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Volume 1: The Siege


A year ago my mother Ellen stumbled onto a real catch. Alexander Bennett was 33 years old, blonde and blue-eyed. He would have looked like an All-American man if he wasn’t perpetually scruffy, if he didn’t have such a quietly scornful personality, or even if he cut his hair a little. Instead he looked like the guy your mother warned you about. In my case, my mother married him.

He softened her a little. Made her giggle with his cutting barbs towards her friends. She even blushed when he paid her a compliment. I knew he didn’t mean any of it. He was full of shit.

As the son of a well-to-do politician, he was expected to become a prominent member of society and marry a “nice” girl from a “nice” family. Since Alex was a dick, he gave his father the middle finger, invested his trusts into a few restaurants and became a wealthy restauranteur all on his own. Mom wasn’t a nice girl, but she did come from a great family and she knew which fork to use. She was also excellent in bed, if I was to believe her numerous lovers after Dad left, and very beautiful. Alex met her one night in his most popular restaurant and must have decided she’d be fun to marry, mostly because she would absolutely let him do what he want. It didn’t hurt that he could make fun of her on a daily basis and she wouldn’t get it.

Our relationship was… complicated.

When I met Alexander I was instantly attracted to him, which was strange considering how I was into the alternative look at the time. Tattoos and lip piercings got me wet–not guys who, after a shave, could run for President. I’d also never thought an older guy who wasn’t a celebrity was hot before. Mom introduced us and shockingly a thousand butterflies wept in my stomach.

Then I noticed the sardonic glint in those blue eyes. His lips curled into something not quite a smile. His gaze swept up from my flip-flops, over the pink sundress I wore, and finally met mine. It felt like a challenge. It gave me chills, chills that I knew he saw and catalogued. He probably cherished them.

“How sweet,” he said, taking my hand. I knew there was something going on behind those eyes but I couldn’t be sure of what it was.

It was like that every time he looked at me. He’d utter some false compliment, some empty line of praise. Yet he was aware I knew he was full of bullshit. It became a game. How many times could he get me to roll my eyes?

“You look like you belong running on the Swiss Alps,” he told me one day when I wore my hair in braids, wrapped around the crown of my head.

Another day I wore a red dress to go out to dinner with friends. He kept pulling on the hem as I ran around, getting ready.

“If you go out in that, every man is going to try and tackle you down.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, distracted as I slipped my feet into some black heels.

He blocked my way to the front door and gave me a long look that made my toes curl. “You look like a naughty schoolgirl personified. You’re every sick man’s daydream come to life and out at night.”

I swallowed and stepped back from him. He lifted his eyebrows, like “see?”, and disappeared upstairs.

I changed my dress after that.

And then whenever we were all together– me, Mom, Alexander– there was the strangest hum of tension between us. He’d converse with my mother but he would keep his eyes on me, watching me take sips of water or chew on bits of steak.

I never realized there was a sexual undercurrent to all of this until one night when my friend Jackie pointed it out to me.

“Um, your stepdad totally wants to fuck you.”

I coughed. “Excuse me?”

She gave me a wicked grin. “Hello, he only eyefucks you every time you’re in the same room with him.”

“We’re always bickering,” I defended, feeling uncomfortable.

“Right,” she laughed. “Foreplay.”

“Stop it.” I smacked her with my pillow. “He’s my stepdad.”

Jackie nodded. With a mocking tone she said, “Totally. Quite the paternal figure.”

“Fuck you.”

“I wish your stepfather would, but he’s too busy fantasizing about you.”

I laughed it off then, but from that day forward it was aways in the back of my mind whenever we spoke, whenever he watched me pour milk or whenever we passed one another in the hall.

I knew the full extent of his evil when he got my mother to pay attention to the boys I dated.

“Your daughter is fond of slumming,” he said one morning, buttering his toast.

I didn’t even get what he meant at first. Neither did my mother. “What?”

“Slumming? Is this 1950?” I asked. Next he was going to start describing things as “swell”.

He smirked and bit into one corner. With his mouth full, he said, “Noticed her boyfriend. Looked like the guy who bagged my stuff last time I was in the supermarket.”

Mom merely snorted.

The next week, however, is when the speeches came. When my curfew got tightened. I knew it was all his fault, and I couldn’t figure out why illegal bahis he was torturing me.

