In the Nest with Christie–Chapter One (Slow-Burn Stepbrother/Stepsister)

CHAPTER ONE

I was oozing pre-cum, about to bust a nut, when my stepmother knocked—two quick raps—and opened the door. “Hunter, we’re leaving for church.”

My reflexes were sharp. In one swift motion, I threw the blanket over my cock and swung my legs over the bed, turning away from her as I sat up. *“Okay!”*

Therese yelped, backed out, and yanked the door closed. I was pretty sure she saw nothing, but a distinct strain enters a man’s voice when he pretends you didn’t just catch him jacking off. And my frantic, full-body flail hadn’t exactly been subtle.

Fuck.

My goal this weekend was to prove I was NOT a pervert.

At least she didn’t know who I was fantasizing about.

Christie.

Her daughter.

My nineteen-year-old stepsister.

“Are you, uh, sure you have everything you need?” Therese said through the door. The strain in her voice told me she knew exactly what I’d been doing. Fuck, fuck, *fuck.*

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

I stood and pulled my boxers up. My cock popped through the peephole, unrepentant, demanding attention even after the horror it had caused.

Outside the room, Therese cleared her throat. “I, um, I texted Christie and told her to meet us at church. I guess she and Aaron are running late.”

Ugh. The mere mention of Christie’s boyfriend deflated my dick. She’d met him at college. They’d only been dating a few weeks, yet she was bringing him home for Easter dinner. I’d never met him, but Christie posted nauseating cute-couple pics on social media. Unlike me, Aaron was her age, ridiculously handsome, and not her stepbrother. I hated him.

“I left money on the counter in case we’re out of anything,” said Therese. “Your father and I rarely drink milk so there’s a gallon in the fridge that expired two days ago but I bought a half-gallon yesterday but the gallon might still be good but I didn’t think you’d want…”

Therese had a tendency to babble when flustered.

While she prattled on, I took a deep breath, turned to the mirror above the dresser, squared my shoulders, and looked myself in the eye. Yes, this was my childhood bedroom. Yes, my stepmother just caught me beating my meat. But I was a grown man—twenty-four, living on my own, only visiting for the holiday weekend. I was doing my stepmother a *favor* by volunteering to cook Easter dinner. Hell, I was doing the entire *family* a favor because I was a professional chef, and Therese could barely boil water. Fuck shame. Fuck embarrassment. She shouldn’t have barged in. I had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Reaching to the floor, I shook the cum rag off yesterday’s T-shirt and pulled it on. Then I walked to the door, opened it, and faced my stepmother with my head held high.

“It’s under control,” I said. “I made the salad and stuffing last night. The hens are marinating. Just need to stick ’em in the oven.”

“Oh.” Therese smoothed the already unwrinkled fabric of her pastel gray skirt suit. “Well. I’m glad you have everything… under control.” She glanced at my crotch, and a tingle raced up my spine. Sure, she was a middle-aged church lady, and yeah, she was married to my dad, but God damn. The way her enormous boobs strained against the buttons of her blouse was downright sinful.

*Stop,* I commanded myself, flicking my eyes away.

My gaze landed on a half-open door to my left. Christie’s bedroom door.

A memory from a visit last year arose. A mental image of walking past that bedroom… glancing through that half-open door…

*Stop.*

Christie lay blissfully asleep… sprawled atop the covers with her legs spread…

*Stop!*

Skimpy nightie hiked to her waist…

*Stop! Stop! Stop!*

I sucked in a breath and attempted a reassuring smile. “Yep,” I said. “Under control.”

Therese studied me, nodded, turned to leave—then touched a hand to her immaculately coifed, frosted brown hair and faced me again. “You know, Hunter, if you have little left to do, you’re welcome to join us for worship.”

“Oh, um, thanks, I’d love to, but I haven’t taken a shower, and I’d have to get dressed, and, uh… aren’t you running late?”

*“Yes, we are!”* my father hollered from the living room. *“Let’s go, Therese!”*

She called over her shoulder. *“We have plenty of time, Howard!”* Then she forced a smile. “You don’t have to ride with us. You have time to shower and dress and drive yourself. We’re leaving early because your father’s worried there will be a big Easter crowd, but—”

*“Easter and Christmas! It’s always the same!”*

“But our church has plenty of room.” She lifted her chin and held my gaze, defying me to say no.

Puzzled, I squinted, wondering why she was so insistent. She’d never been pushy about church. Did religious folk really think masturbation was a big deal?

I opened my mouth to decline again, but my father’s clomping footsteps cut me off. *“I’ll be in the car!”*

Therese’s eyes widened. *“Use the back door, Howard!”*

The front door banged open. *“I’ll use whatever door I want in my own damn house!”*

Therese winced, grabbing my arm, digging her fingernails into my flesh.

