Playing With Monsters

by Layla Wolfe

  And it didn’t stop. It went on, and on, seemingly for ten minutes. Contractions kept rolling up and down my vaginal canal as though my pussy wanted to snap the glans off a mechanical vibrator. The spasms were so powerful they almost became painful as I slowed down my stroking. Now each tiny flick of my fingertip created a surge like an electrical shock, and I jumped and hissed like a hose running out of pressure.

  Who knew how many long minutes this went on for? I was unconscious, just floating on an orgasmic ocean, red balls of pain and pleasure combined being catapulted at my head, then rushing on past. Something itched my ear. I raised a hand to it. Sticky, warm, jammy stuff trickled into my ear. I had to wake up.

  I raised my torso and looked at my fingers. Blood. Oh dear Lord, what had I done? I must’ve hit my head on the way down, bashed it against the artsy craftsy footboard of the bed. I clawed my way to a standing position so I could look in the giant wall mirror. Holy shit! A knot already formed on my forehead and blood flowed over my collar bone. Damn, it’s true what they say. Masturbation is bad for your health.

  My automatic reaction was to seek out Roman. I must’ve already been used to his protection, because my first instinct was to head for the bedroom door. In the olden days, bathrooms were built down the hall, so I headed there. The bathroom door was ajar, the shower running. It seemed as though I could hear Roman humming his good night tune as he showered. Like Alice finding the tiny door behind the curtain, of course I pushed it open.

  And nearly fainted dead away again.

  Roman’s tall, lean form was almost perfectly visible behind the opaque shower curtain. But he wasn’t humming any fucking tune as he soaped up. He leaned his shoulder blades back against one wall, hips thrust forward. Smoothing his palm over the mound of his pubic bone, he gripped his long, fat cock. A small high window flooded his form with natural light like a Roman concubine, erotic and gorgeous in the steam cloud. The curtain was just cloudy enough that I could make out the shiny, soapy mushroom head of his plump rod as he smoothed his fist over it lovingly, slowly, taking his fucking time.

  I had to grab onto the edge of the door to prevent myself from falling over.

  His beautiful hawk’s nose in profile, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he gulped, pleasuring himself with every stroke of his palm. I had never witnessed a man jacking off before. It was a hedonistic whirlpool of sensuality. Roman took his time working himself into a lather, his hips jerking with every other stroke. His free hand snaked up his thigh to cup his balls, kneading them voluptuously. He was obviously finding great bliss in his pleasuring of himself, an expert at it, knowing exactly which move to make—which I would not. He worked that dick like a pro, languidly, sensuously. It was made all the more erotic by the fact that he didn’t know I was watching. He thought he was alone, but he still stroked his meat like he was in a porn.

  Barely breathing, I risked coming closer. He had the shower head positioned so it hit no higher than his thighs. His crotch was a tub of whipped topping, all frothy and snowy with soap bubbles, his great limb of a dick protruding almost purplish, eager to come.

  Then he saw me. It wasn’t one of my finer moments.

  His face turned, heavy-lidded eyes at first. They popped open when he viewed my form standing there idiotically.

  For a moment he was motionless. His lower jaw seemed to sag. Then he leaped into motion, tearing the curtain aside.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROMAN

  Roman’s initial reaction to seeing his stepsister watching him masturbate was shock. Shock so severe that his penis drooped to half-mast.

  But just as quickly, he rebounded.

  By the time he slammed off the water and yanked aside the shower curtain, his cock had already responded to the erotic stimulation of the surprise. It was back to full power, bubbles still dripping off the shiny cockhead, jutting powerfully, a symbol of his vigor.

  He’d been fantasizing about her just now while stroking his dick to climax. He felt like a fucking high schooler masturbating in the shower while dreaming about some forbidden fruit. Suddenly, here she was in a draping pink gown that puddled at her feet in folds.

  Her blank look, her mouth a perfect O, didn’t tell him whether she was appalled or aroused by what she’d seen. How the fuck long had she been standing there?

  Roman wasn’t sure whether to grab her in anger or lust. His primordial, instinctive reaction was to jerk her by the arm, slam her palms down on the vanity, and slide into her from behind. That way, he instantly calculated with his rock star’s math skills, he could see both their faces as he reamed her. But if he just took her there on the vanity bareback, he’d be no better than that fucktard Riker.