Mom began telling me that just because I was 19 didn’t mean I was a real woman. That I didn’t understand men. That I needed to be more aware of what I was doing and who I was hanging out with. This constant harping wasn’t due to maternal love; she just didn’t want to have to look into the eyes of all her friends whose daughters were either in Yale or married and tell them I got knocked up by “one of those boys”, AKA the boys I typically dated. If a guy with a fancy pedigree hung around me, she’d likely hide my birth control.

I was currently grounded because I went on a few dates with a guy of questionable character and an even murkier family name. Ellen didn’t want a guy like that sniffing around me. When I came home one day at dawn, she was shockingly waiting for me in the kitchen. She was dressed for tennis with Jackie-O sunglasses on and a huge mug of coffee in front of her.

Calmly she announced, “You’re grounded.”

I could have innocently said, “What do you mean- I’ve been home this whole time!” or, “Please, Ellen,” and stalked to the fridge for some OJ. Variations of such protestations had worked in the past. But she was getting desperate for me to transform into a Stepford Daughter, and she had really caught me off guard by being awake before noon. I underestimated her will for making me as miserable as she was.

“You can’t ground me. I’m 19!” I eventually sputtered.

Mom smiled almost kindly. That was eerie enough. “And you still live under my roof.”

“This is so ridiculous! You’ve never bothered to ground me before.”

She stood and plucked at her white teeshirt, her red nails clicking together in a way that set my teeth on edge. “Well, you could always move in with your father and see how you like it there.” Then she tsked. “Oh, wait. He wants nothing to do with you. How could I forget?”

Did I mention my mother was an unbelievable bitch?

Still, I knew she was being influenced by Alex. I glared at him whenever I saw him, pissed he was fucking up my life. He’d just grin, or laugh to himself.

One day I was swimming in the pool, daydreaming as I slipped through the water. I rolled my eyes behind my thick sunglasses when I spotted Alexander walking toward me in white swim trunks that looked too good against his tanned legs. He carried a newspaper with him, pointedly flipping it open once he collapsed on one of the loungers. Like I wasn’t worth a “hello”, like he hadn’t paralyzed my social life, like every time he stared at me with that foreign something brewing in his eyes meant nothing.

It annoyed me. He was messing with me and enjoying it, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

Except one thing. I smirked as I pushed my body up with my arms. Thousands of droplets skipped down my skin, and I could feel Alexander’s eyes following each one’s path. The newspaper was lowered onto his lap. His sunglass-covered face was looking in my direction and I knew he was watching.

I stood and grabbed my towel, running it over my hair. My breasts lifted with the effort, bouncing with each rigorous rub. I shivered as a nice breeze swept across my goosebumps. My nipples hardened automatically, a combination of the wind’s doing and the illicit excitement from trying to tease my stepdad. I knew my nipples were popping out against the pink material of my bikini. The fabric’s color might just have been light enough to slightly make out the darkness of the nipples underneath.

He deliberately put his newspaper down. He wasn’t even hiding the fact that he was drinking in my every movement.

I couldn’t hold my smile in anymore, so I sat in the lounge chair next to him. I eyed my suntan lotion, debating whether or not to put some on… or better yet, to ask him for help. But I knew that was too obvious and he would most definitely laugh in my face.

My head reflexively snapped towards him when I felt his warm and rough hand smack down on my thigh. He’d taken his sunglasses off and was staring hard at me.

“You have no idea what you’re doing. I highly advice you to cut it out.”

My mouth dropped open in false astonishment. “I have no idea what you’re–“

“You will if you try to fuck around with me anymore.”

I started shaking. It was one thing to play around with him, but quite another to provoke him into actually touching me. So he always commented on what I wore, and maybe he thought I was pretty, but I could definitely sense that I’d crossed a line somehow. For the first time since I’d met him, I was genuinely afraid of Alex.

My eyes unconsciously slid down and saw the long hardness of him pushing against his swim trunks. My eyes jumped up to his in shock. I knew I was putting on a show, and I’d aimed to make him uncomfortable but I didn’t think I’d be capable of making him hard.

That was just… wrong.

The confidence in his face didn’t even waver, even after seeing the surprise and uncertainly in my own. There illegal bahis siteleri was a predator-like quality in those eyes gazing back at me. Something like a promise glittered in them.

A terrifying promise that I fantasized over every time I touched my clit after that afternoon.


