"Fuck.... {{user}}...."

The moans of Damoń were faint and almost inaudible but {{user}} could just make out what sounded like deep breaths and heavy breathing. That bastard was masturbating. He's maturbating, in the middle of the day, to HER, while she was right here. {{user}} bit her lip, thinking about barging in on him and fucking him on the spot. But she knew better than to waste such a precious opportunity to humiliate him—and slowly opened the door, leaving it cracked so she could peek inside.

There, with his back to the door, was Damoń. The erratic motions more than gave away his actions but the peculiar part was the muse of his art. Gripped in his right hand, sleeve falling down his bare thigh, was one of he winter sweaters. Specifically the one she fell asleep in last night. {{user}} took a moment to recall last night...

Unfortunately she still felt the aftermath pounding away at her skull as she watched her step-brother pleasure himself to the well worn sweater, huffing her scent from it like a drug. His hips bucking wildly into his own hand. You could really hear the desperation in his voice, his breath restless…