The Bench in The Hallway

Introduction
Before I Do

My name is Baxter. Yes. I know. Thanks, mom. I'm Baxter and I'm seventeen. My parents divorced when I was five, but my dad's kind of a dick so I guess we all lucked out. Right now I'm in a towncar on the way to my mother's wedding to a retired football player. He's actually pretty awesome. He moved me and my mother down to Dallas. In four months, I will be starting my senior year of high school in a brand new town where I have yet to met anyone my age. Except Bridgette - Bridgette is my stepsister and a pain in my ass so far and in four months, she'll be out of my life.

Chapter One
Night One of a Two Week Honeymoon

"Your dad would kill me if he knew," I sighed, staring across the hall at my stepsister. She turned around and stared back, her dark hair almost black in the dim lighting of the new home we'd only started to share weeks ago.

"If he knew what?" I looked her up and down, floating on the air of promise and alcohol. Six hours ago, our parents had been married in an ostentatious ceremony. Bridgette wore a silver ring on her right middle finger, emblazoned with the family's birthstones. I had a ring almost identical to hers, except the birthstones were on the inside, lest it look too feminine. I looked a bit less than masculine in the hallway, my blonde usually relaxed hair pressed up into a faux-hawk. Bridgette had styled it that way on purpose earlier in the day, as the marriage of our parents loomed. She had stood behind me as we both looked into the mirror, slightly happy at the fact that we looked nothing alike. She was not my sister, and would never be mistaken for my sibling. Her breasts pressed into the back of my neck, almost as if she were doing it by accident. She wasn't.

"You know what you did," I replied, my lips curling around my words. She smiled coyly now, averting her eyes from the intensity of my own.

"And what is that?" My eyes were blue. Hers were brown.

In the mirror, before our parents were married, her fingers had been gentle and firm, coated with gel coasting through my hair. I tried to pretend like the bridesmaid's dress my mother had chosen didn't showcase my new stepsister's tits in a way that was wildly distracting. She tried to ignore that I was a little bit hard as she asked me what he thought. It looks great, I'd replied.

At that moment, in the small dressing room at the church, I had stood up. I stood a few inches taller than her, even if she was a year older than me. She smelled mouth-watering; a devastating mix of her late mother's perfume and baby powder. I was entranced, unable to look away. She looked down, giggling to herself and he blushed. I'm sorry, I had sighed. But I didn't get the full phrase out before she locked her lips onto mine. I didn't know which was exciting me more – the kiss itself, or the clandestine nature of the situation. My mouth was open against her, her hair caught in my eyelashes as I shut them so tight. I had been hoping for more, but instead she had merely smiled against my desperate kiss and pulled away. Our parents are getting married in a half hour, she had said as she kissed my forehead. I think you're going to have to hold more than that thought.

"You can't do that to a guy, you know?"

"Do what?"

"Get me hard – "

"Oh isthatwhat I did?"

"– then bail. Become my sister."

"Step-sister. And I was just doing your hair."

She was still in the dress, that purple chiffon dress with the waves that had moved when she'd danced with me. I wouldn't make eye contact with her. Here we were now, in the silence of our dark and lonely house. I was able to look at her now, knowing there wasn't anyone watching. We were both a little bit drunk, our parents chartered car service having taken us both to the wedding and back home.

"Come here," I spoke lowly. My tuxedo was still on, the black bowtie hanging open around my neck. She took one step, finally bringing herself out of her doorway. Our bedrooms faced each other. "Again," I commanded, and Bridgette smiled. Separate baby pictures lined the walls around them. Her purple velvet heels slid along the hardwood and I tried to hide my smirk. I counted in my head. Two feet. She was two feet from me. "Just… just once more."

Bridgette coyly stepped forward again, still holding her scarf and bouquet in her hands. We'd just entered the house minutes before, heading towards our separate rooms. Now, the eighteen year old placed one foot in the door when I'd spoken. Her bouquet dropped to the floor.

I gripped her face with my hands, just as gentle and firm as she'd been earlier. Her hair twisted between my fingers, the taste of tequila and inexperience on my tongue. The world spun around her and suddenly she shrieked a little as the cold wall of the hallway hit her back. My tuxedo jacket was gone. Our eyes locked, she smiled widely as my gaze hardened. Her wrists were pinned underneath my large hands – between a plaque of her father's, and a photograph of eight-year-old I at summer camp.