Because of Mom’s new quest into making me a respectful member of our ridiculous society, I was a lot more careful sneaking back into our house whenever I went out. The last thing I needed was to be shut up forever in our house, under Alex’s scary gaze and stewing in whatever brewed between us now.

Weeks passed and, though we kept dancing around one another, Alex and I never danced that close again. Mom was more drugged up that usual, hardly more aware of when I was home than when I wasn’t. I figured the whole “grounded” idea was in the past.

I knew I still had to be on guard, that Alex was like a tiger, poised and ready to strike at a moment’s notice even if he appeared to be relaxed and lounging. He always had an alertness in his eyes that terrified me as much as it fascinated me.

But I grew sloppy. Cocky.

One night I wasn’t so careful sneaking back in and everything changed forever.


“Melanie, wake up. You’re home.”

Bright light burned into my eyes. My dizzy mind realized it was the overhead light in the car. “Ugh.”

My friends laughed and I gave them the finger.

I wished we could have spent the night at the bar, dancing and drowning in vodka. Alas the bars closed and I had to get back to Mommie Dearest and Humbert Humbert. So I let my friend shove me outside, teetering drunkenly on the street.

“Call me tomorrow, hooker!” Jackie shouted.

Then my friends sped off, leaving me behind in the cool September night.

My heels stuck in the grass as I slowly made my way to my bedroom window. It was 4am and I was positive Ellen was in an Ambien coma. But where was Alex? It was that thought that sent chills up my spine.

I hauled a deck chair beneath my window and hopped on it, nearly falling in the process. Thankfully I swallowed my scream and planted my heels in a much safer stance. But when I went to open the window, it wouldn’t budge. Puzzled, I kept yanking at it. There was no way in hell it could be locked; in my buzzed state, I was confident it was just stuck. When it finally slid up, I grinned and swept the curtain aside, tossing my purse in. I pulled my body up and fell onto my carpet, giggling a little to myself.

“I decided to let you in. More fun this way, I think.”

Fuuuuuuuuuck. I got up and turned, cringing at the sight of fucking Satan himself.

Ice cold dread rolled through my stomach when I looked into those merciless blue eyes.

“I just–“

“Got back from partying,” he interrupted. “I can smell the booze from here, Melanie.”

His eyes scanned me from head to toe. I fought hard not to tremble under his stare. I lost when I noticed his gaze catching on my breasts beneath my tight red dress, my long legs and my parted glossy lips. My stepfather was checking me out again, and somehow this time felt more purposeful and direct than the day at the pool.

The more disturbing fact was that I liked it. I knew I was wet and I could feel the pleasurable pain of my nipples hardening and rubbing against my bra. I just hoped he couldn’t spot their turned on state. The jig was up, however,when his eyes froze there. His nostrils flared and his whole body became tight.

He definitely noticed. Nothing escaped Alex’s attention for long. He finally looked back at me.

“What are we going to do with you? Your mom explicitly grounded you. She’d be crushed to find out you disobeyed her orders.” He smirked. “And worse, that you’d been drinking underage.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it.

Alex’s eyes narrowed on me. “Something funny?”

“You know she doesn’t really care, Alex.”

He came closer and I gulped. A muscle jerked in his cheek. “She feels like caring right now.”

His breath was hot and blowing my hair away from my face. Then his gaze zoned in on the slim spaghetti strap on my right shoulder. His hand lifted to pluck it. He smoothed it down again, letting his fingers graze my skin. “Which makes me care right now. Your juvenile bullshit is blowing back on my life, Melanie.” His voice went soft. “That is unacceptable.”

I inhaled, trying to ignore the spicy smell of him, his rough fingertips, the warmth of his breath.

“How the hell is it blowing back on your life? What I do has nothing to do with–“

“How it’s messing up my life is irrelevant. It shouldn’t be impacting it, period.”

“Leave me alone,” I snapped. I cringed a little when I heard myself; I sounded every bit like the immature 19 year old I was.

“What would your father think of you? Out dressed like a slut, smelling like booze and some dipshit’s cologne?” he asked, obviously hoping for a reaction.

And he got one.

I inhaled sharply, tearing my wrist canlı bahis siteleri from his hold. I tried to shove him away but he was too strong. He pressed against my body until my back was against the door.

“Let go of me!”

“Nope.” He pushed his knee between my legs and I felt his hard cock against my thigh.

