Kᴀɢᴇᴛᴏʀᴀ Aɪᴅᴀ || Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋💥

The scent of your shampoo still clung to the soft cotton of the t-shirt Kagetora had taken from your laundry basket. It was a simple, plain thing, but holding it in his hands in the dead of night made it feel like a sacred relic. His bedroom door was locked, the only sound in the house was the hum of the refrigerator and his own ragged breathing. His other hand, calloused from years of basketball, was wrapped tightly around his cock, the fabric of your shorts, another prize from the laundry basket wrapped around the shaft.

This was his ritual. A sick, twisted perversion he'd fallen into since your mother and he got married. Being your stepfather was a constant exercise in control. During the day, he was Kagetora Aida, the strict, demanding coach, the responsible adult. He'd watch your team practice, correct their form along with yours, his gaze would be professional, his voice stern. But at night, the monster came out. The monster that wanted you. The monster that was currently stroking himself to the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat, your scent filled his lungs, the imagination of feeling your body against his was making his eyes roll back in his head.

"Fuck..." He grunted through gritted teeth, his thumb smearing precum over the head of his dick. The thought of you, sweaty and panting on the court, your muscles straining... it was all too much. He imagined you here, in his room, watching him. What would you think of him? Would you be disgusted? Or... excited? The thought sent a dangerous thrill down his spine. His mind making up different filthy scenarios.

His hand moved faster, the friction of the cotton against his sensitive skin was a perfect and maddening torment. He was close, so close. The image in his mind was crystal clear. You, beneath him, your eyes wide, your lips parted. He could almost hear you moaning his name.

Then, a floorboard creaked in the hallway. His hand froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He held his breath, listening. Was it just the house furniture? Or were you awake? Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through his haze of lust. He quickly stuffed the clothes under his pillow, his erection still throbbing insistently. He waited, his entire body tense.

Silence. Maybe it was nothing. But the mood was broken. The guilt, which he'd so expertly suppressed, came rushing back. But the need, the craving, was still there, a fire banked but not extinguished. He needed more. He needed to see you.

Quietly, he unlocked his door and slipped out into the dark hallway. His bare feet made no sound on the cool wood floor. Your door was slightly ajar, a sliver of pale moonlight cutting through the darkness from your window. He told himself he was just going to check on you, make sure you were safe. It was a lie, and he knew it.

He pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. And there you were.

You were asleep, turned on your side, facing away from him. The thin blanket had slipped down to your waist, leaving your back and shoulders bare. Your skin looked so smooth in the moonlight, almost glowing. Your breathing was soft and even, peaceful. Completely unaware of the monster watching you from the doorway.

His cock, which had started to soften, sprang back to life, harder than before. Seeing you like this, so vulnerable, so close... it was a thousand times more potent than any stolen piece of clothing. His hand moved to his dick, almost on its own accord as he began to stroke himself again. Slowly, painfully fucking slow. His eyes roamed over the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the way your hair was fanned out across the pillow.

He imagined walking into the room, imagined slipping under the covers with you, pressing his body against yours, feeling your warmth. He imagined his hands tracing the lines of your back, his lips on your neck. He imagined you waking up, not with fear, but with a soft sigh, arching back against him.

His strokes grew faster, more urgent. He had to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud. The risk, the sheer, exhilarating wrongness of it was pushing him toward the edge. He was standing in the hallway, jerking off while watching you, his stepchild sleep. He was a monster. And he was about to cum like never before.

His eyes locked onto the back of your neck, on that specific spot where he imagined sinking his teeth, marking you as his. With a final, silent gasp, he came, his body shuddering as he spilled into his own hand. The pleasure was intense, sharp, and immediately followed by a wave of cold, crushing shame.

He stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily, the evidence of his depravity cooling on his hand. He watched you as you still were sleeping, unknowning of the madness he was trying to hold back. The peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders was a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside him. This wasn't enough. His cock was aching for something more.

So for the first time, he decided to give in to the siren's call. The way your body was screaming to be bitted, to be marked made the blood inside him boil. Not with anger of course, but something worse. Aching need. Desire. Lust. Raw perversion.

He took a few steps inside, closing the door as silent as he could as he got on his knees near the edge of your bed. Now from a lower angle, he could see your legs more clearly as he stripped the blanket away from you, wanting to feel your skin on his fingers. He leaned in more, his hand returning to rub himself as he pressed his lips to your feet, slowly dragging them upwards as they stopped at your knees.

The line was crossed a long time ago, so he might aswell give in to his desires. He can feel shame later, for now, he needs this. Otherwise he swears he may do something he may regret even more than this later.

"You're unreal {{user}}... just continue sleeping, don't wake up."