Page 63 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Three

Jackson

B reathe, Jackson. Fucking breathe.

She takes my breath away even after all these years.

I knew I loved her from the moment she stepped into my life, with her backpack full of Barbies and those haunting mint-green eyes that told me right then she needed me. Would always need me.

A smile curls the corners of my lips as I remember the first time I met her, green foil wrappers from the bowl of Andes Mints in our kitchen all over the floor around her little feet, chocolate decorating her pink lips.

She was so nervous about meeting her mother’s new boyfriend and his son, until she got that first mint in her mouth.

My feelings were different back then. More innocent. Just a certainty that I had to protect her no matter what. But now?

There’s not one innocent thing about me wanting to stuff every thick inch of my virgin cock into her tight unpopped cherry cunt.

That’s not the end of it either. It would be bad enough, but my thoughts where she is concerned are depraved. I want her on her knees, my sticky release decorating her plump cheeks and lips as she gazes up into my eyes and calls me Daddy.

That fantasy took root hard since she became an adult. It was like a switch got flipped and there’s no going back. I think about caring for her like I always have but with this deviant twist and it’s become my obsession. Well, one of my obsessions.

The other is, I’ll knock her the fuck up, yeah, pregnant , bred with my sister with my seed in short order until she’s waddling around, ready to give birth to the first of what would be an army of our children.

But, she will always be my baby. Daddy’s girl.

I want it with a desire so deep, my bones ache with it. As though they are cracking under the pressure of the wanting. The wrongness of it all.

I could have it all, too, and nobody would think anything of it, if only she wasn’t my sister. Stepsister. Whatever.

Breathe.

“You having your first party and didn’t even invite me?” I grin, letting her know my question isn’t serious, but my feelings fucking are .

Whenever I see Mina, the world comes into narrow focus. Even more than when I threw the winning spiral in the most important bowl game of my career last year. That pales in comparison to this goddamn perfect specimen of womanhood sitting right here with a fucking bottle of Tequila against her lips.

I hate that fucking bottle. I should be the only one touching those lips. My mouth. My fingers. My cock.

But, it’s so much more. I want those lips to tell me all her secrets. All her dreams and worries and silly stories. I want to feed them strawberry ice cream and roll her cherry vanilla lip gloss on a hundred times a day like she does for herself now.

Those lips .

They contain multitudes as they say, and I want to be there for it all.

And what the fuck anyway with the tequila? She’s the original, OG good-girl. She would never drink, and now I find her sitting alone in the backyard of a house full of who-the-fuck-knows, ready to straight shot the worst tasting fucking liquor known to man.

Something is fucked up and rage is bubbling in my gut. I’ll handle whatever it is in her life that needs handled, but right now, she needs me .

Jackson, her brother.

Her protector.

Her… fuck . Yes, her fucking Daddy, but I can never tell her that part.

She’s paler than when I saw her at her graduation and that’s pissing me off as well.

I was thinking about that little apple of pink on her cheeks just a couple hours ago when I rage fucked my fist in the shower.

I imagined turning that cute little bit of pink into a hot flush all over her curvy body as I slid in deep, spraying against the opening to her womb as she bucked and begged her Daddy to stop in one breath, then for more in the next.

But that sweet pink I love is gone. I want to kill whoever took it away and then fuck it right back into her.

The depraved visions of my stepsister are out of fucking control. The fantasies are immoral at best and illegal at worst.

We’re not stepsiblings that met as adults. No, we’ve grown up together.

Watched movies in our pajamas while eating popcorn together.

Opened presents on Christmas mornings together.

I held her when her pet hamster, Fernando, died. I took the blame when she threw away all the vegetables in the refrigerator lest we go through yet another dinner with her defiantly refusing to eat anything green. I did all the things a good, upstanding, loving brother would do for a sister.

Except for masturbating to my fantasies of her. That’s not something a good, upstanding, loving brother would do.

I should give up the beating off. I should.

But, that will never happen.

When I think of her, my brain short fucking circuits. The instant boner I’ve fought off for years, I now let fly high because she’s fucking legal.

It’s my love for her that’s kept me from deep dicking her bent over the bathroom sink for this long. For Mina, I will always do the right thing. My love for her keeps my baser instincts in check.

