They Only Speak French in Heaven – Lady Luck

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Word count: 10,437

They Only Speak French in Heaven by Lady Luck


The last thing I’d expected was for Hugo to actually snarl.

We were walking down the corridor towards the hotel bar, and I was being sulky, like I always was with Hugo. “Nobody asks you to come,” I told him dryly. “Stay in France where you’re famous. I would.”

With that, he spun round so furiously that I jumped, pulling myself back against the wall. He moved in close, planting his hands on either side of me, and his body all but slammed against my own. Bringing his blazing blue eyes close to mine, he let out a noise I’d never heard from a human being. A snarl—a savage one that raised his lip at the edge, showing the whites of his teeth. The noise, not to mention the closeness of his body, which always smelled so good and looked so tan, made my treacherous pussy lunge with excitement.

My own stepbrother was arousing me, yet again. Why did our fights have to be so sexy?

“I know you hate me, Midge,” he said in his gorgeous French accent, “but you’re stuck with me. Comprends?

That perfect, dominating voice of his was dampening my previously flawless underwear. I found myself quivering as he pinned me there, his espresso-scented breath mingling with mine.

“I w-was being sarcastic,” I managed. “Don’t they have…sarcasm in France?”

He brightened then, flashing me a gorgeous come-to-bed smile, but in moments, he was blazing again. “Sarcasm makes me angry,” said Hugo, thudding his hand against the wall so hard that it made me jump. “And anger makes me….” He let his gaze travel down my body before meeting my own again. “Anger makes me a very bad man.”

Fuck, I wanted him to kiss me hard, biting my upper lip, thrusting his body against my own. The cores of his eyes were dark and consumed with such passion that I felt his stare searing right through me. God, I wanted him to posses me, to punish me.

He said, “You’re not used to bad men, are you, Midge? Don’t they have them in England?” He gave a dry laugh, and I felt his breath flutter against my cheek. “Mais non! Of course not! You English are too boring to be bad.”

“Fuck you, Hugo.”

He thrust his burning stare even closer to mine. “Faites attention, chatte. I might take that as an invitation.” He touched an index finger to the corner of my mouth and slowly ran the pad down my jawline, over my throat, and along my bare shoulder. Its journey was achingly slow, and made my skin thrum and flush. By the time he was easing my shoulder strap down my arm, I was gasping for breath, and my nipples had leapt to attention. How the hell could someone this obnoxious excite me so much? And why did the only person who could turn me on like this have to be my brother?

“I’m not one of your drooling fans!” I managed. “Unlike them, I’m not on the room service menu.”

“No, you’re a thing of the wild,” he said, his voice softening again. He buried his face in my hair now, inhaling its scent. “Maybe I’ll hunt you and eat you,” he breathed, “ma soeur delicieuse.”

Christ, this was a whole new ballgame. We’d never gotten sexy like this before. We’d only ever fought, and fighting was hot enough. So what the hell was going on? Deep down, I knew. Shit! My dreams of fucking Hugo were too dangerous to become reality.

My stepbrother gave me a long, hot stare before lowering his lips to my now naked shoulder and pressing them onto my skin. I gasped as my treacherous pulse beat hard, throbbing with ecstasy between my thighs. I was quivering with lust, dripping with arousal just to feel the light dusting of his lips on my skin. Dear God, my nipples had never been so hard. If Mum saw us like this, we’d be more than dead. But the thought only made it feel hotter.

His kiss lingered there as he grasped my opposite shoulder and ran his hand down my arm as if he was about to bind it to a bedpost, or maybe take a bite of it or drag me away for a spanking. He put his lips to my ear as my pussy convulsed, already close to climax. “Mon Dieu, Midge,” he said, “you taste like heaven. I want to lick you all over. Oui, oh oui.”

Being controlled like this was my fantasy. But being controlled like this by my famous French stepbrother was a dream I longed to bury. It got me off at least once each night—and, when he was staying here at the hotel, many times more. But the shame of it! And the fear of what it would bring out in me! I could never, ever, ever fuck Hugo. If I did, I’d be dependent on him, an addict.

With my wrist in his delicious grip, I felt his lips brushing against my earlobe. “Filthy little sister,” he breathed. “I should take you over my knee and paint this pale flesh with a hundred red marks.”

At this, I mewed. I mean, actually mewed. Like a prize-winning kitten that wants the cream.

At this point, I heard Mum nearby saying, “Wait…Hailey, have you seen Miriam? She’s meant to be on reception!” She was just round the corner—she’d catch us at any moment.

I made to push Hugo off me, but he only held me tighter, his rock-hard thigh pressed onto mine, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, there was an impossibly large, hardening bulge in his trousers, too. This sudden realization all but tipped me into orgasm, especially when he brushed the tips of his fingers along the very tops of my half-exposed breasts. Oh God, his touch felt so good. I wanted to let him take me. At my ear, he said, “This could be interesting. Either you tell me you want me to stop, or we get caught. Which is it?”

“Get off me,” I hissed. And, to my surprise, he did as I asked.

How I ached to have him back!

His stare still taunted mine, smoldering and deep, like he either wanted to fuck me or kill me. In that pale blue shirt with the white collar, which hinted at all the toned muscle beneath it, I found it hard to drag my gaze from him.

“Enid,” Hugo called to our mother, still staring at me, “she’s right here, la salope.”

I didn’t know exactly what salope meant, but his tone was easy to read. “Did you just slut-shame me in French?” I snapped, fists on hips.

Hugo laughed then, a sparkle in his eyes. For a moment, I thought, I actually think he likes me. This had not occurred to me before.

My mother arrived, her pale face flushed pink and her russet hair all tousled. “Miriam!” she gasped, breathless as ever, as if she’d been running hard for at least twenty minutes. She struggled for air as she added, “You’re not still…fighting with…Hugo, are you? Honestly! The…poor boy’s here to…relax.”