Our eyes met at the same time. He didn’t even have the grace to look surprised, or embarrassed, or even a little afraid. He just gave me a look as challenging as ever. And I didn’t think it was imagination when I felt him thrust against me a little. Pervert.

“I knew you were a scumbag,” I ground out.

“And I knew you were a smart girl.”

I pushed against him but he wouldn’t budge. “Let me go.”

“Nope,” he said again. “Not until I’ve fucked the brat out of you.”

I blinked, not sure if I heard correctly. Then he moved purposefully, sliding his hips until his cock aligned with my pussy– which didn’t have the same hearing problem as I did. It was wet and ready. I could practically hear the wetness of my lips separating and rejoining every time he carefully slid between them–even through my dress and his pants.

“Mom will wake up,” I threatened.

He gave a low laugh from down his his throat and pressed his lips against my cheek. “You know she won’t. She’s… heavily sedated.”

“I’ll tell.”

His finger skimmed down the side of my face, across my jaw bone, until it settled in the hollow of my throat. “We both know you won’t. But please keep on saying so if it’ll alleviate some of the guilt.” His grin was toothy. “Plus… it’s kinda hot.”

“How can you be so fucking cocky?! I’m 19! I’m your stepdaughter! I loathe you! How the fuck can you be so sure I won’t tell Mom, or call the police, or chop your dick off in the night?!”

Alex shifted away from my body only to grab onto my hair. He pulled it so hard that tears reflexively came to my eyes.

“Let’s stop pretending. You want to fuck me as much as I want to fuck you. You can keep up with this Little Bo Peep slash Heidi slash fucking Shirley Temple charade you’ve got going–though we both know you’re my little whore–if it gets you wetter. But I’m done with the Q&A portion of the evening.”

He kissed my neck and left his lips there for a few heartbeats.

“You and I are the same, you know. We both see the bullshit in this world.”

“I see your bullshit,” I panted, turned on and pissed off.

His eyes met mine. “Same difference.”

I watched him as he watched me. He lifted the bottom of my dress up to my stomach. Without even directing it to, my hand reached over to bunch the material up so it was out of his way. He offered me a tilted smile. His other hand dipped into my panties with no preamble.

Alex’s hand found me wet, of course. He grinned when his fingers swept through my slick lips, though I’m sure my arousal was no surprise to him.

And then he was on his knees and I was staring down at his blonde head. I felt my panties slip down my legs and my body sunk into the door. He pressed his lips against my soaked pussy, breathing heavily. I pushed my shoulders back and a slow spasm of pleasure rolled through my body, lifting my hips into his head and pushing his lips harder against my wet flesh.

“You’re a filthy girl, Melanie,” he murmured against me.

I opened my mouth to protest that he was the filthy one, that he was the one that started all this, but no sound would come out. He’d already begun to fuck me with his tongue, fast and deep and it was so fucking wet. My shaking fingers slipped through his hair, pulling him harder against me. He moaned and I nearly fell to the ground at the sensation. My knees gave out a little but I couldn’t fall; his strong arms held me up by the backs of my thighs as he made me his meal.

Then he took one of his hands away to push two fingers into my cunt. I cried out, grinding against his hand. I rode it hard, desperate for the violent orgasm I knew was coming.

“My naughty girl,” he whispered. “Such a bad girl, letting her stepfather fingerfuck her. Bad, bad girl.”

“Oh, God,” I pleaded.

His fingers picked up speed and his mouth returned to me. He laved my clit until I was crying out incoherently.

He said dirty things against my pussy. “You gonna let me fuck you? Hmm? Gonna let me stuff you with my thick cock?”

The fiery pressure built and built until suddenly white hot ecstasy jolted from my cunt all through every atom in my body. I was shattered once, twice, three times until I was put back together with his lips kissing up my body.

He’d stepped out of his pants at some point and I could feel his slippery dick running up my thigh.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and so good that you’re never going to be able to come without thinking about me.” His cock pushed at my pussy just as he nibbled my nipple. His teeth snipped me a little and I shuddered. He grinned and wrapped one arm under my ass, hoisting me up between his body and the door. “This is going to be good.”

He shoved his cock into me in one long, slow glide. My eyes widened with every inch he forcefully pushed in. I was panting heavily by the time he bottomed out, and his blue eyes were hooded and filled with a quiet pleasure.

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