Give Me That Dick, You Mangy Dog!

Chapter 68

As soon as the heat died down, it hit me: shitty idea cramming non-body stuff inside. The brush alone sometimes left me sore as hell; with someone else jamming it in, way worse. And even worse, horny out of my mind and me screaming "shove it, shove it deeper." Reality crashed in hot: burning inside, perineum stretched tight, front all sensitive, ass throbbing in waves.

I lay back and let my body go loose. Needed to hit the bathroom. That "gotta shit" feeling hitting hard, but I knew there was nothing to come out—just the body's reflex trying to reset after being stretched wide open. The AC chilled my skin, giving me goosebumps from the inside out, this weird empty feeling, good and bad all at once.

I glanced at Mariana. She had my phone, quiet, picking and deleting pics. Zooming in, giving it those porn-level close-ups, swiping, going back, comparing. Face like a homemade porn expert, not dropping a word. Her mouth would open, almost speak, then close. I could see the whole rant running through her head: "look at the shine," "look at the ass edge," "look how it gaped," "look at that fucking hole." She said nothing. Stayed silent, glued to it, finger scrolling the screen like she was signing off on the damage report for my wrecked hole.

"Give me that,"

I said, too wiped to argue.

"I'm heading to the bathroom."

"I was looking at..."

she pouted.

"But I haven't even seen them yet, girl."

I snatched the phone from her hand and started flipping through the pics.

"Fuck my eyes... can't see straight."

Truth was, I was scared of what I'd see. Always thought it was weird watching porn where the guy pulls out after ass-fucking and there's that ugly open hole. "How do guys get off on that? It's too gross..." I wanted to check the pics, but one eye half-shut and the other blurry messing me up, and Mariana poking the screen, zooming, pointing out edges, shine, everything—it was pissing me off.

"Quit with the hands,"

I growled.

"I'll look in the bathroom."

I got up slow. Thighs sticking, burning. Each step with this phantom pressure poking, sphincter testing if everything was in place. Sat on the toilet. My body did the rest: just air, just reflex, the "unclogging" after the rough fuck. Breathed deep. Burned a bit more. Passed.

"Gonna add lube to the list,"

I thought and laughed to myself.

Checked the pics in the bathroom's quiet. Nothing new. I wasn't "manhole mouth" for fuck's sake. Just more open, normal after pulling two things out. Mariana made a big deal for nothing. Up front, same as when I get super turned on or after pounding forever. In back, just more relaxed; could see deeper 'cause I pushed it out. Pornographic? Hell yeah. And that was the point.

Wiped up, washed what I could, checked the paper for blood—and eased my panties up slow and headed to the kitchen for water, I was dehydrated as fuck after all that! The whole house dead silent was creepy; usually there's always someone crossing the hall, yapping loud, rummaging pots. Being able to chill alone there, leaning on the sink with my glass of water, no one bugging me—it's kinda nice. But it's my house, right! Can't stay quiet for two minutes. From the hall came the click of my mom's bedroom door, and suddenly, my stepdad popped up, jumping when he saw me.

It was him. Just in sleep shorts, no shirt.

He wasn't some gym rat, but he had that real man build: shoulders solid, sparse chest hair, not skinny, not flabby. Sleep-rumpled face. When he spotted me, he froze for a second.

"Haven't hit the sack yet, Jully?"

he yawned.

Sometimes, even right there in person, the asshole acts like nothing's ever happened between us, like he's never swapped pics, never talked dirty. That "polite" pose, clean look, soft tone. I can't wrap my head around it.

"Just came down to pee and grab water. Heading back to my room now,"

I said casual, no hidden shit, swear.

He stopped, glanced down the hall where he came from, listened to the house like he was gauging the risk. When he realized it was all quiet, he flashed that little smirk.

"Going back for round two? You and your cousin up to no good?"

He didn't know shit about Mariana and he sure as hell couldn't. I didn't want this prick laying eyes on her, or I'd fuck him up bad.

"Listen here, you piece of shit,"

I said, shaking with rage.

"Back the fuck off Mariana. If I hear about any bullshit from you with her, I'll blow it all up."

He didn't answer right away.

Just went to the fridge, grabbed water, poured a glass in silence. Came over to me and leaned on the sink next to me, like the kitchen was his.

"Jully, we've got each other by the balls. When it's like that, threats don't work. This is a partnership, got it?"

"What fucking partnership."

"You know what I mean."

he said, trying to switch topics.

"Don't fuck around with Mariana, you hear me?"

"Alright, boss,"

he raised a hand in lazy mockery.

"Just don't forget—if you squeeze one side, it squeezes the other too."

He glanced down the hall again and lowered his voice.

"I just want you not to tell your cousin or anyone, you listening?"

his voice had a light threat.

"In our deal, that's your part."

I took a breath, pissed off, and fired back with my face inches from his.

"Your part is to stay in line and do what I say,"

I held back from jabbing a finger in his face.

"You hearing me good?"

I knew my tone didn't scare him, but I said it anyway. And that's when, in the middle of this little show, I actually looked. His sleep shorts tented in front, bulge clear as day. My brain clicked.

"Fuck, Jully."

The argument wasn't going anywhere. And I didn't even want to argue. Adrenaline hit again, that ice in my bones that gets me jittery and craving trouble. I eyed the hall like someone could pop up any second.

"And my mom, she asleep?"

I whispered now.

He busied himself rinsing the glasses, careful not to make noise, not realizing his ship was about to get rammed.

"Yeah. Poor thing was wiped, took a sleeping pill. Out till morning now..."

My mom's shitty at sleeping. When she hits the pills, she drops like a rock—and still wakes up with the roosters, chipper as hell.

In my head, the horniness from Mariana pounding me still lingered; that damn can and brush felt like they were still gripping inside. The lust had cooled, but it was alive, electric, itching my clit. Seeing this wreck pretending to be normal gave me that urge to fuck shit up: ice in the bones, sweaty palms, heart pounding. My body reacted instant: adrenaline and the itch to do something stupid.

I pulled out my phone, opened the pic folder, and held it up to his face, still with his back turned.

"Turn around. Look at this."

He turned and jumped at the phone in his face. The jump turned to a dumb grin, then shock, and froze on some blank expression I couldn't read. He reached to grab the phone for a better look and I just pulled it back an inch from his face.

"No."

I snapped, pissed.

"Look from my hand!"

"Who's that?"

he almost said "Mariana," I saw it, but caught himself.

"It's you?"

"Yeah. Shoved a deodorant in my pussy and a brush up my ass."

His eyes locked on mine, disbelieving, wanting to bolt but not. Silence hung heavy. The kitchen was just the fridge humming louder after being opened. I stepped half a pace closer, shoved the screen's glow right in his face with the dirtiest, most open pic, making him swallow hard.

His shorts were tenting.

My hand moved on its own.

I grabbed the bulge sticking out in his shorts and squeezed, hard, and just held it there.