Oh now, this is typical of Golden Boy! It’s always my fault. Never his. But I was too worried by Mum’s quick breathing to worry about her sleight. “Are you okay?” I asked her. “Need your inhaler?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, a dry look on her face. Wryness: our family’s curse. “I’m fine, nurse. Just…get yourself to reception, will you? Chop, chop! What are you…waiting for?”


I did go to reception, but not straight away. Instead, I ducked into the toilets, locked myself in a cubicle, raised my skirt, thrust my hand into my knickers, and found my pussy wetter than ever before. “Fuck,” I gasped as I raised my foot and placed it on the toilet lid so that I could properly finger my swollen clit. I was so aroused that I fell against the cubicle wall, my free arm slamming outward. I bit my lip. My pussy was so drenched that it had made my thighs slippery. I could hear the wet little sounds it made as I pictured Hugo fucking me against the corridor wall. As I fantasized, every touch of my clit was like a climax in itself—so deeply arousing, so pulsingly good. “Tell me to stop,” the fantasy Hugo growled in my ear as he slammed his hips, filling me with his cock. He grasped my arm so hard that it hurt. “Salope! Ma petite soeur!”

I climaxed in screaming ecstasy, yelling out as I frantically rubbed my clit, all but sobbing from this deep release. And as soon as this thundering orgasm began to abate, and I was coming to terms with how loudly I’d been yelling, another climax drove itself into me, strengthening in power while I imagined Hugo spanking my bare buttocks, telling me I was a spoiled brat—un enfant gâté.

God, I could feel the perfect pain as he struck and struck and I came and came. Only afterwards would I realize I had tears in my eyes from this incredible release.

I sated myself in that cubicle for only a couple of minutes, yet I climaxed harder than ever before. My screams of excitement must have filled the hallway outside. I only hoped my mother hadn’t been near enough to hear them.



This is the kind of shit I do.

But never before with Midge.

Midge brought out the beast in me that night, and I allowed it. That’s what was most surprising: I let myself control her, let myself touch and taunt her. She doesn’t know it, but she had the upper hand. D’accord, it’s easy to take a beautiful person who wants to submit and bash the flames into them with words and insinuation, but with Midge it was different. It was not permitted. She, after all, is my stepsister, ma demi-soeur, which makes touching, kissing, screwing out of bounds. It was wrong to grasp her voluptuous, sensual body, or bury my face in her sweet-scented hair. It was wrong to see her nipples harden beneath her clingy top. I wasn’t meant to hear how her breathing hitched when my lips were at her ear. I wasn’t meant to brush my hand against those perfect, swelling breasts.

But I did it. And she let me.

I held her against that wall and ran my hands down that soft, pale flesh, and buried my fingers in her soft, russet hair. My cock was hard. Oh oui. I inhaled her dry perfume, her skin. She tasted like heaven. Oh fuck, I could have taken her so deep, so hard, right there.

I’m not saying I liked myself for it. I loathed myself. C’est vrai. In Paris, I could have a different lover each night—that’s what fame had brought me. When you interview the stars, you become a star, and everyone thinks screwing you will make them shine brighter. Like a skylark staring into a mirror and falling for its reflection, my fans look into me and see their dream selves. ‘A skylark’s mirror,’ we call it in France. Un Mirroir des Allouttes.

But being a mirror isn’t much fun.

Sooner or later, the glass always cracks.

En tous cas, I was never a reflection for Midge. When we bickered, which we always did, I was alive and clear. I saw in her eyes that I mattered more than anything. She made me hard and ready. She was beautiful and witty. She resisted me so fiercely.

For Midge, I mattered.


Whenever we fought, she glared into my eyes and told me I was contemptible. She told me she didn’t want me around. Et merde, she had no idea that every time she said these things, my dick sprang to attention—and nearly burst right out of my trousers and into her no doubt beautiful cunt.

In the corridor of the hotel, she snapped, “Stay in France where you’re famous.” Dieu, that wildness, that driving rage. Deep inside, I felt the fire I always feel for Midge: the eternal anger, the burning need. Her brown eyes were full of hunger. No wonder I slammed her against the wall, my cock already hardening, and snarled like a beast. Those big, brown eyes of hers grew with amazement and her full lips parted, showing the whites of her teeth. Fuck, I could have kissed her so savagely. But openly kissing my sister in our family’s hotel was a way to get me banned.

Believe it or not, I love my stepfamily, including The Two Feathers—this hotel of theirs. In spite of its corny name, it’s a place of escape. It’s all grand vases full of fake flowers and big oil paintings of enchanted English nooks, and the Northern English accents, including those of my family, are far sexier than the Queen’s English—the stuff I was taught at university. Usually, I like my hotels modern and anonymous. Even so, I spent most of my time wishing I was back here.

When Midge stammered her excuses, saying she was only being sarcastic, and her gently freckled cheeks flushed with embarrassment, I could have taken her face in my hands and said, “Let me punish you, ma soeur salope. You’ll feel better for a good, hard fuck.”

Putain, I’d fuck her deep, la chatte! She smelled of the tropics, like warm summer beaches. I’ve interviewed hundreds of women, famous and otherwise, and I flirt with all of them, especially on the air, but none of them ever smell like Midge—like mangoes and warm breezes. I wanted to take her bottom lip between my teeth and pull gently, hurting her—giving her a taste of what we could have. I wanted to spank her, use her, grasp her, teach her, fill her so fast and deep with my dick that both of us would groan. I wanted to rip off her clothes and kiss every inch of her curvy body—to weigh those perfect breasts in my hands, to bind her limbs and take her. I’d have pumped her so full of the come she deserved that she’d never be dry. Not ever.

