, so not only were we drunk, but we had gas like nothing else. And being the kinky frat pigs we are, we dared each other to sniff each other’s farts. One thing led to another and soon we took turns going balls deep in each other as we farted on each other’s dicks. It was the filthiestsex I’d ever had, the kind that I would always remember and would probably never repeat.

Swallowing The Cop’s Farts

Posted on August 24, 2019August 24, 2019 by indieerotica

Nick is trying to sell some concert tickets he can’t use when he gets picked up by some power-hungry cop who accuses him of scalping. If that wasn’t bad enough, now he’s handcuffed in the back of the cop car and the cop isn’t driving anywhere. He’s just sitting there, farting. The car is filling up with his noxious fumes.

Enough is enough and Nick asks him to stop. But this power hungry cop doesn’t take orders from a handcuffed twink like Nick, nor does he take kindly to Nick himself. What ensues is a sexual encounter that awakens Nick’s most deepest, darkest, and shameful desires — fart swallowing, sexual humiliation, and total subservience to this powerful Alpha Male.

It’s degrading. But it turns Nick on like nothing else ever has.

5,400 word short story

Cops stink. Literally. No wonder people call them pigs.

I shuffle in the back seat of the cop car, my hands awkwardly cuffed behind me. In the front seat is some muscle-bound but air-headed cop with a bad case of farts.

All of this is because I tried to sell some concert tickets I couldn’t use — this cop, who obviously needed something better to do, accused me of violating some obscure scalping law. I’m no fool, I know my rights, so I stood up to him and told him as much.

And a moment later I was pinned to the dirty concrete, cuffed, and accused of resisting an officer of the law. A moment after that I was thrown in the back of this power-hungry pig’s cop car. Now I’m stuck here while he ignores me and continues to fart, stinking up the car.

He lets out a long squeaker — he’s not even bothering to hide it anymore — and soon I’m gagging for oxygen. What makes it worse is that we’re not even going anywhere. We’re just sitting in the car, stewing in his noxious ass fumes in the middle of a sunny and sweltering July afternoon, ten feet from where I was arrested for scalping.

I start breathing through my mouth to avoid his noxious farts and the growing stink of his B.O. I can’t inhale it anymore or I’m going to vomit. I watch him in the rear-view mirror, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this or something.

“Can we crack a couple windows open?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of my voice. He shifts his eyes to glare at me in the mirror. “Please?”

In response, he leans to one side and lifts an ass cheek off his leather seat and lets a loud, vibrating fart rip through the air.

Pra-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-paaapppp…

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

…ppaaaap-pa-pa-pa-praaaap…

“Surely this counts as cruel and unusual punishment,” I mutter, ensuring I’m loud enough for him to hear. When I glance up at the rear-view mirror, I find him glaring at me. “What?” I say, putting far too much challenge into that word than I really should.

“I can do worse,” he says.

I roll my eyes and look away.

“Hey!” he shouts. For some odd reason, the power in that one word sends a shiver through my body. I look back to the rear-view mirror and meet his glare. “Don’t look away unless I tell you to. Understood?”

Something has shifted between us. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is suddenly different. He’s got more power and authority and I, well … his glare is doing something to me. Like, in my pants.

I watch a lot of Dom/sub porn, like, the kind where the sub is a beta fag, whose whole existence is dedicated to pleasing his Alpha and gratefully taking the abuse that his Alpha dishes out. But porn is different than real life. Right?

“I said, understood?” He hardens his glare and he almost bites off those words.

I swallow, then say, “Yes.”

“Yes … what?”

What the hell have I gotten into? I’ve watched enough of that kinky shit on PornHub to know the answer he’s looking for. “Yes, Sir.”

His glare softens slightly. “Good fag.”

My Son’s First Time: A Dad/Son Gay Incest Story

Posted on August 11, 2019April 4, 2020 by indieerotica

Rick is a single dad and is concerned about his son Colin. Though Colin's an adult now, in many ways he's still rather juvenile. Having failed calculus twice, he's still in high school. But more concerning, Rick is sure that Colin is inexperienced in certain ways of sex, and even self-pleasure.

On a hot summer day, the kind of day where Rick and Colin would spend the afternoon lounging by the backyard pool, Colin seems different somehow. They play their usual pool games, but Colin takes it a step further, demanding certain closeness and body touches from his father.

Rick struggles to maintain that hard line between father and son. But despite his best efforts, a different hardness comes between them, a hardness that leads to Rick not thinking straight.

