He grabs my wrist and pulls me towards him roughly, his mouth connecting with mine hard. He kisses me hard, biting my lip, flicking his tongue against my unwilling one.
It's just us in this stairway, everyone has left the school, even the janitors. I had only come back to look for my glasses. And there he was, perched on the railing of the stairs, my glasses dangling from his index finger, a hungry savage look in his eyes.
He pins me to the wall, biting my neck hard, before licking back up to my lips, biting my lower one so hard it bleeds. I cry out in pain, and ashamed pleasure. He has my wrists pinned on my sides, and pushes his bulge to my leggings-clad crotch, making me squirm.
I had seen him in the halls before, an almost invisible outcast clad in black, his head down, hood up to hide his headphones. I had caught him staring at me in class on more than one occasion, but he wouldn't look away, his brown eyes unyielding.
He silently lets one wrist go, pulling me into the nearby boys' bathroom. He pushes me into the biggest stall and locks it behind him. My heart is racing as he pulls off his shirt, throwing it into a corner and pushing me against a wall. He pulls my shirt off, my bra clasp breaking and coming off too, and grabs my right breast hard, my nipples perking up in the cold.
One time, when I arrived home after school, I found a rose dipped in black wax on my desk in my room. My window was wide open, my curtains whipping about in the wind. I hadn't even considered it was him, not then...
He turns me around, bending me over and placing my hands against the wall. He rubs his clothed crotch against the ass of my leggings, making me shake with anticipation. I feel myself get wet, and hear the sound of a zipper going down. He pulls down my panties and leggings, his hand sliding over my bare bum.
In the weeks after the first rose, I found eleven other ones around my room, in places I knew they hadn't been in the previous days. It made me feel violated and nervous, but also excited. Who was coming in and leaving these roses? Would I ever catch them in the act?
He spreads my legs and bends me over further, reaching his hand between my legs to run a finger over my slit, making me shiver. He slowly slides it inside me, probably feeling my immense wetness. I feel my face redden in embarrassment, and he begins to finger-fuck me. I gasp and savor the pleasure.
After I had counted a dozen wax-dipped roses, I put them in an empty red vase on my bedside table, staring at them each night before bed, and each morning before getting up. One day, I woke up and saw them wrapped in a red ribbon. My heart sank when I realized he had been in my room while I was asleep. He could've done anything...
He pulls his finger out of my tight wetness and I practically whimper, but immediately feel his bare cock line up with my puss. I bite my lip, bracing myself for a hard thrust I expect to be coming. But instead, he slowly pushes in, inch by inch. His hand softly caresses my back, and he begins to work a slow thrusting rhythm.
One day, I found a pair of brand new black lacey panties, a matching bra, and garters, sitting on my pillow after school. I waited til everyone in the house was asleep that night before putting them on, the only black I had ever worn, and looked in the mirror. I was sexy, slutty...I put my hair up in a messy bun and applied some red lipstick, staring at myself in the mirror.
He continues fucking me, reaching down and around to gently rub my swollen clitoris, making me twitch with concentrated pleasure. "Cum for me, darling," he whispers, and I feel a submissive pet sort of bliss fall over me, making me mewl softly as he barely increases his tempo.
The night I wore those panties, that bra, those garters, the lipstick... I put my mirror across from the foot of my bed, propped myself up, and pulled my panties aside. I could see my trimmed pubic hair, and spread my legs further apart. I watched myself masturbate in the mirror that night, making me feel dirty, cheap, and alive.
I feel myself start to climax, my vaginal walls tightening around his thrusting cock. My whimpers get louder, and i make my hands into fists so I don't break my nails digging them into the wall. He keeps thrusting, his hand on my clit rubbing faster and harder, making me cry out.
The next day, after I had hid the lingerie in a drawer that night, I woke up and found an envelope next to the vase of roses. When I opened it, out fell a picture of me from the previous night, obviously taken from the window above my bed. I could see a reflection of the picture-taker....him.
I feel my orgasm hit me like a wave of almost painful pleasure, my cum soaking his cock, and I almost go weak. The release is incredible, and I whisper my gratitude. I lean against the wall for a moment, feeling him pull out, hearing the zipper go up, and see him from the corner of my eye putting his shirt on. He kisses me on the cheek, petting my hair lightly before leaving.
This morning, I woke up and found an envelope next to my bed. It had a picture of me, a reflection from a mirror, depicting me masturbating in slutty lingerie. In the reflection, I saw a face, finally finding out who had been doing all of this...my stepbrother.