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I run my fingers down the stitched black leather, nervously admiring the elegant curves and plush contours. “You’ve got a very nice car, Mrs Glassner.”

“Thank you, Adam,” she says, “That’s kind of you to say.” Her eyes flash on mine in the rear-view mirror before returning to the road, navigating us out of the chaos of the airport’s arrivals terminal.

Monica, her daughter, riding shotgun, turns in her seat to face me, giving me a warning glare. I shrug.

“Remind me again,” Mrs Glassner continues, “How did you two meet? In class?”

“No,” Monica shakes her head, “It was through a friend of a friend. Erica Garcia, you remember her? Mary’s friend? Well, anyway, Adam’s her cousin.”

“Oh!” her mom says, “Well, that’s very brave of you, Adam, spending the holidays with your girlfriend’s family. Won’t your own family be missing you, though?”

“Not really,” I say, “My mom and all her sisters are nurses, and they’re always working Christmas and the other holidays. Holiday pay, you know? We’ll have our family dinner the week after.”

“Well isn’t that convenient,” Mrs Glassner smiles. She pulls us onto the freeway, merging into traffic. “Monica hasn’t told us anything about you, you know, so I hope you’re ready for lots of questions.”

Gods above, why did I agree to this? “Sure thing, Mrs Glassner.”

Monica and I get along great. We’ve only been dating three months, but they’ve been three amazing months. She’s all the time making interesting things — painting, drawing, sculpting — all digitally, of course — and I write up the backstories, using her artwork as prompts. That’s how we met, at a small party in someone’s dorm room, Monica’s friend showing off one of her pieces against her will except not really, and me spitballing on the fly, coming up with the story behind her creation. One thing led to another, and we ended up back in her room, and ‘happily ever after’ and all that.

Dinner that night is … uncomfortable. I sit next to Monica, gripping her hand under the table, holding on for dear life. Mrs Glassner keeps beaming at me like I’m the son she never had, and Monica’s dad asks me nearly three hundred questions about football teams and basketball players and baseball series, topics on which I know nothing. And then there’s Emily, Monica’s little sister, across the table. She’s aloof, disinterested, casting me mocking grins when not rolling her eyes at her parents.

When Emily finally deigns to join the conversation, she asks, “So how’s my sister in bed? She still make that weird noise?”

“Emily!” Mrs Glassner roars, voice high, like a tea kettle, “I can’t believe you!”

“Young lady,” Mr Glassner fumes, voice deep, like a freight train, “If that’s how you’re going to speak, you can just leave this table.”

“Ok, whatever,” Emily rolls her eyes, standing. She’s petite, slender, with short-cropped dirty blonde hair. She tucks it behind her ear, “I was done anyway,” and walks out without a backwards glance.

Mr Glassner sighs, buries his face in his hand.

“Please excuse her,” Mrs Glassner says, “Since graduating high school, which was a close thing, she’s just never found direction. Not like Monica here.”

“That was only last year, Mom,” Monica says, “Give her time, ok? She’ll come around.” She squeezes my hand under the table.

I give her a reassuring nod.

Later, in Monica’s childhood bedroom, I curl up next to her beneath the blanket. “I thought for sure your parents would insist I sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“Naw, they’re cool,” she says, nestling into my chest, “Emily’s usually the one to bring guys home, and some real losers, too. Guys you could tell weren’t going to be around long. My parents’re happy to have a boy like you here, believe me.”

“That was nice to hear you stick up for your sister tonight at dinner.” I hug her into me, cupping her breast, pressing my erection into her leg. “We could all learn from your ability to be the bigger person.” I slip my hand between her thighs, pet her pussy.

She rolls over in my arms, kisses me. “I… I can’t. Not here. Sorry, Adam.”

“I’ll be quiet,” I whisper, “Nobody will hear us.” My cock is rock hard and ready. I guide her hips to mine.

“It’s not that,” she says, pulling away, “It’s just… too weird. Here, with all my childhood toys and posters watching us, in my old bed.”

I sigh. “It’s ok,” I say, suppressing my disappointment and frustration, masking it in a kiss, “I understand. We’ll just snuggle.”

She hums contentedly. “Thanks. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Damn right you will.” I squeeze her butt.

“Plus,” she says, “You can look forward to tomorrow morning, when I’ll be making my famous breakfast. I mean, really make it. No more crappy dorm kitchen cooking.”

“Sounds nice, babe.” I kiss her again.

“Hey, wake up!”

I blink. Everything’s blurry, and I wipe the salt from my eyes. It helps only a little. “What? What’s going on?”

“Time to get up, sleeping beauty.”

“Huh?” I blink again, frowning in confusion. Where am I? Oh, right. Monica’s childhood bedroom. Then where’s Monica? And who’s talking?

The blurry figure steps into the bedroom, coming closer. “Geeze, you’re slow to rise,” she giggles, “Or at least, some of you.”

I discover on my glasses and blink until I can see. She’s cute, petite, with dirty blonde hair in a pixie cut and an impish grin on her face. Emily! I remember now. But her gaze… I track it to my hips. Where I’ve got an obscene case of morningwood tenting the sheet.

“Oh! Um…” I blush, curling my legs up, trying to hide my erection.

“Monica sent me to get you up,” she giggles, “But, uh, looks like you’re already there.” She takes a step closer to the bed, to me, biting her lip. Damn, if she isn’t cute. “Can I see it?” She nods at my crotch.

