Talkative Big Bro Who Constantly Teases Sis For How Filthy She Is Especially While Fucking. Oldest Bro

lenkunkauwa!! :3

You have to go live with your estranged daddy on a farm in the middle of nowhere. He has so many animals on his farm: horses, cows, pigs, dogs, etc.

Daddy makes you help out around the farm, feeding the animals, cleaning up and picking up after them.

You end up liking it here, getting close to all the animals.

Until it's mating season. The horses have started getting restless. Daddy forces you to go up to one of them and stroke the sheath of its cock. It grows, massive and heavy in your hands.

Daddy forces you to bend over a tall stack of hay, pulling your pants and underwear off. Before you try and protest and flee, Daddy pushes your face down, the hay poking at the sensitive skin of your cheek.

You hear the horse's hooves stepping closer to you, then you feel the poke of its cock against your ass. You struggle and cry, afraid of what's about to happen.

Daddy guides the horse's cock to your cunt, rubbing it up and down against it, its precum making you more and more slick for it.

The horse pumps at you with need, making you yelp in fear. Finally, Daddy helps it by slowly pushing it inside, making you scream as your cunt gets split wide open to take its massive cock.

Once the horse finally feels your tight cunt around its tip, it starts thrusting, shoving it in deeper and deeper. Everytime it pulls back, it only pulls you with it, then knocks you back against the hay, deeper into your cunt.

You cry and scream from the pain, but Daddy just watches, and the horse is acting on pure instinct to breed.

"Proshipping is going to give children the idea that dating an adult is okay!" and then they go on to belittle kids for their fictional crush being their age or a bit younger, but not batting an eye when their fictional crush is way older than them.

Source

tw stepcest

stepdad!kento catches himself one evening at the bathroom door as you're showering. his wife, your mother, is out for the evening and he's been tasked with trying to bond with you—his moody stepdaughter who has yet to warm up to the prospect of a man in the house.

everything you did seemed to be to spite the poor man. he had dedicated so much of himself to this marriage, and still you can't offer him even a chance. he had planned on sitting you down this evening to watch through a movie with him—he'd make popcorn and let you choose whatever dumb film you pleased. but he knew that would get him nowhere.

because you hated him. at least, he had thought.

but as he had walked past the bathroom to find the door cracked and the softest of humming sounding over the running water, kento started to wonder if your actions have been from a place of hate or from somewhere else entirely.

like that one time last week in the kitchen. he had been holding a tall glass of water, and you deliberately walked right into him, making him spill it all down the front of your thin pyjama top. you made such a drama about him watching his fucking step, but as kento thinks back on it he can't quite remember your expression. he had been staring, albeit unintentionally, at the way your nipples hardened through your now wet and now see through top. and you didn't say a word about it.

kento shakes his head. he's just being perverted: you have no intentions of riling him up in any capacity outside of innocent displeasure. you're not some horny young woman with eyes set on her step father, and kento is a nasty man for even entertaining the thought.

until you moan his name.

a sweet and prolonged "kentooo," that drips down the shower walls and reaches his ears just as his blood rushes south. is he hearing you right? maybe you're calling out for his help. maybe you're shaving and you cut yourself bad. or you fell and he was too in his own head to hear it.

that's the justification he comes up with in his head when he decides to push the dor open just a little wider and peek in. if you were hurt, he'd be decent about it: cover his eyes the best he could and treat you with the modesty you so deserve and—

you have the shower head tucked between your legs. with your free hand, you run your fingers over your perfect tits, tweaking a nipple here and there as you arch into the jet-setting that pulses against your clit so perfectly that you almost don't need to imagine it's your stepdads tongue instead.

but you do, and you moan his name like a bitch in heat because he brings out a part of you that makes you feel like exactly that.

poor kento can't help himself either. what kind of man is he, to stand behind an ajar door with his cock suddenly hooked out of his slacks and being stroked at a punishing pace as he watches his stepdaughter pleasure herself. how filthy is it that you pine after him: that you have no clue he's watching you stimulate your needy little clit to the thought of him? he wonders what you think about, whether it's detailed or a vague taboo that keeps you going.

