Page 31 of Butterfly

Emory eyed me from the net, and shook his head, once.

He knew what I was up to. Maybe didn’t condone it, but he’d been my best friend since before we could walk, was ecstatic I was now at Tabb with him, and supported me full out. Even if it meant skating ’til we dropped.

I straightened my shoulders, surreptitiously lifting my hockey glove to my nose. Even though the glove would block the scent, I imagined a faint, sweet whiff of stepsister cunt.

Worth it.

When we got back home,my roommates slumped on the couch, utterly exhausted. Emory slid a hand into his pants, texting some girl with the other, while Matt started up a single player shooter game on the X-Box.

I shared a suite with the two of them. We all had our own bedrooms, a massive living room, a private bathroom, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. None of us cooked, but Emory’s dad had hired a private chef to make us food when we didn’t feel like dealing with the freshman cafeteria. Although I saw my future filled with a lot of cafeteria time so I could keep an eye on Leslie—that was, until she was officially mine, and we could get our own place.

I shook my head, grinning to myself. I was so far gone for that girl. If I thought there was even a chance I was going to be pining from afar, I’d call myself pathetic. Fortunately, there wasn’t going to be much pining. Yeah, she was putting up a fight, but she’d already let me fingerfuck her sweet pussy. Just the thought of her wet, tight heat made my cock twitch.

She might push back, but she’d bend in the end.

“How’d it go earlier?” Emory asked. He knew all about my plans for Leslie. He’d tortured her this past summer at my order, even if he’d thought I was fucked in the head. He’d also given me a countless amount of shit over wanting to “fuck your stepsister, you nasty fuck,” but once he realized I wasn’t budging, he relented.

I ignored him, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter and headed straight to the shower. My cock was pissed—both for strangling it in the cup during practice, and for not letting itout in the library stacks. The sad bastard demanded attention—specifically from Leslie, but since that wasn’t an option just yet, my hand would have to do.

Not long though. I was sure of it.

“That good, huh?” Emory laughed.

I flipped him off before slamming the bathroom door closed. In the tiled quiet, I could almost hear Leslie’s gasps and cries as she came on my fingers. I was certain it was calling myself “Daddy” that had pushed her over the edge.

I’d never had a Daddy kink—you had to care about someone to want to be her Daddy, and all I’d ever cared about before Leslie was hockey, and getting my dick wet.

My poor cock reminded me ithadn’tgotten wet. I turned the water on high and undressed.

Leslie was fatherless and tetherless and oh-so-strong, and everything about her triggered a need to control, dominate, protect and nurture—something I’d never wanted with a girl or woman before. With anyone before.

But with her…

…with her…

I took my cock in my hand and started jacking it, imagining hearing her call me Daddy as she kneeled before me, naked, wet, and desperate for me.

I’d jacked off nightly to this very fantasy all summer, although she had no idea. I couldn’t let her know the power she had over me. I tried to resist her, to push her away, destroy her—and my feelings in the process. But all that changed that night in the pool—the best and worst night of my life.

I’d fucked plenty by then. But those moments with my cock pressed between Leslie’s ass cheeks and my arms wrapped around her tiny waist, feeling her chest heave as she breathed and her body tremble, knowing she was getting wet for me,softening for me—it was the most perfect torture I’d ever experienced.

Something had stopped me from taking it further. Some sense of etiquette or bullshit morality or the good guy syndrome I’d heard of but never been affected by. Even though I felt her go pliant against me, could tell how much she wanted me, I still let her escape. And then I went upstairs and jacked off into the pair of her lacy underwear I’d kept for myself when I’d mailed the rest to her dance studio. That night had changed both our fates. I couldn’t resist the pull anymore. I didn’t even want to. Instead, I decided to make her mine.

What had been a compulsion to have her near me became something as necessary as breathing. Like I’d said to Leslie in the library, sometimes it took losing someone to realize that their absence was untenable. That you’d give up anything else that mattered to you to have them back.

I pictured Leslieon her back, and groaned, working my dick harder as hot water poured over my body.

I’d given up Harvard, something I’d wanted forever, and reached out to Tabb to see if they’d accept a last minute applicant and hockey player. My father had threatened to disown me for it, and I prepared myself for the possibility, researching trade in prices for my beloved car. If I had to ride the fucking bus to make Leslie mine, I’d do it. No task was too big, no life was too small.

Fortunately, I was able to convince Leslie’s mother that this was the best decision for everyone, and she, in turn, convinced my suspicious father to pull strings with the admissions office at Tabb. And based on the way I played in high school, Coach was ecstatic to have me join the team, even as a walk-on.

He probably didn’t feel that way today. But I’d get him back on Team Mason.

Leslie had no idea. I swore her mom and my dad to secrecy, telling them it would be a fun surprise, and since Leslie’s mom was clueless about the nature of my feelings, and my father was too smart to voice his fears, they went along with it.

Which brought me here, with my hand on my cock. I’d hoped to be balls deep inside her pussy by now, making her clench around me and milk me of all my come, like the good little butterfly she was meant to be. Instead, I was stroking it furiously to thoughts of Leslie’s tight, wet pussy clenching around my fingers and the look in those beautiful eyes as she came.

That was all it took. Moaning her name, I shot my release all over the shower tiles. What a waste of come. Once I was actually fucking Leslie, I’d never waste it again.

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