Page 43 of The Unexpected

She shudders. “Yes, please, Daddy, I want it so bad.”

I spit on my fingers, work them into her ass, first one, then two, twisting and opening her up as O’Toole fucks her from below.

“Such a filthy slut,” he says, smacking her thigh. “You love getting it in both holes, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she screams. “I want to be filled, please, both of you, please!”

I don’t make her wait. I line up my cock with her asshole, press forward, and the resistance is sweet, tight as a fist. I push slow as she squeals, nothing moving for a moment. But then her sphincter opens with an audible pop, and I slide in, breaching the knot of her anus. She sobs, tears streaming, but pushes back, trying to get more of my fat shaft in her butt.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” she howls, her whole body spasming. “Ohhhh!”

The sensation is electric: I can feel O’Toole’s shaft through the thin wall between her holes, our cocks grinding against each other inside her. She’s so full I can barely move, but the friction is perfect, hot and slick.

“Shit,” I grunt. “Oh fuck.”

I grab her hips, start to thrust, slow at first, then faster. O’Toole matches my rhythm from below, and together we use her, fuck her, turn her into a vessel for our lust.

“You’re such a whore,” I hiss in her ear. “A slutty, cock-drunk fuckdoll. You love being used, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” she screams, each word a plea and a benediction. “I want to be your fuckdoll, please, Daddies, fill me up!”

I reach around, find her clit, and rub it hard. She comes again, screaming, her cunt and ass clenching so tight I almost blow right then. O’Toole groans, his face buried between her tits, his hips bucking wildly.

“Shit!” he moans headily. “Oh shit shit shit!”

I last two more thrusts. Then I explode, shooting hot, thick cum deep into her ass, so much that it overflows. O’Toole follows, his cock swelling inside her, and I feel his dick jerk inside her as he erupts, semen pulsing into her honey hole.

“Fuck!” he roars. “Goddamn!”

For a long minute, the three of us pulse and cry, locked together in a mess of sweat, spit, and cum. There’s semen everywhere, all over her thighs, inside Stella, all over my stomach, and dripping down onto the couch. Her pussy’s wet and sloppy, quivering on Lachlan’s cock as my balls empty themselves into her ass.

“Oh my god,” my niece moans. “Mmmmm.”

Then, slowly, we collapse. Stella slumps forward, still impaled, her body limp and trembling. O’Toole pulls her close, kisses her forehead, then lies back on the sofa, breathing hard. I withdraw from her ass, watch as my seed oozes out, and then sink to the floor, my back against the couch, heart pounding.

The only sounds are the ticking of the heater, the guttering of the candle, and the labored breathing of all three of us.

Stella, somehow, manages to laugh—a soft, broken thing, but real. She tilts her head back, hair wild, and grins at us both.

“Oh my god,” she says, voice raw. “That was⁠—”

She never finishes the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

Because I know exactly what it was: everything we’re not supposed to want, and more.

And the only thing that matters is that we want it again.

We stay unmoving for a long time, all three of us, not speaking. The world outside the windows is black, and the only light in the room is the faint amber slant of the lamp, pooling across the bare wood. Lachlan cradles Stella in the crook of his arm, big hand splayed possessive and gentle over her bare belly. I’m half-sprawled beside them, head pillowed on her thigh, one hand tracing lazy, absent circles along her knee. Her breathing is slow, but every now and then, I feel her heartbeat—fast and jumpy, not calm at all.

It’s a good ten minutes before anyone says a word. I listen to the tiny sounds: the tick of the baseboard heater, the soft shift of Stella’s hair against Lachlan’s chest, the clink of glass as he finally reaches up and grabs the half-empty bottle of wine from the table. He pours a splash into a tumbler, drinks, then passes it to her.

She giggles, takes a sip, and almost drops the glass. She’s fucked-out and weightless, the space between her thoughts filled with pure static. I watch her drink, watch her lick a little bead of wine from the rim, and I know that if I don’t say something, none of us will ever move again.

“Listen up, star girl,” I say, voice rougher than I meant. Stella blinks, her eyes big and blue, fixed on me. “Now that there’s another man in the picture, the rules change. I want more.”

She doesn’t react. Not at first. Just stares, glass half-raised, the flush on her chest climbing all the way to her ears.

“What do you mean?” she says in a trembling voice. “Like access? Like sex on demand? You know I’m doing that already, Hunter.”