  Yet his cock was full and hard, itching to explode. And Gudrun’s messy hair framed her dark eyes, her full, parted lips. Her nipples jutted the pink satin like little nails, and her hips were cocked to one side, telling him she’d liked what she’d seen.

  So he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. “What’d you see? What were you watching?”

  A definite smile played at the edges of her mouth as she looked him boldly up and down. His erection rubbed against her satin lap, thrilling him so heavily a few drops of semen spurted from the slit, no doubt staining her gown. “I saw you wanking off. Like I was just doing in my bedroom.”

  A tidal wave of lust came over Roman. He had heard sighs and grunts coming from her room, and he figured she was probably exercising. But merely thinking of her exercising had inspired him to jump into the shower to grease his pipe. How can I not fuck her right here and now? She’s practically asking me to. As he lifted the curtain of her hair, maybe to kiss her, he saw the most horrible gash on her forehead. What the fuck? A fresh wound, she hadn’t done a very good job of wiping the blood from her ear, her neck.

  Immediately he turned her around to face the bathroom mirror. Reaching around her, he turned on the water. The hot water came quickly, as he’d just been using it. “What the fuck, Gudrun? Don’t fucking scare me, make me think Riker’s in there beating you.”

  But she didn’t seem concerned. She leaned forward on her palms just like in his wildest dreams, swaying her ample ass seductively. She didn’t seem to care about the laceration, but Roman took a pastel yellow towel from a ring and wetted a corner of it.

  “No big. I just fell at the moment of…when I came. See, it’s true what they tell you. Masturbation is bad for you.”

  “I’m never going to buy that.” Roman dabbed at the wound. “But I like thinking of you coming. You do that often? Fly solo?”

  She shrugged, admitting, “No. It never occurred to me until I started living with you.” When she shrugged, she undulated her entire spine. Her ass was warm and firm with just the thin layer of satin shielding it from his bursting cock. A sexual thrill hardened his balls, drew them up close to his body in preparation for spilling seed, and a couple more droplets of jizz dribbled from the slit.

  “Why now? The house is so inspiring?”

  She looked slyly at him in the mirror. “No, dummy. You. You drive me crazy. It’s not even your rock star persona because I didn’t know you then. I like you for who you are, now. I like you in your Bare Bones cut with the sexy patches. I like the chain around your waist, the rumble of your tailpipes, your big motorcycle boots. You’re a sexy bad boy, and you inspired me to masturbate.” Another shrug nearly had Roman losing it. She must feel the enormous ridge of his pecker pressed into the cleft of her ass. Literally just that layer of satin kept him from sliding it up her cunt, still juicy from her frantic stroking a few minutes earlier.

  His free hand had nothing better to do, so he lifted it to cup one of those stupendous tits. The nipple was this close to popping out of the drapery of the bodice, and Roman’s mouth watered to slurp that tit into his mouth again. She likes me for who I am. She’s not like Andrea. She’s not a shallow twit operating with half a brain, getting me into trouble with the fucking cartel. Gudrun was savvy. She would know how to act to keep
the cartel away from the club. Roman realized with a jolt she would make a good old lady.

  He let his thumb rub circles around the erect nipple while blotting the wound with the towel. He still couldn’t bring himself to admit that he liked her on a personal level—that would go too far against his grain, against his vow that he’d never fall for another mere woman, at least not in the foreseeable future—so he said, “You drive me crazy too, Gudrun. Just thinking of you petting your poodle next door has got my motor running. Sorry. I’ve been hanging around Wolf Glaser too much lately.” He apologized for his language. He moved the towel down her neck, rubbing to get some of the dried drips off.

  “But it’s wrong. All kinds of wrong.” The gyrations of Gudrun’s full ass seemed dead set on bringing him off like some kind of teen shooting on the outside of her clothes. “Just think how shocked and mad my dad will be if he finds out you’ve been banging me.”

  “But I can’t bang you. I’m celibate, remember? And I think Slushy has seen worse fucking things in his time, Gudrun. He cooked the books for cartels and now a motorcycle club.”

