Our parents went up to bed. Dad made some corny joke about doing the dishes, something like, "We bought, you clean." They walked out laughing and talking, absolutely none the wiser. Unthinkingly, I leaned my butt against the counter, then winced as a fresh, smarting pain came surging back.
Jason saw me and snorted a laugh.
I looked at him with my mouth open. He was taking the dishes to the sink as though nothing had happened. As though we were just two step-siblings cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. As if he hadn't just almost made me cum from spanking my bare ass with a belt, after I'd snuck into the shower to see his enormous cock. For a moment, I almost wondered if I'd imagined the entire thing.
So I was lost in this dream-haze, unsure if anything was real (except for the pain in my backside. That much was very real). Maybe that's why I chose to ask the stupidest question imaginable as Jason started running the water over the plates.
"Why did you spank me?"
His hand goes still on the hot water handle mid-twist. He looks at me with an eyebrow raised. For one gut-wrenching second I wonder, again, if I had dreamed the whole thing, and had just asked my stepbrother about a spanking fantasy that had only taken place in my own head.
But then I saw the smirk twitching on his handsome mouth, and the butterflies came back.
He set that dish on the drying rack and picked up another one. "There's not many," he said. "I'll wash, you dry." And then, because I continued to stand there like a dumbass, he jerked his head in the direction of the dishtowels hanging from the stove.
So I stood next to him, took the wet plate from the drying rack, and started to dry. He seemed satisfied by this, and his shoulders relaxed. I made circular motions on the surface of the plate, dabbing up the rivulets of sink water before starting a "clean" a stack aside to be put away.
"I've thought about it too, you know," he says suddenly in a soft tone. My hand stops in the middle of setting the plate down. The plate clacks against the counter, and then the kitchen is silent. So silent that I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. "About you. That way." He isn't looking at me, but instead grins at the plate in his hands. "What I'd do if you weren't..."
There's a pause.
"Your step-sister," I say finally, taking the plate he offers.
"Yeah," he says heavily. "My step-sister."
"But don't you think -" The words pour out of me like the hot water steaming from the sink faucet, but they have no direction. Like the hot water, they cascade off the plate in Jason's hands and rush swiftly down the drain. "I mean - I just think...like, if no one knew..."
"You're talking about keeping a big secret," Jason says.
I don't reply.
"A huge secret." His voice is stern and warning...but not forbidding. For the first time, I turn to look directly at his face. He shuts off the sink and turns to me. "No one could ever know."
"No one."
"Not your closest friends."
"No."
"Not even your sister."
"Our sister," I correct gently. This earns me a genuine laugh. His smile is mesmerizing. His face flushes lightly, and my heart melts.
He leans on the sink, his broad shoulders rising as he rests his palms flat on the counter and looks down into the sink basin. "That sort of secret would be tough to keep. We'd have to be really careful." He gives me a sly look. "That means no spying in the bathroom. Especially not the kind of obvious spying that gets you caught."
Now it's my turn to flush.
"There's another thing," he says gruffly, giving me the final washed plate and using a paper towel to dry his hands. "I'm a certain...type of guy."
I nod. My hand instinctively goes to my butt. Believe me, I know.
"I like things a certain way, and I like to have control." He fixes me with a hard look, his gaze darting from eye to eye as though he were trying to look through into my brain. "And you would have to be okay with that. Would you?"
Fuck yes.
"Yes," I say weakly, swallowing at the end. "I...I would be okay with that."
He takes the plate from my quivering hands and sets it on the stack. He moves forward so his face is close to mince, looking down at my, his chest mere inches from my own. I look up into his eyes helplessly, and he keeps my gaze as he takes the full stack of plates and lifts it into the open cabinet. As he shuts the door, he tilts his head down, and I find my mouth has gone completely dry.
My pussy is another story.
He lifts his arm and I flinch, but he's only going to chuck my chin up so I get a better look at his angular face: the hard line of his brow, the way his lips pressed together tightly in a purposeful grimace. The piercing intensity of his eyes.
"So if I tell you," he says in that quiet, husky voice - that voice that makes me feel as though his words were sliding into me, spreading me around them - he says, "If I tell you that I want to have you right now. That I want you to go up to your bedroom, strip naked, and get up on your bed on all fours and wait for me." My breath leaves my lungs. "You would do it. No questions asked."