Later on the same night that I’d pressed Midge against the wall, I seduced a sexy redhead at the bar while I was masquerading as a rich accountant. I like to pretend I’m not famous, you see. Few people know of me in England, and being some man at the bar who can still have the pick of the crop proves I have what it takes.

Well, this redhead was sublime. She made quick work of the gin I bought her. Before midnight, in my hotel room, I threw her onto the bed and screwed her from behind with her wrists tied together. Her hair didn’t smell fragrant like Midge’s, but the site of its russet color was enough. I imagined it was Midge’s body stretched below me, her cunt so wet and eager. I imagined I was fucking her, ma demi-soeur, my Midge, and my cock was so hard and slick as I bolted it into my sister’s pussy that I came far sooner than usual—et Dieu, did I get off hard! I came so powerfully that I felt the climax all over, in my groin, my legs, my chest, my head. I kept on shooting load after load, growling out in triumph until I was empty.

I knew then that I’d get addicted to this—to fucking strangers with blazing red hair.

Only once I was done did I realize I’d been shouting, “Midge!”



The day after Hugo had accosted me in the corridor, I was all alone on reception at lunchtime when he swaggered in, as if making to leave the hotel. He was wearing a casual, fawn suit with an open-necked shirt beneath it, and as he passed, he turned towards me, hands in his pockets, gait as casual as ever. He looked lickable, humpable, downright fuckable with all that tanned skin and impressive muscle tone. Yes, this asshole could get anyone he wanted.

But not me! I told myself. No, he can’t get me! Mr. Interviews-the-Stars won’t be fucking his sister, for sure.

And just like that, my treacherous knickers were wet.

Salut, Midge,” he said. I couldn’t hold his stare. “Tu as revais de moi, la nuit dernière?

“Translate,” I said on a sigh, as if bored.

His smile had hitched up on one side as he approached the reception desk, then leaned against it like he was the King of Cats. “Did you dream of me last night, Midge?”

“Actually, yeah,” I said dryly. “You were that guy from the horror films. The one who has knives for fingernails.”

He laughed, his glinting gaze holding mine as if I’d somehow impressed him. Suddenly, I imagined him yanking me towards him and kissing me.

“Well?” I said, raising the gate of the reception desk and pacing round to face the bastard head on. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Non.” He stepped towards me, so close that I could smell the heavenly scent on his skin, and he reached up, brushing his fingertips through my hair. His touch was incredible. I almost moaned out loud as he cupped the side of my face with one hand and ran his fingers down my shoulder with the other. Through my thin, silky blouse, I felt his warm touch, and my nipples hardened instantly. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft as he continued stroking me. “When does your shift end, demi-soeur?”

I was stunned. “Wh-why?”

He moved in close and put his lips against my ear. “Maybe I want to eat you like—how do you say?—the big, bad wolf.”

Oh God, yes. I made a noise in my throat, a little whimper of desperation. Excitement thrummed down my spine. His scent, his body, his warmth surrounded me, tempting me, pushing me. He was still stroking me through my blouse, his touch so tantalizing. “You’ll have to t-teach me French,” I managed, “so I can…insult you properly.”

He gave a quiet, breathy laugh before suddenly grasping my wrist. In a moment, he yanked me towards him so that my chest was all but pressed against his. We were face to face, and I was in his grip. My pulse thumped in my ears.

He said, “You have some French already, ma soeur. Sometimes, you know what I’m saying.”

“A little,” I said. “Un peu.”

My clit was throbbing and desperate. I’d have done almost anything to touch it, to rub it.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “Tu me baises dur, mon frère.

I stared at him blankly. My nipples thrummed, my clit pulsed. God, if there’s a language in Heaven, it’s got to be French—no question.

Alors?” he said, cupping the side of my face with his free hand. “Say it.”

“Why should I?” I managed.

He tightened his grip on my wrist and, with the other hand, ran his fingertips over my collarbone until they were dusting my exposed cleavage. Damn, he felt incredible. His breath grew warm on my face. He said, “You asked me to teach you, mon enfant gâté. So say it. Say, ‘Tu me baises dur, mon frère.’”

I was so aroused that I was quivering. My clit was so close to climax—so close. All I wanted was to be held here by him and taunted and fucked. “Tu me baises dur…mon frère,” I managed at last. What had I said? I knew frère meant brother, and that was sexy enough.

He put his lips to my ear, covering me in his perfect scent. “That’s very good, baby sister. You just told me…,” he paused, taking a soft, moaning breath, “…that when I fuck you, I fuck you hard.” He all but growled the word in my ear.

Oh fuck. Oh sweet fuck. Suddenly, I knew he was picturing it, too—him bending me over the bed and fucking my cunt with merciless force.

It was too hot. It was all I needed. I squeezed my thighs together, arousal flooding my cunt, and my clit lunged with such power that I came.

I’m not joking. The orgasm trembled through me, sending pleasure cresting through my groin, my thighs, my nipples, my fingertips. I’d never, ever come like this, and Christ, it was incredible. If I hadn’t been so aware of being in hotel reception where anyone might have seen me, I’d have screamed out with pleasure. As it was, I bit my lip and felt the orgasm flushing my face. God only knows how deeply I’d have come if I hadn’t tried to silence myself.

When I crashed back to reality, he was breathing in my ear, “Fuck. You’re killing me, Midge.”

You?” I managed. “What about me?” But who was I kidding? My whole body was basking in the tension of this moment—me, being clasped by my famous stepbrother, having just climaxed between my thighs in full view of anyone who passed. What was equally shocking was how badly I wanted to screw him. Everything in me was aching to be consumed. If he’d picked me up and taken me upstairs, I’d have let him do anything he wanted.

Instead, he smoothed back my hair in the most sensual, distracting way and said, “Other women start to tire me, Midge, while you remain such a ferocious pull. Do you know how many fans want to fuck me in France?”