The games escalate until it's no longer a game, and Rick is afraid that soon he won't be able to hold back on that hard line no father should cross…that soon, he'll be instructing Colin on those lessons about his body he's been ignoring for far too long…

My Son's First Time is a 13,000-word short story.

Colin slides back down, pressing his butt hard against my crotch. This time there’s no denying how deliberate the motion is, no denying the pleasure that throbs in my shaft.

“You need good leverage, Dad,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s just a game.”

Just a game. That’s what I try to tell myself, as the dull pleasure builds, as I don’t pull my hard cock away like I should.

Just a game. I need to flip him over. That’s all. I ignore the pleasure, leaning forward, using my leverage. I’ll flip him over so fast, this will be over so soon, and we’ll never talk about this.

He’s moving. There, just like I wanted. Except…

He flexes his butt tight against my shaft. The way I’m leaning over him, the length is buried between his cheeks. I’ll have him flipped over in one swift motion now, but my heart is pounding, and a part of me wants to stop, just for a moment. Stop and feel those meaty, smooth buns flexing around my shaft, wrap my arms around him and tell him to keep squeezing just like that, keep squeezing until my hot load blasts out, squirting through my shorts, carried away on the water. Just this once, then we’d never talk about it again, we’d go back to our beers and the rest of our day. I’d get off and wouldn’t have these stupid thoughts anymore, and I’d masturbate every day to keep these hormones in check.

Just this once. Yeah, all I have to do is hold him here, press a little with my dick, spike this pleasure higher. I can already tell by how my heart’s pounding and the shaft is throbbing that it would take just a few seconds, just a bit of pressure, a few covert thrusts, and I’d shoot my jizz out through my shorts, empty these fucking balls and get back on track.

Sniffing the Jock’s Farts

Posted on August 11, 2019 by indieerotica

Jacob likes raunchy sex. The more demeaning, the better. He gets off when he’s used by an Alpha and then discarded when his usefulness is finished.

Jacob also likes “Muscles”, the Alpha God at the gym. He’s the kind of guy that would use and discard a guy like Jacob. However, Jacob’s gaydar tells him that Muscles is straight. But Jacob being Jacob, this just turns him on all the more.

So when it’s a quiet night at the gym and Jacob and Muscles are the only men there, he follows the Alpha God into the change room. In a moment of weakness, Jacob gives in to his basest desires... and he’s caught by Muscles.

Instead of punishment and a punch to the face, Muscles gives Jacob everything that Jacob has ever wanted, demeaning him in ways that Jacob didn’t know he needed. And the highlight of it all for Jacob? Muscles’ ripe, juicy farts.

Sniffing the Jock's Farts is a 4,800-word short story.

Muscles seems to get the hint, seems to know what drives my faggy desires. He angles his hips a bit, causing his deliciously hairy ass cheeks to spread and expose his tight, manly hole. It’s tightly knotted; this Alpha God has obviously never bottomed. If I were to show him my hole, he would see what a well-used ass looks like. We’re so different. We’re so perfectly matched.

I stretch my tongue up, trying to reach that amazing and perfect knot of flesh. Just as the tip of my tongue touches it, Muscles flinches.

“Everything okay, Sir?” I ask.

He looks over his shoulder at me, almost shyly. “How much of a pig are you, fag?”

My heart does a pitter-patter of excitement. “Very much so, Sir.”

“Good.”

He squats closer to my face, his tight asshole right in front of my mouth and nose. I stick my tongue out and caress the perfect flesh, lapping up more sweat. Here, though, the taste is drastically different. It tastes like he hasn’t washed his ass in days. I’m tasting things that would turn off most men — even most fags — but for me it drives me up the fucking wall with horniness. I have to fight with myself to not use my hands to grab those perfect, muscular ass cheeks and part them so that I can dig my tongue ever deeper into him. I have to obey the no touching rule.

I just wish I could get more.

Then Master lets out a grunt. I pause in my licking, uncertain of what’s coming next. Muscles’ asshole quivers, then opens.

Braaa-aa-aa-aa-appp-pp-pp

He farts, letting loose a long, noisy, filthy one. I raise my head and bury my nose in his crack, right against his hole. I huff that fart, fill my lungs with his stench. It smells like the men’s room at a greasy taco dive, the kind where the beans run right through you. And I love it.

