#stepdad noah

Stepdad!Noah does not have a mean bone in his body, at least when it comes to you. He could never be mean to you. You’re his perfect little angel. He’d tell you you can’t touch while you’re busy fucking his pillow, but he instantly cracks seeing how big and pleading and pitiful and disp your eyes are. You try your very best to keep your grip on his cock, but it’s difficult when your so close, and when your orgasm does hit, it’s surprising intense and your nearly topple over, but not to worry. Noah is right there to keep you upright and praise your for doing so good.

But nothing happens—for a while anyway. Just some light conversation over wine while a movie plays in the background, fireplace lit.

But Jolly’s gaze starts to wander, as it always does, less subtle than usual. You can tell he’s no longer paying any attention to the words coming out of your mouth—but his eyes are on your mouth, then your chest and the way your nipples stand out against the rich stain of your slip, down the rest of your body to settle on your crossed legs the bunched fabric at your hips. If he moved just a little bit, he could see the matching panties—but he didn’t need to. The garment rode up even more when you adjusted, unknowingly flashing him and giving him more than a quick glance at the little wet spot between your thighs.

Jolly grabbed your wine glass and set it aside, ignoring your confused protesting. He then wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling your closer to him. Wide eyed, you stared at him, pulse erratic.

You’ve watched him age in the handful of years you’ve known him—his crows feet getting deeper and deeper, the salt and peppering of his facial hair, the lone thin strand of grey framing one side of his face. You’d always found him attractive, even let your own eyes wander from time to time, but he’d always been off limits.

Breathe hot against your lips, he murmured something in Swedish that made your stomach flip and arousal gush between your thighs. You had no idea what he said, but recognized it as something he said frequently to his wife. You nodded anyway, not caring about what you agreed to. Jolly smirked, then spoke in Swedish again.

“Får jag smaka pådig?”

“What?”

“Can I taste you?”

How Jolly meant that, you didn’t know nor did you care. You gave him a breathy please, and his lips were on yours in and instant—hot, wet, full of pent up, shameless desire. All too quickly you melted into him, easily allowing him to sit you in his lap. His hands slipped under your slip, calloused skin rough on your waist with a possessive grip to match.

The wine tasted far better on his lips and tongue and was twice as intoxicating. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging incessantly at the root and making Jolly groan. He brushed a strap off your shoulder and carelessly tugged the front of your slip down until your breast was exposed.

A loud moan erupted from your throat when Jolly latched onto your breast, blemishing the soft, sensitive skin with his teeth, swirling his tongue over and over and over and over against your nipple. You couldn’t help but grind down against his thick bulge, the thin, absolutely soaked through fabric of your panties leaving little to the imagination. Jolly was happy to let you use him, encouraging you along with his hands at your hips. Louder and louder your moaning grew until it was all the could be heard.

“Perhaps you should quiet down, baby doll,” he husked against your chest, “Unless you want to wake up Noah.”

The thought sends a rush through you.

What would he think? His dear, sweet stepdaughter willingly letting herself be taken and defiled by a man he’s known as long as you’ve been alive, the very man who was his best man at his wedding? What would he do? Would he get angry? Punish him? Punish you? How would he punish you? Would he bend you over his knee, put hand to cheek until your ass was as red as your slip? Would he be tempted to join?

That alone was almost enough to undo you. Jolly chuckled.

“Oh, is that what you want, dearest pappa to see his whore of a daughter?”

It should have shamed you how quickly you nodded.

With ease, Jolly maneuvered you so your back was against his chest with his back against the arm of the couch—in perfect view of the stairs. A few threads popped on your panties as he hurriedly yanked them off. He brought them to his face, inhaling your scent deeply and obscenely before lapping away the slick left behind, then shoved them down his pajama pants.

You shuddered when his fingers glided through your folds, already so on edge and ready to make a mess, but he didn’t give the satisfaction of penetration just yet. He wanted to play with you—rolling your clit between his index finger and thumb, coating every millimeter of his fingers in your arousal.

“You are absolutely soaked.” Jolly purred.

You whined his name, lifting your hips in an attempt get him to do something other than tease.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, plunging a thick finger in your hole, gasping quietly at the squelch of your cunt. “Baby doll doesn’t like being played with?”

But one wasn’t enough. You needed more. You grabbed at his hand and tried to get him to insert another, pussy clenching at the feel of his wedding ring against you.

“Desperat, behövande liten sak, eller hur?”

Once more, every other sound in the living space—not that there was much to begin with—was drowned out by your incessant, depraved moaning. There was no rhythm to Jolly’s movement; it’s like he really was just playing with you like a toy, but god if you didn’t love the way he did.

You tensed when he put his hand over your mouth.

“Oh relax, leksak,” his teeth grazed your shoulder. “I just want you to hear how wet you are.”

A whole body shudder rippled through you as Jolly sank a third finger inside you. Tears pricked your eyes, the sensation overwhelming in the best of ways. He dropped his hand, slipping it high under your slip to palm at your breasts and instantly you cried out once more.

“Jolly, please. I’m so close.”

So lost in pleasure, you didn’t register the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs until you heard his voice.

“What’s going—“

Noah stood at the base of the stairs in disbelief, frozen, staring at Jolly three fingers deep in your cunt, an unmistakable look of pure bliss plastered all over your face.