“Everyone, I’m sure,” I said, trying hard at sarcasm.

“In a recent poll—”

“Seriously?” I said. “You have a poll?

He gave a twinkling smile, but his fingers continued their sensual, taunting journey through my hair and down the side of my throat, then down my bare arm. I was trembling in response, a mess of wanting.

“Well?” I said. “What were the figures?” He gave me a blank look, so I reminded him, “The figures in your everyone-wants-to-screw-me poll?”

He laughed, his gaze dancing, before brushing his lips against my cheek in a manner that was far too fleeting. Then, before I knew it, he was turning away, swaggering from the hotel, the revolving doors spinning as he quit the building.

I stood there, amazed, sunlight dappling the red and gold Egyptian print carpet.

Behind me, at reception, two middle-aged men in cream pullovers had arrived, ready to check out. A little East Asian girl was sitting in one of their arms—she, it turned out, was their daughter. She said, in a screechy voice that filled up the entrance hall, “Dada, were they dancing? Is that what dancing is?”

Her fathers laughed, and I flushed, smiling.

“Sure, sweetie,” said one of them. “But that’s a special kind of dancing.”

Even after I’d checked them out, my heart was still thumping. Not because of what the little girl had asked, or what one of her parents had said. It was the climax I’d had that was shaking me up.

Other women start to tire me, Midge, Hugo had said, while you remain such a ferocious pull.

Shit. My stepbrother really did want to fuck me.



That night, in the staff lounge behind reception, I sat next to Midge on the red, corduroy sofa in front of the low coffee table that was cluttered with paperwork. One thing I don’t like about my family in England is the way they keep their hotel so neat, yet refuse to tidy behind the scenes. I hate the clutter of old inventory receipts, PowerBar wrappers, and unwashed mugs that always cover this table, but I put up with it because, thanks to my stepmother Enid, I stay here free of charge in spite of my enviable wealth. Usually, I’m the man who points the mess out and gets it cleared or hires someone else to do it. But tonight was the last chance I’d get to see my family until the next time I could return to The Queen. En fait, this “family meeting” we were about to have was just an excuse to wish me farewell. So I got over the clutter.

Besides, all I could see was Midge.

It was clearly a night off for her because she was wearing a black, flouncy dress with a pattern of tiny peach rosebuds in the fabric. A silky peach ribbon was tied around her waist, showing off her curves. Her hair was long and loose, her pouty lips were glossed, and her cheeks were flushed, as if she was embarrassed—which she likely was because she couldn’t hold my stare. Our flirtation earlier had clearly rattled her. I’d seen how powerfully her body responded to our connection, her every feature growing fiery and incensed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d climaxed as she was standing there, controlled by me. It had aroused me to see her gasping under my grip, her lips parting, her face flushing with pleasure.

One thing was obvious. She was afraid of our lust.

The thought made my cock jump.

Now, I watched her more closely as we sat waiting. Her skin. Si belle. So smooth and glowing. Her legs were crossed, her thighs were clasped by flesh-colored sheers, and she kept softly rubbing her knee, as if distracted by a gentle itch. I had to work not to stare too hard at the pretty freckled skin of her thighs, but when I sidled towards her, saying, “Have you thought any more about earlier, chatte?” she sent me an astonished little glare.

“It’s typical of you to say something like that,” she snapped.

I gave a sly, flirtatious smile. “Chatte just means ‘cat,’ Midge. It’s like calling you a sex kitten.” Then, bringing my lips closer to her ear, I said, “But like the English word ‘pussy’, it can also mean—”

“Not that!” She pulled back. “Earlier. You said—” She bit her gorgeous lip.

“I said that I was aroused by you. Is that what you object to? Mais c’est vrai. I think about you all the time. You—”

“We will not discuss this here!” she snapped, glancing at the door. Her outburst made me smile. My father and stepmother would be arriving any second, along with my other stepsister, Hailey. And my gorgeous Midge—my lickable Midge—was ashamed of our chemistry. Dieu, would she have flushed like that if I’d grabbed her face and brought her lips to mine? Or if I’d bitten that pouting lip and ripped her rosebud dress, exposing those soft breasts that longed to be sucked and fucked? The thought made me horny. It had been too long since I’d had a woman who gave a damn.

Truth was, I’d been wanting my sister for five whole years, ever since our parents got married, but only recently had I told myself that I could actually seduce her. Vraiment, I’d experienced hundreds of one-night stands that fizzled to nothing. Just recently, a break-up with a woman I’d loved had turned me to stone. Her name, Simone, had been a poem for me. In bed, she’d been like lightning. I could barely control her. She was sweet, fresh air, yet she’d drained my lungs. When she walked out a month ago, she left a corpse. Well, I was done with being a corpse. And Midge made me feel so alive!

I was done with consequences. I was done with romance. I was done with trying to do the noble thing. Vraiment, I could fuck whomever I wanted, night after night. So why shouldn’t I screw my sister? Just one night to set the torment to rest. Or maybe a whole week of fucking her hard and never pausing to eat, to drink. She’d wail her ecstasy into the air as I licked champagne from her pale flesh and came in her, load after load, possessing her every hole.

Ma soeur, ma soeur. Oui, elle m’a éveillé.

She was rifling through her clutch bag now: a purse covered in long, black feathers, the bottoms of which caressed her thigh as she pulled out some lip balm and applied it to her lips.

Dieu, you’re pretty Midge.”

She smiled, but rolled her eyes. Those soft, full lips grew shiny as she smoothed them all over with gloss. If I kissed her right now, she’d be slick, as if sheer arousal had moistened her mouth, as if she’d been oiled up just for me. I’d push my fingers in between those slick lips and force her to suck them. She’d fight me, of course, and I longed for that. To see those brown eyes filling with fire and rage. I wanted to fight with her everywhere—to fight and fuck and fuck and fight.

