Taming his sister in law 2

Mai falls deeper. Gunter Steinback, BiBoy and The Wanker make an appearance

Mai lay in the new bed, the mattress still smelling faintly of plastic and cardboard. The room was dark except for the blue glow of her phone screen. Ollie was asleep in the next room, Zak snoring softly beside her, one arm flung across the pillow. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of settling floorboards and the low hum of the fridge downstairs.

She should have been exhausted. The move had taken every ounce of energy she had. Instead her body felt wired, restless, as though the day’s heat had lodged itself under her skin and refused to leave. Between her legs she was still tender, still damp. The knickers she had worn during the drive were in the laundry basket, stiff and ruined, but the memory of Jeff’s fingers lingered like a bruise.

She opened WhatsApp. The thread with Jeff was empty. She had deleted it earlier.
"You came so quietly. Next time I want to hear you." He had wrote.

She had watched the progress bar fill, watched the chat vanish, and told herself it was over. A clean break. A moment of madness erased.

But the deletion had not erased the ache.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of the ride. The weight of his cock hardening beneath her. The slow slide of his hand under her dress. The way her body had betrayed her so easily, parting for him, clenching around him, coming while Chloe hummed along to the radio two feet away.

The shame was a living thing inside her chest. It hurt. It burned. And yet every time she tried to push it away, her hand drifted back between her legs, circling slowly, chasing the ghost of that orgasm.
She hated herself for it.

She opened WhatsApp again and started a new message to Jeff. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a long minute.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

She stared at the words. Her pulse thudded in her ears.
She pressed send.
The message flew off into the night.
No dots appeared.
No reply.
She waited. One minute. Two. Five.
Nothing.
The silence felt deliberate. Cruel.
She typed again.
I know it was wrong. But I keep replaying it.
Still nothing.
She bit her lip. Typed once more.
Jeff?
She hit send.
Again, nothing.
The screen stayed blank. No dots. No read receipt. Just her own words staring back at her in the dark.

Mai closed her eyes. Fresh heat bloomed between her thighs. The longer he left her hanging, the more desperate she felt. The more ashamed. The more aroused.
A new message arrived. No greeting. Just a link to a story called "silent passenger" on some site called sexstories69

And beneath it, one line:
Read it.

Mai’s breath caught.
She clicked.

The story loaded. The title stared back at her: “Silent Passenger” by Gunter Steinback.
She read the first paragraph and knew.
A woman forced to sit on her brother-in-law’s lap during a family drive. The sister at the wheel. The back seat blocked by boxes. The slow rocking. The fingers sliding under her dress. The silent, shameful orgasm. The man licking his fingers clean.

The details were changed, a different suburb, different car, the woman a librarian instead of a teacher, but the bones of it were unmistakable. It was her. It was them.
She read with her heart in her throat, hand already slipping inside her shorts.
She circled her clit slowly, reading the last paragraph again about him licking his fingers.

Mai came quietly, thighs clamping around her own hand, biting the inside of her cheek so Zak wouldn’t wake.
When the spasms faded she lay there, panting softly.

She scrolled down to the comments section beneath the story.
There were only four so far. The story had only gone up a few hours earlier.
The first comment was from a user called “The Wanker”:
Fucking hell, what a pathetic quiet little whore. Bet she’s dripping just thinking about her sister finding out. Would love to see her beg on her knees next.
Mai’s breath hitched.

The second was from “BiBoy”:
Slag like that deserves to be passed around. Imagine her cunt stretched while the husband watches. Pathetic dripping cunt.
Mai’s face burned. Her fingers were back between her legs before she could stop herself.

The third comment was shorter, anonymous:
Cum dump material. Breed the bitch.
The fourth was just emojis: 🍆💦🤤

Mai came again. This time she pressed her face into the pillow to muffle the small, broken sound that escaped her. The words echoed in her head: pathetic, quiet little whore, dripping cunt, cum dump, breed the bitch.
She hated how wet they made her.
She opened WhatsApp. The new thread with Jeff was still open.
She typed:
I read it.

Dots appeared almost immediately.
Good girl. Did you come?
Yes.

Tell me how.

I touched myself while I read. I came twice. Once quietly. Once with my face in the pillow so Zak wouldn’t hear.

Perfect. Look at the comments. Strangers already know what you are.

Mai scrolled back to the story page. Read them again.
They called me a whore. A slag. A cum dump.

Because you are. You’re already dripping again, aren’t you?

Yes.

Then prove it. Send me a photo. Right now. Lift your T-shirt. Show me those tits. Pinch your nipples hard enough to hurt. And write “Jeff’s whore” across your chest with your lipstick.

Mai stared at the message.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
She looked at Zak. He was still asleep, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.
She looked at the door. Locked.
She looked at her phone.
She slipped out of bed quietly, padded to the dresser, and found the tube of deep red lipstick she rarely wore. Her hands shook as she uncapped it, the click of the cap loud in the silence. She lifted her T-shirt slowly. Her breasts spilled free, heavier since Ollie, fuller, nipples already stiff from the cool air and the shame.

She glanced at Zak again. He hadn’t moved.
She pressed the lipstick to the upper swell of her left breast and wrote the words in careful, trembling letters.

Jeff’s whore.

The red stood out starkly against her skin.
She pinched both nipples hard. Pain flared. She gasped softly.
She took the photo.
She stared at it for a long moment, the red words glaring back at her.
Then she sent it.

The reply came almost instantly.
Perfect. Look at those fat tits. Look at my name written on them. You’re already mine, aren’t you?

Mai typed with trembling fingers.
Yes.

Say it properly.
I’m yours, Jeff. I’m your whore.

Good. Now delete the photo from your phone. But don’t forget what it looks like. Tomorrow I want you to touch yourself in the staff room at school. During break. Think about me reading your confession while some kid asks you about the Tudors.

Mai’s cunt clenched at the thought.
She deleted the photo.
She typed one last message.
When will I see you?

Dots.
When I decide.

She stared at the screen until it went dark.
Then she rolled onto her side, away from Zak, pulled the duvet up to her chin, and cried silently into the pillow.
Not from regret.
From the terrifying realisation that she didn’t want it to stop.