  Gudrun arched her back like an angry cat on a fence. This only served to swivel her pelvis up and into Roman, bringing the floor of her pussy smack directly against the underside of his erection. He hissed in air and had to freeze like a statue, or he was certain he’d embarrass himself by shooting his load. “You’re still my stepbrother. Your mother will be appalled.”

  “I think I’m a little too old to care what my mother thinks,” Roman lied. He did care. After witnessing her devastation when Slushy had disappeared a couple years ago, he never wanted that to happen again. She was—perhaps stupidly—trying to work it out now with the cartel attorney, and if that’s what she wanted, so did Roman.

  Gudrun squirmed, about to turn to face Roman. “Then let me service you. You were almost there, in the shower, then I came along and ruined it. Let me pleasure you, Roman. I’m used to it. I did it all the time—”

  His reaction was instant. He fell to his knees, grasping her hips and turning her back to face the mirror. He couldn’t fuck his stepsister for so many reasons. But there was nothing standing in the way of him lifting the pink satin to reveal the ghostly white globes of her ass. He admired the heart shape for a few moments, his prick drooling and throbbing with its own heartbeat.

  “What are you doing? I’m the one who should be doing that, Roman. I’m the one who should be pleasuring you with my mouth—ah!”

  Her sudden piercing cry rattled the tiles in the shower enclosure. Her back was arched so severely it was easy for Roman to muff dive from behind, his tongue stretching out to lap her pussy opening before it reached the knob of her clit.

  He had not been famous for doing this when in Little Accident. While living his existence as the notoriously lewd and skilled guitarist for the hair band, he’d been mostly famous for accepting blowjobs. It was only when he’d hooked up with Andrea, desperate to please her and make a permanent impression on her, that he’d graduated to the intricacies of going down on a woman. It pumped his ego, how easy it was to get Andrea off, and she told him he was a natural, that he was born to give skull jobs.

  As he lapped at Gudrun’s cunt, her sighs climbed higher and higher in register. Soon she sounded like a mouse in the wall, a eunuch monk shooting for the stars, her squeals able to shatter glass. Roman knew he was on the right track.

  He only wished he could see the effect his cunt lapping was having on her. His full bull’s balls were close to bursting as he twitched his tongue-tip across the bulging nubbin of her clit. But when he brought a hand up to encircle his pulsating dick, he nearly lost his load right then and there. Instead, his hand hovered over the appendage. He jumped and gasped every time he dared touch his penis, that’s how close he was to shooting. The glans was so tight and shiny it felt like a taut plum in his hand, and he dared using a few drops of precum to lightly slide his palm across it.

  But every time he did, his gasp made him lose momentum with Gudrun. If she’d just brought herself off, it would be harder this time, so he dove back in with abandon, ignoring his needy prick.

  He lapped away like a horse at a trough, her cries soaring so high they defied the human ear. He wanted to bring her joy without seeming like a cheesy hoser, like just another one of the many men who had used and abused her. He was hot for her yet he was family, so that added a layer of tenderness and concern to their relationship. Her welfare was top on his list, and bringing her off big-time would increase her passion for him, too.

  And allow him to remain technically celibate at the same time. It was a genius move.

  “Oh! Roman! Good fucking God, don’t stop!”

  Her command could have been heard down at the house of that old lecher, Reg Eastwood. Although Roman’s tongue muscles were tiring—he hadn’t gone pearl diving in over a year—he soldiered on. He was rewarded with a big gush of juice down the sides of his face as fine tremors gripper Gudrun’s inner thighs.

  There. He’d done it. Sliding one finger inside her, Roman wanted to feel the orgasm. He wanted to feel her pussy walls clench his finger as though it were a cock. And without thinking, his fist choked his erection. Suddenly he was spurting jets of jizz, the ecstatic spasms ripping through his innards, his balls in turmoil as he shot against the plumbing under the sink.

  Her legs now trembled like a wobbly colt. “Please…no…” Gudrun whispered, making no attempt to remove her pussy from his mouth. Her inner canal still clenched his digit, one minute, two minutes, three minutes for sure now, each contraction coming weaker than the last. Roman choked the remaining spunk from his dick, lapping every more lightly at the sexy shell of her pussy. Finally he pulled away, running his hand over the soft globe of her ass. With regret he allowed the pink curtain to fall, covering her from him.

