I pretended to be asleep while someone used my body

My name is Abigail, and at 24 years old, I've always known I turn heads wherever I go. My body curvy in all the right places, with full, heavy breasts that strain against any top I wear, a narrow waist that flares out into wide hips and a round, firm ass that sways naturally when I walk. My long, dark hair cascades down my back in loose waves, framing a face with piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and plump lips that beg to be kissed. I stand at about 5'8", toned from yoga and the occasional run, but soft where it counts, especially around my thighs and that sensitive spot between them. I live with my parents in our spacious family home on the outskirts of the city, a two-story place with creaky wooden floors and rooms that echo with memories. My bedroom is upstairs, at the end of the hall, with a large window overlooking the garden. Right across from it is a vacant room, dusty and unused, and next to mine is the guest room where visitors crash. I've got a secret stash of sex toys hidden in my nightstand—vibrators of all sizes, dildos that stretch me just right, plugs for my ass, and even some nipple clamps for those nights when I need to edge myself to sleep. They're my little escapes, fueling fantasies that keep me up late, my fingers or toys buried deep as I imagine rough hands on my skin.

It was a humid summer when my cousin Steve Damm and his family arrived for a four-day visit. Our families hadn't gathered like this in years, and I was buzzing with excitement, especially because Steve was coming. At 28, he's the definition of handsome—tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled brown hair, sharp jawline shadowed by stubble, and green eyes that crinkle when he smiles. He's got that athletic build from his college football days, muscles rippling under his shirts, and a quiet confidence that makes my pulse race. They pulled up in just after lunch, horns blaring, and I rushed downstairs in a tight tank top and shorts that hugged my ass, my hair loose and wild. Hugs all around—my aunt chattering about the drive, my uncle clapping my dad on the back—but my eyes locked on Steve. He pulled me into a bear hug, his chest hard against my breasts, and I lingered a second too long, inhaling his clean, musky scent.

Steve's parents took the main guest room downstairs, but he got the one adjacent to mine upstairs, close enough that I could hear him moving at night. From the start, I plotted ways to seduce him. The first evening, after dinner, I 'accidentally' left my door ajar while changing out of my sundress. I stood in front of the mirror in just my lace bra and thong, the fabric sheer enough to show my hardened nipples and the curve of my pussy lips. I bent over slowly, pretending to rummage for pajamas, my ass pointed toward the hall. Sure enough, through the crack, I caught Steve glancing in as he passed by. His eyes widened, tracing my body, lingering on my tits spilling over the cups and the way my thong disappeared between my cheeks. He adjusted his pants subtly, but then he tore his gaze away and kept walking. Frustration bubbled in me—come on, he was ogling me like a starving man, but no advance. Did he not get the hint?

The next day, I upped the ante. We were all lounging by the pool in the backyard, the sun beating down, turning my skin golden. I slipped into a skimpy bikini, the triangles barely covering my nipples, the bottoms riding high on my hips to expose the undersides of my breasts and most of my ass. Steve was there in board shorts, his chest bare and glistening with sweat. I dove in, splashing water, then climbed out right in front of him, letting droplets cascade down my cleavage as I arched my back to wring out my hair. He stared, his gaze dropping to where my wet bikini clung to my pussy, outlining every fold. I caught him swallowing hard, his shorts tenting slightly, but when I asked if he wanted to rub lotion on my back, he mumbled something about helping his dad and bolted inside. God, it was maddening. That night, I tried again—door cracked while I 'tried on' outfits for a nonexistent party. I stripped down to nothing, cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples until they ached, then slid a hand between my legs, rubbing my clit in slow circles. Steve peeked, his breathing heavy, hand pressing against his crotch, but he just watched, frozen, before retreating. Why wouldn't he make a move? Was he scared of family ties? I needed to force his hand.

By the third day, my toys had seen more action than usual. I'd wake up slick from dreams of Steve pinning me down, his cock thrusting deep, and I'd grab my favorite vibrator—a thick, veined one that buzzed against my walls—fucking myself hard while biting my pillow to stifle moans. But it wasn't enough; I craved the real thing. That's when the plan hit me. Late night, pretend to be drunk, vulnerable, irresistible. I texted a friend to cover for me, saying I'd been at her place. I picked a white button-up shirt, thin enough to show my black lace bra underneath, and a black miniskirt that barely skimmed my thighs. No panties—I wanted easy access. I let my hair fall loose, tousled and wild, and sipped a few shots of vodka to get that real buzz, the alcohol warming my veins and scenting my breath. Around midnight, with the house dark and everyone asleep, I stumbled up the driveway, giggling to myself, keys jangling.

As I fumbled with the door, voices drifted from the garage—Steve talking to our driver, Mark. Mark's a burly guy in his forties, quiet and reliable, with a stocky build and calloused hands from years behind the wheel. Steve spotted me first. 'Abby? You okay?' His voice was concerned, but his eyes raked over me—the shirt gaping at the top, exposing the swell of my breasts, the skirt hiked up from my 'stumble,' flashing my bare pussy. I swayed, slurring, 'Yeah, just... party got wild. Help me up?' He caught my arm, his touch firm, and guided me inside, past the stairs. Mark hung back, but I heard his footsteps trailing. Steve half-carried me up, my body pressed against his side, my hip brushing his groin. I felt him harden slightly, and it took everything not to grind against him. In my room, he eased me onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. I flopped back, eyes fluttering shut, breathing deep and even, playing passed out. My legs parted just enough for the skirt to ride up, exposing my smooth, shaved mound.

