Smoke Like a Whore - illustrated
Copyright© 2025 by CreepyUnclePete
Chapter 6
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Teen Marie's mother catches her with cigarettes and gives her an ultimatum. If she wants to keep smoking like a dirty whore, she needs to suck and fuck her stepdad, like a dirty whore.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa ft/ft Mult Coercion Consensual Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Sharing Incest Mother Daughter Cousins Grand Parent Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Analingus Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Safe Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism Public Sex Smoking Prostitution Illustrated
(Heidi)
Keith towed my granddaughters to my bedroom, ordering my daughter Hope and I, “Come and watch us. It’ll be great! I promise.”
I didn’t argue. My nerves were still singing from that anal pounding, and my muscles felt like overcooked noodles. I just leaned against the doorframe of my master suite, a long, thin cigarette clamped between my lips, watching the scene unfold. My bed, a massive, mahogany-framed monstrosity with silk sheets, was about to become a battleground of raw, unbridled lust.
Keith didn’t waste time with preludes. He stripped the girls bare with a predatory efficiency, his eyes roving over their youthful skin as if he were counting every curve. He laid them back on the silk, their pale bodies contrasting sharply with the deep crimson of the bedding. Then, he positioned himself between them, a silver-haired titan of stamina, his cock pulsing with a renewed, relentless hunger.
Suddenly, the air in the room grew heavy with the scent of menthol and musk. Keith took Kelly first, sliding into her with a wet, slapping sound that echoed off the walls. Kelly’s back arched, her fingers digging into the mattress as she let out a jagged moan. But he didn’t let her settle; he reached over, his hand gripping Marie’s thigh and pulling her close so he could bury his face in her chest, licking and biting at her nipples while he hammered into Kelly.
“God, you’re so tight!” Keith groaned, his voice a low rumble. Marie wasn’t just waiting her turn; she was draped over Kelly, her mouth busy devouring her cousin’s neck, her own fingers working Kelly’s clit with a frantic, rhythmic precision.
I watched from the foot of the bed, exhaling a slow, deliberate stream of smoke, my eyes drifting to Hope. She was leaning against me, her head on my shoulder, her breathing shallow and satisfied. We were too drained to move, content to be assistants to the erotic chaos.
The pace was grueling. Keith was a machine, switching between them with a seamless, athletic grace. He’d flip Kelly over, driving into her from behind until she screamed her first orgasm, and then, without pausing for a second, he’d slide over to Marie, filling her with a deep, guttural thrust that sent her spiraling into her first peak.
One orgasm. Two. The room became a blur of tangled limbs and shimmering skin. Three. Four.
By their fifth orgasm each, the girls were delirious. Kelly was sobbing with pleasure, her legs shaking violently, while Marie was biting her lip, her eyes rolled back into her head. Keith just kept going, his stamina a terrifying, beautiful thing, which defied the laws of nature. There was a reason he’d been a porn star three years, on top of his college classes. He played my lucky granddaughters like instruments, alternating between slow, agonizing teases and rapid-fire plunges.
He pleased and frightened them with a single statement. “One more,” Keith panted, his voice raw. “One more for the road!”
He pulled them both close, their legs intertwined, their bodies slick with a mixture of sweat and lubricant. He drove into them both in a frantic, overlapping rhythm, the sound of their combined moans filling the room like a symphony of surrender. As they hit climax simultaneously, their bodies shuddering in a violent, electric release, Keith letting out a guttural roar, “YAAARH!”
He pulled out at the last possible second, his hips jerking with a powerful, volcanic force. I watched through a cloud of smoke as he unloaded, the white, hot spray of his semen painting the girls’ faces, splattering across Marie’s cheek and dripping down Kelly’s chin.
They lay there, breathless and drenched, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. Keith collapsed beside them, his chest heaving.
I agreed when Hope said, “You’re right. That was amazing!”
Before walking to the bathroom for a shower with my daughter, I reminded him, “Shower and change the sheets. And no more sex until after supper. I want tonight to be just as great.”
(Cathie, the next day)
I was working on a portrait of my niece Kelly, my gaze darting between a photo of her and the canvas I painted, when Keith and my daughter got home. The first thing I heard was the distinct, metallic clack of a Zippo. Then came the smell, that familiar, tempting scent of a menthol cigarette. I said “Hi” and lit one myself.
They didn’t even acknowledge me. Marie asked him, “Can we do it again and watch a porno, Keith? I want to ride your lap, and see other people fucking while we do it.”
I grumbled quietly, controlling my mild jealousy and distaste for sex.
I leaned back in my chair, my brush hovering over the canvas, but my focus was entirely on the living room. The air was already thick, a cocktail of stale menthol and the heavy, musk-laden scent of fresh exertion. Keith and Marie hadn’t even bothered to move to the bedroom; they simply claimed the oversized leather sofa as their arena. The television was blaring some high-definition filth, the rhythmic slapping of skin on screen providing a metronome for the real-life performance happening three feet away from me.
Suddenly, the sound of a wet, sliding plunge echoed through the room, followed by Marie’s sharp, guttural moan. “EEEN!” She was perched on his lap, her back arched like a bow, riding him with a desperate, frantic energy that made her breasts bounce wildly. Keith’s hands were clamped onto her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he drove upward, meeting her descent with a raw, rhythmic violence. I felt a prickle of discomfort in my chest, not because I wanted in on it, but because the sheer, unbridled lust radiating off them felt like a heat lamp pressing against my skin.
I stayed quiet, my eyes drifting back to Kelly’s portrait, but the image of my daughter’s face, twisted in a mask of pure, animal pleasure, kept bleeding into the paint. I didn’t want to be touched; the very thought of Keith’s heavy weight on me made my stomach turn. I just wanted to finish the portrait in a quiet room that didn’t smell like a whorehouse.
“You’re so tight, Marie,” Keith groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. “God, you’re like a vice! Even after an hour screwing this morning!”
She didn’t answer with words. She just leaned forward, her lips finding his, her tongue dancing with his in a sloppy, hungry exchange. As she rode him, she reached over to the side table, plucked her cigarette from the ashtray. She took a long, deep drag, her eyes fluttering shut as she exhaled a plume of grey smoke that veiled her face, her body shuddering as she hit a peak.
I sighed, the sound lost under the roar of the television and the wet sounds of their friction. I reached for the ashtray, crushing my cig out. I watched them through the smoke, two creatures consumed by a hunger I no longer shared, wondering how a simple “deal” had turned my living room into a temple of sleaze. My daughter fucking the man I loved, well, the guy I needed and sort of loved, other than his lusty needs.
Then, Marie’s breath hitched. I heard it before she felt it, that sudden, sharp intake of air that signaled the edge. Her hips froze, locked in a shuddering vibration against Keith’s lap, and she let out a long, thin wail that sounded like a tea kettle boiling over. Her first climax hit her like a physical blow, her back arching so violently that I thought she might snap. She didn’t move for a second, just hovered there, her eyes rolled back, before she collapsed onto his chest with a wet, heavy thud.
But Keith didn’t stop. He just shifted his grip, his thumbs digging into the soft meat of her thighs, and drove upward with a brutal, rhythmic force that yanked her right back into the fray.
The second one came faster, a jagged, frantic series of gasps. I heard her nails digging into the leather of the sofa, the sound of skin slapping skin accelerating into a frantic blur. “Oh God, Keith, more! Just like that!” she screamed, her voice raw and shredded. She peaked again, a violent, shaking release that left her legs trembling uncontrollably.