  “God!” Gudrun panted freely now, letting her head hang down over the sink. She seemed to be propping herself up mostly by her arms, her legs being rubbery and useless. Roman stood up so quickly all the blood rushed from his head, and he, too, had to grip the edge of the sink as light little bubbles overwhelmed his line of vision. They stood there side by side like two teens at prom unable to handle liquor.

  “Jesus Criminy,” Roman panted.

  “Damn, boy,” Gudrun whispered. “I think I just had my annual allotment of orgasms. My dad’s going to kill you.”

  Gudrun seemed to like the idea that Slushy would go postal, so Roman encouraged it. “You’re probably right.”

  She raised her head to look at him. “What? What do you mean? We just started a brand new relationship! Is this going to ruin it?”

  Roman nodded. “Probably. I mean, he’s trying to make it work with my mom. Or so he says. You’re the one always telling me what a drifter he is, what a callous hoser.”

  “Oh, no!” she protested. “I wouldn’t call Slushy a hoser at all. I just think he’s kind of…lost. He just doesn’t have the expertise to handle women. He’s good at law, just not at women. So he drifts aimlessly. I mean, think of it. If he was that great of a lawyer, would he have even been working for the cartels in the first place?”

  “Yes,” said Roman with assurance. “I mean, you can’t get a better-paying job, even on Wall Street. If they like and trust you, you’re in like flint. I’m actually surprised he took a step down in working for us.”

  “Safer, maybe,” said Gudrun, adjusting her gown around her as if it were a jock strap.

  That was when the awkwardness of what they’d done set in. Roman thought. Slushy really would throw a cow when he found out. Or did Roman even want to continue this ridiculous pursuit? He was celibate for a damned good reason—women sucked. While there was every indication Gudrun was different than most women, even so, she’d be gone soon, gone to school in Flagstaff if everything went right. So he risked fucking up his mother’s happiness just for a shot at muff-diving this genuine redhead?

  He was just clearing his throat when a big booming knock sounded on the heavy d
oor downstairs. He hadn’t heard any vehicle approach, so it could only be either Wolf Glaser or Reg Eastwood, their neighbors. Roman was still stark naked, the soap having dried to a thin milky layer on his crotch, so he just grabbed his jeans and stepped into them, minus briefs. He didn’t care about either one of those guys seeing him half-naked.

  “Take your time, get ready. Or go to bed, it’s getting late,” he told Gudrun before speeding down the hallway, yanking on his cut over his bare torso. He may be in hiding, but he was still proud of his colors.

  Roman peeked through the door’s glass before opening the door. Wolf Glaser looked ready for action. Instead of sticking his piece in the back of his pants like any good hoodlum, Wolf’s Glock actually had its own hip holster, and he enjoyed packing a Taser as well. With his cellphone, Bowie knife, pepper spray, and a flashlight on his “duty belt,” he clanged like a cop when he walked. “Boss, I’ve got the 411 on the situation.”

  “Come on in.”

  The sun had set in the past half hour, so Roman led the way back to the kitchen where he’d set the half-empty bottle of wine. He gestured at Wolf with it. “Eighty-four Spottswoode cab, Napa Valley,” he told the Prospect.

  Wolf looked confused. “I don’t drink on the job.”

  “Who’s on the job?” Roman poured himself a fresh glass.

  “I am, which is why I answered my door when Ford Illuminati came pounding on it half an hour ago. Where the hell were you?”

  Roman froze, wine glass in hand. Then he relaxed. “Taking a shower, I guess. What’s up with Ford? He could’ve just texted me. I check that all the time.”

  “We’re trying to avoid that because it’s traceable. You go on the Painted Desert run last year?”

  Roman had gone on that annual run, his first with the club. All the local Bare Bones chapters—Pure and Easy, Phoenix, Flagstaff, and Prescott—met up with brother clubs at a private ranch in the Painted Desert. Roman had gone last year. They all hooked up in Two Guns off of Route 40 and tied one on, dancing on bars and riding daredevil in the desert outside of town, sleeping wherever they happened to fall. It was a time-honored tradition, and Roman wouldn’t miss it for the world, but his social calendar had exploded back down in Phoenix at the clubhouse.