he wonders if your mind reels at the dinner table when his feet accidentally brush against your legs beneath. he wants to know what you think when you greet him in the mornings, and he's stretching out and showing off his happy trail and mussed blond hair...

he wonders if he's going to hell for this. or if a divorce is right around the corner. his wedding band feels cool against his otherwise searing hot length. god, this is bad.

your mother would flip. you would too, if you knew he was only a few feet away and peering around the room in search of your discarded panties. if you knew he was contemplating the merits of sneaking in and stealing them to jack off into later. would you scream? call him every name under the sun? tell your mom?

or would you meet his eye sin the bathroom mirror, like you are right now, and fucking smile.

he thinks his heart stops. but again it beats and your eyes don't leave his in the reflection, and your hand doesn't pull the shower head from your sweet little pussy and kento doesn't stop fucking his fist in return.

it's straight eye contact. it's the exchange of everything wrong with whats happening right now until the two of you build into a mind-blowing shared climax that has kento biting down on a moan and you letting one rip raw from your throat.

so you don't hate him.

he hates himself, though. guilt weighs him down as he, still without breath from his heavy orgasm, steps backwards and leaves you wondering if you really saw your stepdad in the mirror or if your wishful thinking has just become too much these days.

and he cleans up in the master bathroom with a headache and a newfound urge to read the fucking bible again. you join him later that night for the promised movie night bonding experience—just to put on the cheesiest film you can and insist on sharing a blanket to save the energy of going to get another.

and he keeps his eyes locked on the film the whole time. and you pretend that you don't see the sliver of your lace panties poking out from his pocket.

take my virginity with your gun<3

You caught me in my feelings and now I’m almost crying, thanks.

Feel like a man : Jason Todd x reader

WARNINGS: suggestive but not explicit, but still MDNI, sensitive topic, mention of trauma

***

Poor Jason.

He came home very late or very early, depending on the definition and saw you, sleeping soundly under the covers.

Looking like a freaking angel, regardless of messy hair, scrunched nose, half-open lips.

And damn, it made him wonder.

He was not enough.

Ever since the torture inflicted by Joker something shifted in his head and in his body and he found himself –

Unable to perform.

And it didn’t matter how many times you told him that it was okay, that sex was not everything, that you two could take it as slow as he needed and that you loved him –

Unable to fucking perform.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to.

Fuck, he did! More than anything. He wanted to be able to touch you without shaking, to be capable of accepting touch without freezing and freaking out, to make you feel good, to ravish you, make you lose your breath, moan and cry his name –

Unable to perform.

What kind of man was he? The piece of shit, he couldn’t get hard at the sight of the most beautiful woman on the planet? The woman who – for reason unknown – wanted him?

Any other guy would just slide into the bed, next to you, kiss your bare shoulder, nuzzle into your neck, wrap arms around your waist and pull you close.

Love you right.

He couldn’t.

“Jay?”

“Hey…”

Obviously she woke up, as if his thoughts formed a storm cloud above his head and the lightning bolts crushing his sound mind got to her too. Catching him standing in the bedroom door like some sort of creep, watching her sleep.

 “Is everything ok?” Y/N moved to a sitting position, vigilant, scanning his face and body, despite the remnants of sleep in the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, words limited to absolute minimum, as if scared that any surplus would cause him to break.

“You hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want to-“

“No.”

“Oh. Okay. But you know we don’t have to-“

“Just – just stop it, okay? I don’t; want to talk about it, not now. Not ever.” He run fingers through his hair.

“Ok. Ok, don’t freak out on me-“

“Just go back to sleep, will ya?”

“Jason-“

“I’ll be taking the couch.”

“But-“

“No buts.” He almost groaned at her. “Goodnight Y/N.”

***

Stupid asshole.

Stupid, impotent asshole.

He was going to lose her.

Cause no matter her words and assurances, he knew better. Sex was important part of relationship. Otherwise they might as well be only roommates. Without any innuendo, like in that stupid joke. Or worse – they would be like siblings.

Living together, having some tangent points, trying to navigate the life with joined efforts, having fun and stuff, but with zero intimacy.

He just wanted to be a man.

A real man, not a half-one, impaired, broken, messed up, retrieving into his mind every time she touched him, even if by accident.

He was going to lose her.

It was only a matter of time….