The Delivery Boy And The MILF

Posted on July 1, 2019July 1, 2019 by indieerotica

Geoffrey is nineteen and has taken a summer job as a bike courier, hustling documents from one office to another. Near the end of the day, he makes a stop at his favorite stop — the office where Cassandra works.

Cassandra is a MILF through and through. At least twice Geoffrey’s age, she’s got the maturity and experience he craves in a woman, plus the fact that she has a bangin’ bod only adds to her appeal. He’s had more than one late night one-handed session thinking about her.

Just as he’s dropped off the package and is about to head on to his next stop, Cassandra steps out of her office and beckons to him. It’s almost like something out of one of those late night fantasies — she calls him into her office, closes the door, and talks about how he needs to do better to please her.

But it crosses the line from fantasy to reality when she closes the blinds and sheds her clothes.

Soon, Geoffrey is living out all of his wildest fantasies.

The Delivery Boy And The MILF is a 4,500-word short story.

“Geoffrey!”

I don’t have to look. I know that voice. Cassandra Miller, the office manager here. She is a banging hot MILF but intimidating as fuck. I always get both a boner and a shudder of fear every time we cross paths.

When I slowly turn to face her, I feel my dick grow hard and I struggle to suppress a shudder. Every damn time.

“Yes?” I squeak out. I clear my throat and try to deepen my voice. “Yes, Ms. Miller?”

She puts her hand on her hips, a position that makes the open neck of her button-up shirt stretch open just a little more, giving just a hint of the fullness of her cleavage. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Blonde hair cut just at her shoulders, smooth face, banging body, full boobs, and a hot hourglass figure.

I’ve jacked off many times while thinking about her.

“Come with me,” she says and turns on her heel, sashaying to her office door just around the corner from the reception desk. I watch her ass swing side to side in that tight black skirt of hers.

I try to look casual and hold the clipboard in front of my crotch and then hurry after her. When I round the corner to her office door, I find her waiting for me. I squeeze past her and she shuts her door. This is how some of my masturbatory fantasies have started — so it’s not helping me control my boner.

“Sit down,” she says in a tone of voice that clearly says don’t fuck with me, boy.

I obediently sit, secretly thankful for the momentary excuse to legitimately put the clipboard over my straining dick.

Becoming My Twin Sister’s Sorority Slave

Posted on July 1, 2019July 1, 2019 by indieerotica

Sexy freshman Ramona would do anything to get into Zeta Zeta Kappa, especially if it means getting closer to its flirty leader, Jewel. If accepted, Ramona has the chance to become Jewel’s freshman slave, meaning she’d be at the sexy senior’s beck and call for a year.

Nervous about her chances, Ramona asks her bookish twin sister, Andie, to join her on pledge night for emotional support. Though it turns out that ZZK is too wild for studious Andie, she participates in a titillating dare with her twin, and a forbidden passion is ignited between them.

The more Ramona and Andie try to deny their desire, the stronger it gets, threatening to either ruin their relationship—or take it in a whole new direction.

Becoming My Twin Sister's Sorority Slave is a 15,000-word novella.

I can tell by the look on Andie’s face that she’s regretting this. It’s after midnight and below freezing, and we’ve been shivering on the front steps of the Zeta Zeta Kappa house for almost a half hour.

We’re not alone, which is probably adding to my sister’s discomfort. There’s about a dozen of us, all waiting to be let inside to pledge this sorority. I take a quick glance at the other freshmen girls and can tell they’re just as excited to be here as I am. Everyone is dying to become a Zeta—everyone except my twin sister, that is.

“If they don’t open in another five minutes, I’m going back to the dorm,” Andie says through clenched teeth.

I try not to roll my eyes. My twin has always been quiet and bookish, and never much of a partier like I am. I only convinced her to come with me to pledge because ZZK has a reputation for doing tons of community service. They’re also known for throwing wild parties for girls only—so wild that they’re an off-campus sorority. Zeta house is a few blocks away from Greek Row, and not too many students know much about it. In fact, you can pledge by invite only. On the second day of classes, Andie and I were handed our invitations by Jewel, the girl I’ve been infatuated with since we first visited State while looking at colleges last year.

“If you can’t stand waiting out in the cold for a few minutes, how will you ever survive pledging?” I ask.

“I already told you, I’m not letting anyone haze me,” Andie says. She gently pokes me in the rib, the jab of her finger soft through my heavy jacket. “I’m only here to make sure this chick is worth it.”

