Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
3
Hunter
What the hell was that? What was Elle thinking, bringing our texting up in person? Fuck, it’s hard enough as it is for me to be in the same house as the curvy girl these days. Complete torture, actually. And it’s getting worse by the day. The texting is only making it more difficult, but I can’t stop. Besides, I figured that at least if texting is all it is, I can keep a lid on whatever this is. When it’s just the phone, I can pretend it’s some random girl I’m talking to. But Elle just went ahead and opened that can of worms. How does she imagine I’ll be able to resist her now? Goddamnit.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, punching the steering wheel in anger at myself for even thinking that. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away from Elle. At the moment, I’m at a red light, and I see the driver next to me stare my way in fear. I know I probably look like a crazed menace, but right now, I don’t care. I feel like such a piece of shit that the rest of the world may as well join me in my disgust with myself. What kind of man has these sorts of feelings for his stepdaughter? Especially after everything Elle’s been through. Is it not enough that she lost her mom at such a tender age? Why do I have to be such an amoral asshole, seeing that she’s so vulnerable?
Then again, I did my best. Lord knows she was better off living with Alex and me than moving halfway across the country to move in with a father she barely knows. Or would that have been more desirable? I’m not so sure now. At least if Elle had moved in with her biological father, she wouldn’t have a dirty old man leering at her while sending her filthy texts.
Even worse, Elle is a teen girl, for crying out loud. She’s barely eighteen, and I attended her high school graduation not long ago. I should know better, and thinking these sordid thoughts about her nubile body is clearly depraved. But I can’t help it. I’ve tried everything. Texting her. Not texting her. Trying to be extra friendly and layering on a fake “Dad” element to help guide our relationship in a different direction. Avoiding her. Praying. Sleeping with other women. None of it has helped. I’m jacking off to the thought of Elle’s voluptuous female form twice, three times per day just to take the edge off, but it’s only made things worse. I’m so fucked.
After driving around aimlessly for a while, I find my way to my favorite burger joint and place an order for a double cheeseburger with the works. I may as well grab some dinner, since I won’t be eating at home tonight. There’s no way I can go back any time soon, not before this raging lust for Elle has at least abated somewhat. I don’t trust myself right now.
Shit, even the memory makes me horny. The way she looked at me as she asked what I would do to “put her in her place.” That was obviously an open invitation, and that’s exactly what makes it so goddamn difficult to resist. If it was just me and my filthy mind, that would be one thing. But I know Elle wants me, too, although god knows why. What does such a gorgeous, innocent creature want with a greasy, dirty old scumbag like me? Elle deserves a nice young man, someone her own age. Someone with a bright future ahead of him who hasn’t already been married twice. Someone innocent. Someone caring. Someone good. I’m none of those things because all I want to do is to rip her clothes to shreds before ravishing that voluptuous body. I want to bury my face in her pussy, making her scream, before putting my dick in the same space and watching her pass out. Like I said, my fantasies are of the deranged, depraved kind, and no teen girl should be subject to them.
Curiously though, the texting started innocently enough. I’d had a bad day at work and was acting all grouchy, flicking through some sports channels in the living room. Meanwhile, Elle had been baking in the kitchen, filling the house with delicious smells that didn’t match my mood at all. Eventually, she came over to me with a plate of fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and told me the food would make me feel better. The gesture was so kind, sweet, and thoughtful, that it took me completely off guard.
So much so, that while she was bending down to set the plate on the coffee table before me, I saw her huge tits and couldn’t look away. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the neck of the shirt she was wearing was loose. It hung down enough for me to be able to see all the way in, so that the fullness of her tits were exposed as they swayed heavily beneath her. They were gorgeous, like ripe sacks of cream topped with pink strawberries.