STEPBROTHER COLLECTION - 7 FORBIDDEN ROMANCE SHORT STORIES: Stepbrother Romance Stories Bundle

by Celia Styles

  “In a hurry?”

  Meena nodded.

  “Where’s Garrett?”

  “Oh he just left for work. You missed him by a few minutes. Coffee?” Meena nodded again.

  “So, how have you been?”

  “I’ve been great, Mum. Lot’s of things going on.”

  “I called you last week. But I didn’t get an answer. I guessed you must have been busy with your painting and what not.”

  Meena smiled. Her mother never understood why she had thrown away her career in advertising and decided to pursue as she called it ‘painting and what not’. Meena knew it was no use explaining. Her mother suddenly looked at Meena, cocked her head and squinted her eyes.

  “My, you look a little different today. What happened to the ol’ t-shirt and jeans routine you insist on?”

  Meena looked at herself. Had she overdressed? She mused to herself, You look great. Don’t think about all that. And fuck it if I had. I can dress any way I like.

  “You’re looking great honey,” her mother echoed as if reading her thoughts.

  Meena smiled and decided to change the topic. “I’m really enjoying my art classes, Mum. I’m so glad I decided to join art college.”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows sarcastically. Then grabbing two cups up coffee, she came and sat down beside Meena, pushing one of the cups in her direction. Then bringing her head in close, she whispered, as if scared someone would overhear her,

  “I always worry that you’ll end up like Garrett’s son.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with Garrett’s son?” she asked inquisitively, taking a sip of her coffee. Garrett had a son?

  “Why, he’s an absolute…. I don’t know how to explain it.” said Meena’s mother. Then she relaxed back in her chair. “He’s an artist too, you know.” She sipped on her coffee. Meena tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, wanting to know more.

  “Well for one thing he stays alone in a house in some odd suburb. He doesn’t talk to anybody, doesn’t meet anybody. The only thing he does is paint. Paint, paint and paint. He doesn’t even meet Garrett too often – but Garrett loves him to death. He always tells me, There’s something special about that boy. I have seen him only once. A charming looker he is, but doesn’t talk much around people. Just stays to himself in his house, painting. Garrett says he has his circles, but I don’t even know what that means. You don’t end up like that, Meena.”

  An uneasy feeling crept over Meena - it came from the pit of her stomach. She wanted to push it down as it forced itself up inside her. She felt dizzy. She remembered her step dad’s name Garrett Fisher. Fisher.

  She put down the coffee cup she was holding and looked out the kitchen window.

  “You alright, Hon? You look feverish. Your face is all red.”

  Meena managed a feeble smile, the rush of blood, turning her light complexion bright pink.

  “No Mum, I’m absolutely fine. I’m OK.” She got up and looked at her watch, “In fact I’ve got to go Mum, I’m already late.”

  “You better take care of yourself,” her mother said.

  Meena opened the kitchen door to leave. But just before shutting the door behind her, she turned around and asked a question which she knew dreaded, but had to ask.

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Who’s, Hon?” asked Meena’s mother.

  “Garrett’s son,” said Meena.

  “I think it’s Jett. Jett Fisher.”

  Meena shut the kitchen door behind her and ran to the street. As quickly as she could she hailed a passing cab. Then she went directly back home.

  *****************

  Meena sat upright on her bed, staring directly at the blank wall in front of her. There was no hiding from what she had learned from her mother in the morning. Jett Fisher was her stepbrother. It had been one hell of a thing to know, considering what she and Jett proposed to do together. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Or was it better that she knew now, before anything had happened. Meena wondered how disastrous and explosively embarrassing it would have been if she would have found out later! Meena got up and paced the room as she pondered. But it was not these extremely logical and justified reasonings that bothered her, it was a completely different set of thoughts that seemed to swallow up all the warning signals that made her uneasy.

  So what if he was her stepbrother. How did that change anything?

  Then came the more direct thoughts flooding in - thoughts that she had been holding back since the day before when she had met Jett.

  Oh he was so ravishingly attractive. So unbothered. So in control of everything. She wanted to feel that control sweep over her. And the passion with which he did his work, the clarity of his vision made him the most mesmeric person she had met.

  But like a switch flipping back and forth in her mind, her fears came rushing back.

  But she was going to do what? Take her clothes off in front of her own stepbrother? Was she alright with that - however magnetic he may be?

  The switch flipped back, again.

  Doesn’t matter. I’m going to work with Jett Fisher.

  Meena’s pacing had become faster and faster as she toiled and fought with the swirling thoughts in her head. But now she stopped in the middle of the room. She adjusted her clothing time in the mirror, picked up her hand bag from the table and rushed out of the room.

