My Stepsister Is a Mean Girl!

Brennan Rush never had sisters until Kali showed up. He's barely registered the fact when she walks through the door and kicks off her shoes like she owns the place. "Feet. Now." He drops the controller. She stretches out on the couch, plants those bare soles right under his nose, wiggles her toes. He rubs. She grabs the controller and takes over his game. Whatever. Fifteen minutes later she's got him on the floor, using his chest like an ottoman while she clicks through menus and racks up kills. He watches her arches flex. Pretty feet, honestly. So he presses his face in, breathes deep. Cali just smirks, shifts her weight, and sits on his face instead. Skirt hits the floor. Heat. Warm, wet flesh grinding against his mouth. He licks without thinking. Her asshole, her cunt—both of them already slick. She rides his tongue slow, like she's testing grip. His dick strains. She glances down, yanks it free, whistles once, soft. Starts jerking him while her pussy still smears his lips. Then her mouth replaces her hand—hot, wet suction while she settles heavier on his face. He moans into her. She likes that. Suddenly she's off him, tugging him by the cock down the hall. Bedroom. Door slams. She strips, feeds a nipple into his mouth while she sinks down onto him. Tight. She rides like she's trying to break him in half—grinding, bouncing, cursing under her breath every time she cums. He hammers up into her. She shakes, laughs once, shoves her tits in his face again and keeps going. She slides him out long enough to wrap those heavy tits around his cock, jerks him between them, spit-slick and tight. Then she climbs back on. When he finally can't hold it, she pulls him out, jerks him into her palm—thick ropes over her knuckles—then shoves the mess toward his own mouth. "Clean it," she says, already bored.