The Stepsister's Tracksuit

The pink velour is doing something to my brain.

Kelsey—my new stepsister as of six months ago—is lying on the sofa in that Juicy Couture tracksuit, the one that's a size too small, the one that clings to every curve. She's got her phone in one hand, Cherry Coke in the other, belly button piercing glinting every time her top rides up.

"Take a picture, yeah? It'll last longer."

I look away. "I wasn't—"

"You were." She doesn't even look up from her phone. "You always are."

Our parents met at a speed dating event.

Mum was desperate. Phil was lonely. Three months later they're married, and suddenly I've got a stepsister who's twenty, chavvy as they come, and walks around our house like she owns it.

Which, technically, she partly does now.

"Your mum's cooking's rank, by the way."

"Then cook your own dinner."

"Can't be arsed." She stretches, and her top rides up further, showing the soft curve of her belly. "Besides, that's what mums are for, innit."

She's been like this since she moved in. Rude, lazy, always in that bloody tracksuit. Always making comments. Always there, taking up space, smelling like vanilla body spray and trouble.

I hate her.

I also want to fuck her senseless.

It's complicated.

"They're going to the pub tonight."

She says it casually, still scrolling, but there's something in her voice.

"Good for them."

"They won't be back for hours. Phil always gets pissed on darts night." She finally looks at me. Brown eyes, too much eyeliner, hoops big enough to swing from. "Just us, then."

"I've got stuff to do."

"No you don't." She swings her legs off the sofa, sits up properly. The tracksuit does absolutely nothing to hide the swell of her tits, the thick curve of her thighs. "You never do. You just sit in your room pretending you're not thinking about me."

"That's mental."

"Is it?" She stands, walks toward me. Slow. Deliberate. "Because I've seen your browser history, bruv. You've got a type. And it's thick birds in tight clothes."

My face burns. "You went through my—"

"Your mum asked me to fix her laptop. Your search history synced." She's close now. Close enough that I can smell her—vanilla and something sweeter underneath. "Massive BBWs, chavvy slags, girls in tracksuits. Ring any bells?"

"That's private."

"It's also me." She gestures at herself. "Curvy chav in a tracksuit. I'm literally your type."

"You're my stepsister."

"Only by law." Her hand lands on my chest. "We're not actually related. There's no blood. Just... paperwork."

"Kelsey—"

"I've wanted you since I moved in." She says it flat, like a fact. "Couldn't figure out why at first. You're not my usual type—bit too clean, bit too quiet. But then I'd catch you looking at me, and I'd get wet thinking about making you lose control."

"This is—"

"This is honest." She presses closer. I can feel her tits against my chest, soft and heavy. "Mum and Phil won't be back for hours. We've got the house to ourselves. And I'm done pretending I don't want my stepbrother's cock inside me."

She kisses me like it's a declaration of war.

All tongue and teeth and aggression, her body pushing me back until I hit the wall. Her hands are everywhere—my chest, my arms, my cock through my jeans.

"Bedroom," she breathes. "Now."

"Which one?"

"Yours. I've been imagining fucking you in there for months."

She pushes me onto my bed and straddles me.

The pink tracksuit is even more obscene up close—the way it clings to her curves, the way the zip strains over her tits. She reaches up and pulls the zip down slowly, revealing a black push-up bra underneath.

"Like what you see?"

"Yeah."

"Then touch it."

I pull her down, bury my face in her tits while she grinds on me. She's warm and soft and making little noises that go straight to my cock.

"Get this off me," she demands, tugging at the tracksuit top.

I pull it over her head. Then her bra. Then I flip her over and worship her body like I've been imagining for six months.

Her tits are perfect.

Not too big, not too small—just right, with pink nipples that harden under my tongue. Her belly is soft, curved, with that piercing glinting. Her hips flare out, thick thighs spreading as I work my way down.

"That's it—don't be shy—"

I pull off her tracksuit bottoms. She's wearing a thong underneath—black, barely there, soaked through.

"Told you I want this."

I pull it aside and taste her.

She comes on my tongue in minutes.

Loud, messy, her thick thighs clamping around my head. I don't stop until she's pushing me away, too sensitive, reaching for my jeans.

"Inside me. Now. Can't wait anymore."

I strip while she watches, eyes hungry. When I climb on top of her, she wraps her legs around me immediately.

"Fuck me like you mean it."

I push inside. She's tight, wet, clenching around me.

"Fuck yes. That's what I needed. Your stuck-up cock in your chavvy stepsister—"

I fuck her. Not gentle, not slow—I fuck her like I've been wanting to for months. She matches me thrust for thrust, nails in my back, voice getting louder and louder.

"Harder—come on—I'm not gonna break—"

She comes again, screaming into my pillow. I follow her over the edge.

We hear the front door two hours later.

Plenty of time to clean up, change the sheets, pretend nothing happened. By the time Mum and Phil come upstairs, I'm at my desk pretending to work. Kelsey's in her room, music blaring.

"Everything alright?" Mum asks.

"Fine. Quiet night."

"That's good." She smiles, clueless. "Nice that you two are getting along."

"Yeah," I say. "We're finding common ground."

Kelsey texts me after midnight.

Same time tomorrow. Wear less clothes.

I text back: Only if you wear the tracksuit again.

Pervert.

You started it.

And I'm gonna finish it. Night, stepbro.

The pink velour is still doing something to my brain.

Now I know exactly what that something is.

And I'm not complaining.