He lingered, I could sense it—his shadow over me, breath quickening. Then, footsteps retreated. The door clicked shut. Fury hit me like a wave. What the hell? Even now, he wouldn't? I lay there seething, my pussy throbbing from the tease, until exhaustion pulled me under for real.

Sometime later—maybe an hour, maybe two—I stirred in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. A weight on the bed. Hands on my body. My heart leaped. Someone was here, pressing palms over my shirt, cupping the heavy globes of my breasts through the fabric. Fingers kneaded gently at first, thumbs circling where my nipples poked against the buttons. I kept still, breath shallow, peeking through slitted lids. The room was dim, moonlight filtering through curtains, but I couldn't make out the face—shadows hid it. The buttons popped open one by one, slow and deliberate, cool air hitting my skin. My bra was next—hooks undone at the back, cups peeled away. My tits spilled free, full and round, nipples already stiff from the chill and anticipation. A mouth descended, hot and wet, latching onto one peak. Tongue swirled around the bud, then lips sucked hard, pulling it deep into the warmth. Teeth grazed lightly, sending jolts straight to my core. I bit my lip to stay silent, but inside, I was electric—finally, this was happening. The other nipple got the same treatment, sucked and nipped until it throbbed, my breasts glistening with saliva.

Emboldened, the intruder tugged my skirt up—no, off completely, yanking it down my legs along with my lack of panties. I was bare now, from the waist down, my pussy exposed, lips already parting with arousal, a trickle of wetness seeping out. Hands roamed my thighs, spreading them wide, but then... a pause. The figure shifted up, toward my head. Fingers pried my mouth open—two thick digits hooking my cheek, stretching my lips. Something warm and rigid nudged against them. His cock. It slid in, filling my mouth inch by inch, the head bumping my tongue, veins pulsing against my inner cheeks. He groaned low, and started thrusting—slow at first, savoring the wet heat, then picking up pace. My jaw ached as he fucked my face, balls slapping my chin with each push. Saliva dribbled from the corners of my mouth, coating his shaft, making it slicker. I fought the urge to suck back, to swirl my tongue, staying limp as a ragdoll. Five minutes, ten—his hips jerked erratically, grunts building. Then he pulled out, leaving my mouth gaping, strings of spit connecting us.

He moved down, breath fanning over my pussy. Lips pressed to my inner thighs, kissing up, up, until his tongue flicked my clit. I nearly bucked, but held still. He lapped at me, broad strokes from entrance to nub, then sucked my clit between his teeth, tugging gently. Fingers joined—two plunging into my soaked hole, curling to hit that spot inside. They pumped in and out, scissoring, stretching me, while his mouth devoured, tongue delving deep to taste my juices. My walls clenched around the intrusion, arousal flooding out, the room filling with wet, slurping sounds. Orgasm built fast, coiling tight, but I clamped down, pretending oblivion even as stars burst behind my eyes.

Clothes rustled—his, coming off. The bed shifted as he positioned between my legs, cock—thick, at least seven inches, flared head—prodding my entrance. He pushed in slow, savoring the tight grip of my pussy enveloping him. Inch by inch, until he bottomed out, balls against my ass. A sigh escaped him. He started moving—gentle rocks at first, pulling back and sliding in, letting my body adjust. But as minutes passed, and I stayed 'unconscious,' his restraint snapped. Thrusts turned brutal, hips slamming forward, cock pounding my depths with raw force. Each drive stretched me wide, the head battering my cervix, friction igniting every nerve. My tits bounced with the impacts, nipples scraping the air. He gripped my hips, fingers digging bruises, angling deeper, faster. Sweat dripped from him onto my skin. Grunts filled the room, animalistic, as he chased release. My own climax crested again, walls fluttering, milking him without my control. Finally, he buried deep, cock swelling, and unloaded—hot spurts of cum flooding my pussy, pulse after pulse, until it overflowed, trickling down my ass crack.

He stilled, panting, then withdrew with a wet pop. Cum leaked from me, warm and sticky. Footsteps padded away, door whispering shut. I lay there, satisfied to my bones, body humming from the ravaging. But I kept up the act, curling into sleep with his seed still inside.

Morning light pierced my eyes. I woke groggy, thighs sticky, a dull ache between my legs. Sitting up, I felt it—thick globs of semen oozing from my pussy, soaking the sheets. My hand dipped down, fingers coming away coated in the pearly mess. A thrill shot through me. It worked. I cleaned up in the shower, water cascading over my curves, soaping my breasts and delving between my folds to wash away the evidence. Dressed in jeans and a tee, I headed downstairs, the house alive with breakfast smells.

Mom was at the stove, flipping eggs. 'Morning, sleepyhead. Rough night?' I nodded, playing coy. 'Yeah, drank too much. Hey, where's Steve? I wanted to thank him for helping me in.' She paused, spatula mid-air. 'Oh, honey, Steve had an emergency—work called him back early. He left for the airport at dawn with his parents. Something urgent, they said.' Shock hit me like ice water. Left? But... last night... I forced a smile, grabbing coffee, mind racing. If not Steve, who? Mark? He'd been there when I came in, seen me vulnerable. Maybe he waited, snuck in after Steve left. The thought twisted Mark's rough hands, his cock not as refined as I'd imagined, but forceful all the same.