My Stepsister Won't Stop Peter-gazing!?

When you gotta piss, you gotta piss. Even if Isla’s laid out in the tub with bubbles sliding over her tits. Morning wood’s up like a flagpole, and the little glass shower wall might as well be air. She clocks it anyway—big, thick, angry hard. Austan spits, “Quit lookin’,” but she keeps her gaze glued, bites her lip like she’s tasting already. She dips one finger between her legs, watches it vanish between pink lips, then she’s out of the water—towel dropping in a wet heap. Small, perky tits peeking, pussy framed by a soft tuft of hair. She pushes Austan back till his ass hits the sink, pulls his cock out, and strokes it root to tip like she owns the damn thing. Promise not to snitch and he’ll let her play. Promise and she can taste. He grabs her by the back of the neck, pushes himself between her lips; she gags, drools, keeps sucking anyway. Austan sucks on her nipples till they’re stiff, then she spins, plants her wet ass on his face so he can lap at her slick little hole. Minutes later she’s riding, pussy stretched wide around her stepbrother’s thick cock. He flips her face-down over the sink, slams in from behind, spanks red handprints across each cheek till she’s shaking. When he finishes he yanks free and paints her tongue, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose with hot stripes of cum that drip down her chin like paint off a brush.