My cheeks heat up at the thought of Jewel. To say I have a huge crush is an understatement. If becoming a Zeta means getting close to her, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m lucky enough to have a sister like Andie to be my wing-woman.

Though we’re identical, you wouldn’t know it at first glance. I’ll never be persuaded to ditch our natural raven hair-color, but Andie dyed hers strawberry blonde the second we graduated from high school. It looks great on her, and despite her introversion she turns more than her fair share of heads. Still, she’s way too buried in her neuroscience studies to care about dating. I’ve always wondered if she’s asexual since she’s never expressed any major interest in boys or girls.

But if Andie’s happy, then I’m happy.

The heavy wooden door to Zeta house swings open, letting out a burst of warmth. Jewel stands in the doorway, haloed in the light from inside as she smiles down at us.

“Come on in, fresh meats,” she greets us.

Jewel is so fucking gorgeous that I immediately noticed her during the campus tour last year, walking across the courtyard while giggling with friends. Her infectious smile, chin-length black hair that always looks artfully teased into a bob, and knock-out figure were enough to cast a spell over me. What I wouldn’t give to have those C-cups, narrow waist, and generous ass all to myself.

But for now I focus on the task at hand and step into Zeta house with everyone else, pulling Andie by the hand behind me.

Once we’re all gathered inside the expansive foyer, Jewel closes the door and folds her arms under her chest. “Take off your jackets,” she says, gesturing to several coat racks and hooks around us.

There seem to be a lot more racks than necessary. Andie notices the same moment I do, because she shoots me a raised eyebrow as we shake off our coats.

“Now take off your shirts and bras,” Jewel adds.

Eating My Twin Sister’s Birthday Cake

Posted on July 1, 2019July 1, 2019 by indieerotica

I’m so excited I’m bursting at the seams. My high heels click ferociously across the marble floor all the way to the elevator. My fingers tremble as I call the twenty-eighth floor.

The doors close. I see myself in their reflective surface. The smile on my face is enormous.

As the elevator car zips me toward our room, I look myself over. Silky, bronze-colored button-down blouse. Black pencil skirt that hugs all my curves. Long black hair tied up into a neat bun. No bra or panties. I headed for the airport immediately after leaving the office early, knowing that I couldn’t be late for our rendezvous. We only get to share this night together once a year, and this one will be extra special—the tenth anniversary of our first night in this luxury New York City hotel together.

Tonight, we’ll be staying in room 2808. Last year 2708; the year before, 2608. Our first night here we were eighteen and staying in room 1808, and have kept the same room, different floor tradition ever since. We’ve decided this will be the last time. I try not to think about it as I step off the elevator and walk down the twenty-eighth floor corridor.

Chewing my bottom lip, I stand before the closed door, key card in hand. My whole body buzzes with anticipation. I slide the key into the lock and push open the door. The curtains are drawn, the room dark and silent.

She’s not here yet.

Disappointed, I drop my duffel bag on the lush, carpeted floor beside the king-sized bed. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 7:15. Where can she be? She’s never been late before.

It’s still light outside when I peek through the thick, heavy curtains. The mid-July sun is setting, casting golden rays across Central Park. The view is more spectacular the higher and higher the room.

But we won’t be paying attention to the view.

I sit on the foot of the bed, kicking off my heels, wondering how to pass the time before she gets here. After fixing myself a glass of bourbon—neat—at the room’s mini bar, I pick up the remote and aim it at the TV. Shopping channels, reality shows, news—I pass them all right until I get to the X-rated channel. The channel we’d stumbled upon that night ten years ago. The night that changed everything between us.

A threesome is taking place on the screen. Two busty women dressed like belly dancers writhe against some guy with an enormous erect cock. The guy reclines on a bed, much like the one I’m reclining on right now, and strokes himself as the ladies turn toward each other and kiss. They begin to undress each other, hands sliding over each other’s stiff nipples. My own nipples harden and press into the fabric of my blouse when I realize how much the two women look alike. Almost identical.

A soft beep startles me just before the door to the room flies open. I click off the TV and stand, almost losing my balance from the anticipation. Through the doorway she appears, dropping her bright pink, coral-printed carry-on bag on the floor. Her sundress is also pink and coral. Her black hair is loose and curly, flowing just past her shoulders. Different from mine, but still identical.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she steps toward the bed. “Flight delay.”

It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just elated to see her.

And turned on.

She steps closer toward me, close enough that I can smell the peppermint on her breath.

“Happy birthday, Corey,” I whisper.