Elle était magnifique.

Yes, we were going to fuck. We’d shock the world by doing the unthinkable—my cock in my sister’s pussy, taking what shouldn’t be mine. I’d shoot so much come into her. She’d be dripping for days. She’d have to squeeze her thighs to stop it running down her legs. I’d have filled her so much that it would flow from her, every day, filling her panties, a constant reminder. No other dick would be able to fuck her without being smothered in big brother’s come.

Merde. I was hard.

“I don’t want to leave,” I told Midge.

She turned to me, her face a picture of amazement.

I laughed. “That shocks you, doesn’t it? You think I don’t relish our fights?”

“But you…we….” She bit her glossed lip. Fuck, I needed to grasp her, bind her, make her understand. And when I need to do something, I do it.

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards me. She jolted, bathing me in her perfect scent—she smelled like a tropical island paradise. “Midge,” I murmured, “my perfect little sister. You think I hate you, but ask yourself this: Why would I want to fight with you if I didn’t want to be near you? Why would I hunt you out just to make you spar and squirm?”

“I….” She blinked, as if waking from a dream. “I suppose I don’t know.”

I tugged her by the wrist so her body shifted on the couch, hitching towards me—merde, controlling her was blissful. She glanced back at the door, giving a quick intake of breath, then returned her gaze to mine, whispering, “They’ll be here any minute.”

“That turns you on, doesn’t it? The fact they’ll soon catch us like this.”

She arched then, throwing back her head, closing her eyes, and giving me a blissful view of her substantial cleavage. “Yes,” she breathed, almost inaudible. “Oh God, Hugo, yes. But it shouldn’t….”

“You were made this way, Midge. For the sex, the heat, the dare.”


I put my lips close to her soft, cool ear and told her, “You’re here so I can give your body the kind of pleasure you’ve only dreamed of.”

By the time I’d finished, she was quivering. She said nothing, but fuck, she was all but panting now, her breathing rapid, warm, and damp.

How could I resist her incredible body while she was gasping for me to take her?

Letting her go, I reached for that feathered clutch bag of hers and plucked off one of the feathers. Then I held it up in front of her lips, so her warm breaths of excitement made the downy barbs flutter. I touched the tip of it against her full lower lip, so her eyelids fluttered and she arched her spine, thrusting out her breasts as if she longed for me to hold them.

“You long for this,” I said, trapping her stare with my own. “If I’m wrong, tell me to stop.”

She gave a tiny nod, gaze still fusing with mine, and with that, I began to tease her. I ran the feather’s tip over her chin, before glossing it slowly down her pale throat. She was trembling with pleasure, eyelids aflutter, as I continued to tease her, glossing that downy quill across her perfect, swelling cleavage.

Her body responded, arching, flushing. She mewed like a kitten. She whispered, “Hugo, yes.”

This affirmation that she wanted me made my cock jolt. Dieu, she was a vision! Glancing down, I saw her clawing at the sofa cushion, her nails digging in as she quivered and squirmed. And when I brought that feather down to her knee, teasing her stockinged leg, she took a quick look at the door before raising her skirt and letting me glimpse her full thigh.

My cock was so fucking hard.

Mon Dieu. Elle était un ange.

But as I trailed that feather up towards her sex, dominating her with such gentle control, she suddenly grasped my wrist and pressed my hand down hard. She gave a tiny mew of pleasure as she felt the touch of my palm, and even I, the great controller, growled at the back of my throat because she felt so warm, so soft, so smooth.

Pinning me with her stare, she said, “Hugo, you have to stop.”


I pulled my hand away, put the feather on the table, fell back into the sofa, said, “I understand,” because I may be a bastard, but a line’s a line. Toutfois, just because I understood did not mean that my cock did. My cock was hard and ready. My cock had been having the best few minutes of its entire life. The word “boner” seemed too feeble to accurately describe the big, raging muscle that was straining in my trousers, aching to fuck my sister before I left for France.

“Hugo, it’s not that I….” She swallowed. “You’re…extremely attractive. And, yes, I want you. But this is a stretch too far.”

I was about to tell her the “stretch” was part of the fun, but right at that moment, my stepmother strode in all red-cheeked and interested, ready for family meeting. “What’s a stretch too far?” she said, falling against the doorjamb. She caught her breath for a moment before adding, “You two haven’t been…fighting, have you?”

I explained I’d been being a tease, nothing more.

Then I willed my poor cock to calm down.



I barely said a thing at family meeting. I was too preoccupied, too aroused. My mother gushed about Hugo and his famous career. My pain-in-the-arse stepfather used sarcasm to piss Hugo off, then complained that his son had entirely misunderstood him. My sister Hailey seemed wildly bored by all this, and Hugo just sat there, casual as a lion, majestic and roguish and so fucking hot, acting like his father didn’t affect him at all, and basking in Mum’s praise like a cat in the sun.

All I could think about was his feather on my flesh—its softness, its knowingness, the way he’d used it so masterfully to tease the wetness from my tormented pussy. I’d willed myself not to come, but he’d aroused me so badly that, if I’d given in, my climax would have been intense. I’d have come over and over, I bet—over and over and over. Never had a lover touched me like that, like they knew my body like the back of their hand.

Then I’d gotten fearful that the family would catch us, so I pushed him away before regretting it completely. But wasn’t that a good thing? That I’d told him this was too much? It was, surely? I mean, I couldn’t fuck my own brother…could I?

But holy shit, I wanted to.

The only thing to do right now, I decided, was to concentrate on the evening ahead. It was Beattie’s birthday and a group of us were taking her out for dinner—family meeting had even made me late. Go and have fun with your friends, I told myself. Forget about Hugo, if you can.

