Royal Brit Bastard: a badboy stepbrother romance Read Online Free
Author: Alice May Ball
scuttling like sandcrabs all over the Hamptons.”
One morning Mother and Father had both left early, so I had to get myself up. Never one of my special skills. Between trying to figure out coffee and something for breakfast, still bleary and in my jammies, I barged into the bathroom. Steam billowed out as soon as I opened the door and I knew this wasn’t right.
Still, nothing was right that morning, so I fumbled through the mist for the mug with my toothbrush. The shower cabinet door was open. Roger was crouched. Naked and glistening, his huge cock was in his hand.
His hair was wet, stuck to his face. His eyebrows creased in a steeple. He started to say my name, but his voice was hoarse.
I dropped the toothbrush and ran. My whole body tingled so much I thought I was going to implode. As I shut the door to my room and leaned with my back against it, straight away half of me twisted in agony, wishing I hadn’t blundered in on him.
The other half of me wanted to turn and bust back in there. I knew how wrong it would be. Just the thought of it was so wrong that it almost doubled me over.
That was the beginning of it, I think, where I started to go so very badly off the rails. That feeling of how very wrong it was, I got kind of hooked on it. Wanted it, more and more.
Roger said, “All of those silly girls in high school.” We sat on the floor by his bed one slow summer Saturday and played Riddick on his X-Box. “All they want is to tell their friends they’ve been with me.” He drawled lazily, “Show off a mark and say, ‘Roger gave me that’.” he winced as he made the cruel impression of our year’s stereotypical ‘popular girl.’ “They don’t care about me, they don’t know anything about me. I’m just a damned trophy.”
“I don’t care about any of them, either.” He looked into my eyes. “I always wish they were you, sis.” His lip trembled. His face twisted as he wrenched the controller. Flames burst to fill the screen.
We played console games and hung out in his room a lot. About half of his time he spent out, debauching almost every member of the student body and half of the female teaching staff, and the other half flopped in his room. With me.
The way that he talked about all of them, it sounded more like they were the ones who were debauching him. He relished in telling me every detail, I mean every tiny detail of what they did to him.
I remember him sat against the side of his bed with his legs spread wide, his hand held his bluejeans and cupped his balls. He stretched as he told me exactly how and what and where the plump, redheaded English teacher had sucked on him and probed in him with the tip of her tongue.
His eyes fastened on mine as he described her, stood over him as she slipped her panties down, then settled to sit over his face and press her hot, wet pussy into his lips.
He made like he didn’t want any of it and I knew that was a lie. When he said, “It’s you, sis. I want to do all of that stuff, but only with you.”
“Seems I’m the only person you don’t do it all with.”
“It’s true,” and he looked regretful like a long-eared puppy, “But it’s only you who understands me. You get me, sis.”
“Only I don’t. They do.”
He hardly ever even called me ‘Honey.’ It was always ‘Sis.’ On the rare times he did say, ‘Honey,’ it was long and slow, like he did it to tease. Once he was sat in the morning shadow and he got that tone ion his voice. I knew he was going to say it.
His face was almost hidden, all I could see was the blaze of his eyes and his voice was low and growly. He asked me, what would you do? If you could do anything ,” I knew what he was talking about and I squirmed in my little white shorts.
“What would you do?” I bit my lip and then, when he drew it out, as I knew he would, long and low, “Honey?” I came right there. Without even a touch I shook and I moaned as I crested and
One morning Mother and Father had both left early, so I had to get myself up. Never one of my special skills. Between trying to figure out coffee and something for breakfast, still bleary and in my jammies, I barged into the bathroom. Steam billowed out as soon as I opened the door and I knew this wasn’t right.
Still, nothing was right that morning, so I fumbled through the mist for the mug with my toothbrush. The shower cabinet door was open. Roger was crouched. Naked and glistening, his huge cock was in his hand.
His hair was wet, stuck to his face. His eyebrows creased in a steeple. He started to say my name, but his voice was hoarse.
I dropped the toothbrush and ran. My whole body tingled so much I thought I was going to implode. As I shut the door to my room and leaned with my back against it, straight away half of me twisted in agony, wishing I hadn’t blundered in on him.
The other half of me wanted to turn and bust back in there. I knew how wrong it would be. Just the thought of it was so wrong that it almost doubled me over.
That was the beginning of it, I think, where I started to go so very badly off the rails. That feeling of how very wrong it was, I got kind of hooked on it. Wanted it, more and more.
Roger said, “All of those silly girls in high school.” We sat on the floor by his bed one slow summer Saturday and played Riddick on his X-Box. “All they want is to tell their friends they’ve been with me.” He drawled lazily, “Show off a mark and say, ‘Roger gave me that’.” he winced as he made the cruel impression of our year’s stereotypical ‘popular girl.’ “They don’t care about me, they don’t know anything about me. I’m just a damned trophy.”
“I don’t care about any of them, either.” He looked into my eyes. “I always wish they were you, sis.” His lip trembled. His face twisted as he wrenched the controller. Flames burst to fill the screen.
We played console games and hung out in his room a lot. About half of his time he spent out, debauching almost every member of the student body and half of the female teaching staff, and the other half flopped in his room. With me.
The way that he talked about all of them, it sounded more like they were the ones who were debauching him. He relished in telling me every detail, I mean every tiny detail of what they did to him.
I remember him sat against the side of his bed with his legs spread wide, his hand held his bluejeans and cupped his balls. He stretched as he told me exactly how and what and where the plump, redheaded English teacher had sucked on him and probed in him with the tip of her tongue.
His eyes fastened on mine as he described her, stood over him as she slipped her panties down, then settled to sit over his face and press her hot, wet pussy into his lips.
He made like he didn’t want any of it and I knew that was a lie. When he said, “It’s you, sis. I want to do all of that stuff, but only with you.”
“Seems I’m the only person you don’t do it all with.”
“It’s true,” and he looked regretful like a long-eared puppy, “But it’s only you who understands me. You get me, sis.”
“Only I don’t. They do.”
He hardly ever even called me ‘Honey.’ It was always ‘Sis.’ On the rare times he did say, ‘Honey,’ it was long and slow, like he did it to tease. Once he was sat in the morning shadow and he got that tone ion his voice. I knew he was going to say it.
His face was almost hidden, all I could see was the blaze of his eyes and his voice was low and growly. He asked me, what would you do? If you could do anything ,” I knew what he was talking about and I squirmed in my little white shorts.
“What would you do?” I bit my lip and then, when he drew it out, as I knew he would, long and low, “Honey?” I came right there. Without even a touch I shook and I moaned as I crested and
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