Chapter 12: Oak Park

At four on Thanksgiving afternoon I was bent over the sink in my childhood bathroom with my dress hiked to my waist.

Flora stood behind me in her green wool dress, one hand flat between my shoulder blades.

"Quiet," she whispered. "Your mother's right downstairs."

Through the floor I could hear the football game, the clatter of dishes, and Harvey laughing at something.

I could hear my own heart.

We had been in the house for two hours.

We had carried in pies, and we had hugged my mother, and we had sat on the sofa at a polite distance for ninety minutes.

Flora had put her hand on my knee under the table while we worked on the pies.

I had not been able to cut a straight line in a crust after that.

Then she'd said, "Robin, show me your old room," and my mother had smiled at us and said to go ahead.

"You wore the harness," I whispered.

"All day."

"Under your dress?"

"Under my dress, with a pie in my hands and my father asking about drainage."

She pressed against me from behind.

I felt it.

The hard curve of the silicone cock pushed against my bare ass through the thin lace of the harness straps, warm from her body.

I dropped my head with a soft groan.

"Look up," Flora said. "Look in the mirror."

I looked.

The bathroom mirror was small and square, hung over the sink, with a crack in the corner from when I was fourteen.

In it I saw myself, flushed, black hair mussed, lipstick smeared, and Flora behind me with her hair pinned up and her eyes dark.

"That's what I get to see," she said. "That's who I get."

She pulled my underwear down to my knees.

Her fingers slid between my legs, and I bit my lip hard.

"Wet already."

She pulled the neck of my dress down with her other hand and unhooked my bra with a practiced flick.

My breasts fell free into her palms, and she squeezed them, rolling my nipples between her fingers.

"Do you know where we are?" she whispered.

"My bathroom."

"This is the sink where you brushed your teeth at fifteen."

"Your mother is downstairs carving a turkey. My father is asking her about the gravy."

"Flora."

"And I'm about to fuck you right here, and you're going to be so good and so quiet for me."

Heat poured through me.

I pushed my ass back against the cock to show her I agreed.

"I want to turn around first," I said. "I want to kiss you."

She let me.

I turned and took her face in my hands, and she was shaking a little.

We kissed with our mouths open and our eyes shut, slow and deep, in the little room with the cracked mirror.

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Stepsister Moved Into the Guest Room at Thirty from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.