Chapter 1: A Broken Fuckdoll

Mackenzie moved silently from room to room, each step deliberate and precise, almost mechanical in its execution. My stepsister was a shell of what she’d been. Yet beneath her meticulousness, there was a grace and poise, more reminiscent of a dancer than the broken thing she’d become.

She was tall, just a few inches shorter than my six-foot frame, her posture both commanding and effortlessly elegant, with long, shapely legs that transitioned into broad, sensual hips.

A narrow waist and the flat plane of her stomach rose to full rounded breasts, which added a softness to her. As she moved, the subtle shift of these breasts drew my gaze, their gentle rise contrasting with the firmness of her posture and the certainty of her movements.

I dropped my eyes as Mackenzie moved into the kitchen, my attention catching on the seductive curves of her hips and ass. My stepsister’s taught, round bottom was frequently featured in my filthier fantasies. I watched with unrestrained interest as she moved past me, the twin globes of that ass shifting back and forth with each of her steps, the pale blue thong nestled between them doing little to contain their perfection.

Mackenzie came so close that I could smell her: a mix of shampoo, body wash, and perspiration, all combined with the familiar scent of her wet sex. My stepsister was always wet.

She came to stand in front of me, her eyes staring straight ahead, vacant and lost. They held no hint of emotion or arousal. She was naked except for the thin piece of fabric covering her pussy. It did nothing to hide her dripping wetness. I looked at her inner thighs, smeared with the runoff from her pussy. It was incredibly arousing to see her like this, even though I knew it wasn’t real.

I ogled her pussy, knowing that she wouldn’t mind. Despite the blue strip of cloth, I could see it was completely shaved, vaginal lips full and pouty, parted slightly and glistening with her arousal. They pressed into the tight blue fabric of her barely-there thong, and above them, there was a small tattoo; in delicate cursive script, it read, ‘Fuckdoll #12’.

“Mackenzie!” It was Lillian, my stepmother and Mackenzie’s mom, the woman moved almost as quietly as her daughter, and I hadn’t heard her enter the kitchen. Her sudden exclamation made me nearly jump out of my skin.

“What is wrong with you?” Lilian demanded. Thankfully this was directed at her daughter, and not her perverted stepson.

I watched Mackenzie turn to face her mom, moving at the hips so that her upper body twisted. The smooth movement kept her sopping pussy in my eye line and caused her soft, full breasts to jiggle slightly.

Mackenzie stared at her mother with vacant eyes, her voice flat as she replied, “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m perfect.”

I bit my tongue, knowing better than to voice my enthusiastic agreement.

Lillian pursed her lips, her gaze narrowing as she looked at Mackenzie, observing her daughter’s naked breasts and the drooling wetness of her pussy. “Your ... outfit,” she said, hesitating slightly. “It’s a little distracting for your brother.”

Mackenzie glanced down at me, noting the prominent bulge in my pants. My eyes met hers and I swallowed nervously. “I think he likes it,” she offered evenly.

Lillian’s lips curled into a frown, and she took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. “Go change,” she said, her voice strained.

Mackenzie’s face remained impassive, but she nodded and moved towards the door.

I couldn’t help but stare after her. It was something about the way her dark, chestnut hair brushed the flawless skin of her naked back as the cheeks of her ass tried to swallow up the fabric of that thong.

Lillian noticed my reaction. “Really, Ethan?” she said. “She’s your sister.”

Stepsister, I told myself, but I kept that thought silent. Lillian was angry enough already. Lillian was always angry.

When Mackenzie walked back into the kitchen she had on a pale blue sundress that matched the color of her thong. The dress didn’t hide how gorgeous she was, but at least it looked appropriate, like the sort of thing a normal teenager might wear. Still no bra though. I could tell from the way her nipples made two little tents at the front of her dress.

I had noticed weeks ago that Mackenzie’s nipples would crinkle and harden whenever I would stare. Only with me though. I’d been secretly pleased to discover that when other men stared at her she didn’t react the same way. I knew it was just a quirk of her conditioning, but even knowing this, knowing that she was just reacting to the fact that I looked like my father, I still enjoyed it. It was a thrill that someone so beautiful reacted to me and only me in that way.

“Much better,” Lillian said.

“Thank you.” Mackenzie’s voice was flat and affectless.

Mackenzie’s attention shifted to me. “Do you need to masturbate before we catch the bus?” she asked.

I didn’t know how to respond.

Lilian scowled, visibly upset. “Mackenzie, you can’t ask your brother that,” she said.

Mackenzie looked at her mom, confused. “Why not? He’s aroused and there’s enough time for him to orgasm before we need to leave for school.” She looked back at me, her gaze direct and unapologetic. “If you don’t masturbate, you’re going to be uncomfortable all day,” she added.

I couldn’t argue with that, but I wasn’t willing to sneak off to my bedroom, knowing that they’d both be aware of what I was doing.