Filth Files

"Yes! I'm better than mummy!" I practically shouted.

I didn't care who heard me anymore. I took every inch of him as he hammered into me. His cock was so thick and pulsating, it felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside, but the pain only made the pleasure sharper. Each thrust was harder than the last, making me lose my grip on reality.

The porn was still screaming at 100% volume, but my own voice was louder. I was completely senseless.

"Take daddy's cock, Nina," he growled, his eyes dark and wild. "Take it like the good girl you are."

He slid two fingers into my mouth, and I sucked on them instinctively, my tongue swirling around them.

"Your mouth is so warm and wet," he whispered. He pulled his fingers out and reached down, rubbing my clit in fast, repetitive circles while he kept pumping inside me.

The sensation was too much. A crazy tingling started in my lower belly and spread everywhere. My vagina walls began to squeeze him, contracting in tight, desperate pulses.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his face contorting. "Your virgin pussy feels so... so perfect."

He sped up, his hips slamming against mine until I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred and my whole body went stiff. I let out a muffled scream into the room as my climax hit me like a wave, my insides clamping down on him as I came harder than I ever thought possible.

He let out a loud grunt, thrusting deep one last time as he followed me over the edge, filling me with his heat while the video on the laptop finally went silent.

He collapsed on the bed next to me, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. I was still gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I turned my head and found myself staring into his blue eyes. Up close, the man was truly beautiful, even with that dark, dangerous energy still rolling off him.

He reached out his large hand gentle now as he pushed my damp hair out of my face. He cupped my cheeks, and leaned in to give me a soft, lingering kiss.

"That was my first time," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I've never done anything like that before."

He smiled, satisfied. "I know," he said softly. "I'm happy I was the one who got to do it."

I couldn't help it; I smiled back.

But then, the moment snapped. Mason stood up, adjusting his clothes.

"I have to go out for a bit," he said, checking his watch.

I opened my mouth to speak-to ask where he was going, or when he'd be back, or if we were ever going to talk about this-but nothing came out. I just watched him walk toward the door, leaving me alone in the mess of my bedsheets with the ghost of his touch still burning on my skin.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, but I couldn't scrub away the feeling of him. Afterward, I stood in front of the mirror. I looked a mess-my hair was tangled, and my lips were swollen.

I saw my cheeks turn pink as a small smile pulled at my mouth. The guilt was there, heavy in my chest, but the satisfaction deep in my core made it all feel worth it.

I spent the next hour staring out the window, looking for any sign of his car. When he didn't show, I tried to do my homework, but I couldn't focus. I ended up throwing my textbook across the room in frustration. Every time I closed my eyes, I just saw his face and felt his hands on me.

"Where did he go?" I asked myself. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep, feeling really stupid.

I woke up hours later to the sound of tires on the gravel. I immediately scrambled out of bed, a huge smile on my face. I wanted him to see me, to notice me again. I pulled on a pair of tiny booty shorts and a see-through tank top. My nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric, peeking out to say hello.

I walked downstairs just as he came in through the kitchen door. I caught myself and folded my arms over my chest, trying to look annoyed. I knew I shouldn't be upset-he was my mother's husband, not mine-but I couldn't help it.

"Where did you go?" I asked. The question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice sounding more possessive than I intended.

Mason stopped in his tracks, his eyes slowly dragging from my face down to my sheer top, then back up again. He didn't answer right away.He walked toward me.

Without saying a word, he grabbed my waist and lifted me up, sitting me onto the high kitchen stool. My legs dangled, and the cold metal of the seat felt sharp against my bare skin.

He reached into one of the grocery bags he had brought in. I expected food, but instead, he pulled out a small, rectangular box. He popped a single white pill out of the foil and held it out to me.

It was the morning-after pill.

"Drink," he commanded, his voice flat and firm.

I looked at the pill, then up at him.

I took the pill from his palm, my fingers brushing against his skin. I swallowed it dry, the bitter taste sticking in my throat. He watched me the whole time, his blue eyes tracking the movement of my neck as I gulped it down.

He leaned in close, his hands resting on the stool on either side of my thighs, trapping me. "Now," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my chest where my nipples were still pressing against the thin fabric of my top. "Don't ask me where I go, Nina. You're the one who wanted to be a bad girl. Bad girls don't get to ask questions."