But part of me knew that was impossible.

I was already obsessed.



Whoever the lucky woman was who’d get me tonight, she had to speak as little French as possible. That was part of the plan, part of the fantasy.

I decided on a un bar chic, even though, in my experience, the drinkers at high class bars are more likely to know some French. But my instincts told me this bar was the right place to go. And I always follow my instincts.

She had light brown hair that spilled down her shoulders and un clivage exquise—an exquisite cleavage. In a little black dress that cut off just below her stockings, so that when she sat next to me at the bar I could see their lacy tops, she was the kind of angel a devil like me enjoys. More importantly, there was red in her hair—just a tinge when the light shone on it, but it was enough.

We sat at the bar and flirted. I told her I came here once a year to visit my family. When she asked if I was French, I said I was and asked if she spoke the language. “A little,” she laughed, “though I’ve lost almost all of it.” D’accord. Fair start. I bought her drinks—she was on mocktails, interestingly, which piqued my attention. Turned out she was here for a football match—not to watch one, but to play in one. When I asked where her teammates were, she said they were drinking hard tonight. “Drinking gets me sick, but they still push alcohol at me. I’ll be useless tomorrow if I give in.”

“You’re strong,” I said, holding her stare. “They’re childish.”

She had deep, brown eyes that sparkled when she laughed, and an adorable button nose. She said, “You’re very kind,” and her knee brushed mine.

“So you give everything up the night before a match?” I asked.

A half-smile. “Not everything.” Coy, shining eyes.

Fuck yes. She wanted some action. She was hot and I was hornier than ever, given the hard-on I’d had with Midge and the feather. Fuck, I could have spanked this woman so hard, and taken her even harder, right there, right then.

Midge had made me so horny I could burst from it.

I dusted my fingertips across the woman’s stockinged knee and she simply smoldered into my eyes. Bon. But I still had to test whether her French really was rusty or whether she was relying on English modesty. Paying her a compliment in French was the way to go. I said, “Vous êtes tres belle. Il est le gingembre dans vos cheveux bruns.” I raised my hand and let her soft hair dance against my fingertips as if I was touching satin or silk.

Laughing, she play-smacked my arm. “I told you! I don’t know French.” Her cheeks were flushing.

I said, “But you know I said you were beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I got that.”

Cette femme était mignon! She was hot. Like Midge, she got embarrassed when I complimented her. “I said there’s red in your hair—it’s pretty.”

“Why, thank you.”

De rien.” Red like my Midge’s hair.

“Is that French for ‘you’re welcome’?” she asked.

“It translates as ‘it’s nothing’.” I held her stare, fucking her eyes with my own, and she took it, held it, like she wanted me to own her.

D’accord, I had found myself a submissive who only spoke a little French and whose hair wasn’t a million miles from Midge’s. She wasn’t as curvy as Midge, but her skin was pale, so no complaints.

I was objectifying this beauty, of course, and the taboo of that turned me on as well. Midge, oh Midge, I’ll fuck you so hard. My cock jumped.

Quelle chance.

My sordid little plan was working.



When my friend John dropped me off in the hotel car park just before midnight, I was a little tipsy. I’d also spent the evening trying not to be aroused, but Hugo kept leaping into my head, trailing that feather down my arm, his hot breath all over my face while I stood trapped against the corridor wall.

My nipples had been so hard since then that they were sore from my lacy bra.

It was my night off. Technically, I could have gone straight home to my little flat. But I was studying part-time for my English degree and I’d left my current book at the hotel. To be honest, I didn’t really need that book, but I knew Hugo was returning to Paris the following morning, at God only knew what hour, so I needed an excuse to bump into him again. How ridiculous! I was so obsessed that I was losing my pride.

When I turned into the car park and glimpsed the figures round the side of the hotel building, one thrown over the bonnet of Hugo’s M4—the car he kept in England while he was in France—I instinctively knew what I was witnessing. Chills ran down my spine, yet I continued to stare.

Hugo was fucking someone from behind.

I felt a rush of arousal between my thighs as I sank back into the shadows between two parked cars. The pair were in a pool of lamplight, while Hugo held his lover’s hips and lunged his cock into them.

Now, I knew Hugo wasn’t just into women, but this was definitely a woman—her excitable little gasps gave the game away. And oh God, did he fuck hard. I felt his every thrust in my own cunt, as a deep, insistent heat. Fixated, I could see her brown hair fanning over the car’s paintwork, glinting with copper streaks beneath the overhead lamp, and I noticed that her wrists were bound above her head—perhaps by Hugo’s tie. He was fucking her and fucking her, her whole body lurching, her painted nails clawing softly against the paintwork. Oh God, if only he’d fuck me that way! I’d come so hard—so damnably deep. She was crying out, “Oh yes, yes, oh yes…” as if she’d begged for exactly this.

One of my brother’s hands was pressing down on her lower back while he leaned over her, burying the other in her hair. And as he kept moving his hips, he began to speak angrily in French, practically growling the words. I could only make out bits and pieces, but when I heard the words “ma soeur, mon enfant gâté!” I gasped and felt my pussy flood with excitement. Had I been mistaken? Had he really called her his ‘sister’? No sooner had I doubted myself than he proved my suspicions were right by growling, “Ma soeurton frère tu baises…Midge…oui, oui… tu aimes ma bite bandante…Midge, tu es incroyable…tu m’excite…ma soeur….

Oh God, it was too much! I was all but drooling! I didn’t understand all of the words he’d spoken, but I knew enough of them—he was fucking this woman as if she was me, as if she was “his sister”, his “Midge.”

Fuck. I was quivering with excitement. Was my poor wet pussy going to give way?