  In an hour’s time Meena found herself standing in front of the two-storied brick house again. She gave a final look-through to what she was wearing - a dark purple, thigh length silk skirt and a frilled, front buttoned white blouse. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. As she stood there in front of the house her heart pit-a-patted incessantly in her chest. Through her journey here, her confidence had waned and her fears had taken over again, this time dominantly. He’s my stepbrother. But now she was here - in front of the main door. It was open, slightly ajar. For her? She looked back at the path which lead to the street. Turn back. What is wrong with you? She turned back to face the open door, took a deep breath and stepped in.

  Meena, walked in to the big living room of the second floor. Jett was at the far corner, near the window, at work near the easel. The sunlight fell on his face and accented his squarish features. His unkempt matted hair glistened as he worked on the canvas. He wore a white shirt, untucked, and the same work jeans which had small splotches of paint on them. He didn’t look up as Meena entered. As if he could anticipate her movements, he spoke up, as Meena approached him,

  “Ready for today? I thought you wouldn’t come.”

  Meena didn’t know what to say. How could she possibly be ready for what she was about to do. Little did he know about the mental agony she was going through. Two incredible forces pulling her from opposite directions. But she couldn’t tell him. Or should she?

  Immediately steering the conversation to work, he asked,

  “You remember what we talked about last day?” asked Jett, still working at his canvas.

  Meena replied in the affirmative. How could he still paint so calmly? Wasn’t he affected even a bit?

  “We’ll do some basic posing today.”

  He hadn’t looked up at Meena even once yet. Meena felt a little put off. But just then he put his brush down, detached himself from his painting and walked right up to Meena.

  “It’s ok to be nervous. Sometimes it brings out that extra edge.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “You want a smoke?”

  “No that’s fine.”

  He smiled very slightly. The first time Meena had seen him do so, but even still, it was so faint Meena wasn’t even sure if it was a smile. She was nervous. If this was some effort on his part to comfort her, it definitely wasn’t working. Unabashedly, and without any sense of awkwardness he looked directly into her eyes, as if trying to read her. She looked away. He looked over her face, studying it. A warm rush of blood rushed to Meena’s face, turning it red. She tried to compose herself, not wanting to give away her
embarrassment. She tried to act normal.

  “So how do we start? You want to tell me what you’re looking for?” She tried to sound like she knew what she was doing. Jett didn’t answer. He just tilted his head side to side as if inspecting her, figuring her out. Meena felt like a piece of meat.

  “Anything wrong? Do you want me to…”

  “I like what you’re wearing.”

  Meena looked down at herself.

  “Oh, thank you…”

  “I think it’s a great choice. Why did you wear this?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  Meena felt a little relieved. It was the first day. Obviously, he wouldn’t just ask her to strip! She asked,

  “So, you’re going to paint me with the clothes on today?”

  Finished with whatever he was looking at in her, Jett answered, although to some other imaginary question,

  “You’ll do great,” he said. He turned around and walked to the opposite wall, turned back around, and leaned with his back on the wall. Hands folded, he looked at her.

  “The chair over there, you can sit there.” He pointed behind her. Meena turned around to look. There was a chair behind her. A simple wooden chair with two armrests on each side.

  Meena walked towards the chair, confidently. The clothes would stay on today. He had said ‘basic posing’. She sat down on the wooden seat, resting her hands on the armrests and with her legs pressed together, the way it was decent for any lady to do. Now facing Jett, who was still leaning back on the wall opposite, she looked up inquisitively. Jett lit a cigarette.

  “If you’re wearing anything underneath that skirt, take it off.”

  Wrong! Clothes don’t stay on. I should tell him. I don’t think I can do this. I should tell him he’s my stepbrother. I mean, even he might have a problem.

  But something in her didn’t allow her to say anything. It was a tingling sensation in her bosom and a quivering sense of sexual anticipation that kept her mouth shut. The excitement had blurred out all of Meena’s senses by now. Without standing up, she reached below her skirt and slid off her panties. Taking a drag on the cigarette, Jett instructed,

  “Unbutton your blouse.”

  Tell him. Tell him now! Nothing has happened yet.

  Meena, as if having been transported out of her own body, saw her hands reach for the front of her blouse, her fingers numb. She watched as her fingers undo the buttons. She hadn’t worn anything underneath that day. Why the fuck?

  “Don’t take your blouse off, just let it be unbuttoned.”

  She let her hands slip away. It didn’t matter that she didn’t take her blouse off. Meena had big natural breast and as her pretty frilled blouse parted open in front, hanging loosely now from her shoulders, her nipples and big brown areolas became partly exposed. She couldn’t look up at Jett, ashamed. Her senses were now suddenly heightened at her own nakedness; she could hear him breathing at the other end of the room.

  “Lean back on the chair.”

