Steve Stumbles on a Family Secret
Copyright© 2025 by Zathronas
Chapter 70: The Legend
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 70: The Legend - Steve's decision to come home one day early from college will change his life. He first stumbles on a family secret, then learns this secret has international ramifications. Is ignorance bliss? or if he plays his cards right and embraces his legacy, he may well become one of the most powerful man in the world.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Coercion Consensual Reluctant Fiction Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter Cousins Niece Aunt Nephew Grand Parent MaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Double Penetration First Fisting Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts Body Modification Hairy Size Small Breasts Teacher/Student AI Generated
Steve jeans hit his ankles with a soft thwump, and before his cock could bob free, Margaret’s mouth was on him.
She didn’t start slow. Her lips wrapped around the swollen head and sealed tight, her tongue immediately flattening, then slrrrp—she circled the ridge with that impressively long, slick muscle, dragging a deep groan out of Steve’s chest.
“Fuck—” he hissed.
Margaret’s eyes flicked up, bright with need, red dress still hugging her curves. She hollowed her cheeks and took him an inch deeper, her spit pooling, a wet gulk sound slipping from the seal of her lips.
Susan chose that moment to latch onto his left nipple. Her tongue was hot and rough, flicking the flat nub before she sucked hard, pulling a sharp mmnpfh from Steve’s throat. Her enormous 38JJ tits pressed against his ribs, heavy and warm, hard nipples scraping his skin as she shifted.
Then Heather’s hands framed his jaw and turned his face. Her mouth claimed him, tongue pushing past his lips to duel with his, all heat and domination. Steve groaned into her, her unique taste mixing with his own. Heather’s tongue swept in, then pulled back, then thrust again, a rhythm that made his hips jerk.
Margaret took advantage. She relaxed her jaw and slid down, taking another two inches of his thick cock, her throat fluttering with the invasion. The vibrations shot up Steve’s spine. His hands flew to her hair—then to Susan’s shoulder, then to Heather’s hip, desperate for purchase.
“That’s it, baby,” Susan purred, pulling off his nipple with a slick pop. “Let her worship that fucking godpole.” Her voice was thick with want. She palmed her own breast, squeezing until the pale flesh bulged between her fingers, then fed the nipple back into her mouth, moaning around it.
Heather broke the kiss, panting. Her lips were slick, her green eyes dark. “Look at you, grandson.” She ran a thumb over his bottom lip. “Three women on you, and you’re already shaking.”
Steve couldn’t fucking breathe. His cock throbbed in Margaret’s mouth, her tongue now dragging up the underside with slow, milking strokes, before she moaned around him. The sound buzzed through his balls, tightening them. He was leaking, and she knew it, because she pulled back just enough to smear the bead of pre-cum across her lower lip.
“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes locked on his. “I need you in me, Steve.”
He almost came. The sight of Margaret—sophisticated, powerful Margaret—on her knees, his cock in her mouth, her red dress pushed up over her thighs, no panties—was too much. He reached down, fisting his hand in her hair, ready to drag her back onto him.
But Susan intercepted. She caught his wrist and pinned it against her breastbone, forcing him to feel the heavy thud of her heartbeat. “Not yet.” Her voice was a command disguised as a moan. “We want you right on the edge, baby. Hungry. Fucking desperate for it.”
Heather’s hand slid down his stomach, nails scratching lightly through the trail of hair, then she grabbed a fistful of Margaret’s red hair and pushed her back down onto his cock. Margaret didn’t resist—she opened her throat and took him deeper, a wet glrrrk swallowing his length.
“She’s going to keep you there,” Heather whispered against his ear, her tongue tracing the shell. “While Susan and I—” she pinched Steve’s nipple, hard, and he jerked, a broken ah spilling from his lips. “—work every other inch of you.”
Margaret popped off long enough to gasp, “God! Where was this cock all my life?” Then she licked a long, slow stripe from his balls to the swollen head, her eyes never leaving his. “Maybe tonight I’ll finally get filled.”
“Fuck me,” Steve managed, voice wrecked.
