Fucking My Stepson

Friday nights. Richard's choice. Which means action films with improbable physics and too many explosions.

Two weeks since we filmed pornography in a Cambridge hotel. Two weeks of posting content, collecting subscriptions, splitting money four ways. Twenty-three thousand pounds so far. Lilly's student debt getting smaller by the day. My guilt not getting smaller at all but that's a different problem.

At home though. Normal life. Pretending.

Richard picked some Fast and Furious thing. Cars defying gravity. Vin Diesel's muscles defying biology. The usual.

"Come on then," Richard said, patting the sofa. "Squeeze in."

The problem. We're redecorating the den. Have been for three months because Richard starts projects and never finishes them. So we're stuck with the old two-and-a-half-seater in the lounge. Barely fits two adults comfortably. Three is ambitious.

I sat between them. Richard on my left. James on my right. Shoulders touching. Thighs pressed together. Cosy. Domestic. Innocent.

Then James threw the duvet over us.

"Bit much isn't it?" Richard said.

"Freezing tonight." James settled back. "Central heating's playing up again."

It wasn't. The heating was fine. But Richard just nodded and reached for the remote.

The duvet was thick. Heavy winter tog. Covered all three of us from chest down.

Doctor brain noting the decreased visual field, the tactical advantage of--

Sarah. Stop it.

Richard dimmed the lights. Blue glow from the telly. Opening credits rolling. His hand found mine on top of the duvet. Interlaced fingers. Rested our joined hands on my stomach.

Sweet. Husband holding his wife's hand during Friday film night.

Then movement on my right.

James's hand. Not on top of the duvet like Richard's. Under it.

Oh Christ.

His palm landed on my knee. I was wearing silk pyjama shorts. The loose kind. Comfortable for lounging. Absolutely zero protection from anything.

Warm hand. Rough palm. My whole body went rigid.

Richard squeezed my hand. "You alright, love? Cold?"

"Fine." Kept my voice steady. Good girl, Sarah. "Just settling in."

James's hand didn't move. Just stayed there on my knee. Weight of it. Heat of it. My entire focus shrinking down to that one point of contact while Vin Diesel drove a car through a building on screen.

This is mental. This is actually mental. We're not doing this.

His hand started moving. Up. Dragging against the silk. Slowly.

We're doing this.

My brain trying to catalogue arterial response, peripheral vasodilation, sympathetic nervous system activation--

For fuck's sake not now.

Stared at the telly. Explosion. Very loud. Very orange. Richard completely absorbed. My thigh muscles tense under James's hand as he moved higher.

Don't think about what we filmed two weeks ago. Don't think about him coming on my face while Tom fucked me from behind. Don't think about the camera. Don't think about the seventeen thousand subscribers who've seen it.

His fingers reached the hem of my shorts. Stopped there. Thumb doing little circles on my bare inner thigh.

Soft bit. Sensitive bit.

Squeezed Richard's hand without meaning to. He squeezed back. Loving husband. Attentive husband. Completely oblivious husband.

I was squeezing because I was trying not to make a sound.

James slipped his hand under the silk.

Stopped breathing. Actually just stopped. Then had to breathe again because passing out would raise questions.

His hand covered my whole thigh. Large. Warm. Moving higher. I shifted my hips. Tiny movement. Parted my legs maybe an inch.

The sofa was too small. My movement pressed my leg harder against Richard's. He didn't notice. Thought I was getting comfortable.

"Good film," James said. Casual. Conversational. Like his hand wasn't currently up my pyjama shorts.

"Yeah, not bad this one," Richard replied. Eyes on the screen. Munching popcorn.

They're discussing the plot. Actually discussing the fucking plot.

James's fingers found the edge of my knickers. Lace. Why did I wear lace knickers to watch a film with my husband and stepson.

You know why.

He didn't hesitate. Slid two fingers underneath.

I was wet. Already. Had been since he touched my knee.

What does that say about you, Sarah.

Don't answer that.

He found my clit immediately. Knew exactly where it was. Circled it. Slow. Deliberate.

Bit my lip. Hard. The contrast was going to kill me. Richard's thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand up top. Safe. Loving. Married for twelve years. James's fingers on my clit down below. Not safe. Not loving. Stepson who I've fucked on camera for money.

My hips moved. Couldn't help it. Just a tiny buck against his hand. The old sofa springs creaked.

Shit.

Richard turned his head. "You're fidgeting tonight, love. Can't get comfortable?"

Complete freeze. Total shutdown of all voluntary muscle movement.

James's hand went still. His fingers were still inside my knickers. Still touching me. I could feel his pulse.

Pause for thought: he can feel mine too. Right there. Against my. Against the most sensitive part of me. We're both feeling each other's heartbeat through the most fucked up connection possible while my husband sits six inches away asking if I'm comfortable.

