Butterfly

by Jo Brenner

For a while I’d been joking with some friends about writing a novella called My Stepbrother Daddy. The idea entertained the fuck out of me—and kind of turned me on, to be honest—but I didn’t think I’d actually get around to it.

Joking aside, please do visit my website. Your health—mental, physical, spiritual, emotional—matters.

I wasn’t hard for her. I was hard for a butterfly who would remain just outside of my grasp, unless I set fire to her wings.

Some people pinned butterflies to keep them close. I was going to make this one fly far, far away. After all, she was the most beautiful girl I’d seen in my entire life. I wanted her more than I wanted anything. And I hated her for it.

Mason was tall, and built, and his muscles needed their own zip code.

His girlfriend, Tiffanie, the bitchiest of the bunch, was leaning against his left shoulder and kissing him—sloppy and drunk. And between his legs was one of her friends, bobbing her head, my stepbrother’s dick in her mouth.

I’d been dancing since I could walk, and even though ballet was my style of choice, I knew how to twist and roll and pop my body in ways that caught men’s attention. I wasn’t much to look at, the very definition of a plain Jane. But I could dance.

“Oh, butterfly,” he tsked, crowding me, apparently uncaring that the point of the knife was pushing up against his sternum. “Before we’re done, you’ll be begging for my come—everywhere.”

These are for Leslie Berger, so if she has an “accident,” she has extras. She’s prone to them. Thanks, Mason

“Mason, what are you doing?” God, my voice sounded breathy. “I don’t know,” he admitted, finally releasing me. “But I recommend you stay away from me before things get even more out of hand.” I should’ve listened to him.

“You don’t want to do this,” I told him. “You hate me, remember?” He sighed, rotating his hips so his cock rubbed hard against my ass. “That’s right, butterfly. I hate you. This here,” he jerked against me again, “is hate, pure and simple. Want to hate me back?” “Mason, if you don’t let me go…”

My cock went hard at the association. My butterfly wanted a daddy? She’d get one.

Leslie was funny, feisty, beautiful, with an innocent vulnerability I ached to protect. I was obsessed with more than getting inside what I knew was going to be a tight, hot, wet pussy. I was obsessed with owning every part of her: mind, body, and soul.

“You still don’t get it, butterfly. You made my life hell because I couldn’t have you. Not when we were both under our parents’ roof. But I’m done with that. I’m taking what’s mine.”

Oh god, my stepbrother was kissing me. And it was the best kiss I’d ever had. He started to fuck me with his kiss.

“Mason!” My protest was weak. I felt weak and loose, pliant and submissive. He growled. “That’s not what you’re going to call me in bed, butterfly. Soon enough, you’ll know what I really am to you.”

his fingers slid underneath my shorts and panties, until they were touching my bare pussy. I jerked. No one’s hand had ever been there before but my waxer’s. It was the best and worst thing I’d ever felt in my life, lighting me on fire.

“I swear to god, butterfly, if you let another man touch my pussy, there will be hell to pay. For both you—and him.”

“Then I suggest you shut your pretty mouth and follow me out this door before it gets you into more trouble,” he said. My sex spasmed at the thought, and his eyes heated.

“When you crave something this desperately, anything you have to do to get it is easy.”

“Why would I keep eating McDonald’s, when there’s a five-star, gourmet meal, right within reach?”

“Fuck, you’re tight. No one’s touched this virgin pussy before but me. That’s what makes you a good girl—my good girl. You waited for me,” he growled.

“We need to stop.” He tsked. “I’m not stopping until you come on my fingers, butterfly. So you better come, if you don’t want anyone to see me fingering your filthy, sloppy pussy.”

I had plans for my stepsister—the long-term, own-her-forever, lock her down with a ring and plant-fucking-babies in her kind of plans.

She’d convinced herself that she hated me, that I hated her. It was all lies. If she really hated me, she wouldn’t have let me stick my fingers in her pussy, wouldn’t have trusted me enough to come.

“312. Got it, see you later, fellow Red Sea pedestrian, and thank you!”

I got back to the suite and headed straight for the shower. It only took three pumps of my hand until I was coming all over the tiles. At this rate, we were going to have to call a plumber soon; jizz was terrible for pipes.

All of my come should go in and on Leslie,

“You need Daddy, butterfly? Need him to make you feel all better?”

“How did you know that?” “Because I know everything that goes on with my pussy,” he said. “I especially know when she needs her Daddy.”

“Did you learn Disney for me?” I asked, shock making me forget my lust for a second. He kissed my forehead again, nuzzling my hair. “Butterfly, I’d learn how to pilot a rocket ship, if I thought it would make you happy.”

“My good little butterfly,” he groaned, pumping his hips again, fast and hard. I was screaming at this point, and the whole dorm could probably hear me, and I didn’t care. “Daddy’s conquered this pussy, hasn’t he? Permanently claimed what was always his. I’m going to come and fill you up and stuff you full, aren’t I? Tell Daddy you want him to treat you like his perfect little cumdumpster.”

“Daddy, I want you to treat me like your perfect little cumdumpster, please fill me up, Daddy, please⁠—” “FUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

The Scarlet Letter—specifically the way female desire was both demonized, and how women were equally infantilized and vilified when it came to sex…at least in the book.

“But…” I shook my head. “No buts. Time to stand up, strip and bend over the bed like a good girl.”

A camera.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but by the time I was done I was sweating and I’d found five other cameras.

I’d fantasized about being fucked by two guys at once since I’d stumbled across it in a romance novel, but I’d never thought it would come true. The fantasy shamed me, even as I got myself off to it.

“You’re thinking of sitcom love, romcom love. Antiseptic, perfect, not messy at all. Boring. That’s not real love, butterfly. When I say I love you, I mean the messy, dirty, dark, obsessive, can’t think about anything or anyone else, don’t care about anything else, kind. I’m in love with you, butterfly. That means I’ll do anything to make you happy, and safe, and mine. That might mean something else for another man, but the only man you’re getting is me, so the only kind of love you’re getting is mine.” I couldn’t admit it out loud, but his was the only kind of love I wanted.

“She needs to know she’s free to make her own choices, bro,” Emory had said. She wasn’t.