But it’s getting harder and harder to stay in control.

The grip she has on my heart is unyielding. Those fucking eyes, the color of those Andes Mint wrappers, look to me for something I can never give her.

Her curvy youth has blossomed into voluptuous sinful temptation that as a mere mortal, I can not resist. I’m weakening.

I’m breaking. It the most painful, amazing way.

She’s every dream I’ve ever had of the perfect girl. Good-girl. Baby-girl.

She’s within every thought I have. Sometimes, in lightning-fast flashes. Even in the hard moments, the ones where I’m deciding the trajectory and velocity of a throw as the last seconds on the game clock tick away. She’s still there.

I think of those sweet, gorgeous tits pressing against my chest as I bareback her morning and night filling that little pussy of hers with every seed my balls hold. Raw dogging my stepsister her until she’s ripe with me.

Get in there.

Get deep.

Deeper . Force feed her womb until there’s no going back .

She’ll be mine forever if I get my baby in that soft, sexy belly of hers.

Then what will they say? Won't matter, it will be too late.

So why haven’t I claimed my sister?

Because she doesn’t break rules. She’s fragile like that and if I destroyed her in the pursuit of my own needs? That is unacceptable.

So, I’m going to get to the fucking bottom of why she's sitting here looking heartbroken with a bottle of tequila, but first, I’m going to take care of her.

“Jackson.” She whispers like I’m not real, the bottle lost in the grass. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

I sniff, the truth threating to spill out of me along with a healthy dose of cum.

Because I can’t stay away.

Because I want to claim you and make you the mother of my children while making you my own sort of little girl.

On a shaking breath, I tell her a different truth.

“I knew my lil’ mint was going to be here alone.

Or I thought so…” I narrow my eyes toward the house, the sounds of high-school summer privilege spinning out of control coming from the other side of the patio door, but that’s not my concern at the moment.

“Yeah, I—” She tugs a shoulder to her ear, the crickets serenading us from the darkness. The dark lake on the other side of the back lawn lapping at the shore. “I invited a few friends over.”

“Friends,” I repeat, knowing that’s a fucking lie.

I recognize some of the assholes dancing around inside.

My father bought this place a few weeks ago, telling everyone the summer home that’s been in our family since I was five was too big.

Too much work. That it was a good investment, but as a good business man, he got an offer he couldn’t turn down.

Another string of bullshit trying to keep up the successful Sander’s image.

There’s a lot my father isn’t telling the family, but he’s less my concern. I’ve never known Mina to lie. Ever. Which means if she is, it’s because she’s scared. Something is wrong and I’m here to fix it.

The green in her eyes is a thin rim around dark pupils as she gives me that little sister look.

“You don’t think I have friends?”, she snaps drawing her lips into a tight pout.

I like her defiance. I love it. I want her to be herself, with me.

Forever. Sweet. Bratty. Pissed off. Sleepy. Sad. Happy. Whatever.

I want it all.

She stands on her cute bare feet as I close the distance between us. There’s something different about her tonight. The green of her eyes is more piercing, the curve of her hips more womanly and the scent of her cherry blossom hand lotion is making me throb .

She’s wearing mascara too. That’s new. She’s sure somehow she will have a vision destroying allergic reaction to any sort of eye make-up.

She worries about fucking everything and no matter how much I’ve tried to protect her over the years, I haven’t convinced her that no matter how big or small the problem, I’ll put myself between it and her.

My fingertips twitch, wanting to reach out and manhandle her lush tits so ripe and heavy under that white blouse. I want to slide my hand inside her pants and finger bang that slick little pussy, then take her to get a tattoo with an arrow pointing down…

This belongs to Daddy.

She pushed into a triple D cup size this year and she’s in a size twelve or fourteen depending on the brand of clothes and I love every morsel of her.

I know all her sizes because I ransack her room whenever I’m home.

I steal her panties, sure. That’s standard, baseline stalker stuff.

But, I keep track of her clothes, her sizes, the brand of pads she uses when she’s on her period.

No fucking tampons for my little girl either.

Nothing goes in that hole. If I can’t have her, some pink plastic feminine product can’t either.