Hey darlings,
It’s Shannon here, your favorite freckled disaster with the fire-red hair and zero fucks left to give. Thirty years old, curves that don’t quit, pale skin mapped with cinnamon freckles, and green eyes that say “come ruin me” before my mouth even opens.
You already know the tea, but let me spill it fresh while it’s still warm and dripping.
I’ve been spreading my thick thighs for my brother-in-law for months now. Let’s call him… well, we won’t. He’s Saoirse’s husband. My big sister’s man. The one who stands next to her at family dinners, hand politely on her lower back while I sit across the table letting my foot slide up his calf under the linen cloth. He never flinches. He just gets harder.
I don’t hide it. Not really.
I leave lipstick marks on his collar when I know she’ll do the laundry. I send him filthy voice notes at 2 a.m. describing exactly how I want his tongue between my folds while she’s asleep in the next room. Sometimes I moan just loud enough through the thin wall that separates our guest bedroom from theirs when I’m staying over. I want her to hear. I want her to wonder. The risk is the drug.
Last Tuesday I waited until Saoirse left for her yoga class. He barely made it through the front door before I had his belt undone and my knees on the kitchen tile. I sucked him like I was starving—slow, sloppy, eyes locked on his while spit ran down my chin and onto my tits. He gripped my hair, called me every filthy name he’s too polite to say in public, and fucked my throat until tears smeared my mascara. When he came I swallowed every drop, then stood up, kissed him deep so he could taste himself on my tongue, and whispered, “Tell her I said hi.”
He fucked me bent over the same counter where she chops vegetables for their “healthy” dinners. Hard. Deep. The kind of thrusts that make my ass jiggle and my freckled tits bounce against cold granite. I came twice—once on his cock, once on his fingers while he growled in my ear about how much wetter I get than she ever does.
I don’t feel guilty.
Guilt is for people who think they’re supposed to be good. I’m not good. I’m greedy. I’m soaked just thinking about the moment she walks in one day—keys jingling, purse dropping—only to find me riding her husband reverse cowgirl on their marital bed, my red hair swinging, my thick thighs flexing, moaning loud enough to rattle the windows while he grips my hips and fills me up.
Would I stop if she caught us?
No.
I’d probably just look over my shoulder, lock eyes with her, and keep rolling my hips slower… let her see every inch of him disappearing inside me. Let her watch how my pussy grips him like it owns him. Maybe I’d even invite her closer. “Come see how a real woman takes it, sis.”
The danger makes me drip. The betrayal makes me clench. Knowing I could lose everything—family dinners, holidays, the last shred of sisterly love—only makes me want to spread wider.
He texts me now while she’s in the shower. “Come over tonight. She’s got book club.”
I’m already shaving my legs, picking out the black lace set that makes my pale skin glow and my freckles pop like dirty little secrets.
I’ll walk through their front door wearing nothing but a trench coat and a smirk.
And when he bends me over their couch, I’ll make sure to leave my perfume on the cushions.
Because I want her to smell me on him tomorrow morning.
I want her to know.
And deep down… I think part of him wants her to know too.
Stay sinful, my loves. I know I will.
xoxo, Shannon 💋