“Soon,” Heather promised, and she dragged her mouth down his neck, biting, soothing, while Susan returned to his nipple, and Margaret swallowed him again, her throat opening with a wet glrrrk that made his vision white at the edges.
He was surrounded—three hungry women, each one pulling pleasure from a different part of him. Every nerve was on fire, every breath a ragged curse. He arched his back, fighting the tension coiling low in his gut. He was going to lose his fucking mind.
But they wouldn’t let him fall. Not yet. They were experts at this, and they were just getting started.
For the next two hours, Steve received a clinical education in the art of edging—how to take it and how to dish it. It was a beautifully exquisite torture, a masterclass in denial delivered by three women who knew every threshold, every tremor, every desperate hitch of his breath. They held him on that razor’s edge, mere moments from release, for an entire hour. His balls ached, his cock throbbed a deep, purple hunger, and his mind dissolved into a haze of raw, animal need.
When they finally deemed him ready—when his begging had turned into broken, guttural pleas—they let him fall. And god did he fall.
Steve exploded with a force that punched the air from his lungs. His orgasm ripped through him, a convulsive, full-body spasm that started in his spine and detonated outward. The first rope of cum arced high, splattering across Margaret’s cheek and dripping down her chin. The second struck Heather’s collarbone, hot and thick. The third painted Susan’s enormous tits, streaking across her pale skin like a claim. He kept coming—impossible ropes, one after another, a dozen in total, each one wrenched from the very marrow of his bones.
By the time the last spasm faded, all three women were drenched. His cum glistened on their faces, their breasts, their hands. Margaret wiped a stripe from her eyebrow with a slow, reverent finger, then sucked it clean. Heather laughed, a breathless, shattered sound, and spread the mess across her stomach. Susan just stared at him, her lips parted, her eyes dark with a primal satisfaction.
Steve collapsed back, his chest heaving, his urethra burning with the aftershock of a release so violent it felt like punishment. His cock was still twitching, still leaking a final pearl of white onto his thigh.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice shot.
Despite his release—despite the sheer, soul-wrenching force of it—his cock was still impossibly hard. It throbbed against his stomach, slick with their mixed spit and his own cum, never once flagging. He thought he would be satiated. He thought he’d need at least a few minutes, maybe longer, before he could perform again. But his own manipulated genes, the O’Connor blood singing through his veins, made him more resilient than he ever knew.
A feral growl rumbled in his chest. Before any of them could speak, his hands shot out and grabbed Margaret by the hips. She let out a surprised, delighted squeak as he yanked her forward, spinning her around and slamming her back against the cushions. Her magnificent thighs were pale and slick with her own arousal. He hooked his hands under her knees and shoved them up, planting her feet on his shoulders, spreading her wide open.
She was bare. Completely, obscenely bare. Her pussy glistened, swollen and creamy, her lips parted and begging. Steve didn’t hesitate. He plastered his mouth over her cunt, his tongue plunging deep into her heat, lapping up the evidence of her desperate need. Margaret’s back arched off the couch, a sharp, guttural cry ripping from her throat as her hands fisted in his hair.
Susan and Heather exchanged a look, a slow, knowing smirk curling their lips. They knew this boy. They knew his stamina—hell, they’d been on the receiving and of his magnificent talent themselves. Without a word, they each grabbed one of Margaret’s arms and pinned them to the floor, forcing her flat on her back, helpless.
“No—wait—” Margaret gasped, but Heather was already lowering her mouth to one of Margaret’s breasts, tongue flicking the hard nipple, while Susan took the other, suckling deep. Margaret’s protest dissolved into a broken whimper. She was trapped—her hips trapped between Steve’s unforgiving mouth and the floor, her arms pinned, her breasts claimed.
Steve was relentless. His tongue lashed her clit, then plunged into her, then sucked the swollen lips between his teeth. He brought her to the brink—that shivering, electric edge—and then backed off, lapping gently at her inner thigh until her desperate gasps softened into sobs of frustration. Then he’d dive back in, harder, faster, pushing her higher.