I smirked.

The poor woman was terrified of disturbing a bird nesting in the front porch light fixture.

Yesterday, arriving at the house, I discovered just how terrified.

She’d sent a text warning me to use the back door, but I had forgotten. I parked in the driveway and was sauntering along the flagstone path in front of the house, toting groceries for our Easter feast, when she appeared in the picture window—eyes bulging, mouth working, arms flailing. Afraid my dad was hurt or the house was on fire, I raced to the porch. Therese swung the door open and hissed—hurry, hurry, hurry—but her eyes were fixed on something behind me. Confused, I paused at the top porch step. Therese stomped impatiently, pointing at a Japanese maple in the yard, then at the light fixture. I saw the nest in the fixture and, turning toward the tree, heard an insistent, angry chirping sound: *Chee-chee-chee-chee-chee!* The moment I spotted the robin making those sounds, she rose from her perch and swooped down. It was the first time a bird ever dive-bombed me, and I admit, it was scary. I’d always thought of neighborhood birds as benevolent creatures, so standing nose-to-beak with one screeching bloody murder in my face was a surreal shock.

I was even more shocked by the force with which Therese yanked me backward. And it was even more surreal when we tumbled into the foyer and her bathrobe flapped open, exposing her jiggling bare breasts as we toppled to the floor.

The robin, satisfied we no longer posed a threat to her nest, flew back to the tree.

Now, as Dad slammed the front door and stomped across the porch, Therese and I held our breath, listening for signs of ornithological wrath.

All we heard was the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Tokarski, shout a greeting. Dad grunted a reply as the car door creaked open and whunked shut.

Then… silence.

I smiled. “Guess it’s safe,” I said.

“Oh, no it’s not.” Therese let go of my arm, stepped back, and arched an eyebrow. “Never mess with a mother when she’s protecting her young.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

She’d been standing in front of a portrait of Christie, which I blinked at stupidly. *Oh, God. She knows.*

I blinked again, shaking my head. *No. Don’t be paranoid.*

In the three years since our parents married, I’d kept my feelings for my stepsister secret. I was good at concealing lust. I had lots of experience.

Christie reminded me of bubbly beauties who plagued me in high school. Friendly and flirtatious by nature, they threw out thoughtless signals that could give an oversexed fool false hope if he didn’t harden his heart—and keep his other hard organ to himself. I’d learned to do both.

Then again, sharing a house with Christie presented greater challenges than I’d faced in school.

Luckily, I got a far-away job, moving out soon after she and Therese moved in. Whenever I visited, though, I was crazed with desire. Christie’s presence swept away familiar memories of the house I’d grown up in, replacing them with fucked-up, X-rated fantasies.

It didn’t help that Therese had decorated almost all the walls with photos of her daughter.

The one I now contemplated in the hallway was a technically wholesome senior portrait I found sexier than a centerfold. Posed in profile in a green lace summer dress, blonde tresses glowing in the sun, Christie sat on her bare feet on the ground, her elegant neck bent back as she beamed at the camera. The image captured her natural beauty and playful femininity—a picture of innocence. But as my gaze fixated on her folded legs and firm round ass, I envisioned her sitting on my cock instead of her feet, bending her neck back in ecstasy as she bounced and moaned and…

Oh, boy.

Time to finish what I’d started earlier. I was heading for my room when Therese’s heels clacked toward the hallway again. Crap. Hadn’t she left already?

“Hunter, I forgot to tell you. Your father and I are staying after church to help with the youth group’s Easter egg hunt, so we’ll be a little—”

She stepped into view and froze.

“… late…”

She gaped. Her face went ashen.

I looked down at myself.

Once again, my cock had popped through the slit in my drawers, fully erect.

I smacked my hands over it, scurrying to my bedroom as my stepmother uttered a weird guttural noise and darted for the nearest exit.

The front door.

*Chee-chee-chee-chee-chee!*

With a startled cry, Therese scrambled back inside and slammed the door.

Cautiously, I poked my head from my room, glimpsing her through the hallway entrance as she stumbled across the living room, dropped her purse, snatched it up, and lunged out of view while items spilled from it. Coins and plastic objects tinkled to the linoleum as she clattered through the kitchen, wrenched the back door open, and banged it shut.

Silence settled over the house.

The breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding whooshed out.

I looked at my dick. Deflated. Dejected. Dead.

*Poor thing might never rise again,* I thought.

Lord, was I wrong.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/uheewv/in_the_nest_with_christiechapter_one_slowburn