  Meena did so. As she did, her blouse parted completely and whatever little of her tits was hidden before, now lay completely naked in front of Jett. Her eyes met his. Sitting there topless in front of her stepbrother, Meena felt incredibly embarrassed. But she felt extremely kinky, too. What she was doing had made her very horny, and as she was forced to look into Jett’s eyes she felt herself moisten up in all the wrong places.

  “You can lift up your skirt to your waist. Don’t take it off. We’ll keep you clothed but naked at the same time. It’ll get what we are looking for.”

  Meena obliged. As she lifted her tight silk skirt up to her waist, the patch of fur between her legs became visible. On her own, without further instructions, she spread her legs, baring her naked pussy. Her natural brown bush formed a see-through sheath over her naked cunt.

  Jett cocked his head left, then right. He seemed totally unaffected, in his usual way. Must have done this hundreds of times, thought Meena, remembering the paintings which had initially inspired her.

  “Something’s missing. In those days, in these kinds of circles, women were open; forward. Yes, I’m missing an attitude. Otherwise everything is great.”

  Meena felt a little angry. Attitude? What did he mean? There she was sitting naked in front of this man she hardly knew, and it wasn’t enough for him?

  Instinctively, without even thinking she hitched one of her legs over the armrest. Her fleshy white thighs spread out, opening up her big gash.

  “Throw me a cigarette,” said Meena confidently, gesturing out with her hand.

  Instead of doing so, Jett walked over to Meena, standing close, right in front of her. He took out the pack from his pocket and lit a cigarette. Taking the first few drags he placed it in Meena’s mouth. Meena sucked deeply on the cigarette, looking up at Jett. She exhaled and the smoke blew directly into Jett’s face. How’s that for attitude?

  Jett nodded in silence. “Just a small adjustment…” He leaned in, his face just in front of Meena’s. Putting his hand on her thigh which was on the armrest, he pushed it back more, spreading her wider, opening her up further. This close proximity and Jett’s touch on her naked skin jolted Meena out of her short-lived confidence. Her heart pounded wildly. There she was sitting spread out naked in front of her stepbrother; her full womanhood shamefully open to his view. He had to know. This was too much. This was so wrong. She looked directly at him, their faces just inches apart.

  “You have to know something. Don’t ask me how I know, it’s not important. Just trust me when I tell you.”

  In question, Jett raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re my stepbrother. I found out today.”

  For a moment, Jett didn’t react. He remained calm. Then using that same deep stare he used before, he gazed straight into Meena’s eyes. A calm and controlled smile appeared on his face. His hand, which was still on her thigh, slowly slid downward across her soft skin. It reached right between her legs and cupped the whole of Meena’s furry mound. An electrifying sensation shot through Meena’s whole body. She trembled with ecstasy. With his palm pressing down on her warm moist cunt, Jett said,

  “That’s even better. Makes things interesting. Just like it should be.”

  With that he walked away towards his easel. He clipped on a new canvas. Then selecting his choice of brushes and placing them on the easel stand, he looked up at Meena.

  “Try not to move, stepsister.”

  Meena didn’t move. She just sat there. Displayed and open. Exposed, in front of her stepbrother, as he painted her naked body.

  *****************

  “Anything more. Ma’am?” asked the waiter.

  “Huh?” Meena looked up absent mindedly from her coffee. “No, that’s alright, just the check please.”

  Waiting for the bill, Meena looked out at the people walking on the street in front of her. The sidewalk café where she sat was a place she visited frequently, but today things were a little different from the other days. Something weighed in on her mind. She let the cool afternoon breeze blow through her hair, which she had kept open, feeling its light touch one her face. It had been three days. No word from Jett. The bill came, she paid and got up from her seat. She strolled over to the other side of the street, stopping in front of a large glass-windowed shop. She looked at the lifeless mannequins, standing there with their fixed pose. A lot like me, thought Meena, a smile appearing on her face. But it quickly disappeared as her thoughts turned back to what was bothering her. He said he would call. She had waited, hoping he would call the next day after their wild first session. She had not been able to get it out of her mind. That first night Meena had laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over everything that had happened. The images were like clear vivid snippets in her mind which flashed in front of her eyes. The closeness, his breath on her, his smell – it was as if she could feel it all. Her thoughts had been dotted with apprehension and embarrassment that night, her conscience always reminding her one of thing. He’s
your stepbrother. How can you be doing this? But strangely as much as it scared her, the idea turned her on. The fact that it was something forbidden had a wildly intoxicating effect. She felt dirty and depraved. Her hand inadvertently reached between her legs and she had climaxed wildly, rubbing herself, releasing all her pent up excitement since the morning encounter.

  She stood in front of the glass pane, now conscious of her reflection in it. She studied herself. Maybe I’m not the subject that he’s looking for. He had said that the subject has an equal role to play. It wasn’t just about sitting there. I needed to contribute. Maybe I’m too uptight, too nervous. He had understood. He must have had understood immediately.