Without a second thought, I thrust my hand inside my skirt, between my thighs where my knickers were soaked, and pushed two fingers into my briefs and right against my cunt. I gasped, rubbing my clit as my cunt clenched hard. Then I stared at Hugo, imagining what he was imagining—that the woman he was fucking was me. The thought that we were now both screwing each other inside our heads made me cry out with abandon, though I quickly sealed my lips again. I was too late though. Hugo grew still, glancing around, and I suddenly felt his stare light on mine.

Oh God. He’d seen me and heard my cry of pleasure.

Glaring, nostrils flaring, he bore his teeth and burst into a frenzy of thrusting, during which he stared at me, locking his gaze on mine. With his eyes, he fucked me. His lover, who was spread-eagled now, cried out, “Yes! Yes! And keep with the French!” as he fucked her like a lunatic, the whole car shuddering. But he kept on glaring at me, like I was the one he was fucking. “Fuck,” he hissed, “I’m fucking you. Putain, Midge, oui.” I wish I could say that he’d pissed me off, right then, this bastard fucking one woman and imagining fucking another. But honestly, the moment was so hot that I didn’t stop rubbing my clit, and my agonized pussy couldn’t help but convulse into climax. I fell backwards as the ecstasy drilled into me, my free arm thrashing out against another parked car. But the shriek of the car alarm soon quelled my pleasure. Stunned, I jumped away, still panting from my climax as my brother continued to pound his hips. Refusing to look back into Hugo’s eyes, I rushed out from between the cars and round the back of the car park, giving he and his partner plenty of space. The best way to avoid them all together was to head for the staff entrance on the other side of the building—so that’s what I did.

But what I couldn’t avoid was the great, long growl of Hugo’s release, and the words he shouted as he came: “Oh oui, ma soeur! Oh Midge, oui!

I gasped, clit throbbing.

Little did he know that the words he’d just cried and the way he’d cried them would soon make me come repeatedly, more deeply than ever before.


I arrived at the hotel before eight the next morning, ready to take over Melody’s shift. I’d spent a lot of last night masturbating, so I hadn’t slept so well. A strong mug of tea was what I needed. Well, the office was empty when I started brewing that tea, but by the time I was squashing the teabag with the back of my spoon, trying to get the most out of it, I could feel a presence behind me.

It was my brother.

Shit, he was still here? He usually left earlier than this to catch his flight back home. When our eyes met, I remembered how I’d spent the night on the edge of ecstasy, thinking of him. How shameful! I’d been dreaming of fucking my own brother! Besides, even if we hadn’t been related, I wouldn’t have chosen to be obsessed with this piece of shit. I’d had time to think, you see, since he’d treated his lover so badly by pinning me—his own sister—with his stare as he fucked her. A bastard who deceives a one-night lover with French words and fantasies! I bet she thought “Midge” was a sexy word, not the name of his sister.

What a prick.

All the same, my treacherous clit pulsed with pleasure every time I remembered him coming as he growled my name.

Salut, Midge,” Hugo said.

“Hi,” I responded sulkily, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

Smarmy bastard.

God, he was gorgeous though. He was wearing an impeccable suit—the kind you’d only find in Paris. It was seductively cut to show off his physique and the top buttons of his shirt lay open, giving a glimpse his smooth, tanned chest. He was leaning against the door jamb, his stare wandering over my body as if he couldn’t get enough of me in my white blouse and bottle green skirt, with my hair pulled up in a super-neat bun—my less-than-exciting uniform.

“So,” he said, “about last night….”

“We have nothing to say to each other!” I spun away from him and mashed ferociously at my teabag. Shit. My cheeks were burning.

“I thought as much,” he said. I felt him crossing the room towards me. “But you know I fly this morning. We can’t leave things like this, ma chérie.”

“Why not?”

I felt his breath on the back of my neck before his fingers touched my shoulders through my blouse. His touch was light at first, tingling through me, but then he grasped me a little harder, making me drop the spoon with a clatter and arch with pleasure. “Midge,” he murmured, lips at my ear. “We can’t deny what’s happening.”

“You’re such a…brute,” I managed, though my nipples had sprung to attention. “You and your lies! How could you treat her like that?”


“The woman you screwed last night!” I gasped, still swooning from his grip. “She didn’t know she was playing the part of your sister, did she?”

He pressed his firm body against my back. “Oh Midge,” he murmured as, one by one, he pulled out the pins that kept my bun in place and scattered them on the floor. My hair tumbled down, cascading over my shoulders, as he buried his face in it, murmuring how sexy I was.

Fuck, this felt good. Impossibly good.

“You drive me to do vulgar things,” he said, running his hands down my arms with exactly the right pressure. “I’m crazy about you. You make my cock so hard.”

The bastard! In spite of the glorious symphony his ministrations were conjuring inside me, I managed to spin round, and there we were, face to face. He smelled incredible, his scent surrounding me. Angrily I said, “Don’t you put your deceptions on me. You called the shots. You could have played fair, but you didn’t.”

“You want me to play fair?” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe we should have a safe word, Midge.”

At this, I bit my lip. My pussy was flooding, so ready for him. The thought of him dominating me, calling the shots, tying me up, taking me, doing as he pleased…a safe word suggested all of that, and right now what I needed if I was utterly honest was for him to fuck me. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I managed, though I could feel my cheeks burning. “I’ll never fuck you. You’re my….”

“Brother?” He cupped the side of my face with one hand, slipped the other around my waist, and, with his stare blazing on my own, said, “You want me to stop, just tell me.”

Hanging there in his strong grip, I had to suppress a moan.

“Midge,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he brought his lips achingly close to mine. “You’re right. I was wrong to play with her like that. It was you I should have been screwing.” He buried his fingers in my hair, adding, “You’re so beautiful it kills me.”

With that, he pressed his lips to mine.