“Happy birthday, Ro,” she says, pulling me into a deep, hard kiss. My hands tangle into her curly hair as I press her against me, wanting more of her mouth. Traces of peppermint gum linger on her tongue as I suck it.

With a low moan Corey breaks away, and before I can respond she’s popping open my blouse.

Naughty Twin Sisters In The Closet

Posted on July 1, 2019July 1, 2019 by indieerotica

The twins are spoiled bitches. My doormat dad has been married to their gold-digging, trophy wife mom for three and a half years now. In addition to being stuck up and shallow, the twins take things from my room without asking all the time. They constantly make fun of my clothes, but think nothing of raiding my closet. Brittany and Courtney—or Brat and Cunt, as I like to call them—are the fucking worst.

After five blissful months away at college and surrounded by fellow dancers and artists, I’m stuck at home for three months with my stupid, slutty stepsisters. I have no idea how I’ll survive it.

Britt and Court were lounging in the pool in their itty-bitty bikinis when I got home from my run. If I want to make it as a ballerina, I need to keep my body in tip-top shape. But as I check myself out in the mirror before my shower, I can’t help but wish I was less athletic and more curvy. Curvy like Cunt and Brat. They’re built like pinup models, eating whatever they want without gaining a pound. Their mom is similar, but at least she does a lot of yoga. The twins are just lucky, and they spend all day in the pool and doing nothing. They’re still out there now, giggling and splashing water on each other when I get out of the shower.

I realize now is my chance to steal some of my stuff back. I get dressed in a tee and a pair of runner’s shorts before sneaking across the hall to their room.

Their place is a mess, which is no surprise considering how lazy and useless they are. Stepping over piles of clothes and bits of cosmetics, I easily spot my magenta cardigan on the floor—the same cardigan Court said made me look like a “dyke librarian.” That fucking bitch. And my bright blue tights are hanging off the headboard of Brat’s bed. After telling me how fat they made my ass look, that whore has some nerve taking them without asking.

Half a dozen articles of my clothing are tucked under my arms when my toe brushes against something hard on the floor. I reach down and see something bright pink poking out of a sock. Without thinking, I pick it up.

A vibrator?

My mouth drops. The twins just leave their sex toys lying around? I’m surprised one of them would even need a sex toy. Both twins have hot, beefy boyfriends who they’ve been fucking since high school. Do they really need masturbatory aids? At least it’s not myvibrator. The twins already make enough fun of my single status. If they stole my vibrator, I’d have to kill them.

I hear giggling and footsteps coming up the stairs—the twins are out of the pool already! And though I have every right to take my clothes back, I freeze. With the vibrator in my hand I feel guilty for being in here. When I hear them on the landing I panic and dash into their closet, closing the door partway so that I’m hidden. Hopefully they won’t stick around too long, and as soon as they leave I can slip back into my room with my stuff.

“I am bursting at the seams,” I hear one of them say, just outside the room.

It’s Court the Cunt. She’s two minutes older than Britt, and maybe that’s why she always acts like she’s in charge. She talks down to me all the time even though I’m five months older than her. Actually, Court talks down to everyone, especially her mom. With her long blonde hair, C-cup breasts, and pouty lips, she gets away with being a controlling bitch. She enters the room first, and even I have to admit she looks smoking in her sapphire blue bikini. Her wet tresses are plastered to her back. Her ass is practically spilling out of her bikini bottoms. I finger the vibrator in my hand.

“We should have stayed in the pool,” Britt replies. Britt the Brat isn’t as cruel and nasty as her twin, but she’s shallow and spoiled. She throws tantrums, and her mom always convinces my dad to buy her expensive things to win her over. My dad’s so naïve, but Britt is not without her charms. Her hair is shorter than Court’s, and curly. She’s got the same knockout body, though, and her black one-piece leaves very little to the imagination.

“No way,” Court says. I hear her close the door, but can’t see her. “Em’s car is here. And we can’t have that bitch narcing on us.”

Narcing? What is she talking about? I turn a blind eye to all the twins’ stupid shit. In fact, since I’ve been home from school I’ve been going out of my way to ignore them.

“Forget her,” Britt says, “And get over here.”

Court giggles, and then it gets quiet. I can’t see them from my spot in the closet, but soon I’m hearing more giggles and soft smacking sounds. Followed by a soft moan. What is going on out there?

As silently as possible, I inch closer to the edge of the closet and peer outside. Britt and Court are kissing—with tongue!