“See… it?”

“Yeah,” she tugs on the sheets, “C’mon, I won’t hurt it.”

I tug the sheets back, pulling away from her. “What’re you… crazy?” I glance at the hallway, only to realize Emily’s closed the door behind her.

“A little bit, yeah.” She sits on the bed, folding her legs under her. Aside from pink booty shorts with white piping, her legs are bare. Up close, her pale skin looks silky soft and flawless. “So just show me, I won’t tell.”

“Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because I love cock, duh.” She pulls on the sheet again, trying to yank it off me. “Especially fat, hard cock.”

Her back is arched, and as I look up at her, my gaze automatically drops to her chest. She’s wearing a heather gray crop-top t-shirt with the word “CALIFORNIA” written across it in big block letters. Her flat belly shows beneath the shirt, and the fabric is tight. Tight enough that swell of her breasts presses through, little dents in the material telling me where her nipples are.

She sees me looking, and her grin grows. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” She lifts the shirt’s hem, more of her torso sliding into my view, getting closer and closer to her breasts.

I gasp as I see the bottom of her tits. On her petite, narrow frame, they’re big, and my jaw drops.

But she stops, holding the shirt just there, teasing me. I look up at her, a pleading look in my eye.

She asks, “Deal?”

I let go of the sheet.

She giggles as she pulls it off me. “Lay back.”

I grit my teeth so as not to whimper and I do as she asks. I’m naked, and my cock is standing at full attention — a thick, tall circumcised shaft with a fat vein running down its underside. My balls cling to it, heavy and full and blue.

“Geeze, my sister gets this?” Emily says, eyes wide, ricocheting from my face to my crotch and back. “No fair!”

“Show me,” I wave at her chest, suddenly aware of how close to me she is. If I just reach out and… no. I stay my hand.

Emily throws her shoulders back, way back — she’s very flexible, I realize — and lifts her shirt to her collar. Two magnificent breasts spill out, porcelain perfect and pale. Little pink nipples top each, and as my jaw drops, my mouth waters.

She giggles at my reaction, clearly enjoying herself. She grabs my wrist and deposits my hand on her right breast — not that I put up much resistance — and I fondle her, squeezing her, thumbing her nipple. My fingers are long and firm, unyielding. She watches my hand as I grope her, wearing a pleased expression.

Her fist wraps around the base of my shaft, her thumb and index finger almost meeting as she drags them to the tip.

I groan in pleasure, but say, “Hey!” having just enough wherewithal to know better than to do let this happen. I bat her hand away, or at least I try to… well, I at least make the motion. The point is, her hand remains on my cock, tugging me with steady strokes. “You can’t do that!” I say, bringing my hand to her other breast.

“Oh, hush,” she giggles, “What were you going to do? Slip some shorts on and go into the dining room, hoping nobody notices the huge fucking cock pointed at them?”

“You’re making it harder,” I groan, rolling my legs out, giving her easier access. Actions speak louder than words, obviously.

“How is that even possible?” She yanks me with two fists, making the head of my cock swell purple and glisten as precum drips from it. “Ooh,” she exclaims, swirling her fingers around my glans.

I shudder and moan, my limbs tensing, back going rigid.

“Nope!” she says, pulling her hands away, “Not yet!”

I whimper, “Please!”

She laughs at me, running her fingertips down my belly, brushing them along my inner thigh. “Oh, look who’s a horny boy!”

My cock throbs and twitches as she tickles my balls, and I roll my head back and groan. Unthinkingly, instinctively, spontaneously, I grab her ass, my powerful grip closing around her firm little tush.

She likes this, laughing again, this time with a smile running from ear-to-ear.

I discover her pussy, rub it through her shorts.

She moans, her cute cheeks reddening. And — thank fuck — her hands return to my neglected cock. It surges in her firm grip, ecstasy flooding through me.

“You’re thirsty for my cum, aren’t you?” I growl. I don’t know where these words come from, I never say stuff like this. Yet the sentences spring to my lips, fully formed. “You’re going to swallow my jizz, every last drop.”

“Uh-huh,” she nods.

“Now, grab my balls. Squeeze them.”

I groan in pleasure as her fingers wrap around them, pressing into them while her other hand makes a fist, driving up and down my length with a strong pace.

I push her shorts up into her taut little sex, making her moan again. Damn, she’s tight even on my fingers.

Her mastery of cock is exceptional, her fingers running up my vein with each tug, her thumb lingering to tickle my glans. I’m panting, chest heaving as I suck down each breath. I bring my free hand to her mouth, slip my thumb in between her lips.

She sucks on it. She tugs on my sac. She strokes my cock, over and over and over.

“Fuck,” I groan, “I’m gonna cum…”

I don’t have to remind her. Emily dutifully drops her open lips just over my shaft, and when my balls tense and cock throbs and spunk explodes from the tip, the jet sprays into her mouth. She holds there as more and more comes, my hips bucking as the semen drains from me.

Blood rushes through my ears, and I nearly pass out. But I force my eyes open in time to see Emily swallowing. I let go of her crotch and muss her hair. “Fucking hell…” I mutter, at a loss for anything else to say.

She’s got a distant look on her face, splooge coating her lips which, for once, aren’t smiling.

“Go clean yourself up,” I instruct, “We got a breakfast to enjoy.”

And you know what? The breakfast is excellent.

NSFW: yes

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