Our lips met and the kiss swept me up, as if the oceans inside me had given way to crashing waves. Oh my God, what a kiss! To feel someone give you their lips, their tongue, in the way you always longed for, is miraculous—a frenzy, a feast. The kiss deepened and strengthened, taking on a life of its own. Our lips slid seductively, in a perfectly rhythmic dance. My hands slipped beneath his suit jacket, and I felt the warmth and smoothness of his chest beneath his shirt, as we kept on kissing, pressing into one another. In his arms, I was nothing but flesh and pleasure. Then, when I was so deeply aroused that I could feel nothing but his heavenly body, he pulled his lips away from mine. Leaving me empty, he reached around my head and grasped my loose hair into a single bunch, which he twisted gently, so that my head was forced back, my chin jutting upwards. Longing pulsed in my cunt. I swore under my breath, grabbing hold of the worktop behind me, because the painful pinch was so sudden and sexy. When he tightened his grip, ensuring I was at his mercy, I mewed like a kitten—I swear, I’d have done anything to have his cock inside me right then. Lastly, with me captured there, he told me he dreamed of me: “Je rêve de toi, Midge.”

I managed, “This…isn’t…right…. What if someone comes in? What if…Mum comes in and…finds us…?”

“But doesn’t the risk feel incredible? And what would life be without risk?”

In answer, I closed my eyes, feeling my lust pounding between my thighs. The thought of being caught was beyond hot.

I was giddy with it.

He loosened his grip on my hair and ran his right hand down my front, his fingers light as he crossed my left breast, teasing my aching nipple through my bra. I whimpered to feel him caressing me as he watched the path of his fingers, taking in the shape of my breasts with brazen arousal. “I want to weigh these in my hands,” he said, his voice heavy. “I want to hold these beautiful breasts. Suck them, fuck them.” I moaned softly, before biting my lip to stopper the noise. If I told him to stop, he’d stop, and my needy body couldn’t have that!

“I should hate you,” I managed.

He laughed, blue eyes dancing, but his fingers crossed to my left hip, where he stroked me seductively before hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me yet closer. Caught with my lips so near to his, I felt his breath falling warm on mine as he said, “My cock’s so hard for you. Ma soeur….”

Lost in the drunkenness of desire, I murmured, “Oh brother…”

At this, he growled deep inside his throat, and clasped my buttocks hard, forcing my groin against his own. He kissed my neck, burying his teeth into my flesh, and groaned, “Fuck, when you call me that…fuck, Midge.”

I could feel my body quivering beneath his masterful clutches as he grasped my buttock, my waist, my hip. When I felt the shape of his hard cock—so big and ready—my clit quivered, on the brink once again. Fuck, how he’d stretch my pussy wide! Fuck, how deep he’d take me! I was desperate to come, but if I did, I feared I’d scream in ecstasy alerting anyone nearby. The truth was obvious, nevertheless: I was his to play with. I was his and I longed to be his. And what a stunning lover he’d be. He’d already shot me to the stars and back without even removing my clothes.

“Sister,” he murmured. “My filthy, beautiful sister.”

“Don’t stop,” I gasped.

“I want to punish you,” he breathed. “Do you object?”

I’d never been sexually punished before, and I dreaded being caught here with Hugo like this, but my answer came quickly. “Do it.”

In moments, he’d turned me around, had my hands planted on the counter top next to the kettle and my cup of tea, and was running his hand over my skirt, feeling the curves of my buttocks. I mewed, unable to resist, my thighs aquiver, my pussy so wet.

Tu es exquise,” he breathed in that sexy language of his. “Je veux te baiser.”

“Wh-what does that…mean?” I asked.

Je veux te baiser… ‘I want to fuck you.’” I moaned to hear him say those words. “C’est vrai, Midge. I thirst to be inside you. I want to fill ma petite soeur. I’ll make you come so hard.”

I drew a sudden, wanton breath, before feeling him pull back the flat of his hand and slam it towards my skirt-clad rear. Thwack! I trembled, whimpering. My pussy, which had felt the force of the slap, was on the edge of a glorious spasm.

“Repeat after me,” he said, his lips touching my ear as he spoke. I could feel his hard cock against my hip and I quivered at how stiff this spanking was making him. “Je veux te baiser,” he said. “Repeat it back.”

Je veux te baiser,” I managed.

He let out a groan now, before spanking his hand hard against my buttocks. I gasped, lips parted, eyes closed, clit pulsing in a frenzy. Beneath my skirt, my cheeks throbbed, and the pain burned so good.

Merde,” he gasped, his hand pressing into the small of my back. “Midge,” he whispered, stroking a tendril of hair behind my ear. “How can I leave you? You set me on fire.” He pulled me into his arms at that and kissed me fiercely, crushing his mouth on mine as our bodies melted together.

When he came up for air, he said, “I’ve never been so turned on.”

“Because I’m your sister?”

“Yes, but it’s so much more than that.”

Behind us sounded the sudden clatter of heels and we sprang apart. I flushed with embarrassment at seeing Mum, red-faced, hair tied back, with a load of bottle green velvet curtains in her arms. “Have you two been….” She gasped, before adding, “…fighting again. Honestly….” Another wheeze. “what’ll I…do with you.”

“We weren’t,” I managed.

“We were saying goodbye,” said Hugo. With that, he shot me a glinting smile before heading over to kiss Mum on the cheek. Then I watched his perfect rear while he strode away. On his way round the corner, he winked at me darkly and said, “I’ll be in touch, sister.”

At these words, I gave a shiver of desire.

Once he’d gone, my mother asked, “Aren’t you on the front desk this morning, love?”

So off I went, my whole body tingling, desperate for the moment when I’d touch myself again.

Continue reading the Five-Star Stepbrother Series here. Thank you for supporting independently published erotica!