"Sorry." Smiled at Richard. Probably looked deranged. "Bit of cramp in my leg. Not much room."

"Want to swap? You can have the end?"

"No!" Too quick. Way too quick. "No, I'm fine here. Warmth helps."

He kissed my cheek. Turned back to the telly.

I nudged James's leg with mine.

Don't stop.

He understood. Didn't just restart. Escalated. Pushed his fingers deeper. Found my entrance. Slid inside me.

Oh fuck.

Two fingers. In and out. Slow rhythm. The thick duvet muffling the wet sounds my body was making. Mortifying. Should be mortifying. Was instead making me wetter.

Stared at the screen. Gunfire. Car chase. Something exploding. Didn't process any of it. My entire consciousness focused on my stepson's fingers inside me while my husband held my hand.

I was trapped. Couldn't spread my legs properly because Richard was right there. But the friction of my thighs squeezed together around James's hand made it more intense somehow.

Doctor brain noting the increased pressure on the anterior vaginal wall, the G-spot stimulation from the angle--

Sarah. Seriously. Not the time.

James leaned in. Whispered so low Richard couldn't hear over the explosions. "Cramp better, Mum?"

"Yes." Barely managed it. "Much better."

He picked up the pace. Curled his fingers. Hit that spot. The one that makes rational thought impossible.

Clamped my hand round Richard's. Nails digging into his palm.

"Exciting bit this," Richard muttered. Thinking my tension was about the film. "Don't worry, the hero always makes it."

I wasn't watching the hero. I was riding my stepson's hand in the middle of our living room while my husband provided commentary on the action sequences.

The orgasm building. Tight coil in my belly. Need to release it. Can't make a sound. Cannot make a sound.

James seemed to know. Curled his fingers harder. Relentless. Precise. Knows my body better than my husband does and isn't that a lovely thought.

"Oh god," slipped out. Couldn't help it.

"What is it?" Richard glanced over. Concerned husband.

"The movie." Voice trembling. "It's just. Intense."

Good save. Terrible save. He believed it.

Closed my eyes. Clamped my legs hard round James's hand. Let the wave hit.

My body went rigid. Trembling under the duvet. Bit my tongue. Tasted copper. Stifling the scream that wanted to rip out of my throat. The orgasm going on and on, fuelled by the terror of being caught and the sheer wrongness of what we were doing.

Coming on my stepson's fingers while my husband holds my hand.

This is who you are now, Sarah. This is what you've become.

The tremors stopped eventually. Went limp. Slumped back against the sofa. Drenched in sweat.

James slowly withdrew his hand. Felt him wipe his fingers on the inside of my silk shorts before pulling out from under the duvet.

Bastard.

He brought his hand up. Rested it on top of the cover. Right next to where Richard was still holding my other hand. Looked at me. Smirked. Raised his fingers to his nose. Inhaled.

I will kill you.

"You alright, Sarah?" Richard asked as the credits rolled. Finally looking away from the telly. "You look flushed."

Looked at my husband. Then at my stepson. Then back at my husband.

"Fine, Richard. The film just. Got my heart racing."

"Bit much all that violence," Richard said, standing up. Stretching. Completely oblivious. "Fancy a cup of tea?"

"Please."

He headed to the kitchen. Left James and me on the sofa. Still under the duvet.

Silence.

Then James leaned over. Whispered. "Seventeen new subscribers today. Someone requested more risky content. Public stuff."

"Absolutely not."

"They're offering two grand for a custom video."

Pause.

"What kind of public."

He grinned. Knew he had me. "They want the risk. The almost getting caught thing."

"We just did the almost getting caught thing. With your father six inches away."

"Exactly. So we know it works."

Richard called from the kitchen. "Sarah? Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk," I called back. Then quieter to James. "We are not filming in public places."

"They suggested a cinema."

"No."

"Train."

"No."

"Their garden while the parents are inside."

"Definitely no."

"Two grand though."

Richard came back with tea. Handed me a mug. Settled back on the sofa.

"What are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing," I said. Same time James said, "University stuff."

Richard didn't even blink. Picked up his phone. Started scrolling.

James caught my eye. Raised an eyebrow.

I looked at my husband. Scrolling through football news. Then at my stepson. Who I've fucked on camera. Who just made me come while his father held my hand. Who's now suggesting we film pornography in progressively more public locations for money.

What the actual fuck is my life.

But also. Two grand. That's two grand toward Lilly's debt. Two grand for something we're apparently already doing.

"We'll discuss it later," I murmured.

James smiled. Sipped his tea. Perfectly innocent.

Richard scrolled his phone. Oblivious.

And I sat there between them. Stepson's come still wet on my inner thigh. Husband completely unaware.

This is fine. Everything's fine. Just a normal Friday night with the family.

Christ, Sarah.

But you're not stopping though are you.

No.

Didn't think so.