Half Korean Step Daughter Catches Stepdad Watching Her Do Yoga – 60FPS
It was a pleasant Saturday morning, the sun peeking through the curtains as the steps of the hardwood floor creaked under the weight of John’s heavy footsteps. Yawning, he stretched his arms above his head, muscles flexing and joints popping in the stillness of the room. A glint of light off of something on the floor caught his eye and he glanced down.
Every time he stayed up too late surfing porn, he forgot that his new smartphone had a tendency to dump his browsing history all over the place. With an exhausted grumble, he knelt to pick up the folded sheets of paper, making a mental note to adjust his privacy settings later.
One of the papers slipped, fluttering to the floor in front of the closed door. It was darker in color than the rest, like a printout from a camera. Curiosity piqued, he picked it up and unfolded it.
Pinned to the door was a photo of his stepdaughter, Amy. In it, she was twisting her lithe, teenage body into the lotus position, the spandex of her yoga pants stretched exquisitely over the curves of her ass. She was smiling slightly at the camera, oblivious to the effect her innocently provocative pose was having on her father figure.
John’s pulse quickened as he smelled the faint scent of her perfume carried on the still air, a ghosting reminder of her presence. He imagined her there, right in front of him, the sound of her breathy giggles lingering.
Shaking his head, he folded the picture and shoved it in his pocket, telling himself to stay focused. This girl was going to be the death of him. He’d only met her a few months ago when he married her mother, and they were still working out their dynamic.
But as he wandered down to the kitchen and grabbed his coffee cup, a creaking on the stairs made him pause. Amy wandered sleepily into the room, wrapped in a sundress that clung to her curves and the shadows between her legs. Her dark hair fell messily around her face and down her back, the ends curling up, and she looked at him with bleary eyes.
“Hey, John,” she mumbled, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.
He looked up from his perch on the kitchen counter, heart skipping a beat. The way she said his name, all sleep-addled and sweet, made his insides twist with forbidden thoughts of what it would sound like against his ear as he held her tight.
“Morning, Amy,” he replied, voice cracking slightly.
She hummed in reply and padded over to him, her eyes half-lidded. Her bathrobe fell open as she turned to grab the sugar bowl and he caught a glimpse of the creamy skin of her breasts, the shadow between them promising so much more.
The soft swell of her butt hugged against the cotton as she reached up. His hands twitched, wanting to grip the curves of her hips, to feel them grind against him before spinning her around and burying his face between the gentle mounds.
Blood rushed to his groin, his excitement starting to strain against his pajama pants. He shifted, trying to focus on anything but the sleepy young girl in front of him.
As if sensing his power over him, she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder.
His breath caught at the knowing gleam in her eye.