"I want you," I sighed, kissing her ferociously once again. I grew harder as I heard her moan and wince under my lips. I smiled now, placing a kiss on her collarbone. A hard, forceful kiss. Her hands came free as I braced her neck, smelling her deeply.

"You want me?" She sighed, her hands in my hair. I nodded but it hits me that I have no idea what I'm actually doing. My belt was black, and invisible against the tightening of my slacks. Our lips continued to mingle and slide against each other as I struggled to remove the belt. We were too close together. My hands slid along her stomach. Bridgette pushed me away. My back collided with the top of the hallway bench my mother had insisted on. I'd always felt it was an obstacle. An eyesore, but now I landed on top of it and my new stepsister knelt down in front of me.

My seventeen-year-old eyes watched quietly as she made quick work of my fly. Soon, her pink, flushed lips were around me.

"Oh my God," my voice shook in the emptiness of the house. Six months ago, I'd been introduced to Bridgette Monaco at my mother's engagement party. Less than four weeks ago, she had become my roommate and now I watched with growing intensity as her hand circled my cock in tiny sweeping motions, her head bouncing up and down. She was leaving for college in August. My breath skipped, staccato and shallow. I could feel myself about to come.

"Wait," I managed to choke out. "Stop," I whimpered, and she smiled at the top of my shaft. "Just…I don't want to…" She looked me over, taking in the sight. Her new sibling was still fully dressed. A white tuxedo shirt and bowtie. Black tuxedo slacks interrupted by a protruding, epic erection. I even still wore my black socks and shoes. "What?" I asked, winded and pushing my hair back.

"I want you, too," she replied, and bent down to kiss me, her lips still reddened and larger than usual.

"Come here," I beamed, and she straddled me, the insides of her velvet pumps rubbing against the outside of my knees. I's fingers shook warm in her hair. She kissed me now and I came to a startling realization as her dress slid up.

"You weren't wearing panties tonight?"

She shook her head, shrugging as I pulled her closer, the hallway bench hard underneath me. My trembling hands slid along her perfect, plentiful ass. I could have ejaculated right then, destroying the dress she would never wear again anyways. Her chocolate eyes found her opposites in my stare. She smiled.

I kissed her. She tried to sit down upon me. It was difficult, and my ego inflated as she winced loudly. I fought back my smile as she sat up a bit now, sliding along me.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," she moaned breathlessly, rocking her hips towards me and I exhaled deeply. My head sank forward between her breasts, and she held onto me. My hands were free, pulling her top down and running my tongue along her chest. I moved myself with her. There was no sexy music like there usually was in movies, or the horrid saxophone I'd seen in my dirty films. The only sound was Bridgette's breathing, her wordless vocalizations. Her voice filled the hallway between our bedrooms, looking up towards the ceiling as she rode me faster.

"Jesus Christ," she cried out, her voice shaking hard as if she'd been crying.

"I love you," I spat as she kissed me, her lips unbreakable as the back of my head collided with the wall.

"I love you, too, I," I could feel my lower region start to tingle and tighten at the mention of my name. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I'd never done this before; that it was taking everything in me to not explode immediately. "Oh, fuck," she bellowed, and she came, holding my forehead motionless against hers. Her orgasms sent a wave of muscle contractions over my waists, wetting the already ruined slacks. Her breasts still sprung up and down against my lips, and I barely had enough time to scream.

"Shit! Shit! Now," and she slid off me quickly, my insides spritzing against her thighs and my slacks and the inside of her dress. Her shoulders were moistened with sweat and my saliva as the two sat there. My clammy forehead rested against her. There was still no music, just the sound of them trying to catch our breath. Bridgette was still on top of me.

The eighteen-year-old needed to find the strength to move, but her thighs were sticky and shook. She still had her shoes on. I swallowed air. My lips were warm against the tops of her breasts.

She had just had drunken sex with her stepbrother of six hours in the hallway we passed through every day.

Her heels made an audible click with the floor as she climbed off of me, still shaky.

"When do you leave for Baylor?" I finally asked, staring at her back as she walked slowly to her room.

"Four months," she bit her lip, turning around to grin at me. She blushed now, mortifyingly remembered what she'd done mere minutes ago.

"You're gonna be a hell of a summer."