You moaned Jolly’s name again as the coil in your stomach tightened, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Ah, don’t call for me snygg docka, call for daddy.” He smirked.

You whined and squirmed when he pulled his fingers from you.

“Daddy, please.”

Your teary gaze landed on Noah, still standing frozen, his newly greying hair—the only sign of his age other than the lines that appeared when he laughed really hard or smiled really big—sleep tousled, sleep shorts hanging low, with an erection to match. Maybe in his sleep, he did hear you after all.

Jolly circled your clit with a finger and you jolted.

“C’mon Noah. She wants you. She told me herself.”

He brought his slick coated fingers to his mouth, sticking him inside with a pleased hum.

“She tastes incredible.”

You whimpered, jolting again when he smacked your pussy.

“Come show your daughter one of the reasons her mother married you.”

In a blur, Noah was between your thighs, lapping at your cunt like a starving stray. Unlike Jolly, he had a purpose. There was no teasing, no playing, no filth in any language spewing from his mouth; he was straightforward and to the point, a far cry from any other man before him. You wanted to close your legs around his head, but Noah held your legs open, as far apart as he could possibly get them. He wanted every inch of your pussy on his tongue, his lips, his mouth. Even his nose.

Jolly kept your head in in place—ensuring you had nowhere else to look but Noah—while the other explored your body under your slip, pushing it up as he went so Noah could get a good glimpse of you. Though unspoken, something about their dynamic lead you to believe you were far from the first woman they shared.

Noah sunk two fingers in your cunt with ease, your moan getting cut short as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Jolly shoved two fingers inside your mouth causing you to choke and the feel of his wedding ring clacking against your bottom teeth made you clench. Noah groaned, sending vibrations through you.

“Does she taste better than your wife?” Jolly asked.

Noah curled his fingers, making you wail, and Jolly chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Pressure built in your abdomen and your moans pitched higher. Your thighs started to quiver and your toes started to curl.

“There you go, söt babydocka, sing for us. Sing for daddy. Be a good girl…” Jolly’s breath was red hot in your ear. “Though, a good girl wouldn’t be letting daddy or his friend devour you like this, would she? Is that what you are? A dirty whore? Pappas smutsiga lilla slampa, va? Hans smutsiga lilla hora?”

His words threw you over the edge. He held you close as you came hard, crying out a garbled mix of their names and soaking them both. Even still, your stepfather was unrelenting, fingering you through the intensity and ensuring all the air and energy from your body was drained. The room spun as you gasped for breath.

Eventually Noah stopped and you watched as he whipped his cock out, spit on his hand, and began jerking at a pace that seemed painful. Above you, Jolly did the same, except his balls were dangerously close to your head. If you had the energy, you’d probably take them in your mouth. Instead, you watched them both masturbate over your body until their cum splattered across your chest, stained your slip, and felt it drip down your cunt.

For a little while, it was quiet, the crackling fire and heavy breathing filling the space, broken only your whimpered moan when Noah slapped your pussy.

“Say thank you.” He demanded.

You hesitated, earning your pussy another slap, this time harsher.

“Thank you Jolly… and daddy.”

Får jag smaka pådig? - Can I taste you?

leksak - toy

Desperat, behövande liten sak, eller hur? - Desperate, needy little thing, aren’t you?

snygg docka - pretty doll

söt babydocka - sweet baby doll

Noah watched you flutter about the living room with fondness, fluffy wings and halo bouncing in time with your steps. Each time you bent over to light a candle, he craned neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of what little you told him you were wearing underneath. If you noticed him staring, you didn't say anything.

With the final candle lit, you flicked off the lights and turned toward Noah, a bright yet mischievous smile on your lips. You sauntered over, taking your rightful place in his lap. He smiled up at you, settling his hands on your waist.

You looped your arms over his shoulders and leaned in, mirroring his grin.

"Did you enjoy your birthday slash Halloween party, daddy?"

Noah slid his hands to your hips, silently urging you higher in his lap. "Hm, yes I did, baby. Thank you."

He hummed against your lips when you kissed him, a soft, teasing thing that promised more. You trailed your fingers down to the clerical collar adorning his black button up and tugged at it gently.

"Would Father like to unwrap his present here or somewhere more appropriate?" You whispered.

Noah slipped his hands under your dress, hoping to find a waistband to tug, but found none. He hummed thoughtfully.

Somewhere really nice and private, where he doesn’t necessarily have to act like your stepfather, where he can maybe hold your hand across the table and get lost in his own little world for a moment—wondering if he would’ve ever met you under different circumstances and could fully explore your relationship.

A nice expensive restaurant where the portions are comically small, but absolutely divine, bc nothing is too expensive for his favorite girl.

Skipping dessert in favor for the ice cream shop a few blocks away where you can share a sickly sweet milkshake together.

If he could do your make up for you, oh he would. Maybe that’s something he can figure out later. He’s fully capable of dressing you up tho. Nevermind the cold temperature, he’s putting your in his favorite little dress of yours, but he can’t decide if he likes the tights or not :/ In one hand, it really compliments the look, but in the other, more important, he wouldn’t be able to easily slip his hand inside his favorite pair of panties either.

You just need to sit there and look pretty, which you’re already so good at. Don’t worry abt speaking a word, don’t worry abt feeding